Flattery Will Get You…Somewhere, Chapter 11
by Mistress V
Thanks to everyone for your kind reviews. I honestly had not planned for this story to grow legs like a centipede. That's what I get for swimming laps before I write---time to think up strange new plot twists.
For those who wondered, Frau Koppel's husband was killed in action during the early stages of the battle for Stalingrad. And no, she's not a spy, either. Klink deserves a break, right? Hogan usually steals his girl.
There's a surprise challenge response buried in here, too. Have fun finding it!
Hogan came to Klink's office right after roll call. He'd spent the prior day weighing options in his mind about Hilda. After discussing most, but not *all*, of what he'd learned with his men, they decided as a group to say yes to her being hired. Provided Klink said yes, too. And from there, they'd wing it.
"Come in, Hogan, please. Have a cup of coffee." Klink was still in high spirits from the weekend by the sound of it.
"Thank you, sir. Don't mind if I do." Hogan poured out two cups. "How was your Sunday, if I may ask?"
"Delightful, simply delightful. I escorted Greta to Kirche and then we took a ride in the countryside. Such glorious weather we are having! We had a fine luncheon at a small Gashtof I know of before seeing a film. And then we joined Frau Bachman and Hilda for evening supper. Fraülein Hilda is quite keen on the idea of working here for me, by the way." Klink paused and looked at Hogan almost pleadingly. "Did you find out anything useful? What do you think I should do?"
Oh boy, did I ever, Hogan thought. But fair was fair. He cleared his throat. "I did, sir. She seems to have been doing secretarial work for some time. I understand she learned this in Berlin, which likely means her skills are exceptional, it being the capital city and all."
"Ja, ja," Klink nodded. "My thoughts precisely."
"Now, about her father." Hogan looked at Klink discretely over his coffee cup.
"What about her father?"
"From the reaction I saw when his name was mentioned, he seems to be quite highly regarded. So that means that although Fraülein Hilda might be a pretty young woman, she's verboten. Unless you want to risk finding out Herr Bachman's reaction to a little office romance, right? Plus, her mother is best friends with the lady you are presently keeping company with. That's not an honorable thing to consider, if you were thinking about it." It leaves her free for me, Hogan finished to himself smugly. "Besides, you never know just who Daddy might be chatting to in Berlin."
"I would not *think* of such a thing, Colonel Hogan." Obviously, Klink knew what those consequences might be, but not the possibility of their happening. "You are right, however, I shall issue strict instructions to all the staff on the matter. As for your men…"
"I'll keep the boys in line, but you can't blame them for looking, or the occasional whistle. After all, she is nice looking."
"That she most certainly is. Now how do I go about hiring her the correct way? Helga was here when I took command of the stalag." Klink began making notes on a pad.
"To keep it strictly business, call over to Würzburg and try to speak to some of her old superiors. There must be some around," Hogan offered. "And then do the proper administrative paperwork and have Schmidt send it on to Berlin. These processes can take time, so you'd better get on it right away."
"I shall have him start this very morning." Klink got up and looked out the window, obviously pleased with himself. "I do believe it will be a fine, what is that term I hear you use, Hogan?"
"Indian Summer, sir," Hogan replied.
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Hilda was slated to begin work the first week of September. Klink also managed to have Schmidt promoted to provisions and supply procurement , with a little bookkeeping added onfor good measure. Everyone looked forward to the new secretary's arrival, none more so than the men of barracks two.
Unfortunately for Van Schuyler, he would miss the arrival. Orders materialized for his impending transfer to a POW camp nearer to Berlin, ostensibly so he could be questioned by the Gestapo more often. Both he and Hogan knew that was just a formality. While they shared the news with the team that the gunner would be leaving not only Stalag 13 but Germany altogether, they left out what his other job happened to be. LeBeau and Newkirk made up documents and clothes for the man's escape and had the underground pick them up in advance. The night before he was due to leave, Van Schuyler and Hogan had a final meeting.
"The war's not done yet, sir, but we've come over the hump. Stalingrad, then North Africa, those were two huge blows to Jerry. Round about this time next year, don't be too surprised if things have changed in a big way." It was clear the plans for D-Day were already in the works and Van Schuyler was in on the ground floor. He gave a last salute to Hogan. "Good luck sir. See you when this is all over, maybe down my way. Come have a glass of our wine with my wife and me at our farm, eh?"
"You've got a deal." Hogan returned the salute with a smile and then shook the man's hand. "Any last bits of advice for me?"
The agent paused, as if deciding what to say. He lit a cigarette to cover his indecision. Then he made up his mind. "Actually, sir, there is."
"And what's that?"
"If there's ever another show being planned, please, take my word for it. It would be much, much better if you did not sing." It was obvious the words were sticking in the man's throat, along with his cigarette smoke.
Hogan stared at the bearer of this news. "What do you mean? I've been singing since I was old enough to talk. No one's ever said anything."
"And probably very badly, too, sir. Trust me, it's not something you want bandied about. I mean, what if it got to Berlin Betty? You'd end up the laughing stock of the Reich in record time. They're looking for stuff like this to make the Allies look bad. I'm sure you have many talents, but singing just isn't one of them."
"I'm that bad?" Hogan persisted, his ego deflating as he spoke.
"Afraid so." His visitor was not mincing words.
"How…bad?"
"As terrible sounding as the kolokolo bird, sir." Van Schuyler had given each of the characters in his performance its own unique voice. And the mournful cry of the kolokolo bird had been most mournful indeed.
"Well." Hogan took a deep breath and threw his shoulders back. "Thanks for telling me, and don't worry, I'll heed your warning. It's all beginning to make sense to me now. But I've known these guys for years. Why the devil wouldn't they tell me?"
"If you were in their place, sir…would you?"
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Fraülein Hilda reported for work on a sunny September Monday morning. She arrived by bicycle, her sensible hairstyle and attire a far cry from the splendor of just a few days before. But she still looked beautiful. The entire camp turned out to watch her cycle by.
Hogan and LeBeau headed over to the office a bit later, for an official welcome from the men. LeBeau held a carefully arranged floral bouquet, pilfered from Klink's garden.
"How many times do I have to tell you to sharpen up that image?" Hogan complained to his companion. He stuck a finger in the obvious hole the man's sweater had. "How long have you had this thing? Surely you can grab a needle and thread and stitch that up. "
LeBeau stopped and shook his head. "Non," he said stoutly. "This I cannot do. It reminds me of my true amor in Marseilles, the lovely Violette. A remembrance of the night of passion we spent before I reported for duty after my last furlough. To mend this would be to erase her memory from my very heart, Colonel. Please try to understand."
"You know as well as I do you tore that sweater climbing down the rose trellis after her husband walked through the front door," Hogan reminded him. "Some remembrance."
"It is enough." LeBeau tossed the end of his scarf over the offending gap and they continued on to greet Klink's secretary.
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The first week passed uneventfully, although there was more than the usual number of visitors for Klink. Each arrived with gifts of welcome for the new assistant. Operations went on as they always had, but the air was filled with anticipation about what Hilda might do or might not do. But, infuriatingly, she did nothing. It was as though the entire conversation with Hogan had never happened.
Then one day, it all changed. Hogan came over to Klink's office with the proofs of the latest edition of the camp newspaper, complete with photos from the recent show. He learned from Hilda that the Kommandant was on a call to Berlin so to pass the time, they looked over the galleys.
"I have heard from my brother, Colonel Hogan," Hilda said quietly. "He is safe and well. Thank you."
"I didn't have anything to do with it, but I'm glad to hear he's all right. Do you know where he is?" Hogan's response was indifferent on purpose.
"Nein, not precisely. How can I thank you, Colonel? It was almost like a miracle. My parents are so relieved. For that I am the most grateful." Hilda smiled broadly, her lips bright with Cherry on the Top.
"Like I said, I really didn't do anything. Let's call it a coincidence. But since you asked, I'll tell you." Hogan dropped his voice as well. "It's in both of our interests that Klink remain in charge here. Things are quiet and we like them that way. I'm sure you do, too. The problem is, the man in there can get a little overwhelmed and then his superiors start making threats about removing him. That would be…well, it wouldn't be wise. So can you see that he…looks good?"
"Ja, of course." Hilda was all business in her reply. "He is not the first endearingly inept superior I have had. That is simply done."
"Good." Hogan wandered over to the bookshelf and picked up the ancient globe there. He brought it back to Hilda's desk and began twirling it slowly with his hands as he continued to speak. "You know, Fraülein, I think you're a very smart woman. And word does sometimes travel far and wide about favors done, even in POW camps. Even as far away as…"
The globe stopped abruptly. Hogan's finger rested in the middle of Canada.
Hilda let out a gasp as her eyes met Hogan's. She nodded. "I think I understand, Colonel. But there is one other thing."
"And what might that be?"
"Gustav…we finally have word that he is also a POW. I gather he will be following my brother's journey to your part of the world?"
"He might be," Hogan began, but he was interrupted when the door to Klink's inner offices opened and he stepped out.
"Hello, Hogan. Good, you brought the papers as I asked." He glanced at the pair for a moment. "Now what is happening here? A small geography lesson, perhaps?"
"I was just showing Hilda where the cowboys live," Hogan replied glibly.
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"Colonel Hogan? Message from London," Baker said, handing him a slip of paper.
Hogan scanned the item, noting the details of an upcoming drop. But his eyes were drawn to the postscript.
"P.S. A message from the Elephant's Child for Papa Bear. He's back from the Limpopo River with his new nose ."
A smile spread across Hogan's features. In the story, when the main character came back from the river with his new, improved trunk, he set about spanking all the relatives that had spanked him mercilessly in the past. That could only mean one thing.
Van Schuyler was back in Holland, making Jerry pay.
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A few months later, away far north in Canada….
"And so, Mama, please keep your spirits up. I am well and keeping busy. When I am home once again, I shall tell you many wonderful stories of my time here. Your loving son, Gustav."
"Come on, my friend. Dinner is ready to be served and we don't want to miss out on anything." Markus Bachman tugged at his pal's jacket sleeve. "Even if it does mean I'll likely be on indigestion duty later."
"Do you think we will also celebrate the American version of this harvest fest next month? I am rather fond of the Kürbis pie that we have been served recently. It is also on the menu for the American's Thanksgiving." Gustav rubbed his stomach in anticipation of the meal that was waiting.
"Who's to say? It would be wiser to eat twice as much on this night, just to be safe." Markus pushed the doors open to the dining hall where delicious aromas soon overcame the pair.
"I still do not know how I ended up at your camp, Markus. Most of my company was being sent to some place called Texas. That is where these buckaroos are to be found, no? What are our soldiers doing there? Striking cows?" Gustav asked, perplexed.
"You mean punching cattle, Dummkopf," Markus replied, as only a best friend could. "And let us not speculate on the intricacies of fate. We are here together. That is all that matters."
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THE END
I presume some kind of Thanksgiving was held in Canada during the war, even unofficially. And from what I have read, POW's on this side of the Atlantic ate quite a bit better than their counterparts elsewhere. My father certainly confirmed that, too---the chow at Ft. Lewis may have been boring, but it was good and plentiful. For everyone.
We all know Hilda worked out, but it was sure fun to write how she might have gotten there!
Van Schuyler (in my universe) went back to being an operative and survived operation Market Garden. He eventually returned home to South Africa and grew grapes for the fine wines that region produces.
I referred again to "The Elephant's Child" by Kipling.