A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love.
As always, when an actual scene from the episode is presented, actual dialogue from the scene is included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own.
Major Hochstetter reluctantly returns to Stalag 13, and he's invited to a wedding! "Reverend Kommandant Klink" revisited.
Gestapo Headquarters, Berlin
Cohen wasn't sure what to expect when Oberstleutnant Schuster summoned him to his office. His latest investigation had ended up just a little too close to Joseph Goebbels' nephew, and he had been instructed to discreetly back off. Since then he had been harmlessly occupied with bureaucratic busy work, which had the happy side effect of allowing him to access and photograph some top secret papers and get the photos off to London.
But this could be serious. Had he not covered his tracks well enough? Cohen shut the door behind him and Heil Hitler'ed his superior before he was instructed to take a seat.
Schuster hemmed and hawed a bit before he got to the point.
"Major, I know it's not your turn to be assigned out of town, but since you are familiar with the area..."
Uh-oh.
"...and you've already met some of the people involved..."
Oh, no. Say it ain't so.
"...I'd like you to take over the interrogation of an Allied pilot..."
No no no no no!
"...at Stalag 13."
Damn! Just what I was afraid of...if I spend much more time at that lunatic asylum, I'll end up as crazy as they are.
"Yes, sir." Cohen was calm and politely deferential to his boss although fuming inside. "It would be an honor. May I have the particulars of the case?"
"Of course, Major Hochstetter." Schuster handed him a file. "There is a fair amount of background information on this fellow. You should be able to make use of it as leverage during your interrogation. He's French, you know, a member of the Free French operating out of London. We expect him to have some inside information on the location of the new airbase in Surrey."
"Very good, sir."
Later that evening, after a hurried meal at his Berlin apartment, Cohen and Manfred made their way to the hidden shortwave set up a few blocks away. Cohen parked the car in the shadows around the corner and he and Manfred approached the ruined building that housed the apparatus. Manfred prowled around the perimeter and then looked up at Cohen, switching his tail, indicating that the building was safe to enter.
Cohen fired up the radio while the cat took up a strategic position near the door. It was a few minutes before the hissing of static subsided.
"Snow White calling Mama Bear. Come in, Mama Bear."
"Mama Bear reading you loud and clear, Snow White."
"Reporting a new assignment at Stalag 13."
There was a pause, and then an indistinguishable sound was heard through the headphones.
"Mama Bear, you're breaking up."
"Sorry, Snow White, had a tickle in my throat. Returning to Stalag 13, are you?"
"Yes, sir. I'm assigned the interrogation of a downed pilot, Claude Boucher by name."
"I'm surprised that you'll be allowed to see him, since the Luftwaffe has jurisdiction over captured Allied airmen. Still, better you see him than one of your colleagues."
"Yes, sir."
"Interrogate him as instructed; we don't want you breaking your cover. But report back to us regarding anything he reveals, and his eventual disposition."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Snow White? Try not to get into trouble with the locals."
Cohen rolled his eyes. "No, sir. Over and out."
Hammelburg was only about five hours away, but Cohen figured he'd be gone for a couple of days and left plenty of food and water for Manfred. He packed swiftly and then took a few minutes to review Boucher's file before he left the apartment.
Planning an interrogation was always a touchy business, and Cohen wanted to be prepared for this. He had a reputation at the Gestapo for being borderline psychotic when interviewing suspects, but in reality it was all a sham.
His interrogations were, in fact, exercises in concealing rather than extracting information, and he always played to his audience. He drew on all of his theatrical experience when staging an interrogation, and had big plans for future lectures on the subject for his students at Columbia once the war was over.
If it ever was over.
In this case, his subject was a fellow thespian, a twenty-seven year old aspiring actor who had become a pilot in 1939, and escaped to England just before the fall of France in 1940. He had a fiancée, also in the theatrical profession, whom he had not seen for over three years.
Hmmm.
A young pilot, an actor, away from his girl for years? Cohen thought about it for awhile. He had no desire to get the young man to talk, but he had to put on a good show. No physical abuse, though—Cohen had never been forced to do that, and he wasn't going to start now.
But if he taunted Boucher about this girl, what harm could that do? Boucher would probably laugh in his face—maybe he didn't even remember her. But it certainly would be in character for Hochstetter to take that route.
However, there was a wild card in this scenario. Boucher was being held prisoner at Stalag 13, and anything could (and probably would) happen.
Stalag 13, the next day
Boy, did I call that one wrong.
Cohen was taken aback by the anguished expression in Boucher's eyes as the young pilot sat in Klink's office. It was all too apparent that Cohen's derogatory remarks about the Frenchman's fiancée had struck home. Cohen felt a pang of guilt for the man's distress, and decided to drop the subject of the fiancée.
Instead, he said urbanely: "Your fighter group we already know, the location of your airbase we know approximately; if we could just clear this up for our records..."
"I will never tell you that!" Boucher's tone was defiant, but he was visibly shaken and Cohen realized he had gone too far.
Damn. Don't start talking now, kid—there are real live Krauts in this room!
Klink said to Boucher, "Lieutenant, I would not advise you to defy Major Hochstetter. He has ways of extracting information that are most unpleasant..."
Cohen interrupted. "No, no, no, Klink. There is time; let him make up his own mind. Back to solitary, young man, and think about it. We will talk again tomorrow."
And I need to think up a new game plan. I don't want this kid spilling any secrets if I can help it.
The next morning, back in Klink's office, Cohen addressed the young French pilot again.
"Look at your situation realistically, Boucher. You have lost the war, you have lost your fiancée, and now you have lost your liberty. Who can make life bearable for you, eh? Your friends—the Germans!"
Ha! Like he's gonna fall for that.
Cohen continued: "Sooner or later we will find the position of your airbase without you, so why not get something out of it yourself?"
And now I'm insulting the poor sap. I'll be lucky if he doesn't punch me in the nose.
Cohen personally thought that he was stiffening Boucher's resolve rather than weakening it, but apparently Colonel Hogan thought otherwise, for at that moment Fräulein Hilda ushered the American into Klink's office.
Hogan said, "Colonel Klink, I know it's just an oversight, but I haven't yet been able to advise this prisoner of his rights under the Geneva Convention. That's why I'm here."
Cohen had a very vivid memory of his last encounter with the annoying Colonel Hogan, but he chose to ask Klink politely, "Who is this man?"
Klink ignored him and said to Hogan, "We are conducting an interrogation and I order you to leave at once!"
As it turned out, Hogan wanted permission from the Kommandant to put on a camp show, and he wouldn't leave until he got it; he even asked Klink if he wanted a part in the show! The American colonel acted as though the Gestapo officer wasn't even in the room, and for some reason Cohen found this extremely aggravating.
Hogan concluded his conversation with Klink by saying, "Well, we can work out the fine details later on. All I need is your permission for the show idea."
Klink waved him away. "You have it. Now leave."
Just as Hogan reached the door, he turned and indicated Boucher, who had been sitting quietly all this time. "Say, is this man an actor? He'd be perfect for the part, perfect!"
Tired of being ignored (and upstaged) by Hogan, Cohen struck Klink's desk with both hands. "WHO...IS...THIS...MAN?"
Hogan said affably, just as if he had never met Hochstetter before, "Colonel Hogan, Major. But of course, you won't let us have him for the show, so forget I mentioned it."
"I've forgotten it," Klink assured Hogan.
Cohen thought quickly, narrowing his eyes as he took in the bland expression on Hogan's face.
I'm sure Hogan's got a plan. Best to just go with the flow.
"Wait," he said. "Boucher was an actor—it might be enjoyable for him."
Hogan said sadly, "So you won't let us have him."
Cohen smiled his Hochstetter smile. "Why not? We are his friends. You may have him for the performance only, under close supervision."
Hogan grudgingly agreed, then asked, "Could I watch him drink a glass of water?"
Baffled, Klink asked, "Why?"
"It's an old Stanislavski test of acting ability—I want to make sure he's right for the part." Hogan poured out a glass of water and gave it to the bemused Boucher, who shrugged and drank it down.
"Did you see that?" Hogan enthused. "This man has the makings of a star!" He then took his leave, briefly saluting Klink on his way out of the office.
Cohen watched him go, shaking his head.
Stanislavski test, my foot—first time I've ever heard of it! Maybe I need to study up on the subject when I get back to Columbia. Unless of course Hogan is just trying to pull the wool over my eyes! Yeah, that's probably it.
He resumed his half-hearted questioning of Boucher, only to find that the pilot had fallen fast asleep. On a hunch, he picked up the glass Boucher had drunk from and sniffed it. His mustache twitched as he realized exactly what Hogan had done.
Why, you old son of a gun. You weren't about to let the Gestapo get anything out of Boucher—good for you.
Klink was confused. "Why is he sleeping?"
Cohen said, "I suspect your thoroughly cowed Colonel Hogan. Later on we will make a surprise inspection. He may be too smart for you, but not for me."
That was a pretty neat trick, Colonel Hogan, and I don't blame you a bit. Too bad I have to make a pretense of investigating this...
A short time later, Cohen and Klink were ushered into Barracks 2 by Sergeant Schultz for the surprise inspection. An awkward moment ensued when Schultz admitted that one of the barracks residents was missing, only to have the missing man, a diminutive Frenchman named LeBeau, saunter out of Hogan's office moments later.
The Frenchman said cheekily, "Someone ask for me?"
Cohen watched LeBeau cross the room to join the rest of the prisoners.
"There's something afoot here, Klink, I smell it!" He turned his attention to Hogan, eyeing him closely. "Perhaps we should search your office."
Immediately Hogan said, "Oh, please do, I'm so proud of it! I want you to see how we furnished it in orange crate modern." He went to the office door and opened it partway, gesturing with his other hand.
I have to give the guy credit, he's got guts! But I don't think I'll tax his ingenuity any further.
Cohen stepped up to Hogan, carefully not looking into the office doorway. He was pretty sure that whatever Hogan had going on his office, it was probably something that Cohen was better off not knowing. "No, you are too eager."
Hogan snapped his fingers. "Blew it!" He reached into the office and pulled the door closed.
Cohen assumed his most menacing expression, just for the heck of it. "But from now on, my eye will be upon you."
"Good...good," Hogan said absently, obviously not one whit intimidated. Then he turned to Klink. "By the way, Kommandant, I've got bad news for you. Somebody else is going to take your part—we thought you were a little short."
"Hogan, I have no intention of playing it!"
After watching this little byplay Cohen decided to intervene. "You will play it."
"I'll play it!" Klink agreed automatically. Then he turned to Cohen. "I will?"
Cohen said, "If this man wants you OUT, then I want you IN—to watch what is going on." He turned to Hogan, tapping his temple significantly. "Years of understanding the criminal mind—you cannot compete against it."
Hogan said meekly, "I wouldn't even try."
The criminal mind just about describes it. I'm sure Hogan would've manipulated Klink into acting in this little show eventually; why, I don't know. But I, for one, am not getting any younger—thought I'd give the situation a little push.
Later on, backstage at the recreation hall, Cohen lurked to one side, watching the preparations. His erstwhile secretary, Fräulein Hilda, was dressed as a bride for the scene with Boucher, and very nice she looked, too. Cohen sighed and shook his head.
Hard to tell how deeply she's involved with this nutty setup at Stalag 13. I just hope she's not taking too many chances—I didn't get her out of Berlin only to have her risk her neck here.
He watched as Hogan gave last minute instructions to the principal players, and then Hogan took his arm.
"Major, shall we go out front and watch the show?"
Cohen sat beside Hogan in the audience and watched Klink perform a wedding ceremony with Boucher and his heavily veiled bride.
Wait a minute, the bride gave her name as Suzanne—wasn't that the name of Boucher's fiancée? And now that he's lifted the veil—that sure as hell isn't Hilda! Could Hogan possibly have contrived to get Boucher married for real? But why?
Hogan said to Cohen, "Wasn't it marvelous?"
Cohen said in genuine bewilderment, "What was it?"
He never did find out.
The next morning, in Klink's office, Cohen confronted Klink, Schultz, and Fräulein Hilda. He would have much preferred to slink out of camp unnoticed, but unfortunately he had a nasty, suspicious image to maintain. No way was Major Hochstetter going to leave without registering some degree of outrage!
"I am telling you, Klink, that something was going on last night, I smelled it!"
Klink protested. "Major, nothing happened! It was a show!"
Cohen swung around to face Schultz. "You kept Boucher in sight every minute during the rest of the show?"
Schultz's round blue eyes grew even rounder as he asked innocently, "Me, Herr Major? I was supposed to?"
Cohen shook his head and turned to Klink's secretary. "Fräulein Hilda, you saw what Boucher was doing at all times during the evening?"
Hilda gave him a demure smile. "You know how it is, Major. Once a woman marries a man, some of the interest is gone."
Cohen could not help smiling in return.
Cool as a cucumber, you are. I don't think I need to worry about you here—seems to me you fit right in.
"Yes, yes, quite right. Perhaps nothing happened after all." He gave Hilda a gallant little bow as she rose and left the office.
As soon as she was gone, Boucher was ushered into the office and he stood at attention before Klink's desk.
"Good morning, Lieutenant!" Cohen said genially. "I hope you enjoyed performing again last night. Just between friends, perhaps this morning you are ready to give us the position of that airbase, eh?"
One last try, for Klink's benefit. Can't look like I'm falling down on the job.
"Well," Boucher leaned close to Cohen and continued in a confidential tone, "I can tell you that my name is Claude Boucher, that my rank is first lieutenant, that my serial number is 42105513, that is all!"
"ALL?!" shrieked Cohen.
"ALL?!" echoed Klink.
"All," said Boucher, with a decisive nod. "May I be excused, sir?"
Well, I'm glad that's over. Never did like interrogating prisoners. But, like Mama Bear said, I have to maintain my cover. So I'll go out with a bang.
"No!" Cohen shouted. "If that is your attitude I should take you back to Berlin with me and force the information out of you!"
At this, Hogan burst into the office in his usual manner, but his voice carried an unusual ring of authority.
"I'm afraid Hermann Göring wouldn't approve of that, sir. You know, we've got a lot more of his flyboys in English camps than he has of ours."
"You stay out of this!" said Cohen.
"Major Hochstetter, it is true," Klink interjected. "Any transfer of prisoners has to be passed on by Luftwaffe headquarters..."
Well, it was an idle threat anyway. But I must say I'm impressed. Hogan might be a con man and Klink an idiot, but neither of them hesitated to stand up to the Gestapo for this POW.
"May I be excused now, sir?" asked Boucher again.
Cohen gesticulated wildly. "Go! What do I care? I doubt if the Luftwaffe could scrape together enough planes to bomb your airbase anyway!"
And that's the truth. Time to drop the curtain on this performance and get the hell out of here.