Disclaimer: Hogan's Heroes and its various characters do not belong to me.
After he finished the letter he sat in the tunnel and stared at nothing. When the numbness began to wear off, he was grateful that he'd waited for a private moment out of sight of the guys. The others would have sensed something had they watched him reading it. Then they would have NOT asked questions. They would have given him sympathetic looks without letting him see that they were doing it. Lebeau would have made his favorite meal with the idea that he might be cajoled out of his mood or at least into sharing his troubles. That kind of understanding without actual understanding would have been too much to take at the moment.
Hello Soldier,
Bet you never expected to hear from me again, did you? Don't worry, you probably won't again. Please understand that I don't expect or want anything from you. I just need to come clean. Look at the enclosed photograph. Now. Stop reading and LOOK.
I don't claim to be certain, because we both know what I am. I have no regrets and I hope you don't either. Anyway I can't be absolutely sure, but looking at him I think it's a pretty safe bet.
He looked at the photograph again and had to agree. Not even Newkirk would offer odds against it. He hadn't even known Newkirk then. Sometimes he found it hard to remember he'd had a life before he'd found himself in Germany and been informed by a man with a funny accent that his war was now over. Before another funny guy had let him know that the war didn't have to be over even if he was in a POW camp.
It had been his last free night in the States before shipping out to England. He'd wandered into that dive near the docks and found a mixture of sailors, soldiers, airmen and marines dancing with a bevy of local talent. He didn't really belong there, but the drinks were good and strong and the primal music played by the combo in the corner seemed to work its way into his body. No one seemed to mind that he was there. The little redhead who dragged him away from the bar to dance probably didn't really belong there either. She was a good dancer, though. A very good dancer.
"I love a man in uniform," she told him.
That was all she said while they danced in the club. The music and boisterous crowd made it too loud for much talking.
I really did mean it when I said I love a man in uniform. I hope that the memory of that night has gotten you through some cold and lonely ones. Believe me when I say it's been a fond memory for me.
Boy, had it ever. It had helped him get through the pre-dawn roll calls, the air battles, the sabotage missions, the homesickness and even the waiting when circumstances left him at camp. Just the memory of kissing her smooth skin had sustained him through a week in the cooler. In other difficult moments he focused on other parts of that night: the sound of her breath catching, her joy in dancing, the feel of her nimble fingers as they unbuttoned his shirt, the smell of her hair. He had to parcel that night out. It had already been a long war and there hadn't been too many opportunities for new memories. It was a memory to be savored even in the best of times and God knew the past year or so could hardly be thought of as that.
He had hesitated for a moment after they sneaked into her room in a boardinghouse, but she pulled him down next to her onto the sofa. She kissed him and guided his wandering hands to help her roll down a stocking. He concentrated for a moment to make sure he didn't snag it. He'd heard there were shortages and knew she'd have trouble replacing it if got damaged. Talk was limited and what conversation they had was inane. But they hadn't left the club to discuss the great philosophers of Western Civilization, had they?
"You're shipping out tomorrow?"
"Yeah, I have to report back by 0500."
"That gives us plenty of time," she said. "Will you be in combat?"
"Well, I don't think we're going there for fun and games."
"No. Are you feeling guilty about this?"
"I probably should be," he said.
He began to kiss her neck and worked his way down her shoulder. He kept thinking he could still leave. The memory of their dancing would surely be enough to get him through an air raid or two. He wouldn't have to wonder if he was actually a good guy or not.
"Stop it. No, not that. Keep doing that." She added rather breathlessly, "I just meant don't feel guilty about this. It's your last night in your own country and you may never make it back."
Suddenly it seemed silly to argue. She was a very good dancer.
I try to follow all the adventures of my boys, although I'm afraid I lost track of you. Here's hoping this letter finds you wherever you are.
It wasn't as though he'd come to Stalag 13 on purpose. How long had it taken this letter to find him?
My sister has been wonderful to me and the baby. I believe she loves him as much as I do. She's married to a good man who has promised me that they will raise him as their own. They never had any luck starting their own family, which is a shame because they're everyone's favorite aunt and uncle. I guess it was meant to be that there would be someone to call them Mom and Pop. I know that you have your own life to return to, but it seemed wrong not to let you know about the kid. You seemed like a decent guy. I mean that generally. In some ways you were more than decent, Soldier.
Very kind and reassuring. Wonderful. All the loose ends had been tied up.
It sounded like they really didn't expect or want anything from him. At least that was what he had to assume with no full names and no forwarding address. What had she named the kid? What was her name, for that matter? Joan? Myrtle? She'd never told him and hadn't seemed very concerned about learning his. He'd even given up trying to correct her when she called him Soldier. It hadn't seemed important at the time.
It was probably for the best, he thought. I may never make it back home. Ha, I might not even live through tonight with the program Colonel Hogan has planned.
He climbed out of the tunnel into the barracks and tossed the letter into his foot locker. Unconsciously, he tucked the photograph into his breast pocket and headed out into the cold day for the remainder of the exercise period. He was supposed to help create a diversion at the strategic moment and he couldn't do it while skulking in the tunnel.
He'd worry about what it meant to be a decent guy later.