"Now hold still or I'm liable to slit your throat accidental-like," Newkirk ordered. He was standing over Colonel Hogan, acting as barber and giving him a shave.
"I don't see why I gotta do this every day," Hogan groused. He winced as the straight blade came closer and swiped against his cheek.
"Well even here at Stalag 13 we have our pride," Carter said lightly. "You know how the other camps would talk if we had a scruffy commanding officer."
"Ho ho, who thought Colonel Hogan had such a baby face," LeBeau chuckled from his perch on Hogan's top bunk.
"Hey! Being bright-eyed and fresh-faced is part of my charm," Hogan countered.
"I think he said baby-faced," Kinch pointed out.
"Are you done yet?" Hogan asked them all, but more specifically Newkirk.
Newkirk wiped the blade off on the towel on Hogan's shoulder. "All right, off you go," he said with a little swat.
Hogan jumped out of his chair and wiped off the residual shaving cream from his face. Carter tossed him a bottle of aftershave. Hogan patted a bit on his cheeks and let out a whistle. "Whew, that stings."
"Don't be blaming my shave on that," Newkirk warned.
"Oui. You were the one who cut himself to pieces the other day," LeBeau added.
Hogan scowled. "All right, so I haven't had to shave before! I mean, I have. I must have. But I don't remember!" Hogan grunted in frustration. His body may have been old, but as far as his mind was concerned, he was still only seventeen.
A knock on the door caught their attention and a moment later, Sergeant Schultz came in. "Colonel Hogan?"
Hogan sighed and fought the urge to correct him. He was Colonel Hogan, even though he didn't remember. "Yeah?"
"Kommandant Klink wants to see you," Schultz said.
Hogan's eyes widened in surprise. "Me?" It had been a few days since the accident had erased most of his memory, and in that time, he hadn't had to interact with the camp's kommandant. He and the others had hoped his luck would hold out, but apparently it was now coming to an end. "Uh…"
"He said it was urgent," Schultz added.
"Everything is urgent for Klink," LeBeau drawled.
"That may be true, but it is not for me to tell him that," Schultz said. "My job is to bring you to him." Schultz pulled open the door and beckoned Hogan to follow him with a little bow and click of his heels.
Hogan looked nervously between the other men. They looked worried, but none offered to save him. With a sigh, Hogan slunk out the door. He followed Schultz out of the barracks, across the compound and into the Kommandantur. He was about to follow him right into Klink's office when he suddenly stopped, foot raised in the air.
"Hold on, who do we have here?" Hogan put on his most charming smile and leaned against the desk in the ante-office, wiggling his eyebrows at the choice bit of calico sitting behind it. "Hi."
The girl giggled. "Hello, Colonel Hogan."
"Call me Robert. Colonel Hogan is my father." She arched an eyebrow quizzically, but after Hogan increased the wattage of his smile, she giggled again. "Say, what are you doing Friday night?"
She pretended to think for a moment, tapping a finger to her lips before shrugging and shaking her head. "Nothing."
"Well how about we change that? I bet I could liberate a boiler, we could go for a drive…"
"That sounds wonderful."
"May I remind you, Colonel Hogan, that you are a prisoner and Fraulein Helga has important work to do," Klink said impatiently, suddenly appearing in the doorway.
Hogan winced. "Cheese it, it's the cops." He wasn't sure he was ready to face Klink, but the men had assured him he was a weak sister. A maroon. A boob. A pushover. So Hogan straightened up, brushed down his jacket and fired off a salute with a cheeky little grin. "Hiya, Kommandant. You wanted to see me?"
"If it's convenient for you," Klink said through gritted teeth.
"Not particularly. Fraulein Helga and I-"
"Hogan!" Klink said, stomping his foot.
"Geez, what a bluenose. Talk to you later, doll face." Hogan tapped the desk and followed Klink into his office. Almost automatically and without thought, he took off his cap and tossed it onto the spiked helmet on Klink's desk. Klink snorted in frustration, swiped the hat off and threw it back at him. Hogan caught it and put it back out, swiping his finger across the brim.
"You wanted to see me, Kommandant?" Hogan asked as he rocked on his heels.
"Yes. I wanted to let you know I know all about it," Klink declared, clasping his hands behind his back as he made his way behind his desk.
"Know about what?" Hogan asked nervously. Was there something important he had forgotten? Besides the last twenty years.
Klink whirled around and smacked his desk. "I know all about the escape!"
Hogan blinked in surprise. "What escape? The guys said that no one escapes Stalag 13."
"And no one does!" Klink confirmed. "But it has been very quiet lately. Too quiet! And that must mean you're planning an escape!"
"Oh. Well we aren't. I mean, we're not supposed to. That is, no one has told me if they're going to escape." He was floundering. He wasn't exactly sure what to say.
Klink pointed a finger at Hogan and narrowed his eyes. "You are planning something, Hogan, I can feel it."
"All right, I'll square with you- we've been reading. I mean, the boys have been reading."
Klink eyed him suspiciously. "Do you expect me to believe that? Just what could be so interesting that could keep your men so quiet?"
"Well, sir…" Hogan coughed. "I think the last shipment from the Red Cross contained some very informative literature."
"What kind of literature?" Klink asked.
"Um, well…" Hogan whistled and outlined a woman.
Klink's face broke out into a goofy grin before he quickly replaced it with a scowl and stomped his foot. "Hogan, that kind of literature is verboten! You will turn it all over immediately!"
"Yes sir," Hogan said with a salute. Turning on his heel, he marched out of Klink's office. He quickly high-tailed it back to his barracks and into his office. He was met with murderous glares. "Uh… hi fellas…" he greeted, keeping one hand on the doorknob in case he had to make a hasty exit.
"Nice going," Newkirk scowled.
"I didn't know what to say!" Hogan cried. "Look, I know Colonel Hogan can wrap Klink around his finger, but I'm just Rob! As far as I remember, the toughest thing I was planning on doing this week was writing a history exam!"
"Sacres chats," LeBeau cursed.
"Well I suppose that could have gone a lot worse," Kinch said flatly. "Better Klink confiscate our magazines than find a tunnel."
"Sure, but I'll kill before they can try to take my Rita Hayworth poster!" Carter cried.
"How long until all those nominations for the PBAs are in?" Newkirk asked. "The sooner we can choose a winner, the sooner we can try to get the Colonel's memory back."
"Oui, and the sooner he can go back to giving Klink the proper run around!" LeBeau added.
"The nominations for the Papa Bear Awards are due February 23rd," Kinch replied.
"And how many nominations have been sent in?" Carter asked.
"About seven, I think," Kinch answered.
"Seven?! Only seven?" Hogan cried. "How do you like that? Doesn't anyone care that I don't remember anything!"
"Calm down, they care, they care," Kinch clucked. "But there are a lot of stories this time around. Everyone just wants to make sure they nominate the best."
"Yeah, all right," Hogan groused, folding his arms petulantly. "But I'm still protesting."
"Your protest is noted," Kinch said. "All right, fellas, let's make sure everyone in camp knows how important these PBAs are. And remember, nominations are due on February 23rd!"