A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love.


London, February 1942

In its brief eighteen months of existence, the obscure agency known as Special Operations Executive had received many strange requests. But it had never received a request quite like this one.

The two men seated in the modest little office in Baker Street looked at each other without speaking for a moment. Then the elder of the two looked down at the sheet of paper lying on the desktop between them, and flicked it with an incredulous finger.

"A resistance group—in Germany itself? Impossible."

"Not at all, sir. Apparently this isn't the only one, but they are the first to make contact with us."

"And they're operating out of—Hamburg, is it?"

"No, sir. Hammelburg."

"Hammelburg? Where in the bloody hell is that?"

"Small town, about thirty kilometers west of Schweinfurt."

"Schweinfurt—where the ball bearing factories are?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm. And you believe this is a legitimate request, not one of those Jerry traps?"

"Yes, sir. The message was relayed to us by Moreau, from Brussels."

"One of the best, to be sure. And Moreau vouches for this group?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see. Well, let me look at this more thoroughly...this report states that they are looking for direction and assistance from Britain. They've provided some information on Wehrmacht troop movements—nice touch, that—and they have a number of industrial targets they'd like to sabotage. They say they want to help remove Hitler from power, and they are willing to support the Allied effort in order to do this."

"Yes, sir. They seem quite determined."

"Well, it couldn't hurt to investigate this. Most ordinary Germans are too frightened of reprisals to take any action against the Nazis, poor devils. If we can assist anyone who is willing to do it, we should."

"Shall we drop an agent in, sir?"

"Can't drop a man in by parachute right now—too risky for the aircraft, going that deeply into Germany. Have we anyone on the ground there?"

"Yes, but no one closer than Berlin, and he's involved in a rather sticky situation at the moment."

"What of the Yanks? Have they anyone operating in Germany itself?"

"Let me see—yes, they have one working out of Frankfurt am Main. Name's Olsen, I believe."

"Good enough. We'll have Mama Bear handle this, I think."

"Colonel Wembley's team, sir?"

"Yes, they seem to adapt well to unusual situations, and they have a good relationship with the Americans; they can contact this Olsen fellow and have him meet with the Hammelburg group."

"I'll notify them right away, sir."

"And check with those chaps at MI9, too, will you? Just think: if an escape line from within Germany itself could be set up..."

"It would be invaluable, sir. And there are bound to be plenty of downed airmen in Germany as the bombing campaign intensifies."

"Exactly. But remember: absolute secrecy must have priority over every other consideration with this Hammelburg group, of course. They will be working against greater odds than we can possibly imagine."


Captain John Olsen of United States Army Intelligence was used to working alone. Since his insertion into Nazi Germany a year ago, he had maintained a low profile, kept to himself, and avoided even casual relationships with the people he met. He knew that every face on the street that he saw could possibly be concealing a Gestapo informant.

And his current role of petty bureaucrat with the Abwehr did nothing to increase his faith in human nature. Far too many of the reports that crossed his desk involved citizen reporting against citizen. But of course, he couldn't blame them. The indoctrination that the German people received was inescapable, and the consequences of falling afoul of what passed for law in this country were unspeakable.

So when he received a carefully coded message from his superior in London, he was startled and more than a little skeptical:

Resistance group in Hammelburg requests SOE assistance. Investigate and liaise if indicated. Particulars to follow.

So SOE wanted him to be the go-between with them and this unknown German group. But a resistance group in Germany? Could such a thing even exist?

And when he received the details of SOE's plans for this group he was even more skeptical. Apparently SOE expected these poor people—members of a rigidly controlled society—to risk their lives by blowing up bridges and troop trains. Not only that, MI9 was hoping they could establish an escape line here as well; an equally dangerous occupation for resistance workers.

Not that he couldn't see the value in it. The British heavy bombers must have lost many men over Germany already. And the number of downed airmen in Germany would increase dramatically with the US beginning bombing missions as well.

But his native caution and his observation of the German people warned him that however desirable active resistance in Germany would be, it was highly unlikely. If anyone opposed the current regime, they were careful to keep it to themselves, other than a few religious leaders who had paid a high price for speaking out against the Nazis. Of course, he had to admit that the uniform he wore for his current assignment was hardly conducive to anyone confiding thoughts of insurrection to him.

But there was also the fact he was to contact this group by radio; it was enough to make him wonder. Radios were plentiful in Germany, it was true; Herr Goebbels had made certain of that—such a powerful propaganda tool was something that the Reich wanted to see in every German home. The Volksempfänger was inexpensive and easily acquired—Olsen had one himself—and Herr Hitler's rants were all too easily heard on the state-controlled broadcasting system.

But these radios had limited range and did not possess shortwave capability, and in fact use of shortwave was banned in Germany. Each personal radio sold came with a tag attached to the dial, warning the public that listening to foreign broadcasts was a crime "punishable by prison and hard labor"—in a concentration camp, no doubt. And if this cheerful message wasn't enough, the dial was only marked with German radio stations. The Nazis obviously wanted no one to be listening to British or Russian broadcasts.

So how did these people in Hammelburg get their hands on a radio capable of receiving and transmitting shortwave signals? Olsen had no idea. Regardless, he had been given specific instructions on how and when to contact the group.

And if this group was legitimate, SOE owed them every effort to help get their operation off the ground, however dangerous their mission might be. Olsen reflected that this Hammelburg group—Mother Goose, as designated by SOE—would have to be shrouded in such secrecy that probably no one would ever know about it, even long after the war had ended.

So he made the trip to Hammelburg, and after carefully checking out the area, he set up a rendezvous with Mother Goose for Thursday evening, outside an abandoned brewery on the fringe of town.

On Thursday he went off duty from his day job and hurried home to his tiny flat in Frankfurt. It would soon be time to leave for his Hammelburg rendezvous, and he had just enough time for his routine check-in with headquarters.

He turned on the set and put on the headphones. His eyes widened as he automatically groped for a pencil and pad of paper and wrote down the Morse code transcription. Then he tapped out a response, shut down the device, and stared at what he had just written. There was only one thought in his mind.

Oh, crap!


When Oskar Schnitzer received the mysterious summons to meet Max Schumann at his home, he was tense with anticipation. Through a trusted friend in Belgium Max had established contact with a British agency in London, one that provided aid to resistance groups in the occupied countries.

But would this agency help Germans? Or would the British consider them a lost cause, and reject their request out of hand?

Max had reported that an agent was being sent to them by the British, and that the agent had contacted him by radio to arrange a face-to-face meeting.

And the meeting was for tonight. When Oskar told his family where he was bound for the evening, his father nodded with grim satisfaction. "It is good. But you be careful, boy. We don't know what we're dealing with yet."

"Ja," said Maria. Her eyes were anxious. "I don't like the idea of you going to this meeting unarmed."

Oskar gave a short laugh. "Now, where would I get a gun? You know it is illegal for civilians to carry firearms."

His wife sighed. Then her eyes brightened. "At least take one of the dogs with you."

Sieglinde thumped her tail on the floor and looked expectantly at Oskar.

He looked down at her, frowning, and then smiled and reached down to scratch her ears. "Very well, Maria. I shall take Sieglinde, and she can bite the agent if he tries any false moves."

When Oskar and Sieglinde arrived at Max's cottage, Max looked askance at the thought of bringing a dog to the meeting, but conceded that an extra pair of eyes and ears might be helpful.

They arrived early at the rendezvous site and cautiously took up a vantage point where they could see without being seen. And now the three of them—Max, Oskar, and Sieglinde—hung back in the shadows as they watched the northeast corner of the abandoned brewery building. It lacked but a few minutes of the appointed time, and their tension was rising.

Then they saw a man appear around the corner of the building. He was briefly visible in the moonlight, and they could see he wore an RAF uniform.

"There he is," whispered Max. "Right on time."

"Ja," murmured Oskar, but his attention was caught by Sieglinde, who stiffened at his side. He placed a reassuring hand on her back, and felt her hackles rising along with the vibrations of an inaudible growl.

A cold breeze seemed to sweep over him, and he touched Max's sleeve to get his attention. Oskar jerked his head, indicating that they should retreat.

The three of them melted away, moving silently and keeping to the edge of the building until they reached the street. As they stepped onto the pavement Max turned as if to speak with Oskar, but then his face changed as he looked past Oskar, and he mouthed, "Hurry!"

As soon as they were on the public thoroughfare, they slowed their steps and assumed the casual attitude of two men out for an evening walk with their dog.

After they had covered a couple of blocks in a leisurely manner, Max turned his head to look at Oskar. "What was going on back there? As we left I could see two men in SS uniforms talking with our contact, and they seemed to be taking orders from him!"

Oskar was stunned at this new revelation and his blood ran cold again. "The Gestapo! Did they see us?"

Max shook his head. "I don't think so, they were moving off in the opposite direction. It is good we didn't approach that man! But how did you know?"

"I'm not sure…"

Oskar's low voice faded away as a tall figure approached them. As the man drew nearer, it could be seen that he wore the uniform of an Abwehr officer and Oskar's blood ran even colder. His hand tightened involuntarily on Sieglinde's leash, and he was thankful she refrained from growling at the man.

The officer looked at the two men and then down at Sieglinde, his face without expression as he held out his hand. "Papers, please."

Oskar's heart was pounding. The close call with the Gestapo, and now this! Things seemed to have gone from bad to worse...


A/N: Special Operations Executive (SOE) was an unconventional British agency established in 1940 shortly after the British Expeditionary Force was evacuated from Dunkirk, when it seemed Britain had no other capability of waging war on the Continent. After a rocky start, the SOE made hundreds of air drops to resistance fighters in the occupied countries, providing trained agents and desperately needed supplies, with the intent of fostering guerrilla warfare on the Continent. MI9, a branch of British Military Intelligence established in 1939, provided the same services to resistance workers who maintained escape lines that enabled thousands of evaders (downed airmen who had avoided capture) and escapers (escaped POWs) to return to England.

Alas, I can find no evidence of the existence of an organized German resistance group such as the Underground as depicted on Hogan's Heroes. But since many documents pertaining to the activities of SOE and MI9 won't be declassified until 2045and maybe not even thenwho knows? Perhaps more went on in Germany than we will ever know.