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

"Relax, Carter. You'll do fine."

Carter's expression, although it couldn't exactly be described as malevolent, definitely boded ill for someone. "Gee, Colonel, why can't Newkirk be the woman? He's pretty good at it, y'know! And I could be the son, just like we did that one time."

Colonel Hogan folded his arms and shook his head decisively. "Forget it! From what I hear, Mama and Sonny Boy made quite a name for themselves in Hammelburg. Those guards you tried to con outside Luftwaffe Intelligence Headquarters won't forget you in a hurry, and they've probably told everyone they know about the crazy old lady and her very, very strange son."

"All right by me, guv'nor, if I'm not the woman this time," Newkirk offered. "Wouldn't mind if I never put on a frock again, not to mention the corset."

"Moi, aussi," said LeBeau. "And I am very happy that you did not consider me for this mission, mon Colonel."

"I considered you, LeBeau, but having you pose as a woman the last time was enough," replied Hogan. "Your five-o'clock shadow gives you away, and besides, weren't you at the mercy of some pretty amorous soldiers when you were accosted during that reconnaissance mission?"

LeBeau shuddered. "Do not remind me! I barely escaped with my virtue intact."

"Don't worry, LeBeau," Hogan reassured him with a grin. "I'd pose as a woman myself before I let you do it again."

Carter was still disgruntled. "But why me, sir? I'm not even that great looking as a guy, and when I played mother of the bride at Claude Boucher's wedding..."

"You were a sight to see, mate," Newkirk chuckled. He tilted his head to one side, considering. "But then we 'ad to fix you up in a hurry, Andrew. Now that we've a bit o' time, I reckon we could do a better job."

Hogan said firmly, "Carter, listen up. You're slender, you've got big blue eyes and a nice smile. The rest is detail!" He turned to the others. "LeBeau, Newkirk, make him pretty—and that's an order."

The next day, Kinch handed a sheaf of papers to Hogan. "There you go, sir. The alternate plans for that attack on the Russian front."

Hogan looked over the papers with a smile, and then slid them into a modest lady's handbag. "Perfect. This will put a whole new twist on the attack, and General Reinhardt will wonder why everything's going wrong."

LeBeau was occupied with his transformation of Carter, and he spoke without looking up from his task. As he delicately shaded a beauty mark on Carter's cheek, he said, "This should perhaps be an easier mission than most, d'accord? A simple switch of the plans, and no need to photograph anything."

"Not so simple," said Kinch. "We're sure that Reinhardt will have the authentic plans with him, but whether they'll be in a briefcase or on his person, we just don't know."

"Piece o' cake, either way," boasted Newkirk. "I'll 'ave those plans in a twinkling, from 'is pocket or from 'is briefcase. All I need is to have my chum 'ere keep the General occupied."

He placed a few more stitches in the garment Hilda had donated to the cause, and shook it out, graciously accepting the admiration of the denizens of Barracks 2.

Carter, however, was anything but pleased. "That dress is real pretty, Newkirk, but how the heck am I supposed to keep the General occupied?"

"Feminine wiles, Andrew," said Kinch. "You know—the stuff that makes you want to get to know a girl better."

Carter had a blank expression on his face, but maybe that was because LeBeau was wielding a mascara wand at the moment and Carter didn't want to risk an eye injury. "You mean, like when they smile at you and ask all about you, even when they're not really interested?"

"That's it," said Kinch. "You do that with this general, and gaze adoringly at him. Don't forget to flutter those eyelashes, either, after all the work LeBeau's putting in on them."

Hogan closed the handbag and put it on the table. "How are they set for transportation, Kinch?"

"Sergeant Freimuth is borrowing a truck for his twelve hour pass, and the guys can sneak inside it before he leaves the compound. Freimuth will be stopping at his home about a mile outside of Hammelburg..."

"So 'e can drop in and refresh the missus," interjected Newkirk slyly.

Kinch's mustache twitched, but he continued, "So he can visit his wife. Newkirk and Carter can hop out then and walk into Hammelburg, head for the Hofbräu, and wait for General Reinhardt to show up. He always visits the place when he's traveling through Hammelburg, and he's due tonight."

Hogan nodded. "Good; I foresee no problems with this one. Newkirk, you'll be Herr Edmund Dräcker, an elderly gentleman from out-of-town who is visiting with his pretty young granddaughter, Marta. Carter, you'll engage the General in conversation while Newkirk does his bit. When he gives you the all-clear, gracefully terminate your conversation and the two of you get the hell out of there. Is that clear?"

"Right-o, guv'nor!"

Carter was less enthusiastic. "You got it, sir."

So far, everything had gone without a hitch. As the truck lurched to a stop outside of a cottage on the outskirts of Hammelburg, Newkirk and Carter listened intently for sounds of Freimuth exiting the truck and entering his home. The truck door slammed, eager footsteps followed, and another more muted slamming of a door was heard.

Newkirk touched Carter's sleeve to alert him, and then jumped out of the back of the truck. He crouched down in the shadows, carefully scanning the darkness. After a moment he became aware Carter was not beside him, and he could hear frantic scrabbling noises coming from the back of the truck. He turned and peered inside.

"Carter!" he whispered. "What in bloody 'ell are you doing?"

Carter stuck his head out of the truck, his eyes wide. "I can't find it!"

"Find what?"

"My purse!"

"Bloody 'ell! Did you drop it in there?"

"It's not here! I must have dropped it in the compound. You know, when I was trying to climb into the truck without getting a run in my stockings."

Newkirk reached in and grabbed Carter's arm. "Get out, you twit!"

Carter climbed down with some difficulty, trying not to disarrange his dress, and the two of them hurried toward the road, away from the truck and the cottage. Carter was about to apologize (and Newkirk was about to explode), when two dark shapes emerged from the surrounding shadows.

The two Heroes stood frozen as the shapes materialized into German shepherd dogs, both panting from exertion. One of them came up to Carter and dropped an object at his feet.

He picked it up gingerly. "Holy cow!"

Newkirk cast his eyes heavenward. "Don't tell me Fritzi brought you the bloomin' purse!"

"Yep, and the papers are inside, too." Carter bent down to pat Fritzi's head. "Thanks, pal!"

Newkirk heaved a sigh of exasperated relief. "Let's go, mate. We've got another mile to go to get to the Hofbräu."

Fritzi and Bruno watched as the two humans set off down the road toward town.

"What do we do now?" asked Fritzi.

Bruno thought for a moment, and came to a decision. "The Bäckerstraße Irregulars monitor the Twilight Barking, don't they?"

"So I've heard. Those cats are a bunch of busybodies."

"All right, then. Let's go down the road a bit." After the two stalag dogs were at some distance from the cottage but still not yet within the town limits of Hammelburg, Bruno sat down and began to bark. He listened for a moment, and there was a faint reply.

He nodded with satisfaction. "Message received. Let's go home."

As they trotted back toward Luftstalag 13, Fritzi remarked, "What do you think Carter and Newkirk are up to this time?"

"No idea, but Carter was definitely wearing the clothing of a female human," said Bruno. "I guess he'll be trying to fool someone at the Hofbräu, but can you imagine anyone thinking he's a female?"

Fritzi snickered. "Humans will fall for anything."

The Hofbräu was busy this evening, and the two people who had just entered peered around for an available table. A big ginger tomcat watched them incuriously from his perch on the bar, but a rosy-cheeked barmaid hurried toward them with a welcoming smile.

"Allow me to show you to a table, mein Herr."

The elderly gentleman favored the damsel with a gallant bow. "Danke, Fräulein. Just my dear granddaughter and myself tonight."

The two followed the barmaid to a table in a quiet corner. The elderly gentleman observed with satisfaction that it commanded a good view of the entire room, and he deftly pulled out a chair for his dainty companion. "There you go, meine Schätzi!"

She gracefully took her seat, peeping at him through ridiculously long eyelashes. "Danke, Opa!" Lifting a hand to push aside of lock of glossy red-gold hair (the wig being one of Private Menowski's more inspired creations), she murmured, "I don't see him, Newkirk."

Newkirk nodded. "Not here yet, it seems. It'd be a right old mess if 'e decided to go to the Hauserhof instead, wouldn't it?"

"It sure would—wait, who's that?"

They watched as an imposing figure swept through the door, dressed in the uniform of a Heer general. Apparently an old and valued customer, he was greeted effusively by the barkeeper himself, and escorted to a table on the other side of the room.

Newkirk nodded to Carter, who took a deep gulping breath as he gazed at Newkirk with suddenly panic-stricken eyes. "I don't know about this..."

"Chin up, Andrew!" Newkirk said in a low voice. "Nobody plays a Kraut as well as you do—a nice little Fräulein should be a doddle, eh?"

Carter bit his lip; then his expression smoothed out, and all at once he became a young lady again. She lifted her chin, tidied her hair, and rose from her seat. "Oh, Opa, isn't that Herr General Reinhardt? I so want to meet him!"

The young lady hurried across the room, followed more slowly by her tottering grandfather. "Oh, sir! Herr General Reinhardt, isn't it?"

The General blinked at the sudden intrusion, but he got to his feet with a courteous smile. "Why yes, I am, Fräulein."

She clasped her hands to her (padded) breast, and gazed at him with limpid blue eyes. "I just wanted to thank you, sir. Thank you so much for your gallant service to our beloved Fatherland!"

The elderly man at her side bowed slightly to Reinhardt and clicked his heels. "Bitte, Herr General, you must forgive my granddaughter. She has a tendency to hero-worship, as you can see. We did not mean to intrude."

"Not at all, mein Herr. Perhaps you would join me at my table, and partake of a little schnapps? Here—let me set my coat aside, so." The General suited his action to his words by draping his greatcoat over an empty chair, and the three sat down.

Soon they were all chatting in a most congenial manner, and the General smiled approvingly on the young lady who so obviously admired him. His manner was relaxed and his attention was on the young lady, so it came as a distinct jolt when he exclaimed suddenly, "What is going on here? Kindly take your hands off my coat!"

The elderly gentleman was all apologies, but the sheaf of papers tumbling from the pocket of the General's greatcoat and onto the floor told its own tale. The General gave him a suspicious glare and was bending down to retrieve the papers when...

"OUCH!"

Reinhardt looked at his fingers, which bore bite marks, along with a few drops of blood. He scowled and lifted the tablecloth to reveal a large orange cat stretched out on top of some of the scattered papers.

The barkeeper hurried over, anxious over the sudden commotion. He spotted the cat and clucked his tongue.

"Oh, Gustav, you bad boy! Get away from those papers!"

"Rowr," said Gustav.

The young lady lifted the tablecloth too and gave a genteel shriek. "Oh, my! Opa, it is a cat! A tremendously large, fierce cat! Forgive me, Herr General, I am so afraid of the beasts! I think I am going to faint..." Her eyelashes fluttered as she put a languid hand to her forehead.

"Herr General," quavered the old gentleman, "I did not mean to touch your coat, but I could see that cat was pulling something from the pocket; I only wished to stop him."

The barkeeper spoke up as well, as he looked at Reinhardt appealingly. "Herr General, forgive me! That wretched cat—he is so inquisitive, but a very good mouser, you must understand..."

By this time General Reinhardt was a trifle red in the face for having made a fuss over the antics of a mere feline. "No, no, it is all right! Danke, danke, I shall take care of the papers myself, if you would kindly remove the cat, mein Herr."

"Of course, Herr General." The barkeeper scooped the cat up in his arms and scurried away, as the General gathered up his papers and stuffed them into his greatcoat pocket.

The young lady gazed at Reinhardt even more worshipfully. "Thank you so much, kind sir, for getting rid of that awful cat, and so swiftly too! How can I ever thank you?"

Reinhardt puffed up a little. "Well," he began, but the elderly gentleman interrupted.

"No, no, my dear, we must leave the General in peace now, for we have a train to catch, remember?"

The young lady lowered her eyes as she rose from the table. "Ja, of course, Opa. It was a great honor to meet you, Herr General."

The General got to his feet as well, and he took the slender hand stretched out to him. He kissed it punctiliously, and said, "The honor—and the pleasure—were all mine, I assure you!"

The blue eyes lifted to meet his, and she gave him an enchanting smile. "Farewell, dear sir."

The elderly gentleman took her arm and steered her away from the table. "Danke for your hospitality, Herr General. Perhaps we shall meet again?"

"It would be my pleasure, of course." The General watched as the pair made their way to the door, and he shrugged and shook his head. As he resumed his seat, he looked up at the hovering barmaid—another pretty Fräulein! He smiled and said, "One more schnapps, bitte."

The elderly gentleman and his granddaughter hurried down the street, not slackening their pace until the town limits were reached.

Not safe yet, but certainly safer than they had been a few minutes before, the two finally slowed their steps. Carter glanced at his companion and ventured, "I'm afraid to ask: were those the General's own plans falling out of that pocket, or did you get a chance to switch the alternate plans before he noticed?"

"You 'ave no faith, mate! I managed to switch the plans all right and tight, but I could see the General lookin' me way and I didn't have time to put 'em neatly in the pocket—that's 'ow they ended up on the floor. The General's own plans are right 'ere, see?" He prodded the handbag that was slung over Carter's arm, and Carter grinned.

But as they trudged the three weary miles back to Luftstalag 13, Carter pondered the evening's events and he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy about the way the mission had gone. He said at last, torn between doubt and hope: "Well, all's well that ends well, right?"

"Not likely, chum!" Newkirk huffed, apparently feeling a little uneasy himself. "When the Colonel finds out 'ow you lost that ruddy 'andbag, and 'ow one of the dogs 'ad to find it for you..."

"Oh, yeah?" Carter glared at him in the darkness. "What about the cat who saved your bacon, huh?"

"Oh, bloody 'ell!"

After they walked on for a few moments in an uncomfortable silence, Newkirk finally said in a conciliatory tone, "Listen, mate. We got the job done, and that's what matters. And just 'ow we got it done is our own business, right?"

"You got it, boy."