Her Second Chance: Parasol
Note and Disclaimer: I'll be saying this every time. I don't own the characters to Hogan's Heroes nor do I own any of the songs I have posted. I would like to thank those who have created this series and those who have written these great songs. However, the character I have created in this series, Colonel Michalovich, belongs to me, so if you want to use her in any story you wish to write, please email me with permission first. This is part five of the story of the female spy Colonel Michalovich and the beginning of the adventures with Sergeant Baker, CBS's colorless personality radioman who has replaced Kinch when he left Stalag 13.
Journal of Colonel Nikola Anna Michalovich, U.S. Army: LC8547960
August 6, 1944
Hammelburg, Germany: Luftstalag 13, The Colonel's Quarters – 2141 Hours
When I come to terms, to terms with this
My world with change for me
I haven't moved since the call came
Since the call came I haven't moved
I stared at the wall knowing on the other side
The storm that waits for me
Then the seated woman with a parasol
Maybe the only one you can't betray
If I'm the seated woman with a parasol
I will be safe in my frame
I have no need for a sea view
For a sea view, I have no need
I have my little pleasures
This wall being one of these
Then the seated woman with the parasol
Maybe the only one you can't betray
If I'm the seated woman with a parasol
I will be safe in my frame
When I come to terms, to terms with this
When I come to terms
With this whip lash of silk on wool embroidery
Then the seated woman with the parasol
Maybe the only one you can't betray
If I'm the seated woman with a parasol
I will be safe in my frame
I will be safe in my frame
In your house, in your frame…
I am drained. I have never felt such a way in a long time now.
It has almost been those two months since our last radioman, Sergeant Kinchloe, had been killed (August 13 will mark that day). Our new radioman, Sergeant Richard Baker, has been taking over his duties, with much anticipation, one that I have never seen in a radioman for the U.S. Air Force. Not to mention, he has already won his trust from Rob, and very quickly, I might add.
The African-American, who came from the black 317th bomber squadron (he worked more on the ground than in the air, hence his abilities with the radio, switchboard and tapping into Klink's phone), was stationed in France as the war progressed and was captured when the Krauts discovered his unit. He and his comrades on the ground, as the report from London states, fought the Krauts but were outnumbered, the odds being three to one, those Krauts with the bigger odds. The next day the remaining men that were alive were transported to various camps, and some of them never to be heard from again. Baker was lucky and was not interrogated by the Gestapo, but transported, under conditions in which he rebelled against, to Stalag 13, where Klink confined him to the cooler.
And that was why our sly and mysterious Sergeant Baker was transported to the cooler instead of the barracks when he arrived here. It was just because he didn't like the way the Krauts were treating him on the way to Stalag 13 and he complained to Klink about it and received punishment. Damn, if only I knew about that beforehand, or else I would have argued, alongside with Rob, against the strange tyranny of Klink. That fool of a German kommandant wouldn't know humanity from reality! If he could have even stopped the Shadow from killing one of his –
I don't even want to think about Kinch right now.
Even after these two months, I can still see his dead body, his bloody body, the one of which the Shadow shot. Even as the Shadow departs, he leaves his mark everywhere he goes, and Kinch was that one target here. Stalag 13 was the spot he visited because he suspected me of spying, and with Rob! Almost worst of all, I can't really even write of my anguish because I have been so empty of feeling, and writing in verse has always relieved me of what I feel…and this nothingness is…a darkness I want to be rid of. Sometimes I have a few lines of verse about various subjects, mostly Rob, and it helps, but this nothingness annoys me. It is always there to bother me.
I have come to know the small light Baker brought to our barracks. However, I will always grieve for Kinch. I like Baker's silly jokes about various topics, even ones on Klink, but even then my memory plays with me and always heads back to the time when Kinch put a coin in his eye, in a mockery of Klink's monocle, and made fun of him. I resent Baker for living through his ordeal. I know I have to stop this. Baker has been through a lot and I should respect him, as he does with me and the others here. Baker is here to stay as our radioman and Kinch was alive and well only two months ago…
I have to stop these thoughts.
You know, I rewrote that poem, from a long time ago, above to remember what it would be like to be something as stiff and material-like as a woman with a parasol in a painting. There would be nothing to feel, no death to think about and even no people to worry about but the storm about you, and even that would pass. Will I ever "be safe in my frame", though? I thought of that as I sang that poem last night, with that guitar our beloved Kommandant Klink gave to me on the occasion of Kinch's memorial service. So, instead of reading the German book on the history of France to the men (my eyes were tired and the men wanted entertainment), I sang a little song and the men were lulled to sleep by the hope that maybe, we'll all be safe and never betrayed because we are the people with the parasol above our heads, being protected from the storm around us – the Krauts.
I hear some thunder sounding off in the distance just now…one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand…there it goes again. It's about three miles away. Our bombers were supposed to get an ammo dump tonight at about 2200 hours (a very important one), so I wish that they didn't have to cancel the mission because of the strange weather we're going to have. That would mean that we would have to scrap Rob's plans (London asked us to get the weather conditions here and I guess that, with Carter's forecasts, they'd have to follow what he said, which was that it might rain, and head back) and calculate the weather again for them with the balloons.
That means fooling Klink some more. Originally, we said that we wanted a few weeks to celebrate some American holiday Rob made up (something about the height of summer and the coming of harvesting beer and such for winter, but I can't remember because it's so outlandish). I think we should extend it some more, anyhow. Tomorrow is another day to think about this, so I'll talk to Rob. Klink may be suspicious about us escaping, but Rob can persuade him otherwise.
In any case, all has been quiet. The men outside are sleeping silently and have had no threats from the Gestapo as of late (thank G-d) and Rob only rolls over in his top bunk chasing a dream as I write here on his desk, with the barest of candle light. Yes, we have candles now. I know that these candles are a privilege Klink gave us last week and that we should save them in case of emergencies such as air raids, as Klink suggested. This, I feel, to be something I should use them for, just in case…damn, it just went out…there, I got it going again. Newkirk's lighter, the one he gave me yesterday, is always useful.
I expect, at the moment, that we'll receive a message about that cancelled air raid and some insane assignment to destroy it ourselves. That, or calculate the weather conditions further and forward them to London so that they can schedule another time. It's all that make sense to me now.