Hogan's Interim Chapter 4

And he thought having scared, crying adult women dropping in on them from the future had been bad.

Hogan rubbed the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to quell the headache which had taken up permanent residence there. After some time to adjust to where they were and what had happened, the other women had pulled themselves together and taken their mission assignments more or less in stride. Even Tuttle, youngest of those he sent outside the relative safety of the tunnels, had bucked herself up and—after disconcerting Newkirk some more (canoes?)—had steeled herself to do her best.

This other youngster, however…

The headache flared again at the thought of Iron America instructing him in military law. Instead of a POW camp, and covert espionage organization, Hogan now found himself in charge of a nursery school. What was wrong with this child?! He hadn't even answered her outrageous accusations; a rare moment of Hogan being struck dumb. What could he say in answer to such a statement from a child, a girl, and a civilian? All he really wanted to do at that moment was turn her over his knee and give her a sound spanking.

After her kissing Newkirk, however, Hogan had to admit he was rather afraid to.

The little girl—ahem, young woman—after seeming overly contrite and apologetic for her initial misbehavior, had suddenly turned again into some demon child with no concept of the idea of 'consequences'. She ran wild in the tunnels, escaping her frazzled chaperones. Did she not realize the peril of being the only female, however young, amidst a thousand sex-starved men? They were soldiers and gentlemen, all… give or take a few. Out of any thousand men there would inevitably be a couple who could not be trusted to behave, especially with a frivolous little tart flaunting herself before them. She'd hit a few of them when she'd been displaying herself in a shower without proper guards. But, then, she'd also hit a few who'd only been trying to protect her.

Was the girl insane? Or was this the face of the children of the future? Hogan's headache spiked again at that thought.

Now that new one—the boy—had arrived. Buy-a-cougar or some such. What had he said? By-a-koo-gan. That one's self-selected mission seemed to be to try to get Hogan, and himself, shot, probably after a good, hearty round of Gestapo torture. He was mouthy. He was arrogant. He was suicidally incautious.

He was insane.

Was he even from the same year as the others? Hogan had to wonder. He had openly and brazenly announced the key code words, "GSJessica" and "0876707", but then had Hochstetter convinced he was from a century hence, almost forty years further forward in time than the woman had come from. The young man's clothing, also, exceeded any level of oddness Hogan had seen from the women. And even Linda had appeared wearing nothing but a man's undershirt and skivvies; apparently had been parading around in public in that state of undress! Yet this By-a-koo-gan was festooned in something Hogan hoped—for the sake of future civilization—was some sort of costume and not normal human attire.

Also, there was all the Japanese paraphernalia. Hogan scowled as he considered that. The women had all been from Allied countries and, uniformly, seemed anti-Nazi. Byakugan overtly flaunted a sympathetic connection with the enemy. Yet by the same token he also scorned and mocked Hochstetter.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Ally or enemy? Part of this other group? Or from somewhere/when else?

Hogan leaned back, arms folded over his chest. Regardless of how fearfully some of the women had viewed him at first, and regardless of the things he'd had to do in this war, Hogan did not like killing and always treated it as a last resort. Let's face it, Rob, you're a softie deep down and you'd never hurt little Iron America, no matter how much she needs having her silly neck rung. And you'll do everything you can to protect her. But this new one… Whatever else he was, Byakugan was a danger surpassing any of their other visitors. He had to be dealt with quickly. And without sentiment.

Bad timing, it was, that Hogan had arranged for Iron America to be sent outside the wire to be 'captured' by the Stalag 13 guards and, therefore, formally admitted as a prisoner, right as Hochstetter and more of his goons arrived. Hogan had failed to mention to her they could have managed this simply by bribing Hilda to make a small revision in the camp records. Arranging her 'arrival' in Stalag 13 to include the customary week in the cooler wasn't retaliation, Hogan told himself. It was self defense!

"…Corporal Rhys Whitis, of the United States Marine Corp…" was the identity Iron America had chosen for herself. Private Ray White, United States Army Air Corps was what Newkirk and Carter had put on her dogtags. Klink—with Hogan's 'guidance'—would assume she (he, Hogan reminded himself with a mental kick—he) was lying for some devious Allied purpose and would record the identity Hogan's men had chosen.

As Hogan stepped out of Klink's office, onto the steps, all hell broke loose in every direction. Byakugan was unceremoniously dragged toward the cooler. One of the 'nerd herd', as Hochstetter called them (he'd have to ask Jessica or Linda what that meant) threw up on Hochstetter's shoes. Smoke poured out of Klink's office window, followed by Klink shouting for the fire brigade. Shouts came from beyond the wire as a Gestapo patrol, not Klink's guards, found Iron America. Then ensued a tussle, with it unclear who got the most licks in, Iron America or the Gestapo brutes. Hogan winced as one punched her in the stomach, effectively quieting her down. He hadn't meant for that to happen to the young lady… err… young woman. Man. Young man.

Schultz spun in circles in the compound, not sure which disaster to address first, eventually settling on rescuing Iron America from the rough hands of the Gestapo.

Through the chaos, Hogan overheard a most interesting conversation between Hochstetter and the scientists. The scientists apparently feared the time traveler, Byakugan, had brought to them some deadly plague from the future. Interesting, Hogan thought. He could use that. Not concerned himself over the plague threat, Hogan hid a smile as he considered it fortunate he'd told LeBeau to spike one of the scientist's dinner last night. When he'd done so, Hogan hadn't had a particular goal in mind, just wanted to add an element he might be able to use later, to keep the Krauts riled up and disconcerted.

Reentering the camp, Schultz had Iron America (looking very much the part of a scared, defiant teenaged soldier) by the scruff of her—his—neck, leading her to Klink's office. Still on the porch, Hogan eased back, observing the dark, intense scrutiny Hochstetter gave her as she and Schultz side-stepped the puddle of puke. Holding his breath, Hogan waited to see if he needed to intervene, but Hochstetter spun on his (splattered) heels and marched toward the cooler.

Trailing Schultz and Iron America into Klink's office (smoke now cleared, but Klink still off-stride), Hogan promptly berated Klink for not informing him there was a new prisoner. Then, turning to Iron America, he gave her a stern look, saying, "Name, rank and serial number only. That's all they can ask for."

Back outside, Hogan checked his pocket for a Schultz-candy bar—a candy bar with the label lined with the customary bribe. In the television show, he was told, the Schultz character sold out only for candy. Maybe the later author of those scenes didn't know the real Schultz's price was higher, much higher, than that.

The door opened, with Schultz leading Iron America out. He'd apparently gotten a good look at her face for the first time for he babbled to Hogan incoherently.

"You know nothing, Schultz," Hogan murmured soothingly, slipping him a candy bar. It slid into Schultz's pocket.

"I know nothing," Schultz repeated methodically. A huge grin appeared on Iron America's face. All those women had a soft spot for the huge Kraut, it seemed.

"And, Schultz," Hogan added thoughtfully, slipping Schultz another candy bar, "do yourself a favor—skip the strip search."

Byakugan hadn't been so lucky.

All he'd been left with was a gray German jumpsuit and a plain wooden bench to sit on. That and a fair number of rapidly purpling bruises.

Easing through the tunnels, Hogan silently opened a peephole into the cooler. Hochstetter and his goons had Byakugan in the observation cell, bars on three sides, so he could be watched intently at all times. All Byakugan's toys and magic tricks had been taken from him. From what Hogan could see, nothing the young man had on him was anything more than that—toys and tricks. The smoke pellets were something Carter could easily reproduce. Other items, creating squeaks and gasps from the scientists as they cautiously probed them, appeared to be more up Newkirk's alley.

Simple tricks and nonsense, Hogan decided, narrowing his eyes as he peered, but being perceived as something more, something exotically dangerous from the future, thanks to the power of suggestion. The queasy member of the 'nerd herd' continued to wretch into a bag, his nausea no doubt enhanced by the now-clearing smoke from another mishandled smoke pellet.

Byakugan's bizarre clothing had been stripped from him and was being methodically searched thread by thread. When dissected that way, Hogan could see the clothing, however peculiar looking, was actually nothing but ordinary clothing. Iron America's 'velcro' was infinitely more futuristic than any of this.

Somehow Hogan knew that at some point later tonight, Hochstetter would be secretly dressing up in that costume, raising that ornate glove high in a fist, hoping to acquire 'magical' powers from it. A smile crept over Hogan's face. He'd assign Newkirk and Kinchloe to see if they could get a photograph of the moment. That could be useful, at least suitable for framing.

Turning his attention from the Gestapo and scientists, Hogan studied the young man in the cell. Byakugan appeared much more ordinary, and harmless, stripped of his regalia. He also had lost much of that edge of cocky defiance. Getting smacked around and forced to submit could do that to a fellow. That was a lesson even Hogan had had to learn when he was first captured, not that the lesson stuck, of course.

The lesson wouldn't stick with this one, either. Even now the young fellow kept anger in his eyes as he glared relentlessly at Hochstetter. Nope, Hogan just could not see this strange boy as being allied with the Nazis. That did not, however, mean he was on Hogan's side. The fact remained, it was necessary to eliminate Byakugan.

That thought resting heavily with him as Hogan continued to examine Byakugan, Hogan considered the scene in Klink's office. He could well imagine Byakugan saw it vastly differently than the rest of the observers. In Byakugan's later retelling of the events, he would undoubtedly appear as a heroic figure, brazenly controlling all around him as he smart-mouthed his way to victory.

The reality? A young man thoroughly overpowered and outmatched getting the crap beaten out of him as he spewed incomprehensible retorts.

Probably, too, in Byakugan's perception he marched boldly out of the office, feeling pert and brilliant enough to slay dragons. Instead he sat huddled on a bench in a cell, with no magic tricks left in his arsenal, pale and unsteady with a headache fit to kill a horse from being smacked over the head with a rifle butt.

Self-delusions can be useful, though, Hogan thought with a twitch of sympathy, quickly and thoroughly suppressed.

"Poison in his food?" LeBeau suggested, setting the final plate of dinner down on the barrack's table in front of Hogan. Giving LeBeau a dirty look for the timing of his comment, Hogan commenced eating anyhow.

"That would work into the goons' fear that he's carrying some sort of plague," Hogan considered between bites, "but poison's a nasty way to die. Any other suggestions?"

"Crossbow," Carter piped in. No one paid him any heed.

"A good old fashioned…" Newkirk made a slicing gesture across his throat.

"Messy," Hogan said. "Besides we can't get into the cell. He's under constant observation. So no strangling, suffocation, stabbing…"

"Electrocution." Carter, again. "We wire a million volts to the chamber pot and…"

Kinchloe cut in, "From what you've told us, all we have to do is wait for him to mouth off to one of the guards and they'll shoot him for us."

"Believe me, they'll want to," Hogan said. "But they're under strict orders to keep him alive. Maybe we can use fear of the Plague From the Future to get them to back off just long enough for one of us to knock him off." He frowned, concentrating, while his men waited expectantly. "Nah…" Hogan finally said, reaching for his hat, he stood. "It's not quite right. We don't want to leave the Krauts just a body. We want to leave them a mystery, too. Let me work on it a bit," he concluded. "Right now I have to make sure Klink isn't late for his 'date' in town."

"Poor Jessica," LeBeau said quietly.

"Poor Jessica," Newkirk mimicked. "She actually likes the blighter."

"You suppose they've… you know… kissed?" Carter whispered dramatically.

Shaking his head as Newkirk smacked Carter with his own cap, Hogan shut the barrack's door behind him.

No worries on getting Klink into town. All scheming and plotting aside, Jessica had simply picked up the telephone and called him. So accustomed was Hogan to using subterfuge to achieve his ends, he sometimes forgot the forthright approach could work too. Klink was already heading for his staff car, a bounce in his step, his lips suspiciously shiny. After the commotion this afternoon in camp stopping him from leaving is what would have taken the skill of a master manipulator!

"Where you heading, Kommandant? You have a date?" Hogan intercepted him as he opened the car door.

"In fact, I do, Hogan," Klink said agreeably. "An attractive widow saw fit to call me and ask me to meet her this evening at the Hofbrau."

"Sounds kind of desperate, if you ask me," Hogan said. "A widow, huh? Finally surrendering to Frau Linkmeier, sir?"

"I should say not," Klink huffed. "She's a very fetching blond named Wilhelmina."

"Wilhelmina," Hogan echoed. "Wilhelm and Wilhelmina? What a pair…"

"Pair of what," another voice, a voice that made both Hogan and Klink tense and bristle, sounded near them. Hochstetter strode up to the car. "Where are you going, Klink?"

"To town," Klink snapped.

"On a date," Hogan added helpfully. "Say, maybe the widow has a friend. A friend who likes Gestapo officers?"

Klink answered, "No one likes Gesta…" He caught himself. "…uh, I'll ask her," he finished, trying to pull the car door closed. Hogan held it firmly open.

"Thank you, Herr Kommandant," Hochstetter said with his best smarmy charm, "I'll ask her myself. Move over." With Klink reluctantly surrendering the door, Hochstetter climbed into the car.

"Enjoy," Hogan said sweetly, as the door slammed on Klink's if-looks-could-kill glare at him.

"One down," Hogan said to himself, watching them drive out through the gates. That got Hochstetter out of the way. He sent up a prayer of luck to Jessica and Linda—especially to Linda, hoping she was an absolutely brilliant actress to manage a date with Hochstetter.

Hogan could hear a scratching on the stone blocks even before he released the hasp and slid the stone inward. Crawling into Iron America's cell, Hogan immediately found himself swarmed by the girl, frantic and crying. Good heavens! He had hoped the cooler would 'cool' her off a touch, but this reaction was beyond all reasonable measure. Being trapped alone in the chilly dark could quickly affect some people—he'd seen it happen—but Iron America, despite her youth, seemed so strong and sure of herself (maybe too much at times).

"Easy there," Hogan said soothingly, trying to detangle himself from her. He felt like the world's lowest cad for subjecting a teenaged girl to this. "It's okay. I'll see if I can get you out of here tomorrow. Just calm down. I know it's scary, but…"

"It's not that," she cut him off abruptly. Pulling back, she swiped at her eyes. Hogan noticed her fingernails were broken from her attempts to find and open the tunnel entrance—not possible when it was secured from the tunnel side of the block.

"Then what is it?"

"That's my brother! I saw him when they brought me in. Hochstetter has my brother and he's going to hurt him! We have to help him." Iron America didn't quite shout.

"Your brother?"

"Byakugan."

Hogan nodded slowly. "Byakugan is your brother," he said dully. Rocking back on his heels, Hogan raised his eyes heavenwards, silently demanding an explanation as to why he was being punished so. No divine answer was forthcoming. "Byakugan is your brother," Hogan repeated, convincing himself. "Of course he is." It explained so much. Iron America and Byakugan were sister and brother. Two of a kind.

"Why me?" Hogan muttered, rubbing his forehead, the headache back in force.

"We have to save him," Iron America insisted. Hogan made the mistake of looking up into her wide, wet eyes.

So much for eliminating the Byakugan problem quickly and without sentiment.

Damn.

"All right," Hogan said, not quite knowing how to break the news to his team, "we have to get Byakugan out alive…"

"But why?" several asked at once. Carter said mournfully, "I'd worked out this great way to…"

Hogan waved his hand to stop him. "He's Iron America's brother—" Eyes rolled at that bit of news. "—and, well… we just have to." He heaved a sigh. "What's more we have to keep the Gestapo from realizing he's escaped. They have to think he's… gone."

"Gone?" Kinchloe repeated, his eyebrows drawing together. "You mean disappeared, don't you, Colonel? The time traveler/magician vanishes into time, right?"

"Exactly, Kinch," Hogan said. "And right before their eyes. I want you to coordinate the details and the timing." Standing, Hogan moved to stand behind Newkirk and Carter. He draped an arm over each of their shoulders. "Newkirk, it's going to take one of your best magic tricks to pull off a disappearance onstage in front of armed Gestapo guards. And Carter, we'll need your best, non-lethal pyrotechnics."

Hogan straightened. "So… Tomorrow night we have Klink's party with Linda, Jessica, and Tuttle, with the three of them working on Hochstetter and the scientists. We have Jake scouting for the lab with Tiger. We have Niente, Cat, and Olsen on their way to England to break the news that the Nazis have time travel and we have no idea how to stop them. We have Byakugan 'vanishing' into time. And we have the opportunity to finally get at the time travel device in Klink's safe." He grinned. "Just another ordinary day in the life of a POW in Stalag 13."

Heading toward his office, he paused in the doorway, turning to dryly add, "I can't imagine how anyone could turn all of this into some sort of comedy program."