Her Second Chance: Demise

Note and Disclaimer: I'll be saying this every time. I don't own the characters to Hogan's Heroes nor do I own any of the songs I have posted. I would like to thank those who have created this series and those who have written these great songs. However, the character I have created, Colonel Michalovich, belongs to me, so if you want to use her in any story, please email me with permission first.

This is part four of my story of the female spy Colonel Michalovich. There are three other parts previous, so please read them before you read this one. However, this story I'm finding to be very interesting and explaining some questions, in a way. One of the heroes, after so many others, has, through some meddling, given up the greatest thing a person could have – his life. Enjoy!

Journal of Colonel Nikola Anna Michalovich, U.S. Army: LC8547960
June 6, 1944 – D-Day Finally!
Hammelburg, Germany: Luftstalag 13, the Tunnels – 2105 Hours

I can't believe it, I really can't! The Allied Forces have landed in Normandy, France early this morning and are fighting at the continent…in France! So, all six months of planning, looking over the Nazis' forces and destroying whatever we (me, Rob and his crew of four, Newkirk, Kinch, Carter and LeBeau) could get our hands on had not been for naught, for the battle that is now raging in the coast of Normandy, France. This means the end of the war is within sight! We could be rid of this hellhole called Stalag 13 soon enough!

I have not been able to write since New Year's, for it was too busy and the suspense for this day was almost unbearable. Our hard work paid off, though. It has been the usual bombing of railways, trains, ammo dumps, etc. that it all led up to this great day, the beginning of the end! And now, Rob has finished his insane plan of "making" Kommandant Klink Chief of Staff to our Hitler (also known as Kinch), asking for one colonel and not a general, that can "follow orders." The real Chief of Staff, General Scheider, has been assigned by Hitler (again, also known as Kinch) to be Kommandant of Stalag 13. Well, the real culprit in all of this, Scheider's wife Lilli, really made this happen and without her, there would not be no working plans of making the German forces stay where they were.

I enjoyed Lilli's company and talked with her before she went early this morning, after the announcement of D-Day to our operation via the radio. We were the only women around the area, so it was a pleasure knowing someone of the same gender for once (I have only come to know few women, some of them friends, in my life). In truth, these conversations were different, as I am usually surrounded by men. I now, through our talks, understood how Lilli came into this marriage she was stuck in for three years. I knew about her anguish and loyalty caught between her husband and the Allied Forces. By the end of her stay here, I felt so alone and empty of a companion, for she truly shines as such. I hope to see her in England after the war.

I learned a lot of things during these discussions as well. I'll tell the truth. It was weird just letting Lilli go like that. I never realized how much I missed female company and it still stings me to think about Nancy and all those who have sacrificed themselves for me either by just standing by me and/or dying. As of last December, when Rob came back from the Gestapo alive, I mentally vowed to never let myself be totally and emotionally involved anymore. I love Rob, I truly do, but I cannot afford another breakdown resembling that of when he was arrested by the Gestapo. I have to learn to live without Rob, like he said I should. I went as far as not flirting and limited myself to small, personal moments. I know Rob understands, for he stopped too, at least, for a while. Lately, he's been aching for attention and so have I. This is for after the war, not in this serious operation. Lilli brought me out of that, and I am truly thankful.

Even so, it has been an exciting day and one that I wish I was a part of, much like the other soldiers here. I mentioned this to Rob as the lights were ordered out a few minutes ago. He replied, "But we were, Nikki. We really were a part of something." With a glimmer in his eyes, Rob added, "You have to give our Kommandant Klink some credit, too. He's mean, vicious and rotten through and through. He's also brutal, detestable and mean. Oh, wait a minute. I said that."

I laughed at him. I have not had a good laugh in a long time. It has been too apprehensive and tiring these past months.

~00~

I'm finding it strange that I am thinking about what I was taught when I was a teenager in Father's household tonight and it being 2145 hours, mind you. When I was sixteen, he had me introduced to the world and held a great party in our backyard in which I was dressed in tradition Old World Russian dress and was with a matchmaker (she deemed me worthless for marriage and I laughed about that) who made me read the Old Testament (more about marriage and intercourse). Rob has so many pictures of that day, for his family decided to take some from Ted's bedroom window. Outside his room, there was a small fire escape that faced our home and so, all of the brothers (Rob, Ted, Chris, Jimi and Jerry), including their parents, had a good giggle over the party and how many people were paying attention to me, or, in the matchmaker's case, saying how futile I am. I was bleeding mad when I saw them, for Rob came over with them one day and while I was doing the laundry in the backyard, decided to post them all over the damned house while everyone laughed away at the living room table as they drank their tea in their tall glasses.

Father, Alexander, Paul and Nicholas thought they were funny and kept some of them, one of which has landed at the bottom of my footlocker for some reason, the one with me smiling faintly at Father who is trying to help me down from the table. I don't know how that landed there, for I reserve the bottom of my footlocker for all the countless memories and painful anguishes or for those memories that I wish to hide and never share. That certain memory is more embarrassing and inhumane to me (well, I am exaggerating a bit on inhumane) than anything. That particular memory I think as another small story in my life's journey and not a piece of anguish.

I even dedicated some poem I wrote after the embarrassing incident (the party I deemed horrendous, of course, not only because it was hot that day and cruel to begin with, just dressing me that way, but because it was all older men) to the matchmaker, which Father thought was so witty. He thought it was something to sing about and even set music to it for me to make this comical scheme work more ironically.

The matchmaker, by the way, was not amused by this dedication and left in a storm of fury a few days after the gathering, screaming and swearing in Russian that I "could have that disgraceful thing!" indicating Rob. She meant to insult him and my "virginity" at the time (I admit, I was not innocent), and in turn, I wrote a prose piece which was dubbed "Samson" by Father and Paul. It is also Father's second favorite song, after "Highwayman."

I remember the wonder bread line, for it had just come out on the consumer market and it was an amazing concept to me: sliced bread became a metaphor for something new, daring and revolutionary to me. It was the idea that maybe things are not as bad as they seem to be. It was a silly intention really.

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go, I have to go
Your hair was long when we first met

Samson went back to bed
With not much hair left on his head
He ate a slice of wonder bread
And went right back to bed
And history books forgot about us
And the Bible didn't mention us
And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads
But they're just old light
Your hair was long when we first met

Samson came to my bed
And told me that my hair was red
Told me I was beautiful and came into my bed
Oh, I cut his hair myself one night
A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light
And he told me that I'd done all right
And kissed me 'til the mornin' light

Samson went back to bed
With not much hair left on his head
Ate a slice of wonder bread
And went right back to bed
Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down
We couldn't destroy a single one
And history books forgot about us
And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first

I don't think that this would make my longing for Father any less deep and fierce, but it just reminds of all the good times I've had with him before he left for Russia. G-d, I miss him with the same intensity as Rob. It's because it's all the same concept to me, this feeling of home.

I haven't seen Father in almost ten years before Auschwitz and just reading his censured (and some uncensored from the Underground) letters make me feel as if he's right there and telling me everything will be all right and that he'll be there. However, I can't say that Stalag 13 is the same thing as home though, although I can say that I am proud to serve with the men here. And maybe I can call that a piece of home.