LeBeau threw down his stirring-spoon in the pan with a clang. "I'm bored."

"What do you mean?" A surprised Carter looked up from his house of cards. "You're cooking dinner, aren't you? I thought you liked cooking."

"I do." LeBeau tore off his white hat. "But that's not what we're here for, is it."

Newkirk raised an eyebrow. "What's with you then, mate?"

"Like I said – I'm bored." LeBeau fell down on the last vacant stool by the table. "I know we've complained before about never catching a break and having two dozen missions to deal with at the same time, but this is ridiculous. There's hardly been a mission for weeks. What... for months!"

"You're daft," Newkirk scoffed, and moved one of his solitaire cards (and sneakily switched it with another one).

"Yeah. At least when there are no missions, we don't get into trouble," Carter chimed in. He placed another card on the wobbly structure, but LeBeau's slamming the table brought the whole thing fluttering down.

"Is that what we're here for? 'Not to get into trouble'? I thought we were fighting a war!"

"Well, we are," Carter said.

"By playing with cards?! I'm cooking, Kinch is listening to Berlin Betty, and Colonel Hogan..." Yeah, where was Colonel Hogan?

"Schmooching with Hilda, I guess," Carter chuckled.

"Yes. But if that's all we're here for, then I quit! I can help to save France a lot better elsewhere than by cooking and hanging around here!"

"He's right, you know," came Kinch's quiet voice from his bunk. "I'm all for staying safe, but this is a bit much. It's like we're regular prisoners."

Carter shrugged. "Well, it's not our fault that the war has been slow around here. No new factories or depots to blow up, no munition trains that need blowing up, no visiting officers to knock off – or their secret plans, no scientists to spy on and blow up, no infiltrators, no flyers to rescue, no experimental rockets to..."

"We get the picture, Carter," Kinch sighed.

"But is that a reason to sit on our bum?" LeBeau challenged.

"Well, what do you want to do about it? Get yourself into trouble deliberately?" Newkirk shook his head. "You're barmy, mate. This war is finally getting to you."

LeBeau jumped up, sending his stool flying. "Fine! You stay here and play cards all you like, but I've got a war to fight!" He stomped back to the stove and tore off his apron. "And you can make your own food from now on, too!" With that, he grabbed his jacket and barret, and stormed outside.

"Oi," Newkirk quipped. "That's bad. I mean, not that I like his French grub, but I hate cooking even more."

"Well, he's right about one thing – it has been awfully quiet lately." Carter started to shuffle the scattered cards into a pile. "You think London has forgotten about us?"

"Not London – the authors," Kinch corrected him.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, who's ultimately responsible for our adventures?" Kinch heaved a sigh. "Remember when we went to court? We sued the authors, not London."

Carter chuckled. "No, London would court-martial us right back."

"Yeah, but what are we going to do about it? We can't let LeBeau escape! We'd have to cook our own dinner!" There was a distinct hint of worry in Newkirk's voice.

"So we'll have to keep him here." Carter's eyes lit up. "Maybe we can go to court again and make the authors write more about us!"

"You're daft – that'd take ages," was Newkirk's opinion. "We need some action around here, and we need it fast! You know what a hothead LeBeau is; he'd escape before we know it!"

"Then maybe we can order the authors ourselves to write more about us?"

"That won't work. They're not in the military – they don't take orders," Kinch pointed out. "Besides, remember that they're practically all women. They'd just be miffed and ignore us even further if we'd try to order them around."

"So we need to lure them into writing about us," Carter decided. "Maybe if we gave them a challenge? A challenge they have to complete within a certain amount of time? That's sure to excite their interest." He was on a roll now. "Perhaps if we give them an opening line for a story – or several ones from which they can choose. And then we tell them they have... say a week to write a story starting with one of those lines. And then..."

"I like the idea," Kinch interrupted. "But one week is too short. Remember that these ladies from the future all have jobs and studies and so forth. They need some time to come up with a decent plot and write it. How about two weeks – you think we can keep LeBeau grounded here for two weeks?"

"Sure. If we promise him we'll have adventures aplenty soon, I'm sure he'll stay. He's part of Hogan's Heroes after all. We need him! So we need to set a date that the stories have to be published, and then we're going to be run off our feet to keep up with all the adventures that day! That'll sure make him change his mind about escaping!"

"Bloody charming..." Newkirk groused. "I'm all for keeping LeBeau here, but does it have to be so stressful?"

"Oh, maybe some of the stories will be nice ones," Carter assured him. "There are always people who write nice stories about us, too, to give us a bit of a breather. And you know what? If we give them a nice incentive to take on the challenge, we might get even more stories! Say we donate a dollar a story to the USO."

"Why not a pound a story to the Flying Nightingales?"

"Wait..." Kinch frowned, and the other two looked at him in anticipation. "These authors, I remember from Fanfic Court that they want to write about us in order to make sure the horrors of this war will not be forgotten."

"Who'd want to remember this rotten prison camp?" Newkirk scoffed.

"That's not the point. We're fighting for a real good cause here: to defeat a guy who thinks his own people are better than everyone else. That seems to have made a pretty big impression if they still remember that seventy years from now. So if we tell them we're going to donate money for that cause for every story they submit..."

Carter beamed. "Then the stories will just come pouring in!"

"Right. So what we need to do first is..."

"... to find some suitable opening lines for starters. How about everyone in this barracks submits one opening line?"

Newkirk grinned. "It was a dark and stormy night..."

"Yeah, like that. But then a little more original." Carter scrunched up his face in thought. "Okay. Each of us in this barracks submits one line. By Friday."

"Why Friday?"

A grin. "Because it's the thirteenth. Just for fun." And he continued, "And then we'll publish the challenge on Friday, and also the cause we'll be donating money to. And then the authors have two weeks to write their story (or stories), and we'll tell them to publish them exactly two weeks later – on the 27th. It'll be snowing stories that day!"

"Sounds good," Kinch decided. "So who's going to tell LeBeau?"

.

Author's note: Yes, my friends, it's time for the Short-Story Speedwriting Challenge again! Are you with us? And you don't have to send in any opening lines – The Boys of Barracks Two will take care of that themselves. Just make sure you check the site on Friday to find out what this year's opening lines will be from which you can choose. There'll be... 13 of them :-P

Sgt. Moffitt has graciously committed herself to make a generous donation for each story posted that complies with the rules of the challenge, so it's more than just the fun of writing and reading that's at stake here. More about the rules and the cause in Friday's update!