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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There was no time, no place. No identity. Not even an awareness of gender, or body. Just a wild, crushing pain, unyielding and all-encompassing. As he was moved, a moan came from somewhere within the nearly electrified mass of anguish that held his mind and body prisoner, and a voice he could not identify as male or female responded in what was intended to be a soothing gesture, to rest, to quieten down, as the ordeal was nearly finished. But he could not obey, lost in agony and able to follow only the commands of the all-embracing torture that was his reality, pulling away, and begging for release.
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As he became more alert to his surroundings, United States Army Air Corps Colonel Robert Hogan's mind tried to focus on what had brought him to this point. His mind flashed scenes before him like a projector with a blinking light. A lightning flash. A fall. A searing impact just below his left collarbone that sent him flying. A scream. None of it made sense. And yet he somehow knew that he could not rest easy unless he knew he was safe. Safe with—whom? He struggled to remember. And where?
He gasped as his return to consciousness signaled a violent knife of pain to stab his upper chest. Gritting his teeth, he tried hard not to cry out and instead attempted to form a word: "Where--?"
"There, there, Colonel, do not try to move too quickly," said a voice from somewhere nearby. That same voice he remembered soothing him however long ago, trying to calm him. Easily restraining him as he tried to rise, Hogan saw long delicate fingers as they came up to wipe his sweat-matted dark hair from his brow and realized his caregiver was a woman. A woman? So this was hardly Stalag Luft 13, where he headed a sabotage and intelligence operation under the guise of being a Prisoner of War under the German Luftwaffe.
"Where am I?" he asked through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut to force out the pain.
"You are safe, Colonel Hogan; you are safe here with us."
Hogan opened his eyes and through hazy vision made out the outline of a slight form with soft, flowing hair. Still unable to focus properly, and still overwhelmed by the fire racing through his body, he panted, "Where's 'here'? Who are you?"
"Oh, my poor Colonel," cooed the kind voice. The smooth, cool fingers caressed his sore cheek with great tenderness. "Can you not remember how we found you?"
Hogan fought against the assault on his senses and tried again to see his comforter. "Tiger?" he guessed incredulously, hardly daring to believe he could be in the company of allies. He struggled to sit up again but found his body would not obey him, and bit his lip hard to stifle a moan.
"Sshh… Oui, Colonel Hogan. C'est moi, Marie." Hogan nearly fainted in relief. Out on an intelligence mission for the Allies deep in Nazi Germany, he had somehow ended up with the determined and beautiful French Resistance leader by his bedside instead of the Gestapo. He allowed himself the luxury of letting down his guard, and Tiger oh so gently ran her hand up his arm and face as he started to lose himself in the warm blankets. "You have been wounded; you must rest."
"Where--?" he asked again faintly, swallowing painfully, barely able to comprehend her response.
"We are in a safe house, a farmhouse a few miles from Stalag 13. Do you remember what happened?"
Hogan mumbled incoherently, his eyes fluttering shut; Tiger took that to mean he did not. She ran a cool damp cloth across his forehead as he faded into the consolation of nothingness, and knew that he would demand answers when he was stronger.
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"So I blew it," Hogan said bitterly when Tiger explained what she knew to him.
"No, that is not so," she disagreed.
"Of course it's so," Hogan insisted. "How do you think I got shot?" Hogan's memory was clear enough to show him some picture of the last few hours. He had been due to meet an Underground agent deep in the woods. Violent rain storms had slowed his progress, making him late to the rendezvous point, and a German patrol had appeared in place of his contact. Hogan had run for it and tripped in the tangled undergrowth, only to have a bullet smash into his chest just below his shoulder when he spun around to regain his balance. Though the pain was unfathomable, he had kept running, shaking uncontrollably in the wetness, falling hard on the slippery ground and tumbling down a rocky embankment, somehow stumbling across a hiding place he had heard of but had never had time to investigate. And it was there that he had collapsed, clutching the precious information, bleeding heavily, praying as his body throbbed from the invasion of the bullet and the deep cuts and bruises that he had acquired on the chase, praying harder when he started to feel nothing at all. He remembered thinking through chattering teeth that it was odd his life had not flashed before his eyes, as he had thought it would; instead he thought of those he was leaving behind, and those who had not been at the rendezvous. And he was thinking that this was a hell of a way to die, alone and hunted by the enemy.
Vaguely he remembered voices. "My God, get him out, get him out now!"… "Hold still, Colonel, we must get this bullet out."... "Sshh, now, it is nearly done. You are safe, Colonel."… And he remembered hands, trying to be gentle but inflicting only torture as they moved him. Holding him down as he screamed in agony, when without anesthetic someone dug into his body to remove the lead that threatened infection. Soothing him as he drifted in and out of fevered awareness. But a full picture eluded him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to fill in the blanks.
"You kept the information safe, Colonel Hogan. We have passed it on as you were intending to do."
"Great," Hogan hissed, concentrating only on the excruciating pulsing in his chest that threatened to engulf him. His head pounded mercilessly, threatening to split open, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Hogan shivered.
"Here, have some of this." Tiger brought a flask to Hogan's quivering lips. He felt a burning sensation as the liquid raced down his throat. He moaned involuntarily, praying for respite. "I am sorry, Colonel; we have no morphine."
"I have to get back to camp. It must be nearly time for roll call," he said, trying to think clearly. The success of Hogan's operation hinged on the German officers in charge of Stalag 13 not being suspicious—and on the camp maintaining its "no successful escapes" record. If he wasn't there when it was time for the head count, that would all be put at risk.
"You cannot be moved now, Colonel Hogan. It is not safe for you—"
"And it won't be safe for my men if I don't get back there in time," Hogan interrupted adamantly. "What time is it?"
"About three o'clock in the morning."
"Look," Hogan said, forcing himself up with difficulty, "I appreciate the nursing but I've gotta go." Damn. His left side throbbed with even the slightest movement; he must have cracked some ribs in his fall. He swung his feet over the bed and immediately swayed drunkenly, dizzy and nauseous. Tiger's hands were there at once to stop him from falling, helping him to maintain his dignity. "Thanks. But really, I've got to get back."
Knowing she would not be able to convince him otherwise, Tiger agreed. "Very well," she said. "But it will take a few minutes to organize. You will lay back and rest until it is time," she ordered. Hogan's eyes were not alert and he let her lay him back on the pillow without resistance. His eyes closed instantly. Tiger studied his scratched and battered face for a moment before covering him with a blanket, then moved quietly to the next room to arrange for his return to Stalag 13. It was against her wishes, but she resigned herself to the fact that Hogan would not accept any other alternative. At least his loyal men would look after him.
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Hogan's chalky face and unsteady gait alarmed Andrew Carter as he stumbled towards the young American Sergeant in the tunnel under Barracks Two. The man Hogan considered the innocent in his operation came running to his commanding officer's side. "Colonel Hogan! Boy, were we worried about you!" he cried, nearly bowling Hogan over. Carter broke off as he realized Hogan had winced at his touch and was barely standing on his own. Suddenly his eyes spied the bruises and cuts on Hogan's face, and he gasped. "Sit down—sit down here, sir," he said, suddenly all gentleness, helping lower Hogan to the floor and leaning him against the tunnel wall. "I'll get help."
Just a minute later Carter returned with three others in tow: Corporal Louis Le Beau, Sergeant James Kinchloe, and RAF Corporal Peter Newkirk. The quartet that were Hogan's closest operatives surrounded their commanding officer and all seemed to try to talk at once. "Colonel, what happened to you?" asked Le Beau, finally switching from his native French to English.
Hogan labored to respond as his right-hand man Kinchloe started pulling gently at Hogan's clothes so he could examine his superior officer. "Bit of a run-in…with the Krauts," he grimaced, as Kinch found the hole in the front of Hogan's shirt where the bullet had plowed through to his chest. Kinch glanced at the others as he inspected the hole and the white bandaging beneath it.
"Who patched you up, Colonel?" asked Kinch, as Hogan shied away from his hand.
"Some sadist," Hogan joked weakly. Then, feeling the last of his strength leaving him, he gasped, "Tiger. Tiger was there." Hogan closed his eyes, and his body suddenly sagged against Newkirk, who was on his other side.
"He's out," Newkirk said, looking at the others. "What happened out there? Why didn't Tiger come with 'im?"
"It doesn't look like we'll get the answer to that any time soon," Kinch said. "Come on. Let's get the Colonel upstairs. We need to get him warm. And dry."
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Hogan's throat was too dry to release the painful moan that was hanging in it. He ineffectually tried to ask for water, but found it was at his lips anyway, as Le Beau had been holding a vigil by his bedside, just waiting for Hogan's eyelids to flicker open.
"Drink, Colonel," Le Beau said softly, supporting Hogan's head as it came up to meet the glass.
Hogan took one or two swallows then lay back weakly. "What time is it?" he asked. His head and his chest were throbbing in time. "How long have I been here?"
"Not long, Colonel. You came in through the tunnel and we brought you up here. Do you remember?"
Why did everyone keep asking him that? And why was the answer always No? "Had a lot on my mind lately," he wanted to retort. But he could only manage a feeble shake of his head, which he instantly regretted. He winced.
The door to his room opened, and Kinch walked in, followed by Carter and Newkirk. "Thought we heard talking in here," Kinch said, coming to Hogan's side. "How are you feeling, Colonel?"
"Been better," Hogan admitted faintly.
"We wanted to get Wilson, but it's too close to roll call… Krauts everywhere, and part of the tunnel to Barracks Five collapsed in the rain storms so we couldn't use that, either."
Hogan whispered, "Anyone hurt?"
"No; no one but you," Kinch answered.
"You were pretty banged up, gov'nor," Newkirk said. "There's gotta be quite a story to go with it."
"Yeah; I wanna hear about how Tiger got involved in this," Carter said.
"Tiger?" Hogan repeated.
"Yes, sir," Kinch said. "When you were still in the tunnel you said Tiger looked after you. We didn't realize she was going to be part of this mission; how did you get together with her?"
Hogan tried to put all the flashes going through his brain in order. But he failed, and he found himself becoming keenly aware of his battered body. He unsuccessfully stifled a groan as he jockeyed for a position that would relieve the soreness he felt all over.
"The answer'll have to wait," Kinch said to the others. "I think it's just too much right now."
The men respectfully let Hogan wave them away with his protests of mere tiredness, then gathered in the common room as he drifted back to sleep or unconsciousness. "We are going to have to contact the Underground to find out what happened," Le Beau declared.
"Let's give Colonel Hogan a chance to tell us himself," Kinch put in. "He'll tell us as soon he's able."
"Sure he will, Kinch, but when might that be? He didn't even seem to remember telling us about Tiger. Right now we don't know if there's any danger to the operation. Why did the Colonel come back here alone? Where does Tiger fit in? Had the Colonel finished what he went out to do when he took a bullet or not? Who's got the information he took with him?" Newkirk listed his unanswered questions.
"Colonel Hogan wouldn't have come back here if it meant any danger to us. Even if he was hurt," Carter defended.
"I know that, Carter," Newkirk retorted.
Kinch could see an argument starting, and that was the last thing they need right now. "Then we wait," he said sternly. Newkirk looked offended. Kinch added more gently, "You have a point, Peter, but we can afford to wait till after roll call."
"I was only suggesting it to protect the gov'nor," Newkirk muttered.
"I know," replied Kinch. "And we may have to do it. But let's give the Colonel a chance; you know how upset he'll be if he thinks we've jumped the gun."
"Yeah, you're right," admitted Newkirk, relaxing. "Let's just hope he makes it to roll call."
As it turned out they would have had a hard time stopping him. A little while later, with his men in and out of his room like it had a revolving door, Hogan regained his senses and emerged. Pale and unsteady but dressed in his bomber jacket and crush cap, he came to the table. "Let's go," he said.
"Colonel, you don't have to go to roll call," said Kinch hesitantly. "We can always tell Klink you're sick."
"No sense in lying to the man, Kinch," said Hogan, determined not to get annoyed by the coddling. He knew his men were trying to look after him, but for some reason he could never accept being cared for. Except when Tiger had been there... "We have a lot to do today."
"We do?" asked Carter, surprised, and a little disappointed.
"Yep."
"What do we have to do, Colonel?" asked Le Beau, wary of Hogan's surface energy.
"First of all, we have to contact London. We need to know what they made of the information that I—" he stopped, as humiliation burned through him—"that Tiger passed on." You've never so fully failed before, he thought. You didn't even know anyone was taking the information from you. A rod of pain unexpectedly lanced his throbbing wound. Hogan arched his back and closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath. In his mind the sound of his own agonized screaming echoed hauntingly.
"Sit, Colonel," said Le Beau, moving aside hastily as Carter and Kinch tried to guide Hogan down.
"I'll be fine," Hogan said, cursing the lack of painkillers in the camp but sitting nonetheless. After a moment to collect himself, he resumed as though nothing had happened. "And we have to see what Klink's got up his sleeve. He's been strutting around here the last couple of days like the Kraut that ate the canary. We owe it to ourselves to be let in on the secret. It could mean an unexpected guest, and we don't like to be unprepared."
"There's been no word on the coffeepot, Colonel," reported Newkirk, referring to the bug they had planted in Kommandant Wilhelm Klink's office, which they monitored via an innocent-looking coffeepot back in the barracks.
"Then that settles it; we'll have to investigate more closely," Hogan said.
A loud voice bellowed for the men to file outside to be counted. Hogan stood up stiffly and headed for the door. As he passed Kinch, the radioman said confidentially, "We've requested a morphine drop, Colonel. Carter and Le Beau are picking it up tonight."
Hogan let his eyes convey his honest gratitude, and walked out without speaking. Let's hope time flies.