DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hogan's Heroes. I don't make any money out of these stories. My only reward is the enjoyment I get from creating. None of these characters are real, any resemblance to persons living or dead is completely coincidental.
Chapter Three
The wind began to pick up, creating an icy chill that prickled the skin. The snow that had fallen that afternoon wasn't deep enough to leave noticeable tracks and the snow which remained was so powdery that the wind easily blew it into swirls. It was a little after ten when Hogan and Kinch crawled out of the tunnel hatch. The usual meeting time was eleven, but Hogan wanted to get there before hand. If it was a trap, then they wouldn't be expecting him to come early; and, hopefully, whomever Helga was working with – probably Gestapo – might just show themselves. If it wasn't a trap… well then, he supposed that he and Kinch would just get a bit more frozen than usual. No harm; no foul.
The two moved quickly and quietly through the trees. Both were dressed in their blacks and Hogan's face was smeared with dark grease. A fully-loaded pistol was tucked into each of their waistbands. Hogan had allowed extra time in case they need to detour or avoid patrols, but the woods were empty. Not even a rabbit or hedgehog was spotted which only multiplied the eerie atmosphere tenfold. About twenty minutes into their trek, the trees began to clear and they came upon the crossroad. Hogan signaled for Kinch to stop while they were still within the cover of the trees. He slowly scanned the area, seeking out any small movement or strange shadows, or anything out of place. Kinch also kept his eyes searching the area, but after a few moments had passed and nothing moved, he broke the silence.
"Looks empty," he said, being sure to keep his voice low. "Helga's not here, yet." Kinch figured they must be quite early, but didn't dare risk switching on the flashlight just for a look at his watch. "What do you think?"
Hogan gestured to a small stand of trees across the road. It had thick shrubs and tall grass surrounding which made for a convenient hiding spot. "I suggest we wait there," he whispered. Taking a quick look around, Hogan darted across the road with Kinch only seconds behind. Hogan was immensely pleased to find a fallen log laying in the brush and after making sure all the snow was brushed off the top, he sat down. Kinch looked around cautiously and occasionally poked the grass with a stick he'd found. Finally, Hogan whispered, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing, sir," Kinch said quickly. He stepped into the grass and parked himself on the log beside Hogan. "Just checking for snakes."
"Snake phobia?"
Kinch looked over at his commanding officer, who wore the faintest of grins. "No, sir," Kinch replied, a smile also tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let's just say I have a healthy respect for all things that can take your life, be it snakes, spiders, illness, or women."
Hogan returned a melancholic smile, as the mention of the fairer sex brought him back to the task at hand. Pulling the collar of his coat tighter around his neck, he scrunched into a more comfortable position. For the hundredth time this war, he longed for the warmth of a wool mackinaw. They sat quietly, each absorbed in their own thoughts, but mindful to keep alert. The minutes passed slowly and Kinch suppressed a yawn as the steady whistle of the wind attempted to lull him to sleep. Finally, after a couple false alarms, Helga's delicate frame walked into view. She had a flashlight in one hand and a leather satchel in the other. She hurried over to the post for the road signs and stopped. She looked around, set the bag against the post, and then quietly turned the flashlight's beam onto her wrist watch.
"You stay here," Hogan whispered. He pulled the pistol from his waistband. "Keep a sharp eye out."
Kinch pulled his pistol and after giving Hogan a quick nod, sent up a silent prayer that he didn't have to use it. Hogan crawled out of the deep grass while taking care to stay in the shadows and not give away Kinch's location. When he was comfortable with the distance, he stepped onto the road.
Hilda spotted him almost immediately and smiled in greeting. As Hogan neared, he noticed the worry from earlier that morning was still settled on her face.
"Robert," she said softly. "Thank you for coming." Hogan scanned the treeline behind her for anything out of place. Helga turned to see what he was looking at and seeing nothing, she asked, "what's wrong?"
"You tell me," he answered, keeping his expressions neutral.
She frowned for a moment before heaving a sigh. Turning toward the sign post, she said, "I'm not sure where to begin..."
Hogan watched her gloved fingers trace the pattern of the wood. She was obviously struggling and he couldn't help the part of him that turned to mush whenever he saw her upset. He went to the other side of the sign post, so that he could see her face without forcing her to look at him. "I've always found that the best way is to just spit it out," he said, slowly giving into the sweet spot he held for her.
She looked up and in the half-moonlight spotted that cheeky smile of his. The one he'd given her when he first set foot in the kommandantur. He'd had two guards to hold him and a captain to transfer the paperwork. She thought he must've been incredibly dangerous, but then he'd smiled and winked at her, too! She felt her whole world go topsy-turvy as a blush reddened her cheeks.
"Helga?" he prompted.
She smiled a soft, but somber smile. "I've given Kommandant Klink my resignation."
Hogan blinked once then twice, too stunned to speak. He felt a sense of overwhelming relief followed by confusion, then by sincere concern. "Why?" was all he could manage to get out.
"I'm to be married next month."
If he was stunned before then this completely floored him. He pulled away from the post… Married?Aloud, he stuttered, "but who? Why?"
"There's no reason you would know him," Helga said, shaking her head slightly. Hogan stared at her until she gave in, "fine, his name is Bruno and he's a major in the Army… and as for why... I buried my parents last week. They were killed in a bombing raid." Despite her best efforts, more tears filled her eyes. She pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket and dabbed at the inner corner of her eye. As she blew her nose gently, he laid a hand on her shoulder. She cleared her throat, "I, uh… I have two brothers and a sister to care for and that takes a lot more than a secretary can make. Bruno is the only way to keep my family together."
Bending down, she scooped up the bag and pulled out several folders. Hogan noticed they looked identical to the ones Klink was looking at this morning. "The Kommandant has whittled the list down to these three," she explained, holding the files out to him. "He's set up interviews with all three, but I figured you'd want to have a look."
He took the files and used her flashlight to read them. The first was Angela Muller, aged nineteen. A Hammelburg resident for all her life and former member of the Band of German Maidens, the girl's section of the Hitler Youth. Her parents - her father, specifically - were also well-known Nazi supporters. She'd just completed her land service requirement and was now seeking employment.
Kristen Wolff was the oldest of the lot at twenty-three years. She'd worked as a secretary for a coal mining company in Berlin until 1939, when she married a Luftwaffe pilot. Her husband was shot down and killed in 1940 during a raid on the English coast. She'd moved closer to his parents home earlier this year.
The last candidate was Marie Lundberg, also nineteen. Her parents were Swedish immigrants and little was known about her background.
"They don't tell me much," he said. "do you know any of them?"
"No, but I know this girl's parents." She pulled Marie's file from his hand. "Her father runs a small laundry in Bad Kissingen. His name is Johan and we have used his shop to house escapees for a few days."
"Then it sounds like she'll be our best bet," he said, unzipping his jacket and tucking the files close to his chest. "I'll have Kinch run the names through London."
"But the files," she protested, "I have to return them to the Kommandant's office before morning."
Hogan closed her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. "I'll send LeBeau and Newkirk to the office tomorrow after roll call, they'll leave the files in your desk."
She nodded curtly and said a soft goodbye before hurrying down the road. Hogan watched until she disappeared from view and signaled Kinch to join him. Together, they picked their way back to camp and the men waiting anxiously for their return.
H~H
"And so, in conclusion," Klink shouted, walking down the line of men standing for roll call. "For any of you foolish enough to consider tunneling, or fence hopping, or stowing away on supply trucks, I beg you to think again. Your commandant is a fair man, but I will not tolerate this behavior."
Newkirk stifled a yawn. He'd listened to these speeches, or ones similar, for three and a half years and there was only one thing he could say about them… they lacked any kind of originality. Not to mention that the Stalag hadn't had any attempts since Hogan came. He rocked on the balls of his feet, the files tucked beneath the folds of his coat.
Kinch had stayed up all night tapping out the information to London. They had spoken to their contacts in intelligence and the consensus said Marie Lundberger was the best bet. Hogan had taken that with a nod and set about their game plan. The other two candidates, Angela Muller and Kristen Wolff, would need to be sabotaged. According to Kinch's contacts in the Underground. Angela was afraid of dogs, so much so that she couldn't even see one with out having an episode. Fortunately, she was scheduled to arrive for an interview on the same day Oskar Schnitzer was set to change out the dogs. Kristen would be more difficult, she was eminently qualified and hardly anything was known about her personally.
Klink finally drew his usual material to an end and called for a dismissal. The men broke up as Klink with swagger stick under his arm marched back to the offices. Schultz started to usher them back to barracks when Hogan told him about a cleaning detail. Schultz's eyes widened.
"No, Colonel Hogan. You will not trick me again," Schultz said. He shook his head so hard that the fat beneath his chin whipped back and forth at an alarming rate.
"Come on, Schultz," Hogan cajoled. "I promised Helga yesterday that we'd help her clean her office. Think of it as a going-away and wedding present all rolled into one."
Schultz started to whine, "please, I don't want to get into trouble." He frowned, "who told you Fraulein Helga was leaving? Or that she was getting married?"
"You told us. You talk in your sleep, you know," Hogan lied. Schultz's eyes pleaded with him not to say any more, for he knew - from years of dealing with this American - that the next words out of his mouth would contain blackmail.
"I'll tell you what. You let LeBeau and Newkirk go clean Helga's office and I'll forget that little snippet you let slip, hmm?"
Schultz nodded and escorted the two Europeans to the office. After they stepped inside, LeBeau pulled Schultz over to the broom closet. He kept the Sergeant's attention by filling his arms full of a broom, mop, dustpan, and cleaning cloths while telling him stories about the restaurant he worked in Paris and the delicious foods he'd prepared.
Newkirk slid behind Helga's desk and opened the drawer. He slipped the files out of his coat and placed them neatly inside. He was about to close the drawer when he spotted a postcard. The picture was of Nazi soldiers on horseback trudging through deep snow and in the background were pine trees. He turned it over and Helga's name was on the right side with the address of her boarding house in Hammelburg. At the top of the left side was the name, Bruno Lotter, with a Berlin address.
You have only left yesterday morning, but I am already lonely without you.
I miss your warm touch and the feel of your silky, golden curls.
It is silly, but I'm counting the days until I see your beautiful smile again.
Sending you my heart,
Bruno
Newkirk smiled in spite of himself. He certainly sounded like he was crazy for their Helga, but just in case. He double-checked to see that LeBeau still had Schultz occupied before grabbing a pencil and jotting the name and address on a scrap of paper. Tucking the scrap into his coat, he replaced the card and closed the drawer. Rejoining LeBeau, he started his usual half-hearted, get-it-done-and-get-out-of-here approach to cleaning. He was anxious to get back to the barracks- confident Kinch could have the Underground dig something up on the gent.
