April 21, 1945
The nurse had just finished changing the IV bottle on the patient in room 127 when the doctor came in.
"Has he shown any signs of awakening?" asked the doctor, lifting his patient's eye lids to check for pupil reaction.
"Some minor stirring, Herr Doktor, but nothing more," replied the nurse.
"Well, Gretl, let's see what's happening under this bandage while he's still out," replied the doctor.
Nurse Gretl Vischer withdrew a pair of scissors from her uniform pocket and gently snipped the gauze holding the bandage to her patient's head. Peeling back the pad revealed the row of neat stitching the doctor had used to close the gash on the man's forehead. Doktor Siegfried Heinkel examined the wound, looking for signs of infection. Satisfied it appeared to be healing nicely, Heinkel indicated the nurse could apply a fresh bandage.
"The swelling appears to have lessened," stated Heinkel, making a few notations on the patient's chart. "No signs of infection so far. We'll keep to my previous instructions; I don't see a reason to change treatment at this point."
"Yes, Herr Doktor," replied the nurse while wrapping another swath of gauze around her patient's head. A groan came from the man in the bed.
"Doktor?" questioned Gretl, alarmed by the patient's sudden stirring.
"It's alright, nurse. Perhaps he is finally coming around," replied Heinkel. He addressed the wakening man. "Can you hear me? Wake up now. Open your eyes. That's it, just a little more. Open your eyes for me. You can do it," encouraged the doctor.
The man in the bed tried to do as the voice requested but it seemed such a long way to go. His eyelids were heavy and his head gave a dull throb. Struggling towards the surface, he battled towards waking, attempting to blink and reach consciousness. Finally successful, he opened his eyes a crack and took in the two people standing by his bedside.
"Whu…?" his first attempts at speaking were a failure, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth. The woman reached for something outside his field of vision and returned with a glass of water. He thought she might be a nurse, judging by her clothing but it hurt too much to think. She raised him up a little, helping him to drink; the tepid liquid soothing his arid mouth.
Clearing his throat a little, he tried again. "What happened?" he managed to rasp, fighting to keep his eyes open despite the pain spiking in his head at the bright lights.
"What do you remember?" asked the man wearing a white jacket. A doktor perhaps, thought the patient. The man scowled as he thought a bit more before replying, but it was difficult. His brain seemed to be made of molasses and memories were slow to surface. A few brief images flashed through his mind.
"There was an alley. I was chasing someone? Then an explosion…," the patient drifted off as his memory gave out.
"You were caught in an air raid," clarified the doctor. "You were found in an alley near a building which had been destroyed. You have a severe head wound causing a concussion and have been unconscious for two days. In addition, there is also some bruising around your throat and some after effects from smoke inhalation so you may find speaking difficult for the next day or so. Your lower arm was broken and has been set in a cast. There is also some general bruising and minor abrasions. You were lucky you weren't hurt worse than you were. The rescue teams found you and brought you here to the Krankenhaus.
"I am your Doktor, Siegfried Heinkel. This is one of your nurses, Gretl Vischer. Do you know who you are?" asked the doctor, testing his patient's recall after such a serious head injury. Gestapo ID papers had been found on the man, so the doctor knew who he was but didn't want to give away the information.
The patient scowled again, moustache twitching as he tried to remember such a trivial piece of knowledge. Nothing came to him at first. He was so tired, he just wanted to return to the darkness where his head didn't hurt and the lights weren't blinding him. But doktor was insistent so he worked to come up with an answer for him. A name which seemed very important hedged around his thoughts and he made an effort to grasp it. Hesitantly as he tried out each syllable as he recalled it, he said, "H – H – Ho…" He broke off, confused, not sure of how to continue, his groggy mind unable to complete the words.
"Try again," the doktor pushed.
"Ho – Ho – Hogan." The feeling the man experienced at recalling the name evoked such a strong sense of purpose he was certain it belonged to him. Closing his eyes as he drifted back to oblivion, he softly repeated, "My name is Hogan. Robert Hogan."
The Soviets continued to advance towards Berlin, their artillery shells now reaching the heart of the city. Part of the Russian Army had moved as close as 28 km to Berlin, and was near the town of Werneuchen. The Soviet plan was to encircle the city first and then envelope the Ninth Army.
Newkirk, Baker and Carter sat around the barracks table playing cards. Every once in a while Newkirk would look over at LeBeau, who was scurrying around the stove, banging pans together and muttering under his breath. Over the course of several hands, the others silently communicated with a few nods and looks at the Frenchman, wondering what was going on. Finally Newkirk had had enough. Tossing his hand in, he turned to his team mate.
"Alright, Louie, what gives, mate?" he asked. The others also put down their cards and looked towards LeBeau, hoping to find out what had him out of sorts.
"Nothing," replied LeBeau sullenly, while rearranging more pots again.
"I don't think it's nothin', mate. You're whirling around the barracks like a Tasmanian devil on a bender, you is, banging pots and pans and you're not even cookin' anythin'. In fact, you 'aven't made anythin' in the barracks since ol' Sullivan and 'is crew took over and you got access to the camp kitchen."
"Newkirk's right, LeBeau," added Carter. "There's got to be something bugging you. Why don't you sit down and tell us about it. Maybe we can help."
Newkirk got up and guided the Frenchman to the bench, where he finally sat down, leaning his crossed arms on the table. He didn't speak for a bit and the guys thought they were going to have to nag him some more to open up but at last he spoke, mumbling sullenly under his breath.
"I had a dream last night."
Newkirk looked across at Carter to see if he'd caught what LeBeau had said. Carter shrugged back he didn't have a clue. Placing his hand on LeBeau's shoulder, Newkirk tried again.
"You want to repeat that, Louie? We didn't quite catch…"
"I said I had a dream last night!" shouted LeBeau with a little hint of anger. He jumped up from the table once more and started pacing behind the bench. "Vous ne comprendriez pas, même si je vous ai dit…" he muttered vehemently.
"What did you say?" asked Baker in confusion.
"I said, you wouldn't understand, even if I told you!" replied LeBeau heatedly, tired of always having to translate everything he said.
"Why don't you sit down again and tell us what's really going on? It must have been some dream for you to get this worked up about it," said Baker.
LeBeau sat down in defeat. "I don't know why it is upsetting me so. It is just a dream but it was so real feeling, oui?" he started.
"Boy, I can understand that. I once had a dream and it was sooo scary. There were these monsters chasing after me through the forest out back of my grandfather's cabin, you know? I was running and running, dodging through the trees, twisting and turning…"
"Oh lay off, Carter! The man was just about to finally tell us what's goin' on!"
"Oh right. Sorry LeBeau," said Carter sheepishly.
"I had a dream about mon Colonel," LeBeau admitted.
"Well it's nothing to get upset about, is it?" asked Baker.
"He was lost and in trouble. He couldn't find his way back to us. He was so wrapped up in being this 'Erlich Strauss' he was losing himself."
"It sounds kind of troublin', but why has it got your knickers in such a twist?"
"Do you remember at the end of last summer when the barrack roof was leaking over my bunk and I went out to fix it in the middle of the night? I fell off the roof after lightning almost hit me. Le Colonel had me pretend to be a fortune-telling Gypsy to get Klink to move the guards around the top secret half-track with the magnetic deviator in it."
"'ow could I forget? Gov'na had me in the woods shootin' off them fireworks with all the bloody Germans shootin' back live ammo! Weren't too 'appy with the Colonel, encouraging the Kommandant with the 'Klink Dipsy Doodle' Maneuver. Scared a year off me life I think," replied Newkirk. "But wot's it got ta do with your dream?"
"Well, le Colonel was right. I didn't want to admit it at the time but I do have some Gypsy blood a couple of generations back on my grandmother's side."
"Your not tellin' us you can see the future now are ya, Louie? 'Cuz I'd be thinkin' you've gone right round the bend crackers this time."
"Non, non, it's nothing like that and nothing I can control. But I have had certain dreams before about bad things which have come true. When I was thirteen, my grandfather was away visiting some cousins in the south of France. I had a dream about him saying good bye to me and the next day we got word he had passed away in his sleep."
"Gee, that's a little creepy, LeBeau. Does it happen often?" asked Carter.
"Non. But I can usually tell the difference between a premonition and a normal dream. This one feels real. I think mon Colonel is in trouble."
"I could get on the horn and contact London to find out what's happening in Berlin," offered Baker.
"I don't think we should bother them just for that. I mean, they've got really important stuff to do and updating us on what the war's doing is probably not much of a priority for them," said Carter.
"Well 'ow else are we goin' to find out wot's happenin' then?" asked Newkirk with a huff.
"Major Sullivan has a radio. Perhaps he can get an update through his headquarters," suggested LeBeau. "But you'll have to be careful explaining why you want to know, if he asks," he said to Carter.
"He already knows about the operation," said Baker, slightly confused by what LeBeau was saying.
"C'est vrais, but London had said to let him in on the bare minimum of the operation to stop raising suspicion over everything we did. He doesn't know Colonel Hogan is alive and undercover in Berlin," LeBeau elaborated.
"You're right, LeBeau. I even told Sullivan straight out the Gestapo had executed the Colonel and it's got to be in Klink's camp records he's been going over. I'll be careful, fellas. Wish me luck!" Carter got up from the table to head for Major Sullivan's office to see what he could discover.
As Carter exited the barracks, Newkirk turned to LeBeau. "So, you feelin' better now, mate?"
"Oui, Pierre, I believe I am. Merci."
"Good, you can clean up all these bloomin' pots then!"
LeBeau chuckled and got right on it.
The next time the patient in Room 127 awoke, he was a lot more lucid. His head and arm throbbed dully in unison.
Nurse Gretl arrived shortly thereafter with a syringe of pain medication to administer. She began to take his vitals first, checking his pulse and noting it on his chart as the doktor entered.
"How are we feeling now?" asked Dr. Heinkel, giving his patient the once over.
"Bah, I need to get out of here," replied the man.
"It will be several days at least, more likely a week before that can happen. You've only just woke up and we need to monitor your concussion. We also have to make sure there are no complications with your breathing or your broken arm. You were rather groggy the last time you were conscious. Perhaps you can tell me your name this time?" asked the doktor, wanting to see if his patient had any better recall. The name the patient had given him had not matched the identification papers, which raised some red flags first, over his patient's state of mind, and second, over the possibility of subterfuge.
"My name is Lieutenant Colonel Wolfgang Hochstetter," replied the patient firmly, with a bit of a sneer. "I am Gestapo and you will not hold me here."
"You aren't in any condition to leave at the moment," replied Heinkel, relieved the man seemed to have recalled who he was and ruling out amnesia from the blow to his head. "Who is Robert Hogan?" he asked casually as he looked under the bandage on Hochstetter's forehead.
"Hogan! Is he here? He was the man I was chasing in the alley when the bomb exploded. Was he injured?" queried Hochstetter. As his blood pressure increased at the thought of the American getting away once more, the aching in his arm and head grew in intensity.
"Please calm yourself, Colonel. You were the only one brought in alive from that area. There was another body in the alley close to where you were found, but he was killed in the blast. I do not know who he was," answered the Doktor truthfully. "Now, you need to rest. The nurse has your scheduled pain medication ready. It will help you sleep."
At the Doktor's indication, Gretl stepped up and injected the needle into Hochstetter's arm before he could protest. The nurse and Doktor left, and Hochstetter could feel the medication working, his arm and head not pounding with pain any more. As he started to relax from the drug and give in to the drowsiness, he mulled over Heinkel's words. Hochstetter was positive Hogan was the only other person in the alley when the shell had hit, so Hogan must finally be dead. He hadn't had the pleasure of doing the deed himself, but the result satisfied him never-the-less. He could allow himself time to recover then. Hochstetter's eyes closed and a small smile appeared on his lips as he drifted off into a healing slumber.
The nightmares faded in the light of day, not that Hogan could tell being deep underground in the bunker beneath the heart of Berlin. He had managed to catch a couple more hours of dreamless sleep just before 'dawn', after pulling himself together and taking another tour around the complex. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who had trouble sleeping. As he had passed the corridor to the Führerbunker, Hogan had caught an odd sight. Hitler was sitting on the floor in the hall with back against the wall, absently petting his dog which was asleep with its head in his lap.
Once more posted in the conference room, Hogan was surrounded by the few remaining fanatical Chiefs of Staff still loyal to the Reich who believed their Führer could still be victorious. Hitler, he was told, would not be roused until 1400 as per his order. This was becoming a not uncommon occurrence as the Führer roamed the halls til 0500 before retiring for the night. It was up to the General Staff to manage the battle with the Soviets while their leader slept.
The outlook was not hopeful for the German Reich. Russian artillery had begun to pour shells into the heart of Berlin from Marzahn – only 8 miles away. Nothing had been heard from the units posted directly to the east since the night before. The breach to the north-east was still a concern. Once Hitler joined the remains of the General Staff in the afternoon, plans were made to pull together an ad hoc battle group under SS General Felix Steiner to send towards Werneuchen and cut off Soviet Marshall Zhukov's army to the north of Berlin.
Heinrici, as Steiner's superior, was against the move. He was still trying to prevent the Ninth Army from being encircled, but he was now over at Fürstenwalde. The only move he could make, reported Heinrici, would be to take the troops south-east to the lake country and abandon Berlin.
Hitler got on the phone himself and began issuing orders to get any forces available into position at Werneuchen under Steiner. His orders had an under-current of hysterical insanity as more and more reports filtered back that his orders were being ignored. Threats of executions for failure to carry out his wishes were issued along with the orders. Hogan stood back and watched as Germany's greatest leader moved quickly to a serious breakdown. Soon it became apparent either Heinrici or Steiner had failed to gather any forces at Werneuchen and what little was there was swept away by the surging Soviets.
"So what did Sullivan have to say?" asked LeBeau as soon as the barracks door opened to reveal Carter returning from his attempt to get information on what was happening in Berlin.
"Apparently his headquarters sends out info at least daily on what is going on. He had no problem sharing it with me," said Carter as he sat down on his bunk and leaned against the barrack wall.
"And…" prompted Newkirk when it became clear Carter wasn't going to carry on.
"Oh, uh, well, the Soviets are really giving it to the Germans. They've pretty much reached the outskirts of Berlin and are starting to encircle it. The Major said there have been massive air raids on Berlin the last two nights in a row by the Allies."
"That tears it. We've got ta do somethin' ta 'elp the gov'na," said Newkirk, grinding out a cigarette butt with enthusiasm. "We've got ta get 'im outta Berlin!"
"You're crazy!"
"C'est impossible!"
"Are you nuts?"
There was a pause as the four team members looked at each other.
"When do we leave?" asked Baker as smiles broke out around the table.
It turned out to be a little more complicated then that. Once the team was unanimous in wanting to go to Berlin, they hashed out plans and possible scenarios. A supplies list was drafted, including weapons, clothing, food, and medical supplies. Carter got all the information on current troop positions and fighting locations from Major Sullivan so they could map out the hot spots to avoid.
London was contacted to request permission to go after their wayward leader. Goldilocks couldn't give them an answer immediately, promising to get back to them with a decision within a day or two. In the mean time, planning continued with the unspoken agreement they would be going to Berlin whether they had London's approval or not.
In the end, it was decided Baker should remain at camp. First, the other team members figured they would have to travel as civilians once they reached Berlin. Their military status would help them while moving through Allied territory, but it wouldn't mean much once they reached Soviet-occupied Berlin, which is what looked very probable right now. Baker's skin colour would be a liability.
Second, it was agreed one of the original team members should stay behind in case of any issues with Major Sullivan, the camp, or the operation. More captured Germans were arriving daily and Sullivan had been working with Carter to ensure the operation remained a secret. In addition, Baker was the only one who could run the radio and continue contact with London.
If everything went according to plan, the team would be on their way to Berlin in just a few short days. Everyone was happy to be finally doing something to help Colonel Hogan and reunite the team. The planning was a delay that, while chafed at the nerves, was necessary to hopefully ensure their success. However, one thought occupied all their minds: Would they be in time?
Hogan entered his quarters and moved to hang his uniform tunic in the small wardrobe in the corner. He was tired after a long day and little sleep the night before. It was late, but he hadn't been dismissed from the conference room until after 2300.
He looked at the bed and gave a heart-felt sigh. A man shouldn't be afraid to face his own pillow, but at this moment, even as exhausted as he was, Hogan felt himself shying away from wanting to go to sleep. The nightmare the night before had shaken him to his very soul and he was leery of a repeat performance tonight.
Hoping that following his normal bedtime routine would ease his worry, Hogan quietly changed into his pyjamas and washed up. Reaching for the blanket to pull back the sheets, he noticed his hand shaking and he was breathing fast. This is stupid, he thought, sitting down at the desk and turning his back on the cause of his anxieties.
He fiddled with some remaining paperwork, his eyes drooping until he couldn't hold them open any more. He briefly considered sleeping with his head down on the desk, but figured the back pain and kinked neck wouldn't be worth it in the morning. He stood up and faced his adversary, believing he was finally tired enough to sleep without dreaming. Before he could reconsider, Hogan swiftly slipped into bed and turned out the light, admonishing himself for over-reacting.
Sleep came quickly but it was not as dream-free as he would have liked.
"Colonel."
"Captain."
"Colonel."
"Captain."
He was in a dense fog. The two titles were whispered back and forth over and over, combining and swirling around him, repeating faster and faster until they almost joined into one.
Suddenly the fog lifted. He stood in an open meadow on the top of a hill, wild flowers blooming gaily and blowing in the breeze. The words changed.
"Who are you?"
"Who are you?"
"Who are you?"
"Colonel."
"Captain."
"Colonel."
"Captain."
"Who are you?'
He turned around and around, wondering where the voices came from, wondering if he should answer but he was all alone.
He stopped turning when he spotted four shadowed figures moving in the distance. Suddenly they crested the hill, traversing the distance far too fast for normal means.
It was his team. They stood side by side and confronted him at the edge of the meadow. He rushed forward, eager to see them at last.
"Who are you?" Newkirk demanded.
"Colonel?" asked LeBeau.
"Captain?" asked Baker.
"Choose," demanded Carter.
He looked each of his team members in the eye as they spoke. He felt unsure of what they wanted, why they were acting the way they were. He remained silent, unable to find his voice. The team edged closer, forcing him to take steps backwards to maintain some distance between them but they hounded him like a wolf pack hunting its prey. The team repeated their demands.
"Who are you?" Newkirk demanded.
"Colonel?" asked LeBeau.
"Captain?" asked Baker.
"Choose," demanded Carter.
"I…" he started and paused, at a loss of what to say. "I don't know. I don't know any more…"
"Tell me: who are you?" commanded Carter, eyes sharp as flint, voice cold as stone.
"Colonel…Captain…Choose…Colonel…Captain…Choose…" the others whispered over and over and over.
"I'm…I'm…" he gulped nervously. "I'm Robert Hogan…I'm Robert Hogan. Colonel! I choose Colonel!" he cried desperately.
"Not fast enough, gov'na," sneered Newkirk.
The four men raised their weapons as one and fired. White fluffy clouds floated overhead as he lay on his back gasping his last breath amongst the meadow flowers.
"Traitor..."
"Traitor..."
"Traitor…"
"Traitor…"
Hogan sat up in bed, heart pounding, sweat rolling down his temple. He subconsciously rubbed his chest but there was no blood, no bullet holes. Cynically, he thought as he caught his breath, he supposed now they were even as far as executing each other went.
He laid down again in the dark, waiting for his heart to slow to normal, for the adrenalin to flush out of his system. Light from the hallway invading from under the door cast strange shadows on the walls of his quarters.
Guys, I really wish you were here. Hogan was tired of being alone.
A/N: The 'Klink Dipsy Doodle' is from the sixth season episode #157 The Gypsy.