Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
The characters in this story are fictional, any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

"You just went to sleep?!" Patty cried out from her spot on the couch. The television program she had been watching long forgotten as she got wrapped up in Issac's tale. "You don't know either of them. I mean, they could have been working with the Gestapo!"

"Doubtful." Alan said, after a moment of consideration.

"Oh, really?" Patty turned on her cousin with a glare, "And why's that, Einstein?"

Alan, completely oblivious to her glare or her sarcasm, answered without hesitation, "Logically, if the man and his daughter were working with the Gestapo, they would have captured him when he came in and they would have no reason to lie to the other soldiers, either."

Patty's face turned red with embarrassment at being out thought by her much younger cousin, "Yeah, well maybe they wanted Grandpa to lead them to the other prisoners or something."

Alan's face scrunched up in confusion, "That doesn't make any sense. How could Grandpa lead them to the other prisoners if the plan was to split up?"

"Well, they didn't know that!" Patty snapped.

"Shut up, Patty." Jack said. He was irritated by the interruption to the story and the ridiculous argument.

Issac cleared his throat before Patty could make another comment, "You two knock it off or I won't finish the story."
Patty crossed her arms over her chest and Jack looked away, while Alan apologized, "Sorry, Grandpa. Please, finish the story."

Issac rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Let's see… I didn't wake up 'til hours later. Inge brought me something to eat and a razor to get the stubble from my face. So, I cleaned up, ate, and then her father came and got me…"

H~H

"You said my papers weren't very good," I said, following Inge's father out to the truck parked behind the cafe. "shouldn't we wait until dark?"

He shook his head and opened the passenger side door. "I make this run every week." he said while gesturing me to get in the truck, "If I make big differences in my pattern the neighbors will be suspicious and then I will get a visit from the Gestapo."

I hesitated for a moment. That same fear I had before escaping bubbled up. "Maybe I should hide in the back." I suggested.

Inge's father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen," he said slowly, as if explaining to a small child, "I said the papers were good, but not enough to fool the Gestapo. Even if the camp is looking for escaped prisoners, they would be looking further south and it would be the regular camp personnel, not the Gestapo. You must get in the truck or I will be late. Schnell!" He pushed me into the truck and went around to the other side.

He revved the engine and pulled away from the cafe. As we drove through town, I couldn't help but think how normal it all looked… like something from back home. I marveled at that thought for a moment before considering the man beside me. He was a German, but he was helping me. If he was caught, he would be put into a camp or, more likely, shot… but he still helped. "Hey, uh..." I frowned. I was trusting this man with man with my life and I didn't even know his name. He gave me a sidelong glance and said, "Otto."

"Otto," I repeated, "um… where are we going?"

"To meet Papa Bear." he replied.

There's that name again… I thought, Why is Otto taking me to see him. "Otto," I tried again; although, I was keenly aware that the only answers he gave were incredibly cryptic. "What is this Papa Bear going to do?"

"He will get you out of Germany." Otto stated, brusquely. "Now don't ask anymore questions. You sleep, ja?" I swallowed the rest of my questions and shifted away from him. I refused to sleep, though. So instead, I watched the countryside appear and, just as quickly, pass by my window. The next hour and a half dragged by slowly and, much to my surprise, there was only one check point. The soldiers barely inspected my papers before waving Otto through. Otto, on the other hand, wasn't the least bit surprised. He gave a little shrug and said, simply, "This is my routine."

It was dusk by the time Otto pulled to a stop. I glanced around, but there was nothing to see. He got out and stretched. "Come on!" he called, impatiently and I scrambled out of the passenger side. As I came around to his side, he pointed east. "You will go that way." he instructed, "You will meet another American in the woods and he will tell you what to do next." He squinted at his watch. "You have plenty of time, so no need to hurry. Guten Abend." He got back in the truck and continued driving. I watched until the truck was completely out of sight, before stepping off the road and into the woods.

This is insane… I thought after trudging through the trees for over ten minutes, I'm wandering through the woods, right in the heart of Germany, based on the word of some guy I don't even know... and I'm on my way to meet an American named, Papa Bear. I sighed, the more I thought about it, the crazier this whole fiasco seemed. I had just talked myself into turning around and following the road to whatever town I could find, when I heard something. I turned toward the noise and gasped as I spotted a figure jogging toward me. He slowed to a stop and panted, "You Lieutenant Wilkerson?"

"I, uh..." I stuttered, "yes… are you Papa Bear?" He took off his coat and began to undo the buttons to his uniform shirt. "Um… what are you doing?" I asked, raising an eye brow.

He handed me the coat and shirt and said, "You need to put on my clothes." I started to argue, but he cut me off, "Don't ask questions, just do as you're told, sir." I bit my lip in hesitation before tugging my suit coat off and tossing it to him. Within a couple of minutes, we had completely switched clothes. I heard the sharp screams of an alarm, similar to the air raid sirens of London. "Now, don't be frightened when the dogs come." he was telling me.

"Dogs!?" I practically yelped.

He grinned and pushed a lock of black hair out of his face, "They're harmless, just don't run." he plopped my hat onto his head, "The krauts won't hurt you either." He grabbed me as I attempted to take off, "Look, I'm sure this is confusing, but it will be explained to you later. Just keep your hands on your head and comply with the krauts. Agree with everything they do and say and you'll be fine." He looked behind his shoulder and gave me a half a smile, "Sorry, I gotta go." He took off in the direction from which I had come.

I heard the dogs barking and used every bit of my willpower not to run after him. Two large German Shepherds, barking and growling, burst into sight. I threw my hands up and didn't move. The guards, who were leading the shepherds, shouted the usual, "Halt!" and "Hände hoch!" They dragged me through the woods, without much concern for my comfort.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I spotted it. Another prison camp, much like the one from which I had escaped. The bigger guard pushed the barrel of his gun into the middle of my back, "Weitergehen!"
As I moved toward the camp, a sense of helplessness washed over me and mixed with the deep sense of betrayal. Somehow it managed to sap most of my energy. I barely managed to make it through the gates. The guard kept shoving me and then prodding me with his gun. I had almost made it to, what I assumed to be the kommandant's office, when one of his shoves caused me to stumble. I would have fallen, but someone caught me.

"Take it easy!" the man growled at the guard. He was American… a full colonel, too. He was in his mid-thirties with dark eyes that were, at this moment, smoldering with anger. "You alright, Olsen?" he asked, turning his attention to me. I stared back at him and nodded slowly, too dumfounded to speak. He guided me up the steps and into the office.

As soon as the colonel entered the room, a thin, balding man launched at him… and me. "How dare you think you could possibly escape from the toughest camp in Germany!" he screeched, "Hogan, I am holding you personally responsible!"

"Oh, calm down, Kommandant." Hogan said, soothingly. "They got him back."

The kommandant turned to me, "Who are you and why did you escape?"

"Sergeant Olsen, Kommandant." Hogan said, quickly. "You remember Olsen."

The kommandant looked me up and down, "Ah, yes… Sergeant Olsen." he adjusted his monocle and cleared his throat, "Well, that answers one question… how about the other?"

I looked over to Hogan and he leaned against the door frame, "I told you about his claustrophobia..."

I looked back to the kommandant, who shifted uncomfortably, "Claustrophobia?"

"You keep putting him in the cooler." Hogan crossed his arms, "As soon as he gets out, all he can think of is escape." the kommandant nodded, thoughtfully and Hogan winked at me, "the solution's simple, if you want to make sure he doesn't want to escape…"

"Yes, yes?" the kommandant pounced on this bread trail. Hogan leaned closer to the other man and said quietly, "Don't put him in the cooler."

The kommandant's eyes widened, "What?!"

Hogan, unfazed by the kommandant's incredulity, explained, "He desires to escape only after spending time in the cooler. If the cooler is removed, so is the desire to escape. Right, Olsen?" he clapped me on the back while I nodded. This isn't going to work. I thought, There's no way he'll fall for this.

He considered Hogan's idea and nodded, "Ja, it's logical… but, what if the other men see the leniency I am showing Olsen and try to escape."

"They wouldn't do that." Hogan said, looking like a hurt puppy, "I, for one, am wounded that you'd think any of us would. Why, they think of you as a… sort of… father-figure. Besides, it's almost Christmas and this is our home… we wouldn't dream of running away." the last line was delivered with such sincerity that I almost believed it myself.

The kommandant sighed and looked down, almost as if he were ashamed. "Very well… I'm tired and, as you said, it is Christmas. Back to the barracks, both of you… dismissed!"

Hogan grabbed my elbow and pulled me to the door, "Thank you, Kommandant and merry Christmas!" He dragged me across the camp yard and into one of the long buildings, labeled 'Barracks 2'. He guided me into the common room of the barracks. Immediately, four men hurried over to us, all of them talking at once. From their uniforms and accents, I picked out two Americans, one Frenchman, and a Brit. "Settle down." Hogan said, pushing me forward and the others back. "Carter, take him to my office."

Carter, an American sergeant, led me into a small room just off of the common room. "You can sit on the bunk, if ya want." Carter said, shutting the door behind him. He was older than I, but not as old as Hogan, with lighter brown hair and a friendly smile. "Where are you from?" He asked, brightly. "What outfit are you with?"

"I, uh… I'm from Georgia." I said, sitting down on the bunk. "182nd bomb group."

"Hey," Carter grinned, "that's my outfit! How's Harry?" I frowned as I ran through my memory. "Sergeant Harry Mason… lead mechanic?" Carter pressed.
I shook my head, "Sorry, he must've been before my time. You see, I was only assigned to the 182nd in July." I explained, "Sergeant McCabe was our chief mechanic."

"Yeah, maybe so..." Carter said thoughtfully, "What about my squadron commander, Major Bill Preston."

"Colonel Preston." I corrected, "He's now the group commander."

Carter's eyes widened and he let out a long whistle, "Wow."

I didn't really understand why, but I felt like he was acting. I got an itch at the back of my neck. He sounds surprised, too surprised… almost like he already knows, I shook that thought from my head as being ridiculous. How can they possibly have access to news from London… but then again, I just broke into a German POW camp less then a day after escaping from another prison camp. "What's going on here, sergeant?" I asked, thinking it would be better to be blunt. "Why am I here?"

He shifted uncomfortably, "You'll just have to wait for Colonel Hogan, sir." he opened the door behind him and backed through it. "I'll go get him. Don't move."

Carter closed the door and I stood. The uneasy feeling I'd had back in the woods was still nagging at me. I started to pace as I thought everything through. Inge and her father have to be apart of the Resistance… which means they must be, too. Even as I thought this, I dismissed it. There was no way they could be a part of the underground movement. They were prisoners of war, how could they possibly function in any helpful capacity?

"Lieutenant Wilkerson?"

I stopped mid-pace and turned toward the door. Hogan had stepped in and motioned for me to sit at the desk. The four other men, who had plastered us with questions, followed him in. "Carter thinks you're the real deal and Kinch confirmed your general description with London."

"You're in touch with London?" I interrupted.

The Brit in the far corner grinned and said, "Surprising, isn't it?"

Hogan continued, "You'll stay here tonight. We'll get you set up with some new papers and then, if everything goes well, you'll be on your way tomorrow evening."

"But, won't the krauts catch on? I mean the guy who I switched places with, looks nothing like me." I voiced my concerns. The kommandant not recognizing me wasn't too shocking, but surely someone would notice.

"Nope." Carter said, with confidence.

Hogan put a hand on the Brit's shoulder, "Newkirk, take him and start the photograph for the papers. LeBeau," he turned to the little Frenchman, "make him something to eat. It's a good thing you weren't captured for too long, Wilkerson. The Gestapo always look for the malnourished when hunting escapees."

LeBeau agreed, "Oui, sometimes we have to keep them for a week or more until they are fattened up enough to leave." he shook his head sadly, "That poor Austrian had to stay for almost a month."

I was puzzled, "But how?"

"You can't 'ave a starving man in a new suit of clothes…" Newkirk frowned, "it wouldn't look right."

I shook my head, "Not that… I mean how can you do this? Photographs, food, new clothes…"

Hogan held up his hand, "Don't ask so many questions. Just think of us as a traveler's aid society, accept the help and move on."

I allowed Newkirk to pull me out of the office. My eyes widened in shock. When we had made the papers at Stalag 13-D, we had used old personal photos, cropped them as closely as we could, and pasted them into the I.D. cards. They did things differently at Stalag 13-C! The common room was now set up into a mini passport station. There was a blanket hung from one of the top bunks creating a backdrop and about four feet in front of the backdrop stood a tripod with a small, Kodak camera. Newkirk pulled me over to the backdrop and sat me down on the footlocker. He called out, "Baker, did you get those coats I asked for?"

Another American in a sergeant's uniform stepped into sight. He had four suit coats on hangers in one and a couple of shirts in the other. "Just like you said." he handed the hangers to Newkirk. He looked me over and then said, "You sure these will fit?"

Newkirk nodded, "They're 'is size, all right. They might need taken in a bit, but we can do that after we get 'is picture." Newkirk handed me a shirt and coat, "Put these on while I find you a tie."

He was back by the time I had gotten changed. They didn't give me any pants because they were only taking a head shot. Newkirk and Carter argued about my hair for a little while before Kinch stopped them. Kinch brushed my hair to the side and then mentioned that I should probably get my hint of stubble shaved.

After I shaved, they positioned me in front of the camera again. Out of natural instinct, I smiled. "No, no, no." Newkirk barked, "These are Nazis, they don't smile!"

"Just look stony and cruel." Carter instructed. I did my best, which resulted in Newkirk groaning and rubbing his eyes. "Maybe not, quite like that." Carter said.

"Of course not like that!" Newkirk snapped, "'E looks like 'e 'as gas!"

"I'm sorry." Carter mumbled, "I was just trying to help."

"I don't need your 'elp, Andrew." Newkirk said, his tone a little less snappish. "Maybe see if LeBeau could use a 'and with supper?" Carter nodded and bounded over to the other side of the room. Newkirk looked back to me, "Just look at the camera and don't think anything. Don't smile, don't frown." He snapped my picture. "Alright, Kinch. 'E's all yours."

Kinch grabbed my elbow and lead me to the table in the center of the room. He told me to take off the coat and roll up my sleeve. He then proceeded to fingerprint the forefinger of each hand and place it on stiff I.D. paper. "There." he said, "Go wash you hands and get something to eat. We're done with you tonight."

I went over to the wash bucket that I had used earlier to shave and washed my hands. I changed back into the American uniform and shuffled over to Carter and LeBeau. "I was told to get something to eat." I said, quietly. LeBeau grinned as he quickly dished up a large bowl of what looked like stew and handed it to me. I accepted it gratefully and ate hungrily, "This is good." I complimented around a mouthful.

LeBeau smiled, "That, mon ami, is ragout."

Carter also dished himself a bowl, "LeBeau is the best chef in all of France." he boasted, sitting next to me. "After the war's over, he's gonna get himself a restaurant in Paris."

"Andre!" LeBeau chided, his face flushing with embarrassment. "The lieutenant doesn't care about that."

I grinned, "I don't mind. After the war is over and you get your restaurant, I'll come to Paris just to get more of this ragout." LeBeau smiled, appreciatively. I took another bite and then asked, "Hey, LeBeau… can I call you LeBeau?"

"But, of course." he laughed, "It is my name."

"How did you end up here?" I asked, "Doing this?"

"I was captured outside of Salon in 1940." LeBeau shrugged, "I bounced around prison camps until I landed here. I was a bad influence on the prisoners." he lifted his head, proudly. "I was a part of seven escape attempts."

"Then what happened?" Carter asked, eagerly.

LeBeau frowned, "You have already heard this story, Andre."

"Yeah, well." Carter mumbled, "I want to hear it again."

The Frenchman rolled his eyes, but continued his story, "Well, the kommandant who was here before Klink got sent to the eastern front. When Klink was brought in from Stuttgart last year, he intended to transfer all of the troublesome prisoners, like me and Newkirk, farther east. Le Colonel stood up for us, even though he had only been here for a month or two. He convinced Klink to move me and Newkirk to barracks two and the rest, as they say, is history."

I pondered his story for a few moments, before Kinch tapped my shoulder. "You need to get some sleep. We'll be up bright and early tomorrow and we still have a lot of work to do." I stood and followed him over to one of the bunks and jumped up to the top bunk. He handed me a blanket and bid me good-night. I rolled over onto my back and it wasn't long before I fell asleep.

Translation:

Hände hoch - Hands up
Weitergehen - Keep Moving