December 24, 1944
Barracks 2 Stalag 13
The men were gathered round the stove, though it wasn't giving off much heat, as they had very little wood. The snow had been unrelenting for days now, and the men were longing for a break in the cold. Hogan had been struggling with low morale, and he had an idea that just might help…a family Christmas tradition…tweaked of course, for this bunch. At this point, he had nothing to lose. He stood up and clapped his hands.
"It's time for Hogan's Story-time for Christmas…Gather 'round, boys and girls, gather 'round…
'Twas the night before Christmas….when all through the Barracks—"
"Are you kidding me, Guv, are we REALLY gonna do THIS again? Tellin' a story?"
"Yes, Newkirk, we are, so sit down, and shut up…
Not a creature was stirring, not even the rats;"
"But Felix is stirring so he doesn't count, right?"
"SHUT UP, CARTER!" The men chorused…
"The stockings were nailed on the escape bunk with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;"
"But if we tried nailing our socks up there, we'd stink the joint out."
"Speak for yourself, Newkirk." Garlotti smirked.
"What socks?"
"True enough, Olsen." Gopher grinned.
Hogan sighed. "Are you wisenheimers done?"
The prisoners were freezing, teeth chattering in their beds;"
While visions of real coffee and white bread with butter danced in their heads;
LeBeau popped off, "Girls! That's what I want!"
"Now yer talkin' mate!"
Hogan glowered at the men and cleared his throat.
"And mamma in her—"
"Don't ya mean Mama Bear, Guv?"
Hogan grimaced. "Do you guys wanna hear this or not?" He sounded really aggravated.
Carter at least had the grace to look abashed, and the men settled in to listen, as their commander recited the beloved though somewhat twisted poem mostly uninterrupted.
However, Carter finally couldn't hold out any longer when Hogan reached the description of St. Nick.
"A bundle of toys he had flung on his back—"
"I always asked for the same thing when I was a kid."
"Oh, yeah, like what?" Baker was curious.
"Chemicals and lab equipment."
"Figures."
"GUYS!"
With a glare fit to melt steel, Hogan forged on. He actually made a few more lines before LeBeau wrinkled his nose and frowned. "He would look awfully strange with a cherry on his nose, would he not?"
Ever helpful, Carter rose to the task of explaining. "Not a real cherry, Louis…just that it looked like one. It's an analogy."
There was dead silence in the room as everyone stared at Carter. It took him only one look at LeBeau's dancing eyes to realize he'd been had. Andrew blushed. "Ah, geez, LeBeau!" and everyone burst out laughing.
Hogan went back to vainly attempting to finish the poem.
Sure enough, things went along swimmingly— until they reached the filling of the stockings.
The men all had their own thoughts on that process, as to what they would like the old boy to leave in their stockings. After a few shouted comments, Hogan had one of his own. "He's liable to leave you all lumps of coal if you don't let me finish reciting this story."
Carter grinned. "That would be okay. Then Louis and I could split it. He could put some in the stove to heat water or something and I could use some to blow something up!"
Andrew nearly fell over when three of his teammates reached out to cuff him at the same time.
Hogan laughed and had to take a minute to recover himself and wait for the men to sort themselves out.
Then, as he spoke the last few lines, he looked around at these half-frozen half-starved heroes…
And knew that no matter how many times he recited this tale… by the book or not, this telling was the one he would never forget…
"I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
~The End~
A/N: With (sort of) sincere apologies to Clement Clarke Moore (Written around 1837)