"The prosecution calls L J Groundwater to the stand."
Hogan grew pale as the murmuring in the courtroom suddenly got louder. Le Beau, astonished, whispered in his ear, "It is a woman, Colonel!" he said.
Hogan nodded, trembling slightly and not taking his eyes off the female being led to the box beside the judge's bench.
"Do you swear to tell thetruththewholetruthandnothingbutthetruthsohelpyouGod?"
Wide-eyed, L J Groundwater nodded. "I do."
"You may be seated."
Dan Fielding stood up and swaggered toward the witness. A slight curve upwards at the edges of his lips made the heroes wonder what he had against this particular author that he hadn't yet shared with them.
"Miss—Groundwater, is it?"
"Missus," the defendant replied. "Groundwater, yes. Linda."
"A pretty name," Le Beau whispered to Newkirk.
The Englishman rolled his eyes. "Don't fall for this one, Le Beau. She's as good as that Russian was."
"Marya was always good to me! You did not trust her enough," he argued back.
"Shh!" Hogan ordered.
"Married, are you?" Fielding continued. "Interesting. I suppose your husband doesn't know about your secret life?"
Linda looked puzzled. "Secret life?"
"I've been looking on the Internet as part of my research for this trial. It seems you were a prostitute in a previous life."
Linda's face turned sour. "That was a show. I do amateur theatre. I have never been a prostitute in real life."
Dan looked disappointed. "Really? You mean you don't get paid to dress like that? Those pictures were pretty uh..."
A cough from the judge brought the prosecutor's mind back into the room. "Dan, is there a reason you're bringing this up?" Harry asked.
"It goes to cause, sir. If she felt one of these men had been unfair to her in, perhaps, a house of ill-repute..."
"I'm sorry, Dan, I can't allow it. Can you stick to the case, please?"
Dan shrugged. "Yes, Your Honor. Linda—I can call you Linda, right?—Linda. Tell me why you write fanfiction."
"I have always written."
"Let me rephrase then: why do you write about Hogan's Heroes?"
Linda shrugged. "The original show was so well written, and so well acted, that it was a joy to see those characters come to life. But the show played equally well as a drama and as a comedy. So I suppose I wanted to see the drama come out a little bit more. Not that I haven't written a few humorous bits—lighter bits," she added. "But I'm more about wit than outright guffaws."
"I see. And tell me what makes you do what you do to them."
"I beg your pardon?"
"How do you construct your plots?"
I pull a lot from history, then I try to fill in the holes about how things happened with things that could have been done at Stalag 13."
"Please elaborate."
"Well, there was a lot of intrigue in World War 2, of course, and there were a lot of little things that made a big difference in the war—things that were done by handfuls of people who were willing to make whatever sacrifices were necessary to preserve the sanctity of life and to defeat the Nazis. Since I was blessed with the original set-up of Hogan's Heroes, I used the characters that readers know as the basis for these situations—a representative composite of them all, so to speak."
"Can you give me an example of this?" asked Dan.
"Of course," Linda answered. She paused for thought. "I wrote a story about how the Germans used microdots on stamps and envelopes to get information to spies living overseas. In that particular case, I had the stamps delivered into a prison camp, and Hogan—Colonel Hogan—and the men discover their real purpose and alter them."
"For what purpose?"
"So the Krauts couldn't use them. Also, this helped educate the readers about how the microdots were put in place and how they were used."
Dan nodded, seemingly in deep thought, then he turned suddenly to Linda and said, "Isn't it also true that in that very same story, you had Colonel Hogan put into solitary confinement, and sent Colonel Crittendon from the RAF to Stalag 13 to be with the rest of Hogan's men in the interim?"
Linda nodded. "Yes, that's true."
Hogan watched carefully. Fielding was starting to hone in on her now, this woman of eternal evil. She would be scared soon—very soon.
"And isn't it true that this isn't the only thing you've done to Colonel Hogan? Isn't it true that you've had him delivered to the Gestapo, brought to the brink of death, gotten him into a serious car crash, had both him and his men suffer from terrible flu, and even pretend to be blown up?"
Linda nodded again. "Yes."
Hm, thought Hogan, she's not sweating yet. But she will.
"And isn't it true that you've even had the Colonel and the Frenchman, Le Beau, go into France as it was about to be liberated, at great peril to themselves?"
"Yes, that's true," Linda answered again. Hogan watched for signs that she was breaking, and was upset when he could see none.
"So what do you have to say for yourself?"
"They always made it out," Linda said matter-of-factly. "I don't do character death."
"You don't?"
"No. And I don't do slash, or time travel, or suicide, or Mary Sues, with the single exception of the experiments. But that was done on purpose. And I don't think I was very Sue-like in that." Linda raised her chin almost defiantly. "And I don't deny them women, either. As a matter of fact, there's usually some sort of reward for their good work all around—either friendship and support from each other, or congratulations from London, or time with someone a bit softer. And for the Colonel, that's usually Tiger. So far I haven't heard any complaints about that."
Newkirk could have sworn he saw the Colonel blush at that remark.
"But you also put people like Tiger in danger, don't you? Not just Colonel Hogan himself, but his men, and people he cares about."
"Wouldn't be much of an adventure story if there wasn't peril in it, would there?" Linda retorted. "'Hogan goes to town. Everything goes dandy. The bad guys lose. Hogan gets the girl. The end.' Snore! What's the point in writing if there's no challenge to the characters?—Look, writing is about conflict and resolution. Putting up barriers and overcoming them. Letting the characters grow. If none of that happens, readers get bored, I've wasted my time, and no one has learned a thing, including the characters, who..." She cut herself off abruptly and looked at her hands in her lap.
"Who..." prompted Dan.
Linda sighed, an almost exasperated sound that worried the Colonel. "Look, Colonel Hogan is a hero. Anything I've ever done to him—and you can read for yourself what I've done; I'm not hiding anything—has been through an act of bravery or heroism. To save his operation or a mission or his men or a member of the Underground. He always comes out on top, but he learns from it. That's what writing is all about—because then the readers might learn something, too."
"Mrs. Groundwater, let's get back to the facts. You have had these men tortured—"
"Yes."
"And interrogated."
"Yes."
"And scared to within an inch of their lives."
"Yes."
"And not only have you done it to them, but you have altered—humanized—some very one-dimensional characters, like Colonel Klink, for instance, a man who was anything but heroic, but whom you seemed to make almost noble depending on the circumstances."
"That's right. I think almost all men have potential for nobility. Almost," she emphasized with a stern look at Hochstetter.
"You say you have researched this."
"That's correct."
"And that means that your methods of torture have been most accurate."
"As much as I could while staying somewhat PG-rated."
"So you set out to make these men's lives painful and difficult."
"If it helped the audience learn and to advance the story."
"At the expense of what? Of whom? Did you think about no one but yourself?" Dan said accusingly.
Linda thought for a few seconds before answering. "Look, I don't want to seem cold. I love these characters—all of them. But I write fiction. Fiction. None of this really happens."
"And is that what you say to the poor beleaguered men who sit in this very courtroom? That what they suffer through at your hands doesn't really happen?"
Linda pursed her lips and looked over toward Hogan and his men. She seemed to be considering her words before saying them aloud. "No," she said finally, softly. "It doesn't really happen because—" She cut herself off, seeming to be unwilling to continue.
"Because?" Dan asked.
Linda remained silent. Hogan leaned forward. Behind him, Hochstetter seemed to rise up higher in his seat to see her more clearly. "Because?" Dan prompted again. "Your Honor, would you please instruct the witness to answer the question?"
Harry looked at the reluctant witness. "I'm afraid he's got you on this one," he said with a smile. "You can't leave us hanging like this. It'd be like leaving the next chapter unwritten!"
Linda looked up at Harry and offered him a lopsided smile. "Right," she said. "I do always finish my stories." She looked back at Fielding. "None of these things happen because... because Colonel Hogan and his men, and all the Germans, don't really exist."
The uproar from the gallery was immediate. Hochstetter himself seemed to be the most upset. "Don't really exist? I'll show you whether the Gestapo exists! Bring that woman down here, schnell! I want her for questioning of my own..."
"They don't exist?" Dan repeated.
"No," Linda insisted. "I mean, they're here... somehow... But then you're here... somehow. The question then becomes, how the heck did we all manage to be in the same time frame when we're clearly not from the same era? And how did real people get mixed up with characters?"
"Your Honor, irrelevance," Dan said.
"I'll allow it. I'm pretty darned curious about this myself," Harry said.
"Mrs. Groundwater, do you have no remorse about anything you have written? About anything you've done to these men? Do you have anything to say to them?"
Linda's eyes swept the gallery. "I'm just amazed to be seeing them at all... and wondering if I've mixed up my medications."
Dan shook his head. "No further questions. Your witness, Kuzak."
The heroes looked at each other, uncertain about how that had gone. Fielding had definitely done a good job trying to get L J Groundwater to confess to her wrongdoings. But she didn't deny it. And worst of all, she didn't even seem contrite!
A young, dark-haired attorney with chiseled features and eyes that could see right through a person stood up from the defense table. He was well-suited and seemed to be full of quiet confidence. He smiled at Linda, then turned to the court. "Allow me to introduce myself, Your Honor. My name is Michael Kuzak. I normally practice law in Los Angeles, but for this case I felt compelled to come here to New York."
"LA Law, huh?" Harry said with an approving nod. "Bet they do things differently out there." He grinned. "I'm surprised you're not fronting up in your surf gear!"
Kuzak smiled warmly. "No, sir. Surfing's not for me. Cars."
"You may proceed, Mr. Kuzak."
"Thank you, Your Honor." Kuzak turned to his witness. "Good morning, Linda."
"Good morning."
"I won't keep you long this morning. But I'm going to ask you a question that I understand most ladies don't like to answer. Please forgive me in advance."
A smile from the witness. "Certainly."
"What year were you born?"
"1966."
"And so how old are you now?"
Linda raised an eyebrow. "Forty-two."
"That will be all, then, Linda. Thank you so much." Linda nodded as she stood up to step back to the gallery. "The defense would like to call Colonel Hogan to the stand," Kuzak said.
Another ripple of protest from the heroes. Hogan shook his head to silence them and stood up. He thought he knew where this was going, and he wasn't pleased. He was sworn in and then sat down.
"Thank you for indulging me today, Colonel," Kuzak said politely.
"That's all right," Hogan said, sitting back.
"Colonel Hogan, I'm wondering if you'd mind telling the court what year you were born."
Hogan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was a little confused about this matter himself. "What year?" he clarified.
"Yes, sir," Kuzak said.
"I think 1910," Hogan answered.
"You think?"
"Well... it seems to be a bit fuzzy, the old memory, when it comes to that," Hogan admitted.
Kuzak nodded. "I should think so," he agreed with a smile. "Colonel, can you tell me how old you are now, if you're using 1910 as your date of birth?"
Hogan paused. If it really was 2009... but that couldn't be because Commander Riker had done something in the twenty-third—no, was that the twenty-fifth—?... But weren't they still at war? Wasn't he still a young man? And still a Colonel?
"Colonel?" prompted Kuzak.
"Sorry," Hogan said. "Uh... I think I'm thirty-four. Or... thereabouts." He frowned as he considered the problem with his answer.
A problem Kuzak used immediately in his client's favor. "Your Honor, may I point out that it is currently 2009, and that if Colonel Hogan was real, and born in 1910, that he would be 99 years old now. Now, I've known some well-preserved older men in my time, but I promise you that I've never seen a 99 year old man look as good as this man looks right now. Colonel Hogan actually believes himself to be younger than my client, and by all appearances, that could be correct. But that means, Your Honor, that he can't possibly be living according to the principles of this time and space, which means that my client's defense, that these fanfiction characters don't really exist, at least not in the world as we know it, is perfectly plausible."
"The court will agree that there is something funny going on here," Harry replied. "Mac," he said to his court clerk, "would you please remind me to get the Twilight Zone soundtrack out of my quarters before the next session? I have a feeling we're going to need it."
"Yes, sir," is all the man in the sweater said aloud. "This is just weird," he muttered to himself.
"My own California driver's license," continued Kuzak, "will tell you that I was born in 1951, and yet I don't look like a fifty-eight year old man."
"That's for sure," came a voice from the gallery.
The attention of the court was redirected, to find out who the outburst had come from. But all they could tell was that it came from within the small sea of fanfiction authors, none of whom seemed to be willing to take ownership of that lustful remark.
Kuzak turned his attention back to the matter at hand, trying to wipe a small, satisfied smile off his face. "The point is, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that my client, despite having written any type of difficult situation for these characters, could not be doing them any permanent damage, as they appear to be able to shift in time almost at will, and change any of their personal details according to which writer is using them, despite their consistency within each writer's own universe. They get older, and younger; they travel from 1945 back to 1942, and sometimes even earlier; they have different families, different backgrounds; they even, as in the case of Corporal Le Beau, have different religions. I submit to you that this, coupled with Colonel Hogan's own lack of certainty about his own self, is sufficient to produce doubt as to the veracity of the prosecution's accusations, and that there is no case to be trying here today, against my client, L J Groundwater, or indeed any other defendant here today."
He smiled at Linda, who couldn't help smiling back. Then he turned back to Hogan, who seemed to be totally lost in thought and confusion on the stand. "Colonel, I have no more questions. Thank you for your cooperation."
"Counselor?" Harry prompted Dan.
"No more questions."
Harry nodded at the Colonel. "Colonel, you may step down. This court is in recess." And the gavel came down in time for lunch.
