No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater.
Chapter Nine: The Last AceHogan found Helga at her desk, busily typing up reports. He leaned in for a kiss. She tried to duck, laughing, but he'd placed his hands on the desk on either side of her and she couldn't avoid him. He kissed her once, then once again, enjoying the sensation of her friendly lips.
"You're terrible, Colonel Hogan," she giggled.
"Now is that something to tell a man who's just kissed you?" Hogan complained.
She looked up at him. "You look better," she said.
"Better?"
"You've been walking around camp looking worried the last week or so. I notice these things, for all you men just think I'm a — what do you Americans say? — a dumb blonde."
He looked at her with new respect. "I never thought of you as a dumb blonde, liebchen. All this extra sleep hasn't been bothering you?"
Helga shook her head, blushing. "They call me each time and tell me not to come in the day before. I report to Gestapo Headquarters in Dusseldorf and work in the typing pool until everyone here has woken up."
Hogan's eyes narrowed. "Really?" But before he could ask anything else, the door to the inner office swung open.
"Colonel Hogan!" wafted Klink's prissy, offended voice. "When I ask to see you, I do not expect to be kept waiting!"
"Coming, Kommandant!" Hogan said, throwing the man a mock salute which Klink returned in all seriousness.
Hogan strode into the office, sitting down on the edge of Klink's desk, helping himself to a glass of schnapps from the glass decanter sitting on a silver tray. "Can I pour you one, Colonel?" Hogan asked Klink hospitably, tilting the glass in his direction.
Klink plucked the drink from his hand, poured the schnapps back into the decanter, and moved the tray to the top of his filing cabinet. "I did not invite you here for a comfortable little chat, Hogan," he said sarcastically.
"You didn't?" Hogan said, as if crestfallen. "But I look forward to our little chats!"
"Yes, well, never mind that now. Get off my desk, would you?" Klink said, irritably motioning in the air around him.
Hogan rose, as if aggrieved. Klink fluttered about the desk, straightening the papers Hogan had been sitting on. As he did so, Hogan studied the contents of the desk. Reading upside down – and in German – was one of the accomplishments that made his head ache, but after all this time he was good at it. Nothing but minutiae crowded Klink's desk.
"Well, what did you call me here for, then?" Hogan asked. "I'm a busy man, Kommandant. And all this extra sleep lately really has been cutting into my free time…"
"All this sleep!" Klink moaned. "Tell me, does your head hurt constantly now? And your throat hurt?"
Hogan looked at the Kommandant with compassion. "Yeah, it sure does," he agreed. "I don't know why you put up with it. After all, you're a colonel and Hochstetter is just a major…"
Klink threw up his hands. "Hogan, you know as well as I do that Hochstetter is Gestapo and that means more than mere rank. And," he bent over his desk, lowering his voice, "this project has the highest possible clearance. Why…" Hogan leaned in, encouragingly, "…I don't even know what it's all about!"
Hogan shook his head. "That's just wrong, Kommandant. They're not giving you the respect you deserve. The respect the camp deserves. After all, don't you have the best prison record in all of Germany? No escapes? Sure, that must mean something."
Klink sat down in his seat, moodily staring up at his senior POW. "I know, I know."
"And aren't you afraid of what the brass in the Luftwaffe must be thinking of you?" Hogan prodded him.
"What do you mean?" Klink quavered, an element of trepidation entering his voice.
"Why, they must be wondering why you're not doing more to defend the men under your command. If our places were reversed…" Hogan trailed off.
"Go on," Klink encouraged him.
"…well, you know, Kommandant. I'll bet General Burkhalter is sitting in his office, making a black mark on the calendar every day that cowardly Colonel Klink is letting the Gestapo walk all over him and his men." Hogan made a ticking motion with his hand. "Check, check, check."
"Do you really think so?" Klink worried.
"Think so? Why, I'm certain of it, Kommandant. And besides the welfare of your men, think of the reputation they're stealing from you. If we don't escape while you're sleeping on the job, soon they're going to be wondering if the Iron Colonel really deserves his title. They'll say, it doesn't matter who is in charge of Stalag 13. And before you know it…"
"What? What?" Klink demanded, his voice rising in a panic.
"…you'll be on guard duty yourself, on the Russian Front, and some Gestapo Major — maybe Hochstetter himself — will be in your office, drinking your schnapps and smoking your cigars!" As he reached this crescendo, Hogan reached behind him, poured himself a drink, and downed it, in one quick motion.
"I knew it!" Klink snapped. "Major Hochstetter is just using this project as an excuse!"
"So what are you going to do about it, Kommandant?" Hogan goaded him.
Klink slumped back in his chair, his eyes shut. "What can I do?" he moaned. "I called General Burkhalter the first day and all he did was laugh."
"He's setting you up for a fall, Colonel," Hogan insinuated. "After all, if you do too well, he'll have to promote you. He should have promoted you before. Why, if I were you…"
"Yes?"
"I'd go over Burkhalter's head. Go straight to the Luftwaffe High Command and lodge a protest. The welfare of your men is at stake here… and your ability to do your job and the respect your command deserves is being compromised."
Klink shook his head quickly back and forth. He looked, Hogan thought, eyeing him consideringly, like a chicken in a farmyard that isn't finding the right feed among the gravel rocks. "No, no… we don't do that in our air force."
"Colonels don't…. generals, of course…."
"Generals?" Klink said, ambition shining in his small beady eyes. Definitely a chicken, Hogan thought to himself. "You really think?"
"I don't think, Kommandant — I know!" Hogan said.
"I'll do it!" Klink crowed, his hand on the heavy black phone on his desk. "Fraulein Helga, get me the Luftwaffe High Command!"
Hogan tipped his cush cap back on his head, took another quick drink from Klink's decanter, and let himself out of the office, swaggering just a bit.
