Copyright of the Hogan's Heroes characters
belongs to others and no infringement or
ownership is intended.
Marty Breedlove
Chapter 21
December 31st
Hegel plopped down in the chair behind his desk and tugged at his gloves, methodically pulling each finger free from the black leather encasing them, while looking into the darkness beyond his lamp. Hochstetter was on his way to take the guards he had borrowed back to Stalag 13; now there was time to think.
Gestapo Headquarters was uncharacteristically quiet this time of night. The only sound was the radiator behind him, popping and crackling as steam worked its way through the coiled conduits. It was a familiar welcoming sound, luring Hegel to pivot in his chair and plop his feet on the window sill over the radiating heat.
This night he had accomplished both a lot—the saboteurs' identities were still hidden from Major Hochstetter—and a little: It could have been "Papa Bear" out there tonight. It was definitely some part of the underground and he or maybe she may have gone in the direction of Stalag 13.
Hegel's close encounter with this Underground figure only served to make him more anxious to find out who this criminal was. But with Schiller's death, there would be no source in Hammelburg to eavesdrop on the townspeople. He would have to find another means to gather information.
Hegel rubbed his chin as he thought; I probably wouldn't have been able to use Schiller much longer anyway. If the baker hadn't made anyone suspicious yet, he soon would have; this Underground unit has not survived this long by being careless.
The radiating heat began to soak through Hegel's boots warming his feet. Taking a deep, contented breath, he stretched and leaned back in his chair as he thought about the three well-placed explosions he had witnessed tonight.
Whoever this "Papa Bear" is, he's a genius at subterfuge.
Hegel hated the notion, but he had to give credit where credit was due. Major Hochstetter may be right. He grimaced at the thought. "Papa Bear" could be a resident of Luft Stalag 13. Hegel paused to consider that idea. If it is the American Colonel leading this Underground unit, then I'll be pitting myself against a trained military mind.
Delight showed in Hegel's eyes, transforming the grimace into a calculating grin.
I would welcome a good chase. The civilians we normally deal with hardly offer any challenge at all. It would make the cornering and capturing much more meaningful to out think someone with real military intelligence.
Hegel tensed as he had another thought and his smile suddenly disappeared.
I suppose Hochstetter will want me to help him weed through some of the prisoners he took tonight. What a waste of time… still, I expect there is no way around it. I mean, I'm the only one who knows Schiller was innocent. I'm just going to have to… play along.
Hegel sighed and slid his feet down to the floor, while remembering Hochstetter's relieved laugh as he realized he was out from under the gun now that he had a dead saboteur in his possession. Yes, Berlin will give you a "pat on the back" for tonight. Turning back to his desk the smile reappeared...
But the last laugh will be mine!
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We're going down!
His throat tightened to prevent him from swallowing the smoke filling the cockpit.
Can't breathe!
Choking, he leaned forward, struggling to free himself from his seat. Fire shot through his left arm.
"Mmm!" Moaning in pain and fighting to inhale, his right hand shot forward searching for anything he could grab… anything that would help to pull him free of whatever it was keeping him in place.
Got to get out… have to jump before it's too late!
Swallowing, his throat cleared and he gasped for…
"Air!" The word came out in a hoarse whisper.
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Red-faced from the struggle and oblivious to the nightmare going on behind Hogan's closed eyes, Wilson encouraged, "That's it, swallow, don't breathe." Again, he placed the cup to Hogan's clamped jaw.
"Mmmm!" The moan turned into a cough, and what little water Wilson had gotten past his obstinate commander's lips sprayed out. Joe set the cup down and, fighting to keep the Colonel's good right arm under control, raised Hogan's head higher as the Colonel continued coughing.
"You have plenty of air," Wilson assured him, trying to keep his voice calm. "What you need is water. You have a fever. Do you hear me, Colonel? Drink!" Please!
Hogan shuddered, uttering a garbled, "Jump…" as his right arm slid down to his side and he again fell silent. Wilson shook his head in resignation and lowered Hogan back to the bed. Wringing out a cool cloth, he laid it across the Colonel's forehead before checking that the dressings, protecting the still fresh wounds, had remained in one piece.
"Good, still dry and intact," Wilson mumbled to himself. "At least we seem to have gotten the bleeding stopped." Then, looking up at the ceiling, he quietly prayed, "Do You think you could do something about this fever?" Wilson looked back down at Hogan. "…or his belligerence?"
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Schultz struggled through the snow, with great clumps of the white stuff clinging to his boots, weighing down each step. He was tired, mentally and physically. Circling the camp one last time he swept past the Kommandant's quarters.
"Is everything all right, Langenscheidt?"
"Jawohl," Langenscheidt answered, saluting, his heels not quite able to snap together in the deepening snow.
Schultz tossed back a tired salute, followed by a sideways wave, dismissing any military formalities. "At ease, Karl, it's been too long a night."
Langenscheidt relaxed. "Danke, Sergeant."
"The Kommandant is still up?" Schultz asked, blowing into his hands.
"Ja, I've seen him looking out the window." Karl nodded toward the window next to the porch.
Schultz looked wearily across the compound. "He's probably waiting on a report on Colonel Hogan's condition. I'd better go see the prisoners' medics."
"Is Colonel Hogan going to be all right?" Karl asked. "The medic seemed uncertain when we were in Barracks Two."
"I don't know. They were just starting to care for him when I left." Schultz shook his head, still finding it hard to believe what had happened, and looked over at Barracks Two. The building was dark and quite, but he knew looks could be deceiving, especially when it came to Barracks Two. He had been putting off going back to the hospital, afraid of what he might find. Colonel Hogan had been confused and writhing in pain. He hated seeing this side.
Now, it seemed he could procrastinate no longer. Turning back to Langenscheidt, he asked, "If the Kommandant calls for me, tell him I went to get information on Colonel Hogan and will be back to report."
Langenscheidt snapped to attention and saluted, "Jawohl!"
Schultz groaned at Langenscheidt's return to military protocol. He had neither the strength nor the inclination to salute, and instead trudged off in the direction of the camp hospital.
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"We need to get this fever down!" Wilson mumbled, not expecting a response and not getting one in return. Hogan had no idea where he was. Whether it was from fever or shock, Wilson wasn't sure. But Hogan in his delirium was not cooperating.
"All right," Wilson sighed, again setting the cup of water aside. "I'll leave you alone—for a few minutes." Reaching over he felt the heat coming off of Hogan's forehead, and determinedly warned, "But next time, you must drink! Or I'll…"
The outside door opened momentarily drawing Wilson's attention. Schultz stepped inside and did a quick scan. He counted two forms lying in the cots on the opposite side of the room and one lying next to Wilson. –That's four— Schultz made a mental note to check that the three prisoners brought in to donate blood had returned to their barracks.
The cold air snaked across the room and targeted Wilson's arm, drawing the medic's attention to his damp shirt sleeve. Disgusted, he glanced worriedly at the still form on the cot.
"Schultz, I don't have time to chat."
Seeing the concern on the medic's face, Schultz lumbered over to look at Hogan. "How is he? I promised the boys in Barracks Two that I would give them a report."
Wilson didn't have to ask who "the boys" were and glared up at Schultz from his seat next to Hogan.
"Don't tell those four anything! Let them see what it's like being on the other end of the stick."
"What?" Schultz looked at Wilson, confused.
Afraid he had said more than he should have, Wilson closed his mouth, and picked up Hogan's wrist, to take his pulse.
"I will need to report to the Kommandant," Schultz prompted, hoping to get a better response.
Without looking up Wilson gruffly answered from between clenched teeth. "He's alive."
Schultz straightened slightly and stared at Wilson. "Is that it? That is what you want me to tell the Kommandant? Only that Colonel Hogan is alive?" Schultz asked. "I will have to tell him more than that…"
Schultz abruptly stopped talking as a thought occurred to him. "Is he going to stay alive?"
Wilson couldn't say much more about the Colonel's current condition. The next twenty-four hours would tell them more. And he certainly wasn't ready to share that they had found a second bullet wound. Three if he wanted to count the burn left by a third. He hadn't had time to work on his story; he'd been too busy trying to repair ripped veins and torn muscles. Tired and feeling the weight of keeping the covert operations taking place at Stalag 13 a secret, Wilson rubbed his face and, exhausted, dropped his hands onto his knees declaring again…
"Right now… the Colonel's alive. Let's just be grateful for that."
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"Try it again."
Kinch rounded the corner in time to hear Lutz question Baker. "Any luck?" He asked hopefully.
Baker shook his head.
Lutz shook his head. "No?"
"It only means she isn't at the radio," Baker answered.
I don't understand where she could be." Lutz took a step toward Kinch. "Have you heard anything about the Colonel?
"Not yet," Kinch sighed, breaking eye contact.
Lutz, exhaled loudly. "Were striking out on two fronts then, aren't we?"
Turning, Lutz demanded, "Try again."
It had been only seconds since Baker's last failed attempt. And the young radioman wanted desperately to remind Lutz of that fact. But instead, as he looked into Lutz's worried eyes, he swallowed his annoyance and, leaning forward, twisted the dials in front of him, intently listening to the static feeding into his ears.
"Papa Bear calling Sparrow… Papa Bear calling Sparrow… Come in Sparrow… Over." The rote repetition flowed monotonously into the microphone as six pairs of eyes eagerly stared at the radio waiting for it to talk back.
After several long seconds, Baker looked up and shook his head. "Nothing."
Kinch walked closer, looking at the dial settings. Why, he didn't know. Baker was an experienced radio operator; he knew the settings would be right. Still looking at the radio, he confessed, "I was hoping Tiger would be able to shed some light on what happened tonight."
"I thought we knew what happened?" Carter asked, puzzled.
"I think Kinch means, he was hoping Tiger would have heard more information about what the Gestapo did tonight." LeBeau answered.
Newkirk ran his hands over his pockets, methodically patting them down looking for a cigarette. "Right, Andrew, I mean it would be nice to know if we had time to write a last letter home before the Gestapo lines us all up and shoots us!" Finally pulling out a rumpled pack, he removed his last cigarette and tugged on the ends to straighten it.
"Hochstetter's had plenty of time to get here; why would he be taking so long if he knew we were the saboteurs?" Kinch wondered, turning from the radio and looking at the others.
"He's… toying with us," Newkirk answered, between puffs.
Carter looked wide-eyed from Kinch to Newkirk, clinging to Kinch's logic while listening to Newkirk's panic.
"We're not going to solve anything down here," LeBeau warned. "We'd better get back upstairs before Schultz shows up and finds us missing."
Newkirk turned and paced nervously. "I say we take the tunnel to the infirmary and check on the Colonel ourselves. We've waited ruddy long enough for Schultz!" Newkirk's words spilled out in a steady stream of smoke.
"Yeah," Carter agreed, taking a step forward.
"That's a great idea, and when they find us there, we can all explain to Klink how we got there without the guards seeing us," Kinch answered sarcastically.
"Oui, not to mention having to get past Wilson," Louis growled.
"LeBeau's right. You know how protective Wilson is of his patients. We wouldn't stand a chance of getting within ten feet of the Colonel," Carter agreed.
"Blimey, Carter, I wish you'd pick a side and stay on it!"
'Well, I'm only…"
"Knock it off, you two. We'll just have to wait for Schultz or Klink to tell us something or release us from being confined to the barracks." Kinch pointed at the ladder. "Let's go."
"Bloody marvelous!" Newkirk stamped out the butt of his cigarette and headed for the ladder.
Lutz, watching the foursome disappear, turned back to Baker.
"Try it again."
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Klink rested on the divan, half asleep. Dreams, spurred by unconscious thought, flashed through his mind. A long ago battlefield whose inhabitants were a mixed conglomerate of two wars, waged a nonsensical battle. Uniforms were incongruent and changed freely, making it difficult to tell who was fighting who. He could not even distinguish whose side he was on. The central figure in all of this was… Hochstetter, who remained a constant threat to everyone.
Knock, knock, knock!
Klink's head snapped up. What…?
Knock, knock! "Herr Kommandant?"
Briefly disoriented, Klink blinked taking in his surroundings. …only a dream. Relieved to be out of the nightmare, he recognized Schultz's voice. He looked at the clock… Six a.m.Throwing back his cover, he went to answer the door.
"Come in, Schultz. Do you have some news for me…?"
"He is alive, Herr Kommandant."
Klink stared expectantly at Schultz. "Yessss…and…"
"And that is all Sergeant Wilson would say." Schultz looked apologetically at Klink. "I asked him twice, Herr Kommandant. I don't think he could say more."
"How does Hogan look?"
"Not so good, Herr Kommandant. He was muttering in his sleep. Sergeant Wilson says he has a fever."
"See, Schultz, you did know more," Klink accused, before turning and pacing across the room, while thinking out loud. "A fever… that's not good."
"No, Herr Kommandant."
"But I suppose it's to be expected." Spinning back around, Klink asked, "Did Sergeant Wilson ask for anything?"
"No…he looked tired, I think Colonel Hogan had been resisting his help. At least I know he was before the other medics arrived."
"Resisting his help? How?"
"He tried to move Sergeant Wilson's hand off of his wound and when that didn't work he grabbed his shirt. I had to help give him some morphine to calm him down."
Klink raised an eye at Schultz, as he visualized the scene. Hogan must have been in great pain to lower his guard in front of his men.
Schultz, anxious to check on the men of Barracks Two, edged toward the door. "If that is all, Herr Kommandant, I will finish checking the guards and try to get some sleep before roll call."
"All right Schultz, you may go. Keep me informed if there are any changes."
"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," Schultz yawned, weakly saluted, and hurriedly made his escape.
Klink stood without moving. Schultz's report left him with more questions than answers. Turning, he headed for his bedroom. He would dress and get his own answers.
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"Hey, Schultz is coming." Carter turned from the window smiling.
"It's about bloody time."
LeBeau bounded past Carter to try and read Schultz's face. "Come on Schultzie, walk faster."
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Baker stared at the radio. Lutz stared at Baker. If a pin were to be dropped, it would be deafening.
A single word exploded the silence.
"Anything?"
Baker and Lutz jumped, nearly falling off their chairs.
"You scared the… Can't you three make some noise when you enter a room?" Lutz demanded, staring at Kinch, Newkirk and Carter.
"We didn't realize we were being quiet!" Carter answered, smiling.
"Sorry," Kinch added, and then asked, "No news yet?"
Lutz tiredly ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head, no.
"But you guys look like you've got some good news," Baker commented, looking at the threesome.
"Schultz says the Colonel's alive."
Kinch barely got that said, before Carter continued. "He says Colonel Hogan's giving Wilson a hard time."
"That sounds like the gov'nor…" Newkirk was cut short by the sound of the warning trip-wire attached to the emergency tunnel.
Kinch lunged for the crate next to the radio and took out three pistols. Without a word he handed one each to Newkirk and Carter and doused the lamp.
Movement could be heard and barely audible…crying? Carter looked questioningly at Newkirk, who held up his hand for Carter not to move. The sounds gradually became louder, becoming mixed with muted voices.
Lutz, recognizing one of the voices, was the first to explode from the room. "Marie! We've…" The sight of Morgan and his mother stopped him cold. "What's wrong?"
Kinch, Newkirk and Carter stepped out of the shadows and lowered their guns.
Tiger looked at them and nodded, then glancing at Esther said, "Please put those away."
Newkirk, suddenly feeling awkward, gathered the guns and disappeared back into the darkness of the radio room.
The urgency in Tiger's voice set every nerve in Kinch's body on edge. He wasn't sure he wanted his next question answered, but he had to ask. "What happened?"
"Morgan's father has been killed and labeled by the Gestapo as a member of the Underground." Tiger's eyes quickly searched the tunnel. "Where is Colonel Hogan? We will need his help to get Morgan and his mother out of Germany."
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The snow was finally tapering off when Hochstetter's staff car and the truck bearing the guards borrowed from Stalag 13 turned into the compound.
Hochstetter scanned the serene setting. The barracks were all dark and quiet, while a few guards huddled around a drum fire. Searchlights and a few outside lamps lit the compound as well as the areas directly outside of the fence, creating a surreal atmosphere. The Gestapo Major's lips curled into a disgusted sneer.
Well, Kommandant, it doesn't look like you've lost any sleep tonight!