Chapter 25
Episode 166, "Hogan's Double Life" –The sabotage of the Mannheimer Bridge comes back to haunt Hogan as a witness saw him at the bridge. A bit of a radical revision of this episode—it was Pruhst throughout the episode, but I've changed it to be Hochstetter as Hochstetter is the arch-villain of the series and this story.
September 2, 1944
"Welcome back, sir," his men greeted Colonel Hogan as he climbed gingerly from the back of the staff car, aided by Sergeant Kinchloe. Though Klink kept the security surrounding Hogan at the hospital relentlessly strict, he had allowed Kinchloe to remain with him. Wincing as he straightened, Hogan decided it wouldn't be hard, at least for a while, to adhere to Klink's suggestion he tone down his extracurricular activities. Healing well or not, moving too much or too fast—or really moving at all—hurt.
"Thank you. It's good to be home," Hogan told his men, waiting while Schultz freed his hands. Hogan and Klink exchanged a long, significant look as their escort—their Gestapo escort—paused outside the main gates. Then the vehicle's gears ground. It turned around and left in a cloud of dust. Klink gave Hogan a stern scowl, then he, likewise, spun and marched off quickly into his office.
"And happy anniversary, sir," Kinchloe added with a twinkle in his eye.
Hogan give him a puzzled glance as they walked slowly toward the barracks. "Huh?"
"It's two years ago today you first arrived at Stalag 13," Kinch said.
"Ha." Hogan gave a short laugh, then folded his arms across his middle with a grimace and a tight groan. "Arrived about the same way," he added as they entered the barracks. "In handcuffs, with a Gestapo escort, and not feeling exactly at my best."
Pausing to look around the drab room, and scruffy men, Hogan suddenly grinned. "But it sure is good to be home. It's a dump, and you men look like hell, but… heck, it's never looked better."
Seated at the end of the table, Hogan took in the chatter of all of them at once at the little 'welcome home' celebration. LeBeau was positively giddy over the liberation of Paris and impending freedom for all of France. By Christmas, remained the theme, stronger now than before. Hogan smiled as he sipped the watery coffee LeBeau had poured for him. By Christmas… it just may be.
Retreating to his office as soon as reasonably possible, aided by Kinch's quiet manipulations, Hogan stood a moment with his eyes closed. Arms folded across his sore midsection, he held still and focused on breathing. Then he carefully eased down on the bottom bunk, the mattress from the top folded over on one end to make a back rest. Not even noon and he was worn out. Happy anniversary, he echoed to himself. Like his first day in this barracks he felt like he'd wrestled a grizzly bear and lost. Nothing to do but go on. Unlike that day, though, the fight was nearly over. Or so he fervently hoped.
Somehow, he couldn't quite make himself believe it.
"Come in," Hogan answered to the soft rap on his door.
Kinchloe entered, clipboard in hand, and studied Hogan carefully. "How are you doing, sir?"
"Tired," Hogan answered. "But okay. Won't be hard to take Klink's suggestion to throttle back for a while."
"Suggestion?" Kinch repeated, eyebrows raised.
"Well," Hogan allowed, "it may have been phrased more in the form of a threat."
"Yes, sir," Kinch said noncommittally as he pulled a stool up near the bunk. He examined Hogan with a worried expression on his face. "'Throttle back'?"
"He may have used the word 'stop'," Hogan admitted, growing a touch irked.
Kinch frowned. "Sir, we weren't able to speak freely at the hospital. And, quite frankly, sir, I was more than a little concerned about your state of mind…"
"Huh?" Did Kinch see how unnerved the constant restraints had made him; the unbidden flashes of memory the restricted, helpless position called up?
"I mean, sir," Kinch fixed a puzzled look at Hogan, "Your choice of nurses to hit on was… odd."
Oh. Okay. "Mmmm…" Hogan made the sound one of thoughtful joy. "Mary Sue… or as she's known in Germany, Frieda. A goddess. An angel in disguise sent to earth."
"That's what I mean, sir," Kinch said, looking even more concerned. "That was not an attractive woman."
Hogan chuckled, then winced again. "Kinch, I hope you never find out, but everyone falls in love with his nurse. And how she looks makes no difference whatsoever."
"Ah, I see," Kinch said coolly, then a hint of teasing crept into his tone. "So, I suppose I should get a message to Tiger that it's over between you two."
Hogan just glared at him. Then he gestured toward the clipboard. "So, what do you got for me?" Kinch handed the clipboard to Hogan, letting him read the top message for himself. Hogan let out a long sigh and shook his head. "London's orders are almost word-for-word what Klink said to me. Lacking only the threat of getting tossed in the cooler or dragged off to Colditz, that is. Lay off the sabotage. Stop taking risks. Lay low." He peered over at Kinch. "Echoes of the Burkhalter-is-Nimrod theory? Klink reports to Burkhalter. Burkhalter to London. London to us? Tinker to Evers to Chance? Or in this case Evers to Tinker to... someone else entirely." He rubbed his temple, shaking his head.
"Hard to say, Colonel," Kinch answered.
"Lies and secrets. Double-lives. Triple-lives. Is anyone who he really says he is?" Hogan pondered aloud.
"Are you, sir?" Kinch murmured.
"Sometimes I'm not sure I know myself anymore." Hogan stared again at the message from London. "Blowing up the Mannheimer Bridge was on their orders. Just chance it went bad."
"I know, sir," Kinch said softly. "I think what happened scared London as much as it scared us. They tried three times to get medical supplies through to us and failed." Kinch's head lowered a moment as he added, "Third try the plane was shot down. No survivors." Hogan's breath caught. He hadn't known that. Klink's words about the price of Hogan's life raced through his mind. Kinchloe went on, "London needs us—needs you—alive and operating more for the intelligence work than the sabotage. The situation is getting much more dangerous out there. And, quite honestly… you have been taking progressively more risks right along."
"Hmph… Also something Klink said," Hogan muttered.
Kinch hung his head down a moment, then said, "Sir, permission to speak free…"
"Just say what's on your mind," Hogan snapped.
Frowning at him, Kinch said, "Both the Kommandant and Schultz knew right away your injury wasn't caused by the guards shooting you. They both, the Kommandant in particular, went to extremes to protect you. Let's face it, he's not the bravest man on earth. It wasn't easy for him, even though he really came through. For us, for him, for London… you gotta play it safe, sir."
Hogan handed the clipboard back and rubbed his eyes.
Eventually he said softly, "No, Kinch. I cannot sit back and 'play it safe' while others are giving their lives up every day. This is my fight as much as anyone's. It a lot of ways, more." He turned to meet Kinch's eyes steadily. "I have no intention of throwing my life way. I won't take chances I don't have to take. I don't have any sort of death wish. But if anyone in this camp has to put his life on the line—it's gonna be me."
October 21, 1944
Hogan propped his feet up on the low stone wall outside the Hofbrau and tilted his chair back. A break in the clouds let warm sunshine beam down on the park and outdoor café. The breeze carried quiet, homey sounds—children laughing as they played, a low murmur of traffic. A dozen of the Stalag 13 prisoners, most from Barracks Two, spent more time leaning on their shovels than they spent filling bomb craters in the square, yet no one chastised them. Schultz used his rifle as a walking stick as he roamed slowly about. Langenscheidt exchanged banter in half-understood English with LeBeau and Kinchloe. Sipping his beer, Hogan let out a small, contented sigh. It was just a darned nice day.
"This would be called 'Indian Summer', if we weren't in the wrong country, on the wrong continent," Hogan commented. This time his sigh was a tad wistful.
"Indian Summer," Klink echoed softly. Hogan glanced across the table at him. He also leaned back in his chair, boots resting on the wall, yet not quite as relaxed-looking as Hogan. Klink managed to keep a hint of that stiff, German military look about him even when casually relaxed. It was a gift. Or a curse. Actually, Klink had lightened up considerably in the past weeks—the past apparently quiet weeks. This outing, Hogan's first 'official' one since his shot-while-attempting-to-escape recovery, had more the feel of a reward to it than a work detail. The Kommandant was no doubt grateful for Hogan's compliance (or so he thought) with Klink's demand he stand down from his activities. He didn't know they had just reverted to their more carefully covert, concealed patterns of the early days of the operation. A few revisions in operations, a few (quite a few) deceptions… And everyone was happy again.
Well, almost everyone. Keystone cop #2 glowered at Hogan from a short distance away beyond the stone wall. His personal guard, followed him like a sullen shadow, remaining ever near and watchful. Interesting, Hogan considered, that this guard had remained in camp after Klink's purge. Maybe #2 had been willing to lie for Hogan's benefit so he'd still be around long enough to have a chance to shoot Hogan personally. Hogan gave #2 a sweet, if somewhat taunting smile. The guard twitched the barrel of his weapon more threateningly at Hogan and tickled his finger near the trigger. Yup, charming fellow.
Even though Hogan had given his usual word-of-honor pledge to attempt no escapes today, it wasn't escapes that concerned the Kommandant where Hogan was concerned. Yet Klink had missed the sleight-of-hand between Hogan and the barmaid; didn't know about the little slip of paper now resting in Hogan's jacket pocket.
"Indian Summer," Klink repeated, then commented with a chuckle. "You can't imagine how disappointed I was when I found out Indiana wasn't part of the wild west." At Hogan's puzzled look, Klink explained, "When you first arrived at Stalag 13, and I was reading through your file. One of papers said you were from Indianapolis, Indiana." He cast a genuine grin at Hogan. "I had rather hoped you were an American cowboy. You know… Indiana, Indians, cowboys and Indians." Klink shrugged. "I used to adore American cinema. The westerns especially." Clearing his throat, he said gruffly, "Stick 'em up, pardner, or I'll drop ya where you stand." Hogan grinned broadly. Klink's John Wayne impression was more than passable.
With the smile still on his lips, Hogan glanced over at the Kommandant. Klink idly watched the inactive prisoners and the inattentive guards, apparently not bothered by either. A bottle of schnapps, with one untouched glass poured from it, sat on the table. Klink toyed with the glass but wasn't drinking.
"Sorry I disappointed you," Hogan said.
Klink returned his teasing look with an unreadable expression. "Oh, you turned out to be a 'cowboy' all right. Just no horse."
Laughing aloud, Hogan said, "Yeah, I did used to get called a 'cowboy' sometimes in flight school. That was a ways back, and the only time you've ever seen me fly I crashed the plane."
Klink's expression didn't twitch. "On purpose," he corrected. "And I wasn't referring to flying."
Well now, Hogan thought. The Kommandant seems like he's aiming toward a heart-to-heart. I wonder how far he'll go this time?
"So…" Klink began slowly, looking back over the town plaza, "if we were sitting like this in America, what would be different?"
Hogan considered the question a moment. There'd be no guards with guns. No one in uniforms covered with swastikas. No submachine gun barrel pointed unwaveringly his way. But overall, people would just look less… wary. Less fearful. Scowling, Hogan sipped his beer while he contemplated. With a faint chuckle, Hogan answered, "The beer would be cold."
That earned a smile from Klink. He was oddly thoughtful today. Umm… maybe not so odd, for Klink said distantly, "The Americans took Aachen today."
"First German city taken," Hogan commented, raising his mug in a silent toast. Stunned understated his reaction when Klink raised his glass silently and clicked it against Hogan's mug. Toasting a German defeat? Or toasting an American victory?
"That could be taken for treason, you know," Hogan murmured.
Klink snorted softly. "So could a lot of things." He looked distant again. "I always wanted to visit your country. I don't suppose I'll get the chance now." With a sideways glance at Hogan, he added, "I hope your people treat us more kindly than we treated those nations we conquered." He let out a sigh. "I hope--pray--your people get here before the Russians do." He sounded bleak at that thought.
Hogan studied him a moment. "How long have you known you were going to lose?" he asked.
With a shrug, Klink said, "A year… a year and a half. It was summer '43, I think."
Squinting, Hogan had to ask, "Things weren't going all that well for the Allies then. How...? Why?"
He met Hogan's eyes. "When I heard you arguing with that Captain Ritter who came to visit. The things you said to him, the power of your conviction… I realized there was no way we could defeat America's might, and Britain's resolve, when people like you were fighting us. It was also the first time I realized I fully agreed with your arguments, and not Ritter's."
Studying him closely, Hogan asked sharply, "Then why are you still fighting for them?"
With a steady meeting of eyes, Klink said, "What choice is there?"
Hogan held the look a long time, then turned away with a small smile. He sipped casually at his beer, watching the prisoners and guards in the plaza. "You could surrender." Hogan suggested.
"Hmph! You could tell me the truth." Klink countered.
"The truth about what, Kommandant?" Hogan asked in his best innocent who-me? tone.
"Everything," Klink said flatly. "Everything that's been going on at Stalag 13 all these years. All the strange events. How it is you seem to know everyone in Germany. What really happened to General Biedenbender? How you know that Russian spy, Marya. Why you never escaped. How could you possibly not escape? Hmm? Why didn't you go back to England? Back to flying? Surely you could have. How do you get in and out? You've been in and out of the camp more times than I can count. The sabotage in the area!" He turned to Hogan with a glitter in his eyes. "Everything."
Hogan let a humorless smile trace across his face as he shook his head slowly. "Nope. First you surrender the camp to me, then I'll tell you everything. I'll show you everything, too. The tunnel system, the radio, the machine shop, the subway, the docking port in the underground river for the Allied submarines… Heck, even the elevator." He flicked a real grin at Klink. "Everything."
Klink stared hard at him a moment. "Fine," he snapped. To Hogan's surprise, he snatched a napkin out of the holder in the middle of the café table, patted his pockets until he found the stub of a pencil, and began to write on the napkin. When he finished, he signed with a grand flourish and handed it to Hogan.
Reading, Hogan's mouth fell open. On the napkin was an entirely correct unconditional surrender of Stalag 13 to Colonel Hogan from Kommandant Klink, written in both English and German, and signed.
"Are you drunk?" Hogan asked.
Klink tilted the nearly full bottle. "I don't think so."
Hogan reread the words, then scowled. There was one notable element missing. "You didn't date it," Hogan said, putting the napkin back down on the table. At the top Klink had written 'Date' and drawn a line.
"I'll date it when you're ready to tell me everything," Klink said.
"I'll tell you everything when you date it," Hogan countered.
"Stalemate," Klink muttered.
"Cripes, Kommandant," Hogan said in an exasperated tone. "You're sounding like that nut Hochstetter. There's really nothing to tell. So we've taken 'Goon baiting' to the extreme now and then, and, okay, I can't pretend you don't know I can get in touch with the Underground when I need to. But—come on!—the rest of all Hochstetter's crackpot theories about me? Sabotage? How could you possibly believe any of that nonsense?"
Klink flicked him a no-nonsense look. Low, he said, "Hogan, you blew up the Adolph Hitler Bridge right in front of me."
Stuttering a bit, Hogan countered, "That was for your propaganda film. And you provided the 'fake' explosives. I didn't know they were real!"
Without a twitch, Klink repeated, "Hogan, you blew up the Adolph Hitler Bridge right in front of me. Do you seriously think I didn't notice?"
Hogan lost the battle to stop the grin from spreading across his face. "Blew it up in front of Burkhalter, too," he murmured. "And got away with it clean. That. Was. Fun." Still unable to quell his mischievous smile, Hogan said, "But, seriously Kommandant… one time, an easy opening… can you blame me?"
"Mannheimer Bridge," Klink whispered, staring at him.
"Umgh." Hogan made the sound suddenly, rubbing his middle.
"You all right?" Klink asked without any real concern.
"Still get a twinge now and again," Hogan admitted.
"Hmph. Let's hope it's not fatal," Klink said.
"Indeed," Hogan agreed. Then brightly, and loudly, said, "Well, Major Hochstetter! How very nice to see you! Kommandant Klink and I were just saying it's been too long. Have you been away? A nice holiday on the Riviera? Allied tanks cut it short, perhaps?" As he came to his feet, Hogan crumpled the bar napkin with the surrender on it, dabbed his mouth with it, then casually dropped it on the table. Klink's hand covered it as he scrambled frantically to his feet.
"Hogan," Hochstetter sneered. The sneer change to contempt. "Herr Kommandant." He glanced around—not casually, more like he was sighting in targets. "A happy little picnic outing? Hmm?"
"Work detail," Klink said gruffly.
"With your high-security prisoner wandering about unsecured?" Hochstetter asked smarmily.
"Hardly," Hogan inserted with a snort. He gestured to Keystone cop #2. "Junior there never lets me out of his gunsights." Indeed, the guard didn't have to pretend to re-aim his submachine gun back at Hogan—the barrel had never strayed off of him.
"Mmm…" Hochstetter managed to make even an agreeable sound come out threateningly. "Indeed. Indeed," he murmured, dissecting Hogan and Klink with his eyes in slow, excruciating detail. Hogan held still. Klink gulped and flinched.
"Just passing through, Major?" Hogan asked pleasantly.
"Why, yes, Hogan," Hochstetter answered in an equally pleasant tone dripping with malice. "Just passing through on my way back to Berlin after investigating some incidents around here." He nodded and gave a crisp Nazi salute. Hogan answered it with a sarcastic wave. Klink ignored it.
As they settled back down, it no longer seemed like such a nice, tranquil day. Hochstetter is like a wolf, Hogan thought, lurking in the woods in the dark, just waiting for the chance to sink his teeth in.
Turning to the Kommandant, Hogan asked casually, "Can I have my napkin back?"
With a scowl, Klink said, "I think I'll hold on to it for a while." He threw a sideways glance at Hogan. "Maybe you can have it back as a Christmas present."
"…born in Ohio, graduated the aviation cadets, graduated 3rd in his class…"
Hogan listened closely to the Gestapo agent's voice over the coffeepot. What was his name? Pruhst. Major Pruhst. Nah… he wasn't the one behind this. It was Hochstetter. Hochstetter sent in another lackey to test out the waters.
"The Gestapo is interested in anyone who is a threat to the state," Pruhst snarled.
"This man is a prisoner. He's harmless." Klink protested with admirable conviction.
"Our records show this area has the highest rate of sabotage and underground activity," Pruhst told him.
"Really? Our little area?" Klink voice quavered a bit. Steady, Klink, steady, Hogan silently offered encouragement.
"Our statistical department has been working 'round the clock for the past five months, sifting information on every known person in this area and relating them to the outrages which have taken place here," Pruhst said. Yeah… that was Hochstetter's signature right there. About five months ago—June it was—Burkhalter told Hogan that Hochstetter had been recalled to Berlin for just that purpose.
"You people are doing a wonderful job." Klink said weakly.
"We come to a conclusion we find difficult to believe or explain. The evidence all points to one man—your Colonel Hogan." Every man in Hogan's office shifted uncomfortably at that, Hogan included. Yes, no doubt about it. Hochstetter was behind this. Only now he wasn't alone. He'd convinced others. Hogan felt the walls close in a bit tighter than they already were.
Firmly, Klink protested, "That is impossible. He's a prisoner."
"The evidence is overwhelming," Pruhst insisted. "Klink. When the Mannheimer Bridge was blown up two months ago, there was a witness. He saw the leader in the moonlight. He saw him very plainly. His description of that man fits Hogan exactly." Hogan sighed. His recollections of that night had more than a few blank spots sandwiched between the fuzzy areas, but he recalled the stunned expression of the farmer with the wagon staring at him vividly. Scheiße.
"But Hogan is an ordinary looking man," Klink said as he had said many times before. "He looks like a lot of people."
"I need to send a picture of Colonel Hogan to the witness in Berlin. When he makes a positive identification they will have to listen to me." They'll have to listen to Hochstetter.
After Major Pruhst left, Klink glanced back out the window at Hogan, still with a cluster of other prisoners gathered around him. Did he know what had just taken place? He'd been so quiet lately, so cooperative. No strange events. No escapes that weren't escapes. He was doing as Klink had told him to do. Then a sudden burst of suspicion clamped down on Klink. Hogan's compliant behavior was more suspicious than his normal, sneaky behavior.
Stepping over to the photograph of Hitler hanging on the wall, Klink pulled it out a bit. Yes, the disconnected wire was still there. Still disconnected.
"You have a problem," Klink told Hogan.
"That Gestapo officer?" Hogan asked, feigning ignorance. "What did he want?"
"You," Klink said, then spelled out what Pruhst had said. "And what will be found when he shows that photograph of you to this witness?"
"What could he possibly find?" Hogan protested. "Your own reports to Berlin are quite clear—I was shackled to a bed, barely conscious, when the Mannheimer Bridge blew up." His eyes narrowed as he watched Klink blanch.
Klink gulped. "We have a problem."
Hogan felt his men's concern; understood their heightened worry that this time it was Hogan, alone, and not the team who was in trouble.
It took Kinchloe's help to work through his blurred memories of the night of the Mannheimer Bridge incident, followed by a sleepless night pacing his office to come up with a plan. It might work… With Klink's help, it just might throw the Gestapo off his trail. What was he wearing that night? A captain's uniform. A captain from the 15th Corps. Another piece came from Carter's intercept of Klink's mail—an invitation to a party, a party given by Field Marshal Von Leiter. Now to put the pieces together…
"I will cooperate," Kommandant Klink said, "but I have one condition, Colonel Hogan." He aimed his sternest expression at Hogan.
Appearing somewhat surprised, Hogan asked, "What is that, sir?"
Wagging his finger, Klink ordered, "Under no circumstances is Sergeant Carter to make an appearance in the uniform of a Luftwaffe general.
He would treasure Hogan's expression all the way to the gallows.
It was Major Hochstetter who strutted back into Klink's office, not Pruhst, confirming Hogan's suspicions as to who was really behind this.
"You're sure," they heard Hochstetter say over the coffeepot bug in answer to the phone call. "There's no mistake. Good! The witness says there's no doubt about it. The man in the picture is the man who blew up the Mannheimer Bridge."
Klink answered with convincing realism. "I can't understand it. I thought I knew Hogan so well. Why did he not confide in me? What am I saying?" He added in half-panic.
But Hochstetter was obviously not listening. "I knew it was him all along. I knew it!" Hogan heard the promise of slow death in those words, and in Hochstetter's voice.
Klink voice came through with utter honesty. "I supposed that deep down I really suspected him. There's always been something shifty about the man that's always rubbed me the wrong way." Hogan had to stifle a chuckle at that. Klink added, "Well, we got him."
Hochstetter's voice was chilling. "In the morning I'll arrest him and drag him back to Berlin with me." Hogan was hard pressed to contain a reaction to that.
"I can assure you he will be safe here until then," Klink said. Hogan considered that were it not for Klink's visible, obvious, and strict security measures taken with Hogan in the past weeks, Hochstetter would never have bought that line.
Hochstetter was a terrible chess player, Klink decided about five moves into the game. Klink, however, had been trained by Hogan in the art of leading an opponent through a long, deceptive series of moves. His clear path to a win—both in the chess game and his anticipated victory over Colonel Hogan—had the nasty little Gestapo thug in an uncharacteristically jovial mood. So cheerful and confident of victory on both fronts, in fact, he was willing to trust Klink's security concerning Hogan, and Schultz's attentiveness, to go to Field Marshal Von Leiter's party.
"I'll be ready in forty-five minutes," Klink told Hochstetter. Stall him, Hogan had said. Come up with some good excuse. "You don't expect me to go in these rags, do you?" That was a good excuse, wasn't it? Ha! And Hogan thought he was the master at these games of manipulation!
Klink's mood soared. He smiled. This was going so well. Smoothly. Indeed, this deceptive ploy was nearly as fun as their trip to England.
Klink's smile faded when he saw Hogan across the room. No, this wasn't fun. This was life and death, his and Hogan's. Klink swallowed, more scared than he'd realized he would be. "That's Hogan with a moustache and glasses," Klink said, pointing.
"It's hardly a disguise at all. I've got my man now." Hochstetter almost growled as he said it.
Act naturally, Hogan had said. Klink stomped his foot. "It's disgraceful."
"Hmm?"
"He was invited," Klink said. "I wasn't."
They strode across the room, to hear Hogan in the midst of an enthusiastic story. "You must remember it was my first safari," Hogan was saying. "The only rhinoceros I'd seen before was in a zoo." The story was complicated, Klink realized, verbally, that was, for a non-native speaker of a language, with the sort of words one normally didn't learn in language classes. As well as Klink spoke English, after his stumbles during their trip to London he realized just how hard it would be for a foreigner to manage this kind of tale.
Hogan raised an imaginary rifle. "Well he came charging at me and I took careful aim, pulled the trigger and nothing happened. He was still charging at me. And there was no time to get out of the way. So I took out my saber, sliced him down the middle and let him pass me on both sides."
The crowd, Klink included, laughed agreeably. Hochstetter, like a wolf on the scent, didn't.
"You know Captain Schafstein?" Field Marshal Von Leiter asked, puzzled by the reactions of the Luftwaffe colonel and the Gestapo major.
"I think I do," Hochstetter said smugly.
Hogan took off his glasses. "Really," he said to Hochstetter. "I don't recall the meeting."
With a big grin, Klink leaned close to Hogan. "Do you remember me, Captain Schafstein?"
"I can't say that I do. And yours is a face one doesn't easily forget," Hogan answered smoothly. They'd rehearsed this part.
"Hogan. You're in deep trouble," Klink said sharply in English. Also rehearsed.
Not reacting to the words spoken in English, Hogan asked coolly, "What did you say? What did you call me?"
"It wasn't 'Captain Schafstein'," Hochstetter said so very, very smugly.
"Hogan can't be in two places at the same time. We have to get back to camp right away."
"I don't know, Major," Klink said again as he drove far slower than necessary back toward Stalag 13. "Certainly Captain Schafstein bore an amazing resemblance to Colonel Hogan, but honestly…" He glanced briefly at Hochstetter, then pointedly took a turn down a side road. It led back to camp, but by a somewhat longer route.
"It was Hogan," Hochstetter grated. He smelled the blood in the air and was eager to move in for the kill.
"Oh, please, Major," Klink said. "You heard this man speak. And you've heard Hogan speaking German. There's no similarity in the accents, or the pronunciation. Major Hochstetter, I've dealt with foreigners quite extensively for years. Far more than you have. I've had English-speaking prisoners try to pass themselves off as Germans many times while attempting to escape. Very few can manage the language that fluently, no matter how well trained they may be in it, much less speak with an accent that natural."
"Hmm…" Hochstetter made the sound dubiously. He was starting to have doubts, Klink realized hopefully. "I don't know…"
"You know, Major, I myself speak English quite well," Klink went on, pressing the point, "yet how long do you think I would last in—I don't know—England without them realizing I wasn't British?" He waggled his finger in the air, slowing down the auto a bit more as he took one hand off the steering wheel. "I can tell you—not two minutes. What's more, I seriously doubt I could translate that same story Captain Schafstein told into English. Nashorn, Großwildjagd… I simply don't know what those words are in English. They're just too uncommon. How would a mere bomber pilot learn such things?" He held his breath waiting for the reaction. Too much? Hogan always went overboard and yet made it all work out.
"Maybe…"
Klink let out his breath and drove a little slower.
"Tattoos are not easy to get rid of," Klink whispered conspiratorially to Hochstetter as they turned from a puzzled Hogan. Klink could tell at a glance, as Hochstetter could not, that the chess game in progress was not one of Hogan's matches. The pattern was wrong.
"Do you know what I'm thinking, Klink?" Hochstetter said.
Mein Gott, I hope so. "Yes, a remarkable resemblance." Absolutely remarkable. Klink flicked a glance at Hogan's utterly innocent face.
"That means there really must be two of them," Hochstetter said. Klink could see him recalculating every conclusion he had ever made.
"The one your witness identified was not Hogan," Klink said, pushing Hochstetter to the inevitable conclusion.
"But Erik Schafstein. We must get back to the party at once."
One more scene to play, Klink thought as he approached Hogan.
"That's the ol' ballgame, fellas," Hogan said as the baseball went over the fence. Klink tucked the phrase away for future use.
The guards came to alert as the ball rolled away and Sergeant Kinchloe chased it toward the warning wire. The guards always came to alert now any time Colonel Hogan was near. The heightened security surrounding Hogan had not been allowed to slacken. Some of it was real. Some of it was show for any of Hochstetter's men who might be watching. Today's scene between Klink and Hogan was to be played for one of them—one of the new, replacement guards. Hogan had advised Klink he was a spy of Hochstetter's. Klink didn't ask how he knew.
"I suppose you're wondering what happened last night," Klink said within earshot of the guard/Gestapo spy.
"As a matter of fact, I was," Hogan said.
"I think this will amuse you. Major Hochstetter thought you were a spy and that you blew up the Mannheimer Bridge. Ha, ha." Klink laughed artificially. It was harder to fake a laugh than anything else. "That's funny, isn't it? You don't think that's funny, eh?" Hochstetter's man edged nearer.
Hogan folded his arms and glowered. "No, I don't, sir."
"You're missing the point. You see…" Wasn't Hogan supposed to think Hochstetter's foolishness was funny? Isn't that what they had rehearsed?
"You know what I see?" Hogan cut in. "After all the time you've known me, you actually thought I was a saboteur? A man walking around with dynamite?"
"Well, you don't have to put it that way," Klink said. Really. Don't put it that way.
"You have a very low opinion of me." Sometimes, yes, but…
"It wasn't that way at all," Klink tried to say.
Hogan pressed it. "You know, I think you owe me an apology."
What? What about the Adolph Hitler Bridge? No, don't think that. Hochstetter's man was listening. "Hogan, I… all right, I apologize."
"Accepted. See? No hard feelings," Hogan said magnanimously. The snot.
"Hmph. You know, I like you," Klink admitted, "but I wish you had Captain Schafstein's sense of humor!" Hogan's lips twitched a bit at that with a laugh he fought to contain.
Hochstetter's spy moved away, apparently satisfied he'd heard enough to make his report. Klink let out a faint sigh as he did so.
"Dodged the bullet again," Hogan commented, watching the spy/guard move away.
Scowling, Klink said, "What an incredibly inappropriate idiom!"
Hogan did chuckle at that. "Given the circumstances, I suppose so. Thanks, Kommandant. Again."
With a shake of his head, Klink said, "This won't stop him, you know." Hogan gave him a questioning look. "Hochstetter. Surely you realize he's on his way back to Berlin right now… to investigate the real Captain Erik Schafstein. What do you think will happen when he finds a photograph of Captain Schafstein? Eh, Hogan? What happens when he gets his hands on Schafstein's service record and compares it to these incidents he's been investigating?"
Hogan rubbed the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking very tired. "Yeah. Cripes. You're right. I hate it when you're right," he said shortly. Turning to Klink, said with a frown, "You know, I wish you had Captain Schafstein's sense of humor."
To be continued...