If at First, You Don't Succeed...Call in the Experts
An Allo, Allo/Hogan's Heroes crossover
A response to the "Listen very carefully, I shall say this only once," challenge posted in the HH forums.
Note regarding language. In the series, "Allo, Allo," all the actors spoke English with various accents. It was understood that the French were speaking French, the Germans, German, the British, English, etc. The German characters obviously understood French as they held conversations with the civilians. This usage of language made the show even funnier.
Nouvion, France, 1943
René Artois hummed absentmindedly to himself as he wiped down the bar. The café was not yet busy, as most of his customers, both the Germans and the townspeople, were still at work. He scratched his head, trying to recall the British airmen's current hiding place. He had to remind Edith to take them their evening meal.
"René."
Smiling, he turned as he heard the throaty and sensual voice of his head waitress, Yvette.
"Yes, my dear."
Yvette's face told the story. "You are wanted in the back room. Michelle of the Resistance is here."
"Oh, heck." René threw his cloth down in disgust. "At least we are not busy. Mimi, watch the bar."
As René followed Yvette through the doors, he noticed that his wife, Edith, was already in the back room. Michelle, dressed in her usual raincoat, beret and Mary Janes, was waiting by the table.
"What is it, now?" René asked in the exasperated tone he reserved especially for Michelle.
She motioned for the three to come over to the table, then bent down. "Listen very carefully; I shall say this only once."
The three learned long ago not to reply.
"The British are not happy with our efforts to send the two airmen back to England. They are getting impatient."
"Gee, I wonder why," René muttered, eliciting a glare from Michelle.
"I can't imagine," she replied. "They are sending us experts."
René frowned. "Not another agent who thinks he can speak French."
Michelle rolled her eyes. "No, the agents - there will be two - are not British. I know nothing more except they come very highly recommended. They will come here."
"Of course." René had no faith. All of Michelle's over-elaborate plots failed. He was afraid he would be stuck with the two Brits until the end of the war, or until he was shot for the second time, whatever came first. "And how will we know when they arrive?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"A peasant disguised as a rutabaga salesman will come into the café. He will give you the information."
"Rutabagas? Of all the idiotic-they aren't even in season," René complained.
His wife shushed him. "We will do what you ask, Michelle. For France."
"Where are the airmen?" Michelle asked. "I want to let them know of the latest plan."
Yvette pointed to the table in the middle of the room. It was covered with a tablecloth, and set with two large covered dishes in the middle. The waitress walked over and removed both the covers, and within seconds, two heads popped up.
"Hello!" Both airmen said simultaneously.
Michelle greeted the two in English. "Hello, chaps. Have an update for you. London is sending in two experts to help get you out. I hear they have a 98 percent success rate."
"Splendid!" answered Carstairs.
"Jolly good," replied Fairfax. "Perhaps we'll make it home in time for rowing season."
"Righto! Back down you go." Michelle replaced the two covers and walked over to the window. "And now I will go with the wind. I have an appointment with my hairdresser," she added before exiting the backroom.
It was not long before the rutabaga salesman showed up in the café. René was at the bar, as usual. The girls were serving the customers, and of course, German occupiers were in the café enjoying a brief respite from Madame Edith's singing. She was upstairs caring for her mother.
The bells at the door jangled, and René looked up. "Oh, my God."
"Rutabagas! Who will buy my nice fresh rutabagas?" An elderly man with the vegetables strung around his neck stumbled into the café.
Quickly, René came from around the bar. "Come here, old peasant. I can use rutabagas," he said loud enough for the many Germans in the bar to hear. Not for the first time, he wondered why they never saw through the disguises, if you could call it that. "Here come over to the bar." He guided the man over and then gave him a look.
"It is I," the peasant lifted his glasses. "LeClerc."
"Are you mad? This place is crawling with Germans," René repeated for the umpteenth time.
"I have word from Michelle of the Resistance. Two men disguised as Luftwaffe officers, one Major and one Lieutenant, will be arriving. They are the ones sent by London. One is tall, the other short. The short one is French, and will translate."
"Thank goodness for small favors," René responded when hearing that one agent was a native. "And when will these two be arriving?" He asked LeClerc.
The elderly forger shrugged his shoulders. "I am not a calendar, monsieur. They will arrive when they arrive."
Hogan stared incredulously at the piece of blue paper handed to him by his radio operator and second-in-command. He then looked up at his radioman, then back down at the piece of paper. Kinch stood still, hands clasped behind his back. Only his raised eyebrow betrayed a hint of bemusement or despair. The others gathered around the table couldn't be sure; but the look on their commander's face convinced them to keep their mouths shut for the time being.
Finally, Hogan spoke, "Is this an April fool's joke?"
"That was my initial reaction, sir," Kinch replied. "Except it's July."
Hogan let out a whistle, and then ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "They are insane. Certifiably insane."
Finally, Newkirk could no longer stand the suspense and cleared his throat. "Care to enlighten those of us in the cheap seats, guv'nor?"
The colonel leaned forward in his chair. "Remember the message we had last week about helping two British airmen get back to England?"
"Sure, Colonel. Their local units ran into issues, and they had several aborted attempts," Carter answered.
"Did we get more information?" LeBeau asked as he went to check on the soup bubbling on the stove. He took a sip, grimaced and then made a face. "I don't know how I can make something edible with these rations," he complained, sprinkling salt into the liquid.
Hogan ignored the chef's comments. Anything LeBeau managed to scrounge up was at least somewhat edible, and everyone in the barracks knew it. "There is more information coming," he stated. "But apparently these men are holed up in France."
"Oh!" LeBeau's eyes lit up and he put down the spoon. "Across the border? That's a bit far, but we can handle it. I volunteer." He stepped forward.
"No, LeBeau. Not just across the border. They are in a place called Nouvion. Ever hear of it?"
LeBeau shook his head. "It must be small."
"It's not far from the coast, about the same distance to us as Paris. Taking these chances for two airmen is nuts. Unless…" Hogan turns to Kinch. "Did the code get scrambled or something?"
"I'm sure I got it right, Colonel." Kinch showed no discomfort at his work being insulted.
"Send a message confirming location and if these two airmen are special," Hogan ordered. "This has to be a mistake."
"This is no mistake," Kinch reported a half-hour later. LeBeau put a bowl of soup in front of the radioman, who took a sip and nodded in appreciation.
"It's ridiculous." LeBeau complained as they pored over a map of France. Nouvion was so small they needed a magnifying glass to find it. "Any resistance cell should be able to smuggle these men to the coast and get them to England." He looked over at Hogan.
"They tried and failed multiple times," Hogan reported with a hint of disgust. He sighed. "The coast is heavily defended. We're the experts, they said. They are dropping more information tonight. LeBeau, you and Newkirk will meet the plane."
"Righto, Colonel," Newkirk stated.
"It's one thing to smuggle ourselves to Paris to get intelligence and to rescue a Manet," Hogan stated. "But to a small town near the coast to get airmen?" (1)
"If anyone can think of how to pull this off, you can, sir!"
"Thanks for your vote of confidence, Carter." Hogan sat back in the chair and crossed his arms. He remained silent for several minutes as the men in the barracks went about their business.
Finally, Olsen spoke the words crossing everyone's mind.
"Having second thoughts, Colonel?"
The colonel sighed. "Yeah. This just screams trap in bright lights. I'll wait to see what info is being dropped tonight, but it's going to take a lot of convincing to not have me defy orders this one time."
Later that night...
Hogan, seated at the table, examined pages of coded messages that lay in front of him. He had transcribed just the first two, and that was enough to convince him to read further. He looked up as Newkirk and LeBeau climbed up the ladder and shut the bunk mechanism.
"We're not defying orders," Hogan stated firmly to his captive audience.
"Oi, sir. Going clear across an entire country and then getting back 'ere. That's a bit too much to ask. Who are these blighters anyway? Why can't they just surrender? Related to someone 'igh up in the government, I bet they are."
"I don't know, Newkirk, and it doesn't make a difference who they are or whom they are related to. We're going in. This involves a lot more than two British airmen," Hogan stated. "As long as these airmen are around, Nighthawk is in jeopardy."
"Non, not that Nighthawk!" LeBeau's hand flew to his mouth.
"Yes, that Nighthawk," Hogan repeated.
"Reminds me of Tiger, sir," Kinch stated, recalling the time Hogan defied orders to rescue the leader of the local French resistance from the hands of the Paris Gestapo. (2)
"Sorry for coming in late to the party." Lieutenant Mitchell, the only other Allied officer in camp, stepped forward. Given the odd nature of the mission, Hogan requested the Lieutenant's presence. Mitchell entered his barracks tunnel entrance after roll call, and showed up in Barracks 2 to wait for Newkirk and LeBeau to return. "Who is Nighthawk?"
"Oh, blimey," Newkirk patted the Lieutenant's shoulder. "Who isn't Nighthawk? He's a legend, he is."
"A brave French citizen." Tears began to form in LeBeau's eyes, as he began to recite Le Marseillaise.
"We've heard tales of his bravery," said Garlotti.
"His derring-do," Carter added.
"His ingenuity," Olsen said.
"His cunning." Kinch nodded in appreciation.
"But who is he?" Mitchell turned to the rest of the barracks.
"I have no idea," Hogan answered. "In fact, I didn't know he operated near Nouvion."
"Or she." Newkirk lit a cigarette.
"Yes, or she." Hogan nodded in agreement. "So, in order to preserve Nighthawk's operation, we obviously need to step in and try and help out. I have our place of contact. We'll be disguised as two Luftwaffe officers. LeBeau, you're coming with. I'll need you as a translator." Hogan noticed the disappointed looks on the rest of the men. "Sorry, fellas. This is hard enough as it is. I can't take any more men. Mitchell, you will be my surrogate when I am gone. The usual chain of command is in effect."
"Everything seems in order, Colonel. But, how you are going to get there and back? And how are you going to explain your absence?" Mitchell asked. "This isn't an overnight trip."
"Good question. Once we send a coded message, the RAF will be sending a plane to pick us up, and LeBeau and I will parachute in. Each time they have tried to land a plane in that area, the rescue has failed. So, it's up to us to figure out how to get the two men back. Since the coast is so heavily defended, I'm thinking of getting a car, taking them back here as our prisoners, and using our route. We'll need ID's, the usual paperwork, etcetera. The problem is explaining our absence." Hogan, hoping for any ideas, looked up at his men.
"How about getting Major Teppel to take you away again, Colonel?" This suggestion came from Goldman.
"He was recalled after that mission in Berlin, remember?" Hogan reminded everyone. "He wasn't sure if the Gestapo officer would remember his name, and intelligence didn't want to take any more chances. After he sent Klink the report, he vanished. Right back to the United States." (3)
"Yeah, I remember." Goldman went over to his bunk and sat.
"Good idea, though. Anyone else?" Hogan asked. "We could be gone at least a week, maybe more."
"You still have your appendix, Colonel?" asked Barnes.
"Yeeesss. And why?"
"What if you have an appendix attack? Go to the hospital to get it out, but not really. That should take care of two weeks at least. Oh, wait. That doesn't take care of LeBeau. Two cases at the same time? That's too much of a coincidence."
"And Klink would definitely visit him in the hospital." Davis poked his friend.
"A really contagious disease." It was now Garlotti's turn to offer up an idea. "Both you and LeBeau are quarantined in the infirmary. Klink is scared of his own shadow. He'll be afraid of getting sick. We can rotate men in and out of there so you can be counted."
"That may be doable, although it's a bit chancy." Hogan smiled at Garlotti. "Anyone else?"
"Why don't you use LeBeau's talents to your advantage, Colonel?" Mitchell held up his hand. "I think I have something. Something like a prisoner swap. We draw up fake orders, and Klink gets a request to send LeBeau somewhere to cook. A high-level meeting, or another camp. Naturally, you won't send him anywhere without you going as well. Make sure Schultz goes with. You shake him. And off you go."
Hogan walked over to the Lieutenant and gave him a friendly pat on the back. "That's not a bad idea, Mitchell. You're getting the hang of this. You know, I like that. LeBeau you'll make a big stink of course."
"Bien sur."
"And I'll get a lot of concessions," Hogan said. "That will be icing on the cake. All right. First thing tomorrow morning, we start Operation Nouvion."
"I refuse." LeBeau stomped his foot, crossed his arms, and looked away from the Kommandant in a show of defiance worthy of an Oscar.
"You see, sir. I told you he wouldn't agree." Hogan, who stood next to LeBeau, examined his nails in the nonchalant bored manner he had perfected. "And even if he did, I wouldn't allow it. The Geneva Convention specifically forbids…"
"That is not exactly true." Klink rose from his chair and wagged his finger at Hogan. "Prisoners work. This is work camp. You know that. And they are fairly compensated. LeBeau will be well-paid for his talents."
"Like I have someplace to go to spend the money." LeBeau sniffed.
"He has a good point, Kommandant. But, I said no. I wouldn't send one of my men to another location. For a week? How can I trust he'll be safe? Not all Germans are as humane as you are, sir. Strict but humane. Remember F.I.N.K." (4)
"Yes, yes, Hogan. You do have a point. Imagine this General Kinchmeyer having the nerve to ask me to send a prisoner to cook for his staff retreat for an entire week." Klink sat back down in his chair. "You're dismissed."
"Thank you, sir. Come on, LeBeau." Hogan and LeBeau headed for the door. "Wait. Did you say Kinchmeyer?" Hogan asked.
"I did say Kinchmeyer." Klink looked up from the report on his desk. "Why?"
Hogan leaned forward, both his hands now on the edge on the desk. "Well, I don't know what happened to the last man saying no to this general. That's all." He stood up. "We'll be going."
"Wait! Hogan what have you heard?"
"Well, if you must know, I heard someone who heard someone say that a colonel, like yourself, sir…Kinchmeyer asked for his prison barber. In addition, well, he could not spare him. Next thing he knew; he was in the coach section of the Siberian Express."
Klink gulped. "Hogan. I am ordering LeBeau to cook for this man."
Hogan began to laugh. "Like I said, I'm not allowing LeBeau to go into a lion's den by himself. Maybe if I was there to keep an eye out…"
"Mon Colonel. I refuse to cook for these Bosch."
"LeBeau, Colonel Hogan will go with you." Klink had the look of a beggar on his face.
Hogan then grabbed LeBeau's arm. "One moment, Kommandant." He whispered in LeBeau's ear, and the Frenchman nodded.
"We'll make a deal. One extra hour of electricity for all barracks the week we are gone. Plus two extra slices of white bread a day for each man."
"Done."
"And each man gets an extra hot shower this month," Hogan added.
"You're going too far."
"Not going."
Klink capitulated. "Electricity, bread and shower. General Kinchmeyer's truck will be here tomorrow afternoon."
"You strike a hard bargain, Kommandant." Hogan learned early on that with Klink, flattery was the best policy.
As he and LeBeau walked back to the barracks, LeBeau stopped the colonel. "What if Klink hadn't agreed and the deal was off?"
"Plan B. Contagious disease," Hogan stated. "But seriously, what were the chances of that happening," he said, confident in his capability of hoodwinking the Kommandant, yet again.
1) Art for Hogan's Sake
2) A Tiger Hunt in Paris
3) A Bad Day in Berlin
4) Stands for Firm, Impartial, Nazi, Kommandant from Klink, A Bomb, and a Short Fuse.