The Testimony of Atarah Derek

I had just arrived at my apartment after a long day at the Wal-Mart deli. Not the best job in the world, but it payed the rent. I unlocked my door and opened it, and immediately sensed something was wrong. Someone had come in and committed a cleaning! Nothing was in the state of organized chaos in which I had left it. Even my paints were put away. Or were they?

The first thing I did was to check my hamster. Stitch was sleeping peacefully in his wheel. I then checked to see what had happened. There were still some dirty dishes in the sink, waiting to be washed. It seemed most of the "damage" had been done in the living room.

In my search for various items, I restored my living room to its original state. I made an inventory of items that I concluded were definitely missing. My sketchbooks had been rifled. One page was missing from one of the books; a depiction of Newkirk as a fox. Recalling the incidents of late as related by Snooky's stories, my thoughts turned to all of my Hogan's Heroes related possessions. I frantically searched for my pen drive. It too had been taken from my backpack. The Hogan's Heroes and MASH DVDs were out of place on the shelf. The intruders, whoever they were, had gone through my movies. I discovered Kung Fu Panda in my DVD player. I knew full well that the last DVD I had watched was MASH season 7.

Further scrutiny revealed two other items missing: A green journal labeled, "The Plot Bunny Pen," and my graph paper notebook. The latter I finally found in my bedroom, but it had several pages torn out of it. Tucked in between the pages of the notebook was a notice. It read, "You have been summoned to testify at the trial taking place in the Hogan's Heroes universe. Please call this number immediately."

I dialed in the number, but before I hit "send," I noticed the signature. "Theboysfrombarrackstwo." My last thought before I made the call was, "Huh?!"

When I pushed the button, something weird started happening. I felt a tug on my clothes, then finally a sense of being grabbed from behind overcame me. The wind picked up—wait a minute, wind?!—and my bedroom and world were literally blown away. At first I was ecstatic, thinking that Narnia was real after all, and I was being whisked away just as the Pevensies had been on their second journey to the magical land. But I was sorely disappointed when, instead of mountains, moving trees, and talking animals, I discovered that I was in a courtroom, surrounded by people from a vast number of fandoms. It seemed every fandom had contributed at least one of its characters. I rolled my eyes at the large anime contingent that had congregated in one portion of the room. And I swear I saw Kimba. That would explain the absence of our other favorite African cat. Suddenly I spotted someone else.

"Father Mulcahy!"

The man in question jumped when he saw me. "J-just stay where you are. I'm in no mood to discuss things. In fact, if you want to make a confession, I suggest you find some other chaplain. Or better yet, wait until you're called to the stand."

It took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. Suddenly it dawned on me, especially when I surveyed the defense side of the courtroom. It was taken up by people—mostly women—whom I'd never met. On the prosecution side sat the entire cast of Hogan's Heroes, save for Hogan himself and Newkirk. The Germans remained coldly separate from the Allies, but one thing they were united on was the glares they sent in the direction of the defense. I immediately noticed my favorite character from that fandom: Louis LeBeau. His face was hard to read, but something told me he wasn't happy with me. Especially when I glanced down and noticed a bandage wrapped tightly around his ankle.

"The trial," I said out loud.

"Yes, the trial," said the judge. Now, if everyone is present, we'll continue."

"Excuse me, your honor," Carter said. "Colonel Hogan and Newkirk aren't back yet."

Suddenly the doors in back opened, and Hogan and Newkirk appeared. "Sorry we're late," Hogan said. "Had some errands to run."

I noticed the items Newkirk was carrying. Among them was my green notebook, stuffed with loose leaf papers. So that's who had been in my apartment! I should have guessed.

Newkirk handed his stolen treasures to the prosecution attorney. He also pulled out of his pocket a string of pen drives. I recognized my little blue pen drive.

"That's unlawful search and seizure!" I accused.

"Oh is it now?" Newkirk challenged. "Don't forget that you're in the fandom world, where everything goes in a court case like this."

"I'll remember you said that," I promised the cocky cockney as I took the seat offered to me.

Newkirk gingerly touched his left temple. "So will I, luv." He sat down next to Hogan.

"Your Honor, I would like to call our latecomer, Atarah Derek, to the stand."

I looked over at the person who had called my pseudonym. He looked like he'd just walked out of some episode of Star Trek. I wasn't sure which one as I had never been a close follower of the Trekkie fandom. Obviously this dude wasn't Patrick Steward, Seven-of-Nine, or that guy from Reading Rainbow. I'd figure it out eventually, I decided.

"Miss Derek, we're awaiting your testimony," the judge said, snapping me out of my own little world and bringing me back to...whatever form of reality this was. I took the stand.

After I took the oath (oddly enough I was sworn in on some book about the behind-the-scenes details of Hogan's Heroes), the prosecuting attorney asked, "This is optional, Miss Derek, but would you mind stating your real name for our records?"

"Just my first name," I said, remembering everything my parents had drilled into my head about internet safety. I figured it had to apply here, too. "Lorane, or Raini. They're interchangeable."

"Interchangeable?" the lawyer repeated, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes. Lorane is my legal name, but I usually go by Raini."

"Any particular reason for the pen name, 'Atarah Derek?'"

I shrugged. "It's just a direct translation of my real name into Hebrew. I'm pretty much obsessed with all things Hebrew. The language, the people—especially the Wurmbrands and Charlie Eppes." At this, I noticed a figure in the audience sink down into his seat, hoping to avoid detection. But his dark curls didn't quite make it. I resisted the urge to squeal like a rabid fan girl. It was harder than I thought. "I also love the movie Fiddler on the Roof. And I was excited to learn that my favorite Hogan's Heroes character was played by a Jewish actor."

"That would explain her stories about me," LeBeau whispered to his companions.

"And no, I'm not Jewish, by the way. But my Boss is a Jewish carpenter." Nervous energy had caused me to go off on a rabbit trail. I quieted down, a little embarrassed at my own rambling.

"'My Boss is a Jewish carpenter?'" LeBeau repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's get started, Miss Derek," the lawyer from Star Trek said.

"Wait! Can I at least know the names of the lawyers that are representing each party?"

The prosecutor scoffed. "I thought everyone knew our names by this point. I'm Riker, the prosecuting attorney, and your attorney's name is Perry Mason. Judge Harry Stone is presiding."

Perry Mason? Wasn't he from that show by the same name that aired in the late 50's or early 60's?

"Miss Derek, how long have you been a member of this site?"

"Since 2003."

"And when did you start writing for the Hogan's Heroes fandom?"

"Late 2008. I didn't get into Hogan's Heroes until summer of last year, and I didn't even know the show existed until my best friend showed me the pilot episode on YouTube last spring. I'm only 22, so the fact that I know about the show at all tends to surprise some people."

"YouTube?" Newkirk and Carter repeated quietly, in unison. Hogan and Hochstetter made mental notes to google this "YouTube." It excited the Gestapo major that he now knew the 21st century term, "google." Where he had learned it, he didn't know. Oh well, that wasn't important.

"And you mainly write single-chapter stories known as 'one shots,' am I correct?"

"Yes sir. To be honest, I've never completed a multi-chapter story in any fandom."

"What was the most recent story you uploaded to the site?"

"Uploaded or updated?"

"Let's start with uploaded."

I thought for a moment. "I believe it was...a response to an old challenge."

"What was its title?" Riker pressed.

I looked nervously at Hogan and his crew. "The Hogan's Heroes Duck Shoot. But if it makes anyone feel better, I'm kinda stuck right now, so no one else is gonna get hurt or anything any time soon."

"Hurt?!" Newkirk shouted. "She killed me an' LeBeau off! I think that's a little more than just bein' hurt!"

LeBeau started cursing me in French (at least, I figured he was likely using some French swear words), but stopped when he noticed that Newkirk seemed to be having a hard time breathing. The Englishman seemed to be swelling up.

"Someone grab the epi-pen—again!" some unidentified member of the audience shouted.

After Newkirk had been jabbed in the leg with the much-needed antihistamine, the questioning resumed, and I silently wondered what the random concerned audience member had meant by "again."

Riker smiled. He had me right where he wanted me. "Miss Derek, what compelled you to respond to this challenge?"

I thought for a moment. "It was there?" I finally offered.

The Heroes groaned. "Oh, for..." Newkirk began, but stopped when the judge sent a glare his direction. LeBeau began grumbling in French again.

"So this malicious story was written solely for self-amusement in an attempt to see if you could literally write off the characters?"

"Objection!" Mason shouted. "Badgering the witness."

"Sustained," said the judge.

"Let me rephrase that," Riker said. "You wrote a story in which you intentionally killed off two characters for the sake of simply answering the challenge?"

"Pretty much," I said, barely audible.

"Were you obligated to respond to the challenge?"

"No."

"Then why did you?"

I looked up at the attorney. "Well...everyone else on the site had written some pretty effective angst, and I...kinda wanted to try my hand at it."

Mason frowned. His witness was hanging herself by her own pen. He flipped through a list of papers containing information on each of the witnesses, searching for something to use.

"But it's the only story I've done that in so far," I added hastily. "All of my other stories have mostly been cute and fluffy."

"Such a good girl," Schultz said with disdain. "It is a shame she should write something just so she can look like the other writers."

"There is another story, 'No Greater Love,' I believe, in which you killed off another character?" Riker said, motioning for an assistant to hand him a stack of papers. He leafed through it. "You had the lead guard dog, Heidi, killed by Major Hochstetter's dogs. In this story, you also had Corporal LeBeau injured. In another story, Corporal Newkirk sustained a concussion and laceration above his left temple."

"They weren't hurt all that badly," I protested. "And Heidi is an example of what I usually do when I do write angst. She died a hero."

"But the point is, she died," Riker stated. "And while she was not a human character, and certainly not one of the main characters, she was killed off in order to advance your story. This is not a 'cute and fluffy' story as you claim, Miss Derek."

"I said 'most,'" I mumbled to no one in particular.

"Miss Derek, we also have here a list of stories you intend to write. Concepts that you call plot bunnies."

At this, Riker plugged my pen drive into a computer. An overhead projector showed the courtroom the options listed on the drive. Riker clicked the button that said, "Open folder to view files." He found his way to my stories folder, and the cursor hovered over the folder titled, "Plot bunnies."

"Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I would like to present as evidence of malintent, the story concepts of Miss Atarah Derek."

"You don't want to do that, sir," I protested, worried what might happen in this alternate reality.

Riker ignored me and opened the folder. Suddenly a stream of rabbits burst from the screen of the computer and spread out into the courtroom. The plot bunnies sought out various members of the audience, including Father Mulcahy and Charlie Eppes. Both men jumped up screaming. Charlie stumbled over other members of the audience in an attempt to flee the room, yelling something about retreating to the safety of P vs. NP, while Mulcahy crossed himself and began praying for protection.

The courtroom was in chaos. Carter was alternating between chasing and being chased by the rabbits, and Burkhalter was frozen in place, remembering the horror of being dressed up by some other author in some sort of Easter rabbit costume.* Others who were lucky enough not to be the target of the plot bunnies began quoting lines from Monty Python ("He's got fangs, he does!"). I had to laugh when I heard some unseen simian screech and saw a stick with a variety of gourds dangling from it reach out from behind a column and whack one of the rabbits.

The judge was banging his gavel and screaming for the restoration of order. Finally someone announced a brief recess, and the courtroom was evacuated, with Hogan and his men leading the pack.

…................

When all of the rabbits had been rounded up and beamed back into the pen drive (courtesy of Riker's 20-something century technology), the session resumed. This time I found myself facing my attorney, that Mason guy.

"Miss Derek, you have written several stories for Hogan's Heroes, correct?"

"Yes sir."

"And most of them were relatively harmless, weren't they?"

"Yes sir. I usually write missing scenes, song fics, fics exploring the background of a character, stuff like that."

"You've also contributed to the fleshing out of some characters. I noticed one of your 'plot bunnies' was for a detailed explanation of why Corporal LeBeau is hemophobic."

"Yes."

LeBeau turned red at this and secretly hoped said fic would never get published. Slow Fade had been frustrating enough. Just because the author wanted to draw some parallels to some new firefighter movie...

"Another fic casts Major Hochstetter in an odd, but nonetheless somewhat positive light by establishing that he has a good relationship with his mother and can be quite sentimental about Christmas."

"That was one of the stories I came up with at stupid 'o clock," I offered, trying to explain its odd nature.

"Yes, you state that in the author's notes," said Mason. "But I also notice that, with the exception of the story recently written out of what I presume to be peer pressure, you take a cautious approach to placing characters in potentially dangerous situations. The characters make a conscious choice to place themselves in harm's way for the benefit of other characters. Case in point, Heidi the guard dog. In fact, looking at some of your corralled plot bunnies, I notice you have a story concept here based on the real life experiences of one Richard Wurmbrand. Could you explain this a little bit?"

"Well, Richard Wurmbrand is the founder of Voice of the Martyrs, an organization that I support on a regular basis. He was born in a Jewish home in Romania, and, shortly after marrying Sabina, became a Christian. He suffered under the Nazis and was later imprisoned for fourteen years by the Communists. He's one of my heroes, as are all the people I read about in the VOM newsletters."

"And these individuals inspire stories?"

"Yes sir. But since one member of the Wurmbrand family, their son Mihai, is still living, the site rules forbid me from including him as a historical character in my fan fiction. But I don't know how I'd write a story featuring Richard and Sabina, but not Mihai, who would be about five at the time of my story. So I made up two characters who are older than the Wurmbrands were at the time, but still very much based on the Wurmbrands. The former concentration camp guard I mentioned in that plot bunny is based on a man that the Wurmbrands brought to Christ. He had actually been a guard at the camp where Sabina's family was killed, and may have even been personally responsible for their deaths. But after his conversion he became an active member of the Wurmbrands' underground church."

"So this story has a historical background, making it a believable storyline?"

"Right."

"And any danger, risk, or angst that features the characters would be, as is stated here, 'based on real life experiences?'"

"Yes sir."

"Why the focus on these characters?"

"Well, as I said, the members of the world's underground churches are my heroes, the Wurmbrands in particular. I've always wanted to be like them. But I live in America, where suffering is having to get up early on a weekend to attend church. Persecution is being scolded for praying out loud in the cafeteria at lunch. I have always wanted to be a part of the church that Pastor Wurmbrand describes in his book Tortured for Christ. Since I can't be a part of that myself, I give my favorite characters an opportunity to be a part of it. Both Hogan's Heroes and MASH take place in or near restricted nations, and thus the opportunity to write about one of my passions presents itself quite frequently. For instance, did you know that when America and South Korea briefly held Pyongyang, the church was so grateful that they invited American chaplains to preach at some of their services? When the North recaptured Pyongyang, they began rounding up the Christians who had attended those services and slaughtering them. That historical fact serves as the perfect opportunity to make Father Mulcahy the greatest hero the 4077th has. I wouldn't kill him off, but I'd give him an opportunity to be a part of something I myself have always wanted to be a part of. Now, I've found a way to do that with Hogan's Heroes. I guess you could say that any angst fic I write up to that point is just...practice, as pathetic as that may sound."

"That's beyond pathetic," Newkirk muttered.

I glanced at some of the other heroes. Carter seemed convinced, LeBeau was scowling, and Hogan and Kinch looked pensive. The German contingent appeared to be somewhat neutral in their attitudes toward me.

"Hey, at least I pay attention to LeBeau," I said. "If I write this story about the Communist takeover of Romania, LeBeau would be one of the canon characters who would get a chance to be a hero. And if it makes Colonel Hogan feel any better, I plan on picking on Marya a bit in this fic."

Hogan's face lit up, but LeBeau looked truly horrified.

"How could you do any such thing?!" he shouted. "Marya is beautiful, pure, and innocent!"

"Cor blimey," Newkirk said, rolling his eyes.

"Order," Harry Stone said in a menacing tone. LeBeau shut up and sunk down in his seat.

"The point is, you wouldn't put the characters through anything that you yourself would not be willing to go through," Mason stated more than asked.

"Basically, yeah," I answered.

"No more questions, your Honor."

"I've got some questions!" Newkirk shouted, as he and LeBeau jumped to their feet. "Is the witness willing to go through anaphylactic shock?"

"Or getting blown up?" LeBeau added.

"Sit down, corporals!" the judge shouted. "You are both out of order."

The two men obeyed, but I could feel their eyes boring into me long after the judge allowed me to take my seat among the rest of the defendants.

In the televised interview afterward: I know the stuff about Richard Wurmbrand seems long winded and almost pointless, but I think it really helps me make my point that I definitely wouldn't put the characters through anything that I wouldn't be willing to go through myself. Basically they're having the adventures I want to have.

*I don't remember where I read the story or what it's called, but it was basically about the various unfinished stories lingering on sites featuring Hogan's Heroes fan fiction. Burkhalter was dressed as a rabbit and nicknamed the "Plot Burky." It was a disturbing mental image.