Once More, Into the Breach


a/n – This one began innocently enough when someone mentioned the fact that you couldn't do a Hogan' Heroes / Harry Potter crossover without either involving time travel back to the 1940s or having Hogan and crew running afoul of some of Grindelwald's minions. While I was partial to the suggestion of MI-13 recruiting young Tom Riddle, it occurred to me that if someone's grandfather was a member of Hogan's crew …

And for those of you not familiar with Hogan's Heroes, go to Youtube and look for Hogan's Heroes intro if you're interested in what Croaker hears off in the distance.


Chapter One – A Call to Arms, Collect

28 July, 1994 – Operations Director's Office, MI-13 Headquarters, Westminster Bridge Road, London

"Algie, just what the Bloody Hell does Albus think he's playing at," groused the venerable Operations Chief of Her Majesty's MI-13. "Did anyone at your Ministry actually read the briefing packets my Wrens put together regarding this rolling disaster he's intent on resurrecting?"

Taking a sip of the tea that he had been offered when he came in for his weekly briefing, Algernon Croaker, the 'public' face of the Unspeakables for the Ministry and the Ministry counterpart of his host, being the one in charge of the operational assets of the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries, he marshaled his thoughts before answering the question that could quite easily be considered rhetorical since his old friend had been wondering about Albus' sanity, motives, plans, and machinations behind the scenes for almost a half century.

"Peter, in this case, your guess is as good as mine," the Unspeakable grimaced as he set the cup back on the side table beside his chair.

"I would have thought that given the casualty rates even there at the end, list of scandals, number of blood feuds and other assorted unpleasantness that followed the tournament would have been enough to convince the Ministry that reinstituting this particular institution was nothing short of a bad idea."

"Apparently Albus is looking to strengthen ties with the other schools," Croaker said cautiously. "We've had very guarded 'discussions' regarding the Riddle case …"

Interrupting with a snort of derisive laughter, Peter simply waved his hand as he rolled his eyes.

"Please, a 'discussion' with Albus consists of the old bugger pontificating on for half an hour without actually saying anything germane while he tries to convince you that he's got the situation totally under control and you shouldn't worry about it."

"True, but with Albus pushing it, someone else putting a golden flea in Fudge's ear and, for some reason I can't fathom, Barty Crouch coming in on the side of bringing the TriWizard back, it was a foregone conclusion that it was going to make a reappearance," Croaker groused.

"Even with Riddle coming back," Peter asked as he picked up a deck of cards that was sitting on his desk and began to absentmindedly flash the cards in a series of moves the indicated his skills with sleight of hand hadn't deteriorated over the years since those long-ago days when they had first met in an RAF wardroom.

"Especially with Riddle on the resurgence," Croaker replied as he watched his old friend, knowing that he only did that when he was genuinely annoyed and needed to allow his mind to concentrate on the issue at hand.

Seeing the dark look on his old friend's face, and knowing it was personal to him in ways that extend beyond his duties to Queen and Country, Croaker sighed deeply.

"Peter, I know you're worried about the girl and her friend," he began quietly. "We're worried also …"

"This is much bigger than my granddaughter, Algie," Peter snapped. "Your Ministry didn't do anything other than go back to their precious status quo ante bellum when you got a reprieve back in '81 that you still can't explain."

"And that was Albus' doing as much as it was Minister Bagnold's," Croaker said with a resigned tone. "He thought there'd been enough killing …"

"That's a crock and you know it. Three decades later Albus was still grieving that he couldn't talk Grendelwald out of conquering the world and into being a nice little wizard he could take home to Yorkshire after the last war much less reason with Tom," Peter snapped.

"Albus didn't give two hoots about what happened to anyone else, he didn't get his bloody happy ever after and he was sulking about it.

"His petulance allowed Malfoy and his cronies to spread enough gold around that almost everyone went back to their comfortable prewar lives while Albus sulked in his rune covered tower because he lost his chance to 'redeem' Tom and turn him into a replacement for what he lost back in '45."

Pausing for a moment, he added, "Everyone, that is, except the ordinary folk who were killed and had their lives destroyed by Tommy's Death Easters, but they didn't count because they weren't part of Albus' 'Greater Good', were they?"

"There were a lot of losses of life in our community…"

"Because of the people your Ministry allowed to walk scot free and the fact they treated it as if it were a student sit-in on the village green. Even after all the death and carnage, if the Dragon Lady hadn't insisted, the Lestranges probably would have walked as well after it was over."

Shrugging, Croaker sighed, "Yes, my little sister was extremely adamant that someone was going to pay for what happened to Frank and Alice."

"Too bad she didn't find out until after the trials that it was Albus who told them it was safe for them to trust Crouch Junior, or we might not be having this discussion," Peter added.

Shrugging and making a gesture that universally conveyed the 'what can I say' concept, the Unspeakable sat back and stared off into space for a moment before asking, 'Peter, what have you got up that sleeve of yours?"

"The boy's going to be up to his eyebrows in this cock-up and you know it," Peter began as he turned to his desk and picked up a portfolio. Leafing through, he pulled out a couple of printouts before continuing.

"It was going to be a race to see which one of us was going to hire the boy's mother; Lily Evans would have been an asset to either your Unspeakables or here at the Agency.

"Regardless of what you decide, I'm not going to sit back and allow her son to be sacrificed in some plan that Albus Bloody Dumbledore has concocted."

"And the fact that your granddaughter seems to be joined at the hip to him is simply a coincidence," Croaker asked with a smirk.

"No, but it has caused me to think about taking Handelson up on his offer from time to time."

Blinking in surprise, Croaker sat back in his chair and thought for several seconds before replying.

"I'm not going to ask whose hair you're contemplating having one of Handelson's specialists part from about a mile out, since I'm certain that if Albus Dumbledore ends up with his head exploded one fine morning on the main street of Hogsmeade, I want to be able to tell young Amelia I have no idea how he ended up that way."

"Probably best all round, though on general principles he'd be more likely to lend me someone to take out the Malfoy trash, Handelson lost family in that Calais raid back in the eighties."

Seeing that his old friend had made up his mind, Croaker simply decided the best thing to do was to 'bite the bullet' and ask.

Again.

"Peter, what have you got up that larcenous sleeve of yours?"

"Other than a pair of aces and a couple of daggers," Peter answered with a smirk. Pressing the button on the intercom, he waited until the door to his office opened and the young RAF leftenant who was currently assigned as his liaison poked her head in.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Darling. There's a folder locked in the bottom left drawer of your desk that's marked "Eyes Only". Inside it, you'll find a roster marked 'Most Secret' for a place called Camp Thirteen. You should have up to date contact information for the individuals listed, contact each one with the following message 'Roll call, 0700 hours, Monday'."

Pausing for a moment, he added, "And Love, that's one of three documents in this building that is still subject to DORA, so once you put it back, you've never seen it or any of the names on that list."

Nodding, she smiled uncertainly. "Certainly, Brigadier Newkirk. Are there any special instructions for any of the individuals on the list?"

Sighing, Brigadier Peter Newkirk, Retired pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "I'll contact the Colonel myself, and you can handle the rest of the lads."

As she closed the door, Algernon Croaker could have sworn he heard the sound of drums in the distance.

Whether they were the drums of war, only time would tell.


17 Leimenstrasse Heidelberg, FRG – CEO's Office, Schatzi Toy Company

"Ja, Ludwig, the end of quarter numbers looks good," the older man said as he studied the reports on the table in front of him. Looking up at the young woman who was sitting at his right hand, Hans Schultz smiled as he could see that his granddaughter wasn't as happy as he was.

This was good, since he was training her to take over for him and she needed to be on top of things.

"Helga, something not right with the reports?"

Shaking her head, the blonde smiled nervously and simply shrugged. "No sir, the reports are correct in what they show. That being said, what they show is too conservative and I think we could exploit more of the American expansion into Britain's backyard. The miniatures market …"

A sudden knock at the door saw his Executive Assistant putting his head in with a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Otto?"

"A fax on the restricted line," was all the normally unflappable young man would say.

Looking down the table at the assembled managers and executives, Hans sighed and shrugged.

"We'll take this up tomorrow, everyone revise your estimates taking into account Frauline Schultz's suggestions. Dismissed."

As the other occupants of the room started to collect their materials and depart, Hans caught his granddaughter's eye and indicated she should stay.

If this was what he thought it was, she would be the one answering the call.

Waiting for the room to clear, Hans Schultz, President of the Schatzi Toy Company and late of the German Army rolled his eyes as his granddaughter muttered "Jolly jokers" under her breath as she watched the others scurry from the room.

She was so Hilda's granddaughter, though his wife Gretchen never could accept that.


Kitchen, L' Hotel Imperial 40 Rue Charlemagne, Paris France

"Imbecile, what were you thinking?"

As the owner of the establishment bore down on her, Antoinette Vellary swallowed and kept her eyes on him. The only thing she could do to make the situation worse was to look away.

Rumors abounded about the background of Chef LeBeau, each of them more outlandish than the next. But everyone was clear on one thing; the last thing he tolerated was showing fear.

Except of Madam LeBeau, everyone with any sense was afraid of her.

Including Chef.

Just as she was going to try to explain that she had only followed the requests of the tourists at table seven because they said it was a special occasion for the grandfather, the door at the back of the kitchen opened and Madame LeBeau stuck her head in.

"You've got a telephone call from London," she said as she held out the handset to the portable.

Coming to a complete stop, Chef LeBeau stared at his wife in disbelief. "If I wanted to talk to the English, I'd go out into the dining room and find out which one ordered 'Toad in the Hole' and convinced one of my most promising chefs to actually make such a monstrosity."

"It's from a Corporal Newkirk, something about a roll call."

Breaking into a smile, Chef Louis LeBeau, late of the Free French Air Force turned towards the young chef he had just put on the spot and began shaking his head.

"When I get back, you'll explain exactly why you desecrated this kitchen with such a thing."


Carter's Appliance Repair, 13 Main Street, Bullfrog North Dakota

"You have mail!"

As the cheery tones of Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, announced an arriving email, Andrew Carter carefully put down the soldering iron and moved over to the table where the desktop computer rested in his workshop.

Clicking on the link, his eyes widened a bit as he shook his head.

Looking around his workroom, he wondered if he could complete rewiring that Norton bombsight he'd bought from that online auction last week before flying out.

Figuring that the Colonel would be there, he'd wait until he got to London and tell him that someone was selling decommissioned air force equipment on that UseNet list.

Too bad they hanged Hochstetter after the war; it would have been a hoot to send him a working Norton bombsight since he was so certain he was going to get one from the Colonel.

Though, if there ever was someone who needed hanging, Hochstetter was at the top of that list.

No problems with the Norton being for sale, but someone might like to know about that F-4J he put a bid on last week.

Finishing up with old man Perkins' VCR, he mused that the Colonel would want to hear about it since the online listing said that it came complete with a full load out of Sidewinders.

That was troubling.

But, if he had the winning bid, he'd wait until they delivered it before he told the Colonel.

Never knew when a brace of Sidewinders might come in handy.


Bldg 1123, U.S. Army Information Systems Engineering Command, Fort Huachuca, Arizona USA

"Those new keyboards might be ergonomically correct," the Director said with a smirk, "but they're certainly not going to pass certification.

As the director of the Army's Tempest program glanced over the latest test results, yet another failure for the equipment the Marines had sent over from their proposed upgrades to their Embassy details, he noticed that one of the communication techs was standing nervously in the doorway to his office.

"Yes?"

"Flash traffic from London, Director Kinchloe." Pausing for a moment, the young specialist looked down at the message on the clipboard he was carrying and shook his head. "I better head back down there, they must have this wrong."

Sensing that this was something more than NATO complaining about the slowness of the rollouts of the new decoding rigs, James Kinchloe simply held out his hand and said, "Why don't I take a look before you go back down to the commo center and incur Lt. Wellings wrath. Again."

Taking pity on the young man, and ignoring the snort from his assistant, he read the five words on the printout before taking if from the clipboard and crossing his office to the industrial shredder that sat in the corner.

As he fed the sheet into the shredder, watching it turned into confetti, he looked over at his assistant and smiled.

"Clear next week's schedule, at least. I'll let Command know, but you'll be in charge when the squids arrive next Minday for those meetings."

Seeing the questioning look, he simply said, "Old business, a commo system I installed years ago needs an upgrade."


Owner's Suite, Oriels Park, Camden Yard, Baltimore MD, US

"And that's the ball game."

Shaking his head, Martin Evans, the promotions director for the home team sighed as the Oriels managed to drop the second game of the double header to the visiting Indians. Looking over at the guests, who were having a much better time than anyone affiliated with the Oriels would be having, he stood and approached the group.

Just as he was about to speak, a buzzing sound from the portable phone on the table interrupted him. As the distinguished older man picked up the phone, he held up his free hand and simply said, "Hogan, here."

Nodding a couple of times, he looked over at his wife, who was shaking her head. As he signed off, she simply asked, "Strattcom?"

Smirking since for once she was wrong, Major General, Retired, Robert Hogan shook his head. "Sorry, but it's the old gang. Newkirk has a problem that he needs sorted out and he's asking for help."

Seeing her knowing look, he chuckled. "Something about his granddaughter and some boy."

Helga Hogan, still a stunning blonde almost a half century after marrying one of the prisoners the day after Stalag 13 was liberated, smiled and got a predatory look.

"Sehr Gute, his daughter was always such a precocious child, I was worried when she married that dentist," she said with only a trace of an accent.

"Once you get settled in and I've said hello to everyone, I'll pop over and visit Momma and stop in at Heidelberg to see Hans while you're playing with the boys. We'll get the shopping for the grandchildren done early this year."

Seeing the look on her husband's face when she mentioned seeing Hans in Germany, she laughed. "Hans said that he was turning the reins over to Hilda's granddaughter last Christmas. If he's not going to let them play with the company, he's certainly not going to let Gretchen's grandsons go to England and play with Peter and company. They're much to sheltered."

Looking down at his phone, Robert Hogan keyed in the number for the Operations Center at Andrews to get a flight scheduled to Britain. Britain in August wasn't much better than Cleveland, but it should get Helga to drop the 'you never take me anywhere anymore' complaint.

Wondering how many of the old gang other than Hans would show, he decided getting there a few days early was best so that he could see for himself what Newkirk had gotten himself into.

Maybe they'd have a day to pop over to Dusseldorf and drink a toast over Klink's grave before solving Peter's latest problem.

Hopefully it didn't involve stealing a submarine, this time.