I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story.
The narrative picks up some time after the episode "Sticky Wicket Newkirk".
Six weeks had passed, and Newkirk was still on the outer.
He could hardly complain about it. He'd made a total cock-up of things; had compromised his own safety and everyone else's; in fact, had nearly given the whole operation away to the Gestapo. And all over a woman. Even now, every so often the sheer stupidity of it struck him like a slap in the face.
Still, at first he had thought it would blow over. Colonel Hogan and the rest would get over it, and things would be back to normal. And on the surface, they were, once the tunnel he'd had to close off with dynamite had been reopened. The regular routine of Stalag 13 continued; they assisted Allied servicemen on their way back to England, they carried out sabotage, they gathered information.
But it wasn't the same; not as far as Newkirk was concerned anyway. His error in judgement had been too great, and the results too serious, to be overlooked. Outside operations, even those as simple and routine as meeting escaping POWs and bringing them back to camp, were assigned to LeBeau, Carter or Kinch. Newkirk stayed within bounds, tailoring, forging documents, occasionally allowed the mild indulgence of accessing Klink's safe. And that, he suspected, was only because nobody else in camp had the knack.
He felt he wasn't trusted. Fair enough; he no longer quite trusted himself.
Within a short time he'd started to suspect he wasn't just on probation; much as he resisted it, he couldn't shake the thought that the situation might be permanent. But still, he couldn't really complain.
He did, of course, vigorously and indignantly, after a couple of weeks. Hogan heard him out calmly, without comment; and when he had finished, the colonel said, quite reasonably, "That's how it's going to be, Newkirk. Until I'm satisfied you're never doing that again. Do you have a problem with that?"
"No, sir," Newkirk replied, when he could control his voice. "No problem at all." Thereafter he kept his head down, did what was required of him, and asked no questions.
What hurt him most - apart from one other thing, which he hardly even admitted to himself, let alone anyone else - was that it wasn't just Hogan. The other guys didn't quite trust him, either. Carter was nearer than anyone else to getting back on their old footing; they played cards, or draughts, and talked about home, and the weather, and all kinds of everyday things, but there was always a sense of reserve, as there was with Kinch and LeBeau, whenever the subject of work came up.
And as for the other matter, well, there was no point in dwelling on it. As far as everyone was concerned, she had just been another Gestapo plant, and good riddance to her. Newkirk accepted that. After all, he hadn't actually fallen for her, not really, so she hadn't betrayed anything more important than his trust; and anyway, it was over and done with, since the Gestapo had taken her away. But still, most nights as he lay wide awake, waiting for the others to get back from whatever harassment of the enemy they were engaging in, it was Gretel who occupied his thoughts.
It might have been another six weeks, or six months, or even longer, before he was entrusted with anything, if this meeting hadn't come up, and hadn't been so urgent, or if anyone else had been available. The message arrived just as Hogan, LeBeau and Carter were on the point of leaving for the night's raid. "London says the meeting has to take place tonight, Colonel," said Kinch, relaying the news.
"But, Colonel, if we don't take out the anti-aircraft battery at Weizenfeld, before our bombers get there..." Carter protested. He wasn't fooling anyone; ensuring the safe passage of the bombers was important, but his main preoccupation was with the series of explosions he had planned so meticulously, and was looking forward to with such joyful anticipation.
"I know, Carter," Hogan replied. "Kinch, try London again, see if there's any chance we can put the meeting off for twenty-four hours."
"I already asked, Colonel. No can do. The contact is under surveillance, and may have to leave Hammelburg at a moment's notice."
"Mon Colonel," interrupted LeBeau, "we're already running late, we should be halfway to Weizenfeld by now."
Hogan still deliberated for a few seconds before making a decision. "Okay. Kinch, brief Newkirk on the meeting. Tell him to get a motorcycle from the motor pool. He's to go directly to the hotel, make contact, get the information and come straight back here. He'll need a German uniform and papers. And Kinch - make sure he understands, one wrong step on this one, and he doesn't set foot outside Stalag 13 again for the duration."
"I'll tell him, don't worry," said Kinch grimly.
In spite of having to go out in miserable weather, and in spite of Kinch's evident disapproval, Newkirk couldn't help but feel his spirits rising at finally getting something to do. In fact, he was more cheerful than he had been at any time within the last six weeks.
"Okay, I'll go through it once more," Kinch said, handing him his ID papers. "The meeting is in the restaurant of the Hotel Alte Residenz at eleven thirty. The recognition code is, Were you in Bayreuth in August? To which you reply, No, I went to Salzburg for the festival."
"I still want to know who came up with that one," murmured Newkirk, brushing some tunnel dust from the lapel of his Luftwaffe uniform.
"Some music lover in London, probably. Newkirk, just pay attention, okay?"
"I'm listening."
Kinch held back his rising irritation, and continued with the briefing. "The contact will give you the names of three enemy agents operating within the British intelligence service. Once you have the information, you come straight back here. Got it?"
"I've got it, Kinch. I've got it," replied Newkirk soothingly. "I'll be back in plenty of time. Only it's nice to get out for a bit. It's been a while, you know."
"Your own fault, Newkirk," observed Kinch. "And Colonel Hogan says if you mess up this time, it'll be an even longer while before you get another chance. So watch yourself."
"Kinch, I'm not barmy. Trust me. It'll go like clockwork."
It was almost four in the morning when the sabotage team returned. Carter was still in the state of barely suppressed glee which generally followed a successful operation, and didn't seem to notice how quiet the colonel was. LeBeau, uneasily aware of Hogan's tension, had spent most of the return journey fielding as much of Carter's enthusiastic babbling as possible.
Kinch was still in the radio room, but not on the radio. He was leaning forward with his elbow on the table, and his head resting on his hand. Hogan pressed his lips together, holding back the first words that rose to the surface, then said, in a soft, dangerous voice which even cut through Carter's exuberant mood, "Is he back yet?"
"No, Colonel," said Kinch. He laced his fingers together, put his hands on the desk, and looked down at them.
Nobody said a word. Carter's face fell, and LeBeau glanced apprehensively at the colonel.
"When he gets back," Hogan said, at last, "tell him I want to see him." He headed for the barracks.
"He may not get back."
Kinch's voice was almost expressionless. Hogan stopped in his tracks, and turned slowly. Kinch still didn't meet his eyes, but after a moment, he continued. "I had radio contact from the submarine, with a message from London. The bombing raid on Weizenfeld was diverted due to the weather. They redirected to the secondary target, the main rail yard at Hammelburg. Then we got another message to say a couple of the bombers overshot the target."
A shocked silence had fallen, as the others began to realise what he was telling them. LeBeau put a hand over his mouth, and Carter shook his head just slightly, in instinctive rejection. Only the colonel remained perfectly still, waiting.
Kinch looked up at last. He looked weary, as if for once the night had been longer than he could stand. "I've been trying to reach someone - anyone at all - in Hammelburg, for the last couple of hours. I finally got through to Blackbird, ten minutes ago. I'm sorry, Colonel. He's heard there was a direct hit on the Hotel Alte Residenz."
