General warning from the authors: you people out there are getting terribly abusive again. Better watch it, or you might have another trial on your hands!


"Rise and shine, ladies!"

Rise and shine? The only response from the cell was some indistinct moaning, and Schultz's eyebrows shot up in alarm.

"Newkirk, do you think the ladies are allright?"

"Oh, sure they are. They're probably just not used to roll call at 5.30 in the morning." He took the keys from Schultz's belt and opened the cell door. "Rise and shine, ladies!" he repeated, and went around to shake some life into each of the bumps on the plank bed.

Eyes were opened, one by one, and looked blearily at the living alarm-clock.

"What time is it?" Sue mumbled.

"It is exactly..." Schultz stretched his arm to look at his watch. "Five thirty-two in the morning, plus twelve seconds. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen..."

"Yeah, yeah, Schultz, we get the picture," Linda fended off the rest with a giant yawn.

"Why do we have to get up so early?" Denise inquired.

"Today is the first day of the execution of your sentence," Newkirk happily announced.

Sue shuddered, but Linda huffed: "And for my last wish I'd like to sleep late. You can come and wake me again at eleven."

Schultz sadly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Frau Groundwater, but those are my orders. You can have a quick breakfast, but at six o'clock you have to get to work."

Eva sat up. "To work? I thought we were to be killed etcetera!"

A naughty grin from Newkirk. "That was just to retaliate: so you could experience what it's like for us to look death in the face at every turn. But since we're really a comedy-series, we had already decided beforehand that we'd only torture you."

"Gee, that's a relief," Denise muttered, but Schultz asked alarmed: "Torture them? Newkirk! The Kommandant didn't say anything about torturing them! I thought they were just going to clean the camp!"

"They are. That'll be torture enough for them," Newkirk promised.

"What do you mean: clean the camp?" Linda inquired suspiciously.

A wide grin from Newkirk. "You know: sweeping, polishing, peeling potatoes, doing the dishes, the laundry. Etcetera," he concluded with pathos. "This place could do with a good turn-out. And that's something ladies are actually better at than men. So why waste the opportunity, eh?"

"Does Kommandant Klink know about this?" Eva demanded.

Newkirk gave her an odd look. "Of course he does. It was his idea to have the good old Stalag cleaned in the first place."

Even Eva deflated. If both the Kommandant and the prisoners agreed that there was some major cleaning to be done, what were four middle-aged ladies to do against hundreds and hundreds of able-bodied young males?

"Seduce them of course," Denise whispered. "See if we can get out of it. I hate cleaning."

"Me too," Sue admitted. "And I hate peeling potatoes as well."


After a quick and uncomfortable breakfast – how comfortable can any self-respecting lady feel with so many hungry, undressing eyes guarding them – Colonel Hogan marched into the mess hall. Denise immediately ogled him. But Hogan feigned unawareness of her cow's eyes and addressed the four ladies in a stern tone they had but hardly ever heard him use on TV.

"As you ladies have heard yesterday, this whole camp agrees that you should be severely punished for all the grief, the pain and the horrid experiences you keep make us go through. Yesterday's judgement was just. You deserve it. But as Newkirk told you: we do not wish to execute it. After all, we're a comedy-series, and that's what we'd like to ingrain on you as well."

"By employing us as slaves to clean your precious Stalag?" Eva snapped.

Hogan grinned. "See it as an act of mercy if you will. We could always shoot you, I suppose. But what's fun – or even exciting – about that?"

Nobody knew.

"So," Hogan continued, "today is barracks-day. All the barracks need a good turn-out: floors and windows washed, the ceiling done with a mob, mattresses and blankets beaten, tables and chairs scrubbed, the stove emptied and black-leaded, the stove-pipe cleaned on the inside and outside, the water basins cleaned and polished, and last but not least: everything needs to be dusted off. The barracks' leaders will check your work tonight – with the compulsory white glove of course." He quelched his chuckle as he looked around at the four astounded female faces in front of him. "Any questions, ladies?"

"Eh..." Sue cleared her throat. "Colonel Hogan, how many barracks are there?"

Hogan beamed a triumphant smile. "Oh, around fifty. Fifty-eight, to be exact."

A gasp from Denise. "Help! And we are to clean them all in one day?!"

"Well, try and get as far as you can. We wouldn't want to mess up the rest of your schedule, would we?"

"What schedule?" Eva asked.

"Oh, just laundry-day and darning-day and polishing-day and..."

Denise groaned. "Can't you just shoot me right here and now?"

"Oh, come on, Denise. It'll be fun."

Another groan. "Perhaps if you're as dedicated to housekeeping as you are... But for me?!"

Linda shook her head. "I don't like housework any more than you do. But this is sure to be fun. Remember," she added under her breath, "who you are cleaning for!"

Denise looked up. "Does that make any difference? It's still cleaning!"

"Yes, it does. Now, Colonel Hogan, where can we find the cleaning equipment?"

Suddenly LeBeau popped up behind them. "I'll be happy to show you, ladies. But first... Come along, please."

And as they got up to follow the little corporal, Sue respectfully leaned over to Colonel Hogan and whispered: "Thank you for sparing our lives, Colonel."

Hogan looked down at the little lady and smiled at her. "My pleasure, ma'am."


They followed LeBeau through a rickety door in the wooden partition. It led to a dark kitchen, with three stoves, a large table and a wobbly sink. And piles and piles of...

"S'il vous plaît?" LeBeau's face was ever so placid, but the gloating chuckle was audible in his voice as the four ladies looked around.

"What is this?" Eva stammered.

"The kitchen," LeBeau answered patiently. "You know – that place where you prepare food. And wash up afterwards."

"But Colonel Hogan said..." Linda started.

And the Frenchman nodded. "You will. Don't worry. But even on major cleaning-days, the dishes have to be washed."

They looked around.

"Fifty-eight times fifteen..." Denise mumbled. "That's an awful lot of plates."

"Don't forget the guards'," LeBeau interjected helpfully.

She glared at him, but he remained unperturbed. "You better get started. Otherwise..." He left the sentence hanging in the air, for the ladies to imagine its ending, and walked out.

And they just stood there, crestfallen. Until: "This is ridiculous!" Denise burst out. "They can't do this to us!"

"Why not?" Linda inquired coolly. "It's just a dream, remember? Anything can happen. Perhaps..." She chuckled. "Perhaps if you wave your magic wand, the dishes will be done and neatly piled up on the shelves in no time."

Eva looked doubtful. "Do you have a magic wand then?"

"Of course not. But since it's a dream, anything would do the trick. This wooden ladle for example." She grabbed the big spoon with still lumps of porridge on it from the sink and waved it around. "Abracadabra, piff poof paff!" she recited dramatically. "I want these dishes clean and scrubbed!" She screwed her eyes shut, not in the least minding the cries of the others as the waving of her magic ladle sent porridge lumps flying all over the kitchen.

Then she carefully opened one eye. "Did it work?"

"No." Crossly, Eva cleaned some cold porridge off her sleeve.

"Hm. Pity. Maybe I should try another formula. Or another wand. What do you think?"

"Maybe we should just get this over and done with," Susan suggested calmly. "By the time you've found the right wand and the right formula we could have cleaned half the camp. Including the dishes."

Linda's eyes lit up. "Excellent! You girls start on the dishes, and I'll keep trying different wands and formulas."

Just as the other three dashed to grab their magic deserter and push her head first down in the dishwater the door was opened and Kinch looked in. He feigned shock: "Ladies, aren't you done yet? Come on, we've got work to do!"

All four of them turned guiltily to face him.

"Sorry Kinch. We'll get to it right away," Sue promised.

"But Kinch!" Denise called before his head had disappeared.

"Yes?"

"Don't you have a dishwasher here?"