The men milling around the compound, enjoying the last few moments outside before being sent into the barracks for the night, were arrested by the sight of their erstwhile CO being escorted into camp so soon after their new CO had been recaptured. Schultz came hurrying forward from the Kommandantur's porch as the little procession crossed the compound, clearly summoned by a call from the front gate. He stared at Hogan with obvious astonishment.
"Colonel Hogan, what are you doing here?"
Hogan shrugged. "Seemed like the right thing to do, Schultz. Can I put my hands down? I'm not going anywhere from here."
"Ja, of course, Colonel Hogan." After a flurried exchange of questions from Schultz and explanations from Hahn, Schultz added a few orders to the patrol, who all turned on their heels and headed back toward the gate and their regular patrol duty.
Once the colonel was safely in Schultz's hands, he was quickly surrounded by the prisoners in the compound: all the men of Barracks 2 plus those of several other barracks who had lingered outside to enjoy the last light of day.
"You're back, Colonel?" asked Nichols, a tall, lanky corporal from Barracks 3. "To stay?" he added wistfully.
"Yep, for better or worse," Hogan answered cheerfully.
"For richer or poorer," Perkins from Barracks 6 added slyly—always the joker that one.
"Don't go any further—I am not marrying anyone, least of all you lot!" Hogan joked back, provoking laughter from those around him. His smile dimmed slightly and he looked around the group of forty or so men who surrounded him. He lifted his head up further. "I'm here for the duration," he announced firmly, so that they could all hear. That set off a cheer from everyone that lifted his heart.
Turning to Schultz, Hogan inquired genially, "So, I guess I need to see the Kommandant?"
"Ja, I should say so," Schultz answered, gazing at Hogan benevolently.
"I'll see you fellas later," Hogan promised the rest. He removing the swagger cane from his bag of possessions, then he handed the bag back to LeBeau, who took it with a delighted smile. Hogan followed Schultz over to the Kommandantur, climbing the familiar steps to the porch.
Schultz paused there. "Before we go in, Colonel Hogan, I think you should take this." He reached in his pocket and pulled out the list of needed medical supplies that Hogan had given him several hours earlier. He handed it over to Hogan, who took the folded paper with a curious kind of reverence, feeling a renewed commitment to what it represented as he did so.
He looked up at Schultz, to find the guard regarding him thoughtfully. Schultz gave a slight nod, then gestured politely towards the Kommandantur. "After you, if you please, Colonel Hogan."
Hogan opened the door and stepped into the outer office. Hilda was long gone home, of course, so Schultz went to knock on the Kommandant's door, while Hogan set the swagger stick down on her desk.
"Come in!" Klink sounded impatient.
Schultz opened the door. "Herr Kommandant, Colonel Hogan is here—"
"Tell him I have no time for him and his problems. Would I be working here at this hour if I did? Does he realize how much paperwork escape attempts create?"
This is going to be fun. Hogan grinned inwardly as he sauntered into the office and stood before Klink's desk. "That's terrible, sir. Why should you have to record everything? You Germans should relax, not get so caught up in all the little details."
Klink glanced up, nodding and seemingly glad that someone was sympathizing with him. "That would certainly be more convenient. But unlike your American army, Hogan, the German army runs on efficiency, and that means keeping track of all the details, in an effective, organized manner. So thanks to Group Captain Crittendon's escape attempt, I have mountains of paperwork to sort through: guards' reports, updating statistics, reports to Berlin in triplicate—it goes on and on! And you! Do you have any idea how much time it took me just this morning to arrange for your transfer, Hoooo—"
Here it comes, Hogan thought to himself, unable to resist smirking as comprehension dawned in the Kommandant's eyes.
"—GAAAN!" Klink's voice rose shrilly, at least four notes, as he rose to his feet, both hands clenching almost into fists and shaking impotently in front of him. "What are you doing here?" He turned his wrist to look at his watch. "You should be on the Berlin Express by now!"
"We had a little problem with a flat tire," Hogan explained.
"That explains nothing!" Klink snapped. "Where is your escort? Why did you come back here?"
"Well," Hogan crossed his arms around himself and launched into selling-the-explanation mode, "while the guards were fixing the flat tire, Lieutenant Sauer seemed very anxious. He kept looking at his watch—kinda like you, Kommandant. Finally, just when they'd got the new tire on, a couple of other guys came out of the woods. They had guns too. Now, I expected the goons—sorry, I mean the crack S.S. troops—would shoot them, but no, Lieutenant Sauer actually seemed glad to see them. They had some kind of conference off away from me, but I could overhear a few bits and pieces. Something about a big plan at 1930 tonight. Then the new guys asked what to do with me, and Sauer said something about it being too dangerous to take me. So they tossed my bag out of the truck and all got on it and drove off—leaving me stranded there in the middle of the road!" he finished indignantly.
Klink sat back down in his chair. "You are asking me to believe that a dedicated soldier like Lieutenant Sauer, and the men under his command as well, just abandoned their duty like that?"
Hogan shrugged. "That's what happened. It's up to you to decide whether to believe it, Kommandant."
Klink regarded him suspiciously. "Hogan, tell me, why did you come back here? You were free. I would expect you to be halfway to London by now."
Somehow that comment hit Hogan harder than he expected. He really could have been on his way there right at this moment. . . . No, he reminded himself silently. I belong here for now.
He answered testily, "I've been asking myself that same question." Get back on script, he told himself. "An invisible force seemed to be pulling me back. I guess," he paused for dramatic effect, "oh, it sounds silly." He lowered his arms and crossed his hands in front of him instead.
"What?"
"Oh, you'll just laugh."
"Please, I already laughed once this week." Klink said sarcastically, holding his right hand up then dropping it dismissively. "Hogan, what are you trying to say?"
"I'm back because I missed the old dungeon. You have no idea how I felt as I came over the hill and saw the sun setting beyond the machine gun turrets." Well, that part was true, anyway.
Funnily enough, that was the part that Klink was having trouble buying. "Hogan!" he barked in exasperation.
Hogan went into one of his wilder flights of fancy. "The barbed wire sparkling like spun gold, and the delousing station at twilight time," he ended sarcastically, recalling the sight of Stalag 13 from the top of the hill. Klink glared suspiciously at him. "Colonel Klink, this is a veritable paradise," Hogan added, as seriously as he could.
"Hogan, I don't believe one word of this," Klink shook his head and sank back into his chair. But he was apparently willing not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "It's as outrageous as what Group Captain Crittendon was trying to tell me this afternoon."
"Crittendon?" Hogan looked curious—as in fact he was. "What happened with him?" He shook his head. "I've never trusted him," he added sententiously—and with more than a shade of truth.
Klink shook his head. "I agree with you about Group Captain Crittendon. He cannot be trusted. You give him one inch, he'll take fifty yards. You know, he'd gotten that far when Schultz spotted him."
"You mean he tried to make a break? From the toughest POW camp in Germany?" Hogan injected the proper amount of incredulity into his voice.
"Well, he denied it of course. Said he was coming in, not going out," Klink replied, his own voice loaded with disbelief.
"Where is he now?" Hogan asked.
"In the cooler for the next thirty days. Oh, he's a menace. He's got to be locked up somewhere."
"You know he'll just try it again," Hogan warned. "He really believes it's every officer's duty to escape."
Klink nodded glumly, then looked up at Hogan, eyes narrowed. "If I see to it that he's locked up somewhere else, you would be senior officer again."
Hogan leaned forward, both hands on Klink's desk. "Who would you rather have in charge here: the guy who didn't say he would escape and then tried to, or the one that said he'd escape and then came back?"
For a long moment the two officers stared at each other, eye to eye.
Klink broke first. "I'll transfer him tomorrow," he said, looking down at his desk. "There is no room here for troublemakers!" he added with more spirit.
Hogan nodded. "We can do without him very nicely! But as senior officer, I should visit him in the cooler." He didn't especially want to, but he needed to let Crittendon know about London's orders.
"Very well," Klink said grudgingly. "You can have five minutes."
"Thanks," Hogan answered. "And one other thing, since I'm now going to be senior officer again." Picturing Landry's worn face, he pulled the list of medical supplies out of his pocket and put it down on Klink's desk. "Our medic gave me this list yesterday: we need all of these."
Klink picked up the list and scanned through it, pursing his lips. "I will see what I can do," he finally agreed. "I will contact the Red Cross as well as our headquarters, though I can promise nothing in particular," he warned.
Hogan nodded, figuring he would push harder later if Klink turned up short. He'd personally make sure Wilson got everything he needed for the men in this camp.
He wondered what time it was. Surely the time for the bombs to go off was fast approaching. He asked casually, "Incidentally, what time you got?"
Klink glanced at his watch once again. "Oh, it's . . . ah, 1929 and 40 seconds."
"Exactly?" Hogan asked with some irony.
"I just set it by my radio!" Klink answered defensively.
Abruptly the building shook, simultaneously with a distant but loud explosion, then a second and a third hard on its heels. Sounds like a train and a refinery to me, Hogan thought in satisfaction, grabbing the desk to steady himself. But either it's early or Klink's watch is late.
Klink likewise was holding onto the desk. "Hogan, what is it? What's happening?" he cried out, panicked.
Hogan went to the window, looking darkly off in distance where he could see a glow in the sky over the hill. "Your radio's 12 seconds slow," he answered.
"What has that got to do with it?!" Klink expostulated. His eyes widened and he pointed at Hogan. "Sauer?! You said they said they had a big plan for 1930 this evening!"
Hogan shrugged. Klink had made the connection: he'd pass it up the line as needed. Hogan wasn't feeling especially cooperative at the moment—but for his men, he'd have been on that train. So he just answered, "Who knows?" And he was still irritated with how Klink had crowed with delight over replacing him as senior officer. So he decided to take one small revenge on the Kommandant. "Oh, one other thing, Colonel," he said.
"What?"
Hogan lifted his right hand. "Chop, chop, chop," he said, suiting action to the words. Then he raised his hand in an ironic salute, turned and walked out of the office without waiting for a dismissal. Behind him, Klink glared and made his iron fist gesture, impotently.
ooOoo
A few minutes later, Hogan stood with Schultz outside the door of the cooler, watching him unlock the building door to let him in while he idly switched the swagger cane against his leg. He had picked it from the outer office; he would give it back to Crittendon. He certainly didn't want the silly thing.
The irony of visiting Crittendon the way Crittendon had visited him almost exactly 24 hours earlier wasn't lost on him. They had put Crittendon in Cell 3 too. Well, at least Crittendon would know that there was no getting out through a tunnel from that one. Still, Hogan felt uneasy, unsure of how to play this interview.
"Krüger!" Schultz called to the bored guard sitting outside Cell 3, watching its new occupant. The sergeant gestured for the private to come join him, giving the two Allied officers privacy.
Hogan walked down the corridor to stand in front of the same cell he had been imprisoned in just hours earlier. Crittendon stood up from the bunk and approached the door of the cell, his hands clasped behind him and his back ramrod straight. He was back in uniform. Hogan hoped that he was wearing his proper shirt this time, and not Hogan's one spare—which reminded him that he needed to get Newkirk to mend it, and his hat.
"Hogan, old boy. Didn't expect to see you back here," Crittendon said in ringing tones.
Hogan eyed him suspiciously. Which did Crittendon mean: that he expected Hogan was off to London—or that he had wound up on the Berlin Express after the failure of the initial rescue attempt? He decided not to ask.
"There's been a change of plan," he announced. There was no point in beating around the bush on his main message. "London's ordered me to stay in command here."
Crittendon went completely still. "I see," he said frostily. "I suppose you're having me transferred now."
"That was Klink's decision, yes," Hogan temporized.
"Aided and abetted by you, I take it. Very nice turning of the tables." There was a definite note of resentment in his voice.
"Yes," Hogan admitted freely this time, lifting his head slightly. Crittendon returned his stare.
"All for the good of the operation, what?" the Englishman said. "So, Stalag 15 for me then, I take it?"
Guilt gnawed at Hogan. Giving any fellow Allied officer over to the Germans didn't sit well with him—even Crittendon. But O'Malley had been clear: Crittendon was to remain in German custody. Probably HQ thought he'd be less of a danger to their own side there than back in England.
They were probably right.
"After my 'escape' this afternoon, we can't have yours occur tomorrow," he pointed out.
"Right. That would compromise the operation, wouldn't it. Jolly good. Well, I'll see what I can do with the chaps there," Crittendon continued on, looking past Hogan towards the far wall of the corridor. "There's always plenty of shaking up to do in a new camp. I'll get cracking and in no time I'm sure we'll have dug some tunnels. I'll arrange some escapes, beat Jerry at his own game. I'll be sending you some business here, no doubt; may even turn up myself."
Hogan sighed inwardly at the prospect. Given Crittendon's past record of coming to Stalag 13, that possibility seemed horribly likely. He was also certain that the enlisted men of Stalag 15 would not appreciate getting Crittendon as their senior officer. And yet, as much as he despised Crittendon's way of doing just about everything . . . he had to admit that there was a kind of bleak courage in Crittendon accepting his fate in this way.
"Why did you volunteer to come here?" he abruptly asked. "You were in England, could have set out the rest of the war doing needed work there."
Crittendon glanced at him. "I've done a desk job before. Just wanted a shot at the action this time, old boy. Lead men into battle, do my bit, make a difference in the war, you know." He swung his fist in front of his chest to emphasize his enthusiasm. "You had this all set up, I knew the operation. I got wind that you were leaving. Seemed like a perfect match."
Someone had told him Hogan was leaving—who? Well, there was no finding out from here. Hogan crossed his arms and directly challenged him. "Who told you I was leaving? And you can't seriously think you were prepared to take over here."
Crittendon stiffened further. "Of course, I was. May I remind you I have far more experience than you at this level of command? And I was asked through the proper channels of command. Really, Hogan, that's bad form, asking such a question. Bad show all around."
Hogan gave up in the face of all the clichés. Possibly the man's self-delusion was deep enough that there was no penetrating it, but more likely he was saving face and wouldn't admit to his own inability to command. Crittendon would never concede such a thing: he had too much pride. Hogan suspected that was how he had operated for years and why his career had stalled for so long before the war: he knew the scripts and could say all the right things, but he didn't have an original thought in his head and was completely inflexible, which sabotaged him every time he got beyond the basic program of any job.
It struck Hogan that Crittendon had a kind of reverse Midas touch: everything he did went wrong. Well, he would be transferred in the morning and no longer Hogan's headache. He didn't want anything bad to happen to Crittendon: he just wanted him out of his way—for the rest of the war and the rest of his life, if possible.
"Well, you'll want this in your new camp," he said, handing the swagger cane back to Crittendon through the bars. "You never know when it might be useful."
Crittendon looked at him warily, as if not sure Hogan meant the gesture, then took it from him. He caressed it lightly with his left hand, running along the length of the stick. "Thank you," he replied, his tone warming slightly. "That was one of my better ideas, was it not?"
"Yes," Hogan answered sincerely. It had helped delay Sauer a crucial few seconds; his men might have arrived just slightly too late without it.
"Colonel Hogan," Schultz called down the hall apologetically. "It has been nearly ten minutes, and the Kommandant said you could have only five."
"Be right there, Schultz," Hogan called back, then looked back through the doorway of the cell. "Good night, Crittendon. I'll see you tomorrow before your transfer."
"Jolly good," Crittendon said, smiling slightly.
Hogan took a few steps toward the door, past the open door of Cell 2, then stopped and went in, grabbing the blanket on the bunk in it. He retraced his steps to Cell 3. "Here," he said, thrusting it through the bars of the door.
Crittendon took the extra blanket. "Thank you, Hogan." He sounded sincere.
Hogan simply nodded, then walked toward the world outside.
ooOoo
Schultz accompanied him as far as the door of Barracks 2. "Good night, Colonel Hogan," he said. "And please, no monkey business tonight. We have had enough for one day."
"I'm with you there," Hogan agreed, wondering yet again just how much Schultz knew or suspected. "Good night, Schultz."
He opened the door and stepped through. To his complete surprise, Carter shouted out, "Ten hut!" and every man in the barracks snapped to attention and a salute.
Straightening up, Hogan returned the salute and then called out, "At ease." As everyone returned to normal stance, he stared at them in astonishment. "What on earth? I told you guys the first week I was here I didn't need you doing that every time I entered the room."
Kinch stepped forward as spokesman. "Maybe you don't need us to do it all the time, sir, but tonight we needed to do it." His eyes were warm, and he was smiling.
Hogan looked around the barracks at all the familiar faces, all smiling at him now, and abruptly discovered he was having trouble swallowing around a lump in his throat. The barracks was full of delicious smells: he suddenly recognized laid out on the table all the food that Schultz had detailed he was to buy for Hogan's going away party.
"We thought we'd give you a welcome back party, Colonel," LeBeau said cheerfully. He handed him a mug with red wine inside it as everyone else picked up their own assorted tin cups and mugs.
"There was a terrible accident in the Kommandant's storeroom a bit ago," Newkirk explained cheerfully. "He must have lost four bottles of French wine from it."
Hogan grinned at the Englishman's ingenuity. "Such a shame," he deadpanned, then lifted his mug. The fragrant bouquet of a good vintage hit his nose and he smiled, then his smile faded slightly. He looked around the barracks, at all the men he valued so much. "I haven't done well by you over the past day"—he ignored their shaking heads—"but I'll make damned sure I do better for you in the future—for the duration. I propose a toast: to the men of Stalag 13, the best team in the combined Allied armies!"
"And to our Colonel," Kinch added, raising his glass, echoed by all the others. They passed around the toast, clinking mugs and cups, and together they drank, for health, and life, and luck.
The End
ooOoo
Author's Note: Readers who know "Hogan Go Home" will note that my ending differs substantially from the ending of the original episode. In it, when Hogan returns to camp he and Klink talk outside the Kommandantur, and Klink informs him that he has already transferred Crittendon to Stalag 15, which appears to be news to Hogan. Although I had initially intended to end my story right where the original episode ended, the closer I got to finishing my revised version, the less plausible and satisfactory that original ending seemed. Given the insightful (and enormously useful!) questions from readers about Crittendon's real nature, some kind of final meeting between the two officers seemed needed. (Plus Klink arranging Crittendon's transfer so quickly appeared to contradict how I had set up Hogan's own transfer earlier.) Thus I moved the site of the meeting between Klink and Hogan into Klink's office (though I preserved most of their dialogue, albeit with a number of additions) and added the two final scenes of my story. I'm not sure that my resolution of the story definitively answered all the questions about Crittendon, although I have given Hogan's interpretation of him. Since the story is from Hogan's perspective, that seemed most suitable to me in the end—and, given that people are complex and sometimes inscrutable even to themselves, the slight ambiguity also seemed fitting to me. I hope readers will find it so too.
I owe many thanks to Bill Davenport, whose original script for "Hogan Go Home" I have used and edited so heavily, and I am grateful (as are we all!) to the creators of the Hogan's Heroes series, of course. Thank you also to all the readers of this story, especially those whose perceptive questions and comments kept me thinking and revising my ideas on this story up to the very end. I'll give my own New Year's toast for you all tonight, for health and happiness and luck in 2015 and all the years beyond.