No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.
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Colonel Robert Hogan walked into the office of Colonel Wilhelm Klink, trying hard to ignore the rifle prodding him in the small of his back. It certainly wasn't the first time he had been summoned to face the POW camp Kommandant – after all, as senior prisoner of war at LuftStalag 13, Hogan was often going head to head with Klink to get more rations and better conditions for the one thousand men held there during World War Two. But it was one of the few times that he had been practically dragged out of his bed by a Gestapo guard and barked to attention, so that he barely had time to pull on his American Army Air Corps uniform shirt and trousers, and turn the collar up on his bomber jacket against the biting German winter wind, before grabbing his crush cap and heading outside.
Now, flanked by the Gestapo guard and Stalag 13's Sergeant of the Guard, Hans Schultz, Hogan found himself facing not only Klink, but one of the few men he could honestly consider his personal enemy: Major Wolfgang Hochstetter of the Gestapo. Klink was looking dazed – horsewhipped, Hogan thought—though whether that was due to the lateness of the hour or to the presence of the small, bitter man in the black uniform with the skull and crossbones, Hogan couldn't be certain.
Hogan tried to maintain a calm exterior, having fully awakened in the cold night air on the way from Barracks Two. This visit was completely unexpected—usually, Hogan and his men had advance notice of Nazi activity in the area. Since they operated an intelligence and sabotage unit from right within the prison camp, there was little that could surprise them. Everything seemed to have been going to plan lately. But not tonight, apparently, and Hogan was fighting a rising panic in his chest. Had anything happened that could be infallibly traced back to him and his men? Had someone sold them out?
"I hope we aren't inconveniencing you with a visit at this late hour, Hogan," Hochstetter greeted Hogan, coming around from behind the desk.
Hogan straightened his back and looked the smaller man in the eye. "I was having a nice dream, Major…. I don't appreciate having to walk into a nightmare," he retorted.
Hochstetter snorted in derision. "Your nightmares have only begun, Hogan."
"That's Colonel Hogan to you, Hochstetter," Hogan corrected him. A nod from Hochstetter led to the Gestapo guard's rifle slamming hard into the vulnerable spot between Hogan's shoulder blades. He stumbled forward with a gasp, leaning on Klink's desk to avoid falling.
Klink spoke up as Hogan tried to rub his sore back. "Major Hochstetter is here to arrest you, Colonel Hogan." Was it Hogan's imagination, or did Klink sound sympathetic?
Hogan stopped kneading the knot forming on his back and stared at Klink. "Arrest me?"
"That's right, Hogan," sneered Hochstetter. "You see I finally have the evidence I need to prove that you are more of a threat to the Third Reich while inside this camp than you are as a flyer for the Allied war effort. And I wanted to waste no time in letting you know." He stood before Hogan, who had slowly straightened up to face this man, this constant thorn in his side, this beast, this inhuman killer. "I knew you would be expecting me, if I came at any other time of the day."
Hogan bit his tongue to stop the response that was begging to come out. He knew he would need to save his strength for the questioning that would no doubt take place when he was brought to Gestapo Headquarters in nearby Hammelburg. And knowing the nature of the Gestapo's trained interrogators, he figured the fewer injuries he started with, the longer he might last when new ones were skillfully, and agonizingly, inflicted.
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The men of Barracks Two were huddled close together around a small coffeepot in the common room. No one was drinking warm liquid, despite the chill in the building; they were listening in on the proceedings. As part of their operation, the group had devised a "bug" for Klink's office, and the monitor was a close as the nearest plug. A red light on the coffeepot meant a session was in progress. And the shock of seeing Colonel Hogan forcibly removed made this a broadcast they dreaded, but didn't dare miss.
"Do you think Hochstetter actually knows anything?" asked Sergeant Andrew Carter, to no one in particular. "Or do you think he's just bluffing?"
"Could be that he's just trying to throw Colonel Hogan off balance. I wouldn't put it past him," conceded Sergeant James Kinchloe, the man who had become the equivalent of Hogan's second in command.
"They are hurting him!" cried Corporal Louis Le Beau indignantly as he heard Hogan gasp. His native French took over and he started calling on all the gods he could summon to curse the Gestapo man who had wrenched his commanding officer from his quarters in the middle of the night.
Kinch quieted him and the others and listened as Klink announced that Hogan was being arrested. More than a dozen pairs of eyes were staring at the coffeepot like it was a movie screen. But the images in their mind were more vivid than any film could have been—and twice as frightening. "We've gotta try to talk to him before he goes," Peter Newkirk burst. The RAF Corporal sounded almost desperate as he said, "We've gotta make sure 'e knows we won't just leave him there, that we'll come for 'im!"
"You know the Colonel's standing orders, Newkirk: business as usual if he's taken. No one risks the operation to get him out." Kinch repeated Hogan's oft-cited command. And much as he hated it, much as it went against every fiber of his being to leave his commanding officer—his friend—in the hands of the Nazis, he also really wanted to fulfill his orders, as a sign of respect. So why was he almost choking on the words?
"We will return to Gestapo Headquarters now, Hogan," Hochstetter was saying. "If there is anything to return, Colonel Klink, you will see Hogan again. But I do not know if that will happen…or when. You will be informed."
Hogan's men exchanged worried looks. Hochstetter's threats were rarely hollow. "Say goodbye to the nice Kommandant, Colonel Hogan," said Hochstetter mockingly.
"Do I at least get to pack my toothbrush?" Hogan asked. His men smiled briefly at the impudence. Flippant in the face of danger—how typical of Hogan to cover up his worry with cheekiness.
"You won't need it, Hogan," was the reply.
"You could at least let me say goodbye to my men," Hogan complained. "I haven't told them to keep working on that tunnel while I'm gone—we're using spoons; we could be to the fence in six months!" The words were not lost on the men in the barracks—they were Hogan's way of telling them to mind the store, to keep the operation running. He would have known they would be listening. He would have to have known, and taken some small comfort in the fact, that they were with him somehow.
The sound of a hard slap—his men could only assume it was across Hogan's face—and the sound of a chair tipping over as someone fell over it, or into it, told his men Hogan's punishment for his audacity. The men's smiles faded away. And after a few more harsh words between Hochstetter and Klink, the office fell silent, as Hogan was led away.
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Hogan was tired and his back was sore, but he could not think of sleeping now. Shifting in the back seat of the car Hochstetter had personally pushed him into, Hogan tried to flex his wrists in the heavy handcuffs he wore. His mind was racing, looking for a reason for this, hoping his men had heard when he told them to keep the operation running at all costs, steeling himself for the inevitable torture that was the Gestapo's trademark.
During all of this he remained stoic on the surface. Wouldn't do any good to have Hochstetter see that he was worried. If he succeeded in nothing else, he would not let the weasel humming happily next to him have the satisfaction of knowing he had caught Hogan off-guard.
The car pulled up to Gestapo Headquarters. Hogan took a deep breath and reminded himself of his name, rank, and serial number, as he was pulled roughly out of the vehicle and up the stairs.
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The uproar in Barracks Two had Klink himself responding, with Sergeant Schultz by his side. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen!" he was calling over the din, hoping to get some silence so he could explain what was happening.
No one wanted to listen; they all wanted to complain. "QUIET!" shouted Schultz, banging the butt of his rifle on the floor, and deafening Klink.
The room settled, and Klink found himself face to face with Hogan's men, all eyes angry and ready for a fight. How could he explain that he had nothing to do with this? And why would they want to believe him? Hogan himself had always been the one to witness Klink's distaste for the Gestapo… and he wasn't here to testify to that. "Gentlemen," he began again, "I know you are upset about what has happened—"
The noise started again, angry retorts flew from every part of the room: "You bet we are!" "Why'd you have to drag him out in the middle of the night? It's not like he was going anywhere!" "Why get your goons to do your work for you?" Shouting like machine gun fire. Klink's head swam, but somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought, My God, Hogan must mean a lot to them.
He held up his hand for them to settle again, but was unsuccessful. Schultz pounded his rifle hard again on the floor. "QUIET!"
And again the room quieted to a low rumble. "I want you to know I had nothing to do with it," Klink said quickly, expecting another outburst. None came. Cautiously, he continued. "As you may have surmised, Colonel Hogan has been arrested. Major Hochstetter has indicated that he has evidence that he has been involved in espionage outside this camp." Klink winced inwardly; if this was true, then his claim that Stalag 13 was escape-proof was a scam—and he himself was a pawn of the Allies. His pride refused to believe that, and so aside from his sincere hope that Hogan would not suffer too much at the hands of the over-excitable Hochstetter, Klink also hoped that the charges against the Allied officer were simply trumped up, one of Hochstetter's ways of getting revenge for the many times Hogan seemed to have humiliated him in front of his superiors. The eyes that looked on Klink were sullen, and full of what could only be described as hatred. "The Major has taken your Colonel back to Gestapo Headquarters, where he will be questioned and then"—God willing—"brought back here if they cannot substantiate their claim. I cannot tell you when that might be."
More angry bursts from Hogan's men. Klink was on edge and was beginning to get a headache. He had not been warned of the Gestapo's visit either, and had been rudely jolted out of bed by Hochstetter himself. Klink's anger at the Gestapo was aimed at their ruthless methods, with which he did not—could not—agree, and at himself, for being so intimidated by them, especially by the rabid Major whose very name made him sick inside. His mind flashed the bewildered face of Colonel Hogan before him, looking to him for rescue before the handcuffs were slapped on. But Klink had only been able to look on impotently, unable to do anything that would be considered resistance to Hochstetter and his men. And he cursed himself for that weakness; he had failed to protect the one man who, Klink knew, had often protected him.
"QUIET!" Schultz shouted again, and this time the rifle butt hitting the floor loosened the safety catch, and the weapon discharged into the ceiling, stopping all action and stopping more than a few hearts in the process.
"Schuuuuultz!" reprimanded Klink, shaking his fist in the guard's direction. Schultz shrugged an apology and looked sheepishly at the prisoners. Klink turned back to the men. "That is all. Dismissed." And he turned on his heel as Schultz opened the door, and left, his long jacket flapping in the cold night breeze.