I don't own Hogan's Heroes. Just to let you know.
Ever wonder what happened to the guys Hogan and our boys send back to England?! Me too. So, here's a look at what happened to one of our favorite escapees from "Reservations are Required".
It was hot- unbearably hot even for so late in the day. The sound of a million bugs filled the air as a hot wind shook the big leafy trees that surrounded the camp. The wild, exotic plants that grew around the perimeter proved better than barbed wire. There was no way a man could find his way through the thick jungle and to freedom. Even if he was lucky enough to get away from the camp, there was nowhere to go. Nothing but hundreds of miles of jungle, every inch full of poisonous reptiles, rabid monkeys and plane-sized mosquitoes.
Lieutenant Braden sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. His muscles protested as he shovelled another heap of dirt behind him. It would take another thirty minutes or so to make a decent sized grave for Captain McKenney. He briefly wondered if his captors would give him that long. Probably not, so he would have to put a bit more effort in if he wanted to give the captain a decent resting place. What he would end up with however would be a shallow grave like the other dead prisoners.
He briefly wondered why he had bothered. Why had he insisted on digging McKenney's grave himself? After all, he was already tired and sore from a full day's work. He desperately wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep in hopes he would wake up and find everything had just been a nightmare. It wasn't his job to dig graves anyway- that was left to the wounded that stayed behind while he and the other fit men went to work on the railway.
Even as he thought this, he felt ashamed. He and McKenney had been through a lot together. It was the least he could do for a good friend.
With a sigh, Braden turned over another heap of dirt. As he worked, his mind drifted to another time and another place. And the place his mind finally stopped was an odd destination indeed.
A wry smile tugged at his mouth. It wasn't home he was thinking of. In fact, until he had landed himself in this hellhole, he had thought it to be the worst place imaginable. Stalag 9 in Germany.
Braden let out a shaky laugh and shook his head. How long had he tried to get out of that place? Months! Four hundred feet of rock and mud! He and nineteen other guys had finally busted out of that camp. Only to bust into another camp!
Stalag 13. What a setup! Tunnels, bumbling guards and a foolish Kommandant, constant contact with London, good food- Braden cut it off at that thought. Good food. When was the last time he had eaten?
Braden shook that particular thought out of his head. He wondered if Colonel Hogan, with his truffle-happy chef, knew what it was like to go hungry. No, probably not. Probably didn't know anything that happened beyond Stalag 13.
Well, Braden knew. There was a whole other war going on half a world away. One that Braden, after Hogan helped him escape from Germany, had grown to know very well.
True to his word, when they got out of Stalag 13, Hogan had had a submarine waiting for them on the coast. It had taken Braden and the other nineteen escapees from Stalag 9 back to England. What followed was at least a month of debriefing. He was sworn to secrecy about Hogan's setup. And to make sure he didn't tell anyone about it, he was sent to the Pacific Theatre, where there was no chance of being picked up by the Krauts again.
If there was one thing he could thank Hogan for, it was that the colonel actually had recommended him for officer's training. That had made life a little better. Until he had been shot down… again.
As he had bailed out of his plane over some tiny island in the Pacific, he had thought he would be prepared. The first time he had been captured, it had been terrifying. There was nothing like having a gun pointed in your face by an angry Kraut. But after the initial terror, prison life turned out to be more boring than anything.
It had been a whole different ball game here. Even being an officer didn't do much for him. Officers warranted no special treatment. In fact, it only made the dishonor greater in the eyes of the enemy.
While at Stalag 9 he had been fed potatoes and black bread with sawdust. Now he was lucky to get a handful of rice a day. The weather was hot. The bugs were huge. The work- Braden groaned- the work never stopped. His captors saw him and the other prisoners as slave labour for their railroad.
One day, he would have to write a letter to Hogan. Tell him just what happened to some of the guys he helped escape. Would that make him stop?
Braden shook his head. No, it wouldn't. He was just one guy out of hundred of escaped prisoners. There was probably only a handful that shared his fate in the Pacific after escaping back to England. If he wanted to blame someone, it would have to be himself. He had wanted so desperately to escape Stalag 9, he hadn't considered what would come after. And while he couldn't control where he was sent afterwards, it was his own fault that he had gotten shot down again.
Hogan wasn't to blame, he decided, though Braden still felt a strong desire to track him down after the war and punch him right in the nose.
Letting out a small sigh, Braden threw down his shovel. He was done. Finally. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he inspected the hole he had made and looked behind him to the body that would soon occupy it.
"Well, old buddy, looks like you made an escape of your own." With a grunt, he dragged Captain McKenney over and, as gently as he could, lowered him in. Picking his shovel back up, he tossed a bit of dirt back into the hole.
"Who knows, maybe I'll go for one last escape too one of these days," he muttered. "And if I do, I won't have to worry about getting caught again!"