Author's Note:
For those who might not remember, the 4th season of McHale's Navy took place in Italy, based in the fictional town of Voltafiore. Similarly, two episodes of Hogan's Heroes featured Italian Major Bonacelli, from the equally fictional town of Capizio. So, I thought to myself, why not do a McHale's Navy/Hogan's Heroes crossover?
This story is based on two episodes each from the two shows: "The Pizza Parlor" and "The Return of Major Bonacelli" from Hogan's Heroes, and "Guiseppe McHale" and "The Return of Guiseppe" from McHale's Navy.
Note that Guiseppe is McHale's maternal cousin and his surname is established as Maggiore on "The Return of Guiseppe".
This story takes place at some indeterminate time between "The Pizza Parlor" and "The Return of Major Bonacelli".
It's just a bit of fluff, so don't expect precise historical accuracy. I've purposely left the dates vague because I'd probably not have been able to write the story at all had I paid strict attention to the chronology of what happened during the Italian campaign. Hope you enjoy it, anyway.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Major Aldo Bonacelli sighed as he stood at his office window looking out over the compound filled with Allied prisoners. Small groups of men in worn American and British uniforms clustered in the few shaded areas on the bare expanse of ground, trying to avoid the hot Italian sun, while others played a half-hearted game of volleyball.
Bonacelli had been the comandante of Capizio's POW camp for less than a year, but took no satisfaction from his job. Indeed,when he'd been sent to Germany the month before to be tutored in prison camp management at Stalag 13, he'd nearly succeeded in defecting to Switzerland.
He'd reluctantly changed his plans to desert after talking with Colonel Hogan, the senior prisoner of war at Stalag 13. Hogan's extensive operation, engaging in sabotage and the rescue of downed fliers had impressed the Italian major greatly. The American had been able to persuade him that spying and passing on information to the Allies would get the hated Germans out of Italy quicker, making it a better option than simply running away.
But, now, he wasn't satisfied with merely gathering intelligence and passing on the information. As he watched the prisoners, he thought of how the war in Italy could be shortened if these men could rejoin their own forces to resume fighting.
Sighing loudly, he knew there wasn't anything he could do to help the men already in his custody. He couldn't let them escape, nor could he help them to escape. His prime mission was to provide intelligence to the Allies and to do that, he had to retain his post as camp comandante at all costs. All other concerns, however worthy, had to take a back seat to that goal.
A moment later, the Italian major returned to his desk to attend to his daily paperwork. Within moments, he managed to push his unease to the back of his mind, at least for the time being.
About twenty minutes later, his aide stuck his head through the open doorway. "Excuse me, Comandante, but Guiseppe Maggiore would like to see you." After a pause, he added, "He has delivered this week's order of fish for the officers' mess."
"Send him in, Vasta," Bonacelli said, glad for the interruption. "Please serve us the usual refreshments."
"At once, Comandante."
"Buon giorno, Aldo!" Guiseppe Maggiore greeted, with a big smile on his face as he entered the room a moment later. Maggiore was a large, gregarious man who'd known Bonacelli since childhood, both having grown up together in San Lucca.
"Sit down, Guiseppe," Bonacelli invited, indicating a comfortable chair. "How are Teresa and the children? Well, I hope."
"Very well," Guiseppe replied. "Teresa sends her best wishes and Pietro and Angelina are growing like weeds!"
The two men continued to talk about mundane matters until the aide had served the refreshments and left the office, closing the door behind him.
Bonacelli paused for a long moment to listen carefully to make sure that Vasta was not lurking close by on the other side of the door. Once he was satisfied they would not be overheard, he asked, "So, do you have any new intelligence for me today, Guiseppe?"
Lowering his normally loud voice, Guiseppe said, "I was fishing north of Capizio, when I saw a long German tank column heading south. I wasn't able to get a very close look, but they also had several mounted 88 flak guns, too."
"When was this?" Bonacelli asked.
"Just before I came to deliver the fish to you." Pausing to take a sip of the espresso, he added, "By the time I was able to come ashore to get a closer look, they'd gone by, out of sight."
"That should be enough information to send to London," Bonacelli mused, getting up to go look out the window again. "You can tell some of the others to keep their eyes open for more information about it."
His voice drifted off as he watched the prisoners out in the courtyard once more, as frustrated as before. He only half-heard when Guiseppe began talking again.
"What is it, Aldo?" Guiseppe asked in concern. "I don't think you've heard a word I've said."
"I'm sorry," the major apologized. "Come, take a look out this window."
Curious, the larger man did as he was bid.
"What do you see out there?" Bonacelli asked.
"Men. Allied prisoners." Guiseppe replied. "Or am I supposed to notice something else?"
"Before you came this morning, I was looking out and it occurred to me just how many prisoners I have, men I can barely afford to feed. These are men who should be back behind their own lines, fighting to free Italy from the filthy Germans."
Sighing, he continued, "It is not enough that I pass on intelligence to the Allies. I wish I could be doing something to help those men out there to get back to their own forces."
"You cannot do that, Aldo," Guiseppe reminded him. "That is not what you were assigned to do. Me and my friends, we sneak around and gather the information you need and you report it to London. That is all they expect of us."
"We could at least try to help other downed fliers before the Germans can capture them; before they get to me." Returning to his desk, the major concluded, "But I wouldn't even know how to go about doing that without being caught by the Germans and risking our entire operation."
Guiseppe paced back and forth for a few moments pondering the matter. Suddenly, he stopped, exclaiming, "That's it! I think I have a way we can do it!"
"Tell me," Bonacelli demanded as he leaned closer, eager to hear the idea.
"My cugino, Quinton McHale, can help us get the men to safety!"
"McHale?" Bonacelli repeated, mystified. "That's not an Italian name."
"He's my American cousin," Guiseppe explained. "His mother was my father's sister. She married an American."
"I see," Bonacelli said, waiting for the other man to explain further.
"He is a commander of one of those American PT boats," Guiseppe elaborated. "His base is down in Voltafiore."
"That's only about ten miles or so south of San Lucca," Bonacelli said. "Do you think he would help us."
"I don't see why not," the other man said. "He's always up to one scheme or the other to get the things he wants done."
"It is worth a try," Bonacelli agreed. "I will tell London about our idea when I contact them tonight and see what they think of it."
"Good idea," Guiseppe agreed. "Do you think I should ask Quinton about it?"
"Wait until I talk to London, first," Bonacelli said. "We'll need their approval before we do anything. But I think I can get it - I know of a similar operation in Germany that they coordinate."
"When will you know?"
"Probably in a few days," Bonacelli guessed. "I should know by the time you deliver next week's fish order."
"I'll see you then, Aldo," Guiseppe said, standing to leave.
