A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love.

Some time ago Davis pointed out that our barracks was bound to be unlucky, just because we're thirteen guys in the thirteenth barracks in Stalag 13. And once that little fact sank in, there was a frantic rush to figure out just when the next Friday the thirteenth was gonna be. So we could prepare ourselves for the worst, see?

At first, though, Gilligan hadn't been all that worried. "What are the chances?" he wanted to know. "Maybe we're worried about nothin'. It don't come around that often, does it?"

"I dunno," said Max, a dark-haired scrawny kid who just happened to be the thirteenth guy assigned to our barracks. "Would you believe there were THREE Friday the thirteenths last year? The next one could be any day now!"

Max's last name is Smart, but nobody calls him that because...well, he just isn't. "What a doofus," said Wojciehowicz, shaking his head at him. "Today's Monday, the twelfth of April. So we got at least a month before the next one, whenever it is."

This didn't seem to reassure Max. He was sure that something awful was going to happen when the next Friday the thirteenth rolled around, and although I don't normally hold with that kind of thing, he was starting to make me nervous. The rest of the guys were beginning to look uneasy, and Davis was the worst of the bunch.

"Doomed...we're doomed," he said in a hollow-sounding voice, and started to turn his footlocker upside-down, trying to find a calendar.

Our barracks chief Sergeant Preston had been politely watching the discussion, but I could tell the general attitude was getting to him. "Triskaidekaphobia," he said with a sigh.

"Trisky what?" asked Gilligan, scratching his head.

"Triskaidekaphobia," Preston repeated. "An unreasonable fear of the number thirteen. Unfortunately, it's an unreasonable fear that afflicts many otherwise reasonable people." He paused for a moment, and added, "And it looks like it afflicts you boys too."

This started off a general protest, with half the guys denying being superstitious and half the guys telling horror stories regarding past Friday the thirteenths. Davis said he didn't care what anybody said, he just knew he was gonna be the guy who ended up being jinxed that day. And Gilligan and Wojciehowicz almost got into a fistfight over when the next Friday the thirteenth was going to happen.

As their argument got louder, Preston started scribbling dates on a scrap of paper, and he finished up by saying, "Settle down, eh? There's but one Friday the thirteenth this year, in August."

So we all heaved a sigh of relief and promptly forgot all about it. After all, August was months away.

But then there it was, months later, and we realized that Friday the thirteenth was gonna be the very next day. Naturally Davis went into a tizzy, and there was no talking him out of it.

Oh, we tried. After all, it wasn't like there were any black cats around, and the only mirror in the barracks had been broken long before we got hold of it. Nobody had an umbrella so we couldn't exactly open one indoors. As for spilling salt, heck, the Krauts only allowed us a small amount and you can bet LeBeau kept it under tight control.

And after Wojciehowicz accidentally dumped a bucket of paint over Davis's head that one time (when we were painting the armory for one of the Colonel's schemes), none of us would ever dream of walking under a ladder.

But Davis wouldn't listen to reason, maybe because the rest of us guys weren't really convinced either. As he said to me, "Don't give me any guff about Friday the thirteenth, Barnes. You know you always check your pockets every morning for that lucky penny you carry around!"

Then he tried to bum the penny off me for the occasion! Naturally I told him to get lost. That penny was going to stay right where it was...at least, until Friday the thirteenth was over.

Davis spent the rest of Thursday evening making the rounds of the barracks in search of a lucky charm. But Wojciehowicz refused to turn over his St. Christopher medal, Gilligan insisted on keeping his rabbit's foot, and Haskell wouldn't even let him look at his four-leaf clover.

So poor Davis didn't know what to do. His bunk was right above mine, and that night I could hear him tossing and turning for what seemed like hours. Every so often I could hear a tap...tap...tap.

Finally I couldn't take it any longer. "What's wrong with you, man?" I whispered.

"Knocking on wood," he whispered back, and I smothered a groan and heaved myself off my bunk.

"Here," I said, sticking my hand in the general direction of his face.

"What is it?"

"My lucky penny," I said. "Now go to sleep!"

There had been an awful lot of rain that summer, and August 13, 1943 dawned with gloomy gray skies and a rumble of thunder in the distance. It actually reminded me a bit of thundery August days back home in Kansas, and I got sort of misty-eyed just thinking about it. But unfortunately the thunder only proved to Davis that catastrophe was in store, and even the lucky penny didn't seem to reassure him.

"I'm gonna get struck by lightning, I just know it," he said as we stood in line for roll call, and I sighed.

As a matter of fact all the guys seemed kind of restless, and even old Klink seemed to be uneasy, since he didn't give us a lecture on how the Krauts were winning the war. He kept looking up at the stormy-looking sky, and dismissed us almost as soon as Schultz reported that everybody was present and accounted for.

All of which made Davis even more sure that something awful was about to happen. So I wasn't real surprised to spot him sneaking over to the horseshoe pitch right after roll call. As I watched, he bent down, and quick as a wink, he snuck one of the horseshoes under his shirt.

Outside Barracks 13, Davis dragged a bench in front of the door so he could stand on it in order to reach the space above the door. As he pounded a nail into the wood to hang the horseshoe, the guys stood around and put in their two cents' worth.

"The horseshoe should be pointing up," said Gilligan. "So the good luck don't fall out."

"That's a bunch of malarkey," said Max. "It should be pointing down, so the good luck spills down on us when we go through the door."

"Up," said Wojciehowicz, chiming in.

"Down," said Haskell, just to be ornery.

Things were getting a little tense, and that was the moment Preston appeared out of nowhere. All he had to do was lift an eyebrow, and the guys all rushed to explain the situation.

Above all the commotion, Max's nasal voice could be heard. "Sorry about that, Chief," he said. "We just wanna make sure Davis does this right, on account of it being Friday the thirteenth and all."

Preston shook his head and was about to weigh in, but just then our barracks guard shuffled up.

He was a little old guy by the name of Huntzinger, and when he'd first been assigned to us Gilligan, Wojciehowicz and Haskell had a little fun with him by switching their names around and changing position in line during roll call. But poor old Huntzinger never seemed to notice, so it wasn't so much fun after a while. Preston called a halt to it eventually, saying it was like shooting fish in a barrel, so why not concentrate our energies on something worthwhile, eh?

And as a matter of fact we got sort of fond of the old guy, and we really tried not to give him much trouble after that. So when Huntzinger came near, Davis decided to pounce on him for some advice.

"Up or down?" he demanded.

Huntzinger looked up at the horseshoe with a very serious look on his face. "Oben, natürlich!"

"Huh?" said Davis.

"He means 'up'," said Preston, and he turned to the guard. "There's no problem with the boys hanging a horseshoe, is there, Corporal?"

"Nein," said Huntzinger. "Today, you need it."

"Aha!" said Davis. "You know what today is, then."

"Ja, es ist Freitag, der dreizehnte!"

"Friday the thirteenth," Preston translated. He gave Huntzinger a curious look. "You don't really believe today is bad luck, do you?"

The old guy shrugged. "Why take chances? Besides, this is an unlucky summer anyway."

"Why?" asked Wojciehowicz.

"Because of der Marienkäfer," the old guy said. "A little red insect, shiny and almost round, with black spots—"

"A ladybug," said Preston. (Our barracks chief knows his bugs.)

"Ja, ja, what you call a ladybug—it is a Glücksbringer, it brings luck, you know? I have not seen any this summer, that is bad luck in itself. So your horseshoe is a good idea." He sighed. "But that is not why I am here. I came to tell you that Herr General Burkhalter will be here soon to make an inspection, so you must make sure the barracks is clean and the compound is picked up."

We all watched as Huntzinger shuffled off again. Davis said gloomily, "There you go! Even the Krauts know something awful's gonna happen."

Preston nodded thoughtfully. "An unexpected visit from Burkhalter is bad enough, Friday the thirteenth or not. We'd better get to work, boys."

As he said this, there was another rumble of thunder in the distance, and right away Davis volunteered to stay indoors and sweep out the barracks. See, he was convinced that it would be safer than hanging around the compound waiting for lightning to strike. Preston sighed and agreed, and the rest of us guys just shrugged and went off to look for spikes and bags for clean-up duty.

We went around all the camp buildings and started picking up the bits of paper and cigarette butts and stuff that always seem to accumulate in the compound. The sky was still overcast, but the rumbling of thunder stopped after a while and I figured it was safe for Davis to come back outside.

He was busy stuffing all the odds and ends under the bunks and straightening the blankets, and wouldn't come out. "Just let me know when the inspection's about to start, okay?"

Soon enough a staff car rolled through the front gates, and Burkhalter and a couple of other goons climbed out. They went into the Kommandantur, and Huntzinger hurried over to us, waving his arms. "You must line up for inspection! Schnell!"

The guys started to line up and Preston went off to collect a few stragglers. Meanwhile I hurried into the barracks to get Davis.

"Come on out," I said. "Inspection will be any minute now and we gotta line up."

"What's it like out there?"

"It's still cloudy, but no thunder now. You'll be fine, so hurry up!"

So of course the minute we stepped out of the barracks, there was a flickering in the western sky and almost immediately a rumble of thunder. Davis was about to turn tail and head back into the barracks, but I had hold of his arm. "We gotta stay out here!" I told him.

"Oh yeah?" Then he got one of those looks on his face. "The water tower!"

He broke free of my hold and ran over to it, while I hustled after him. "You idiot!" I yelled. "That's as bad as standing under a tree!"

"No, it ain't!" He was standing underneath it now and he pointed to the wooden posts supporting the tank. "When the lightning hits, it'll be conducted right into the ground! See?"

I joined him under the tower and looked at the posts too. "Are you sure about that? Shouldn't there be some metal or something to conduct the electricity? Maybe you should ask Sergeant McMahon."

We both stared at the posts for a moment. Then I shook myself and said, "Never mind that, lightning is NOT going to strike you today! We need to get in line!"

By this time Huntzinger was a few feet away, jumping up and down and yelling at us in German. So I yelled too, and Davis yelled back at me, and I grabbed hold of his arm again.

"No, I won't go!" he said. The poor guy was just beside himself.

The next thing I knew, Burkhalter came out of the Kommandantur with his goons, followed by Klink. He looked around the compound where everybody was neatly lined up, except for me and Davis of course. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Schultz hurrying over toward us, and I caught a glimpse of Colonel Hogan, who was standing in line in front of Barracks 2 as calm as you please. But his arms were folded and we all know what that means.

Huntzinger kept yelling and I kept pulling, and Davis reached out to grab anything he could to keep me from dragging him out from under the tower. Naturally the thing he grabbed happened to be the chain dangling from the water tank above our heads.

SPLOOSH!

When a few hundred gallons' worth of Wasser ends up being dumped on your head, you can really feel it, let me tell you. For a moment I couldn't think, let alone see anything. But Davis and I wiped the water out of our eyes and we could see Huntzinger and Schultz standing there looking horrified.

Then Burkhalter came toward us, and he was shaking all over. I thought we were goners for sure, but it turned out he was shaking with...well, laughter. That fat old Kraut laughed so long and so hard we could see tears running down his pudgy cheeks.

There was another rumble of thunder and Burkhalter looked up at the sky. He waved his hand at the Kommandant and said, "I think I should be on my way before we all get drenched, Klink. I believe we can postpone the inspection until my next visit, but danke for the entertainment!"

And he and his pals drove off.

Much later, I pointed out to Davis that it was pretty unlikely that lightning would find its way to us in the cooler, and he was forced to agree. As we sat there shivering and listening to the rain coming down outside, Sergeant Schultz escorted Colonel Hogan to our cell.

"The Kommandant says five minutes only, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said.

"Thanks, Schultz." The Colonel watched him go, and then turned to us.

Davis and I stared at him through the bars, and you can bet we were real nervous. But gosh, he wasn't even mad!

"That was certainly interesting, fellas," he said. "We had an emergency diversion planned because Newkirk and Carter were out of camp, and I didn't want their absence being noted during the inspection. As it turned out, it wasn't necessary—because of you two. But how did you know we needed to get Burkhalter to forgo the inspection?"

Davis looked up at him and sighed. "Just lucky, I guess."