The Parrot, the Princess, and the Pair of Unfortunates
By Oconee Belle
Tony Garlotti was a man of very few colorful words. And in those very few moments when he was obligated to say one or two of them, he always kept them in his mother tongue. Which is what he was doing right now- under his breath of course, because swearing, even in Italian, wouldn't be getting him out of this situation.
"Any questions?" Colonel Hogan asked briskly.
"No, Sir," Olsen started for the tunnel entrance.
Oh, but Garlotti had plenty of questions. He'd never gone outside of the wire before, so of course he had questions, but there wasn't any time for that. "No, Sir," Garlotti quickly turned to follow Olsen down the ladder.
*Il destino da le carte, ma chi le deve giocare siamo noi.
Unfortunately, Fate had dealt them a bad hand. Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter had all come down with the flu a few days ago. Major Hochstetter had decided to drop by the camp. And to top it all off, they'd gotten an emergency message from the Underground that required immediate action.
Olsen tossed him a Gestapo uniform, "You do know German, right?"
Garlotti clicked his heels together and stood at attention, "Jawohl!"
"Okay," Olsen didn't seem very impressed. "Anything more than that?"
"Enough to sound pretty convincing," Garlotti frowned. "But I'm not fluent."
"Alright, I'll do most of the talking," Olsen took hold of the ladder. "Like the Colonel said- it'll be a piece of cake." He paused midway up with a teasing smile, "Loose non-Colonel translation: we won't go home till morning."
Garlotti abruptly stopped walking and looked up at him in confusion, "What?"
He hadn't heard the Colonel hinting at that.
"Nah," Olsen shook his head, still grinning. "Piece of cake. We'll be in and out."
~*~HH~*~
Yes, piece of cake...with a side order of Papa Bear maintaining radio silence, no backup, and Major Hochstetter and his men camping out at Stalag 13, on high alert for the monkey business that was about to be conducted right under their noses.
Piece. Of. Cake.
For two years, Garlotti had only seen the outside of the wire. He'd never been outside of the wire.
But now he was closely following Olsen, slipping away from the searchlights like it was second nature. A slight breeze rattled the branches overhead, and Garlotti had that feeling he sometimes called his sixth sense.
The feeling that something was about to go wrong.
~*~HH~*~
They met Sandman at Lily Pad 3.
Piece of cake.
"You must hurry," Sandman handed them the keys to a shiny black staff car. "All of Hammelburg is overrun with Gestapo."
Olsen opened the driver's side door and started up the engine, nodding for Garlotti to get in the passenger seat. They pulled out, headlights illuminating the darkness before them.
"I sure hope Glass Slipper doesn't crack," Olsen kept his eyes dead ahead, his hands tightening on the wheel. "Or the Gestapo will be arriving for Cinderella around the time we get there."
Garlotti nodded silently. The Gestapo were camping in Hammelburg, just waiting to be informed of the names of Glass Slipper's contacts, if or when she broke. And one of those names would be Cinderella. And if they captured Cinderella, the next spilled name would be Papa Bear, along with a very good description of Colonel Hogan.
Cinderella had been one of the ladies in the Underground who had gotten to know the romantic side of Papa Bear very well.
They pulled up to the Hauserhof, and Olsen put the car in park. He turned to face Garlotti, "Okay, you're *Hauptmann Schneider, and I'm *Reichskriminaldirektor Meyer. And..." Olsen shut off the engine. "If someone is talking to you and you don't understand what they're saying, just look at me, play dumb, and I'll start yelling something awful at you so that all you have to do is nod and cower."
"Nod and cower, got it," Garlotti opened his door and stepped out into the frosty night air.
A group of nearby Gestapo were standing next to their parked cars, having a very rushed conversation, and Garlotti caught a few of their words. They were conducting a roundup of agents, courtesy of some "new information."
Olsen gave him a look. He'd overheard that, too. They picked up their pace.
The Hauserhof was dimly lit and the atmosphere was more like an evil lair than a hotel. More Gestapo were inside, and the words, "Official business. Possible spy," drifted from the front desk.
Garlotti froze. Glass Slipper had cracked. They were seconds too late. The Gestapo had beaten them to Cinderella, and there was nothing they could do-
Olsen strode over like he owned the building, the country, and the entire continent of Europe. He very casually brushed the Gestapo agent aside, "Guten Abend. I am Reichskriminaldirektor Meyer-,"
"I will have you court marshaled, you," suddenly the gutsy Major's voice trailed off when he had time to think about what Olsen had just said. He was outranked, and the outranker was glaring at him with very sharp dark eyes. The Major cleared his throat, "I beg your pardon, Colonel. I meant you no disrespect-,"
"Threating a Colonel with a court martial is hardly what I call being courteous, Major," Olsen's sneer could have frozen a lake of fire.
The Major took a step back, his icy blue eyes focusing on Garlotti.
Garlotti gave him a threatening glare- one that was sure to make the Major start dreading his vacation to the Russian Front. But the Major's eyes never left him.
Olsen turned his attention to the hotel owner who was standing behind the desk and looking a little confused by this whole situation. "I have reason to believe you are housing a spy, Herr König," Olsen reached over to the bowl of fruit on the counter. He plucked out an orange and studied it closely...catching the attention of something moving in the corner.
Garlotti glanced over and startled. A huge red macaw cocked its head, clicking its beak greedily, eyes glued to the orange. Garlotti turned back to his superior, who had Herr König trembling in his boots.
"Nein, Herr Colonel," Herr König practically shouted. "My allegiance is to the Führer!"
Slamming the orange down on the counter, Olsen leaned over with a snarl, "Your claims mean nothing to me, Herr König. I have reason to believe that there is a prominent member of the Underground in one of these rooms."
He turned his attention to the squashed orange, a slight smile toying with the corner of his lips. "The Führer, with whom your allegiance lies, also has reason to believe this."
"I was under orders to investigate this matter," the Gestapo Major stepped in, and added with a hint of malice. "Herr Reichskriminaldirektor."
Olsen slowly turned to him, the smile fading from his lips, "Then you are hereby relieved of your orders, Major...?"
"Major Fischer."
"You are relieved of your orders, Major Fischer."
The parrot took off from its perch and slid to a landing on the counter, hopping over to Olsen with a curious squawk.
Smiling in amusement, Olsen rolled the orange across the desk, and watched intently as the bird played with the citrus fruit, pushing it around with its hooked beak.
"You are still standing there, Major Fisher," Olsen observed softly, his gaze still resting on the parrot.
Major Fischer looked like he just might boil over, but he was doing a wonderful job keeping from doing so, "With all due respect, Colonel-,"
"Respect?!" Olsen spun around to face the Major, tilting his head humorously. "You threaten me with a court martial, defy my direct order, and then dare mention respect? You are a disgrace to the Third Riech! Even those on the Russian Front would have trouble finding use for you. Come, Hauptmann Schneider, and add Major Fischer's name to our list."
"Jawohl, Herr Colonel," Garlotti replied, and the macaw's head snapped up from the dripping orange. It squawked questioningly. Garlotti gave it a farewell nod before following Olsen up the stairs.
That sixth sense was slowly inching up his neck. He didn't like the way that parrot had looked at him, those beady black eyes boring holes into him.
And he didn't like the way Major Fischer had stared at him, as if he had seen right through the jet-black uniform and into the POW beneath. It was as if he was standing out in the open with the searchlights reflecting off his face, surrounded by trigger-happy guards who were seconds away from filling him up with lead.
Olsen gave the door a sharp rap.
Seconds later, the code was completed on the other side. Garlotti breathed a sigh of relief as the door cautiously opened. It was Cinderella.
"Your fairy godmother has arrived," Olsen greeted.
"Let me get the pumpkin," Cinderella ushered them inside and bolted the door closed.
"The Gestapo have this place surrounded," Olsen hurriedly informed her.
"It was only a matter of time once they captured Glass Slipper," Cinderella's gaze was distant. "She broke before any of us had much chance to escape." Her voice was low and sad.
Garlotti hated that hearing of a person being broken didn't send a wave of shock through him anymore. It was horrifyingly normal to hear such things, and he'd gotten too used to it.
"Your chance is now," Olsen took Cinderella's arm. "Come on."
Garlotti slightly opened the door and glanced up and down the hall. Everything was eerily quiet and still. "All clear."
They marched Cinderella down the hall, keeping their pace brisk and professional. Nobody was in the hall to stop them. But the moment they reached the first stair, his sixth sense became a pounding warning of danger.
That *maledetto bird was looking at him again, and Major Fischer was nowhere in sight.
"As soon as I am done dealing with her, you may be next, Herr König," Olsen breathed venomously.
"What have I done?" Herr König's face was white with panic.
"What have you done?" Olsen went up to the desk and leaned across it with a smirk.
Garlotti just wanted to get out of here. Where was Major Fischer?
The parrot's eyes narrowed.
"You have aided a traitor of the Third Reich. You gave her a place to stay, to sleep, and to be hidden. But nothing stays hidden for long, Herr König," Olsen glanced over at the fruit bowl and smiled slightly. He slowly lifted out a *bunch of bananas, looking back over at Garlotti, "Treat for the road, Hauptmann Schneider?"
"Jawohl, Herr Colonel," Garlotti said with a grin.
Bananas in the middle of wartime Germany? This hotel owner certainly had his connections.
The parrot's neck feathers ruffled, and he let out a low growl. Herr König's eyes flicked over to the bird, and then at the POW before him, a slightly confused expression on his face. Garlotti tried not to be unnerved.
Olsen clicked his heels together, "Heil Hitler!"
"Heil Hitler," Herr König sounded distracted. He was still staring.
Garlotti swallowed, heart racing, "Heil Hitler!"
The bird let out a piercing screech. It took off from the desk and went straight for Garlotti's face.
"Run!" Olsen ran for the door, bananas still tucked under his arm.
"Imposters! Imposters!" Herr König shouted, lunging from behind his desk.
Hunched over to protect their faces, Cinderella and Garlotti dashed outside. The parrot plucked off Garlotti's hat and tangled its talon into his hair, still screeching wildly.
Cinderella snatched the riding crop from his side, whacking the parrot out of the air and coming within inches of knocking Garlotti out cold, "Take that, you little devil!"
By now, the crowd of Gestapo who had gathered to witness this odd sight had all heard Herr König's shouting, and decided that the most logical thing to do in this situation was to open fire.
Major Fischer was the first to demonstrate this wonderful plan, and a loud bang shook the night.
Olsen slid over the hood of the car and yanked open the door, jumping in. He reached across to the passenger's door, and Garlotti all but threw Cinderella inside before taking cover in the backseat.
Another bang.
They skidded into the road, swerving crazily as more shots were fired. Cinderella rolled down her window, returning a few blasts. That reminded Garlotti that he, too, had a gun, and he reached for it.
There was a scream from the passenger's seat.
Something came in through the window.
There was a screech.
An angry cloud of red feathers descended upon him.
"Ahh!" Garlotti ducked just in time.
And the parrot slammed into the back window and ricocheted into the seat beside him. When Garlotti lifted his head, Cinderella and Olsen were both staring at him and the bird, wide eyed with a look of surprise. Headlights lit up the windshield, and Garlotti let out a panicked yelp, "Eyes on the road!"
Olsen avoided a head-on collision with no seconds to spare.
Something whizzed past Garlotti's ear, and glass broke in the front window. He peeked over the edge of the back seat and returned the shot, momentarily relieved when the enemy staff car took a sharp turn off the road.
But another car filled its place.
Cinderella went back to shooting, and Olsen said nothing as they pressed ahead into the darkness.
"Are we seriously not going to talk about the parrot that just flew in?" Garlotti asked, motioning to the unconscious bird beside him.
"We're going to bale as soon as possible," Olsen checked his side mirrors. "Be ready." He tossed something over to Garlotti, "Hold this."
"The bananas?!" Garlotti could think of twenty things he'd rather run for his life with, and a bunch of bananas weren't on that list.
"I'm not letting those out of my sight," Olsen adjusted the front mirror, catching the headlights of the car behind them.
"And what about the bird?" At least Cinderella was on the same page. She twisted around to get a good look at the thing, carefully lifting its limp head, "Little parrot, are you still alive?"
Okay, so maybe she wasn't on the same page. "Little parrot?!" Garlotti was appalled.
"Back home we had a bird fly into our window," Olsen sounded so calm and nonchalant, as if they were simply going on a stroll through the park, and not being pursued by a fleet of Gestapo. "It had to of been out for a good half-hour. If we hurry, I bet we could get it back to camp before then."
"Take it with us?!" Garlotti stared at him in awe. Another shot broke what little glass the back window had left, but Garlotti was too shocked to duck. "Are you crazy?"
"Just don't drop those bananas," Olsen pulled over.
Cinderella grabbed the bird, Garlotti tucked the bananas under his arm, and Olsen shut off the car. They made a break for the woods under a hale of gunfire. Good thing the woods were close and their suits were black...and they were carrying with them the loudest bird on the face of the earth.
Piece of cake.
~*~HH~*~
Major Hochstetter nearly broke the door down upon his entrance.
And the half-asleep prisoners started grumbling ominously from under their covers as Schultz called out his usual greeting, "Achtung! Everybody up, up, up!"
"Enough!" Major Hochstetter growled, effectively shutting Schultz up, up, up. He made a bee line for the Colonel's quarters, just as Hogan came stumbling out sleepily.
"What's going on out here?" Colonel Hogan asked with a very convincing yawn.
Just then Klink made it inside, whining about being left behind and how as the Kommandant of this camp, he should be the one in charge here, "As I was saying, Major Hoch-,"
Major Hochstetter spun on his heels, belting out, "I said enough, Klink!"
"And I said what's going on here?" Colonel Hogan tightened his robe around himself.
"Colonel Hogan, what a surprise," Major Hochstetter said, a bit too friendly for the tyrant that he was.
"I'm surprised to see you too, Major. It's what?" Hogan squinted at his non-existent watch. "Two in the morning?"
Newkirk let out a low moan, his voice stopped up and stuffy from his cold, "Oh! How I 'ate to get up in the morning!"
"Quiet!" Major Hochstetter bellowed, standing rooted to the ground yet trembling with so much anger that it wouldn't be surprising if he combusted.
"Gee, Major, sometime when this war is over and we're all friends, you gotta teach me how to yell like that!" Colonel Hogan said with great enthusiasm. "Sure will come in handy when I have to give you Germans orders...you know, when we win and all-,"
"I said quiet!" Major Hochstetter marched over and started pacing around Hogan like a predator examining its prey. "Where were you approximately twenty minutes ago?"
Colonel Hogan scratched the back of his neck, "Well, let's see. I was in bed, but then I got up to get a glass of water-,"
"Hammelburg is a long way to go for a drink of water, Colonel Hogan," Major Hochstetter taunted, wolfish eyes glued to Hogan's face for any reaction.
"I'd have to agree with you on that, Major. But our sink on the other hand-,"
"Hogan!" Colonel Klink pulled his classic fist. "Don't think you can fool the Major, or me, your Iron Eagle Kommandant."
"Shut up, Klink," Major Hochstetter said wearily.
Colonel Hogan hissed, as if in pain, "Ooo, that's gotta hurt, Colonel. He's just a Major, telling you of all people to shut up." He shook his head sympathetically.
Klink's monocle almost fell off in embarrassment, "Colonel Hogan-,"
"Colonel Hogan, I ask you one more time, where were you twenty minutes ago?"
Hogan sighed dreamily, "I was spending the evening in the kitchen at Dina's."
Major Hochstetter's face lit up, "And who is this Dina, Colonel Hogan?"
"Who is Dina?" Hogan laughed a little and shook his head. "Oh, what a woman. She ran this little bakery back home. Best apple pie you ever did taste. I used to stop by and help her clean up after hours," he smiled fondly.
"This! Is! Not! A! Game!" Major Hochstetter turned over the table in his rage.
Newkirk let out a sharp cry and sat bolt upright, "I didn't do it!" He broke off in an extreme coughing fit.
"Yeah, what he said!" Hogan nodded sharply. "Whatever you're accusing me of, I'm innocent. Can't you see I've been sleeping?"
"So you keep saying!" Major Hochstetter panted out.
Hogan turned to Klink, "You tell him, Kommandant! This is the most secure POW camp in all of Germany! Even if I wanted to escape, I couldn't!"
"Hogan is right, Major," Klink said boastfully. "Never before has one prisoner-,"
"Bah!" Hochstetter kicked one of the benches. "I will have you one day, Colonel Hogan." (Kick!) He jumped around a little in pain. "And I will have every one of your contacts." This time he kicked the bench for hurting him. "Every one of your men." He kicked the bench once more for good measure. "And every one of your tunnels!" he stormed out the door with a limp, followed by Klink and Schultz.
"I just don't get it," Hogan grunted as he up-righted the table. "Everybody wants a key to my cellar."
~*~H~*~
At the odd way Kinch was staring at them, Olsen cleared his throat, "Well, it wasn't exactly a piece of cake."
"I can see that," Kinch stood up from his chair at the radio, looking them over with a baffled expression. "Just wait until the Colonel sees this," he shook his head as he took it all in.
"Well, at least it was mission accomplished," Olsen pointed out.
Kinch didn't reply. He just continued to shake his head. "A parrot, and bananas?" he mumbled to himself on his way to get the Colonel. "How did they even manage?"
The parrot was starting to come around, saying intelligible words to itself and blinking slowly. Cinderella put her hand over its eyes to quiet it, "Now what are you going to do with this bird?"
Olsen shrugged, "Don't know yet." He turned to Garlotti and nodded to the costume room, "Let's start thinking."
"We could shoot him," Garlotti suggested, following after Olsen.
Olsen looked back from unbuttoning his coat, "The Colonel might just do that for us."
"This'll be the story to tell our grandkids," Garlotti mused as he hung up his coat.
"I dunno," Olsen hung his uniform up beside Garlotti's. "If my grandfather told me a story like this, I wouldn't believe him," he paused, and then laughed nervously. "I sure hope the Colonel just sticks to killing the bird, and not us."
~*~H~*~
"When I say piece of cake, bringing home a Nazi parrot and ten pounds of bananas isn't exactly what crosses my mind."
Before either of them could reply, the bird perked up. It clumsily stuck out its wing, screeching out a very enthusiastic, "Hail Hitler!"
They all turned to face the macaw, and it tilted its head spitefully, "Traitors! Bawk! Traitors!"
Colonel Hogan sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at the big red bird at their feet, "I can tell you one thing-,"
The parrot whistled and started hopping around on the ground, "Tunnels! Bawk! Tunnels!"
"-This is not going to be a catch and release operation."
~*~H~*~
Garlotti dropped down on one of the benches, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened.
They'd brought a brainwashed parrot down into their secret tunnels. A brainwashed parrot. Who'd ever heard of such a thing?
Olsen came up and sat across from him, silently resting his head in his hands and closing his eyes with a tired sigh. It had been a long night for both of them.
"Is London going to pick up Cinderella?" Garlotti inquired softly.
Olsen's eyebrows went up and he nodded sleepily, "They're arranging that now."
Garlotti looked up from absentmindedly tracing circles on the table with his finger, "And the parrot?"
Groaning, Olsen shrugged, "I dunno."
Carter sat up groggily. "Did you guys say parrot?" he croaked out.
Olsen groaned a bit louder and set his head down on the table, "Just go back to sleep."
~*~HH~*~
LeBeau practically wept over the bananas. Suddenly, his health was revived and he was back in the kitchen, planning the best way to prepare the delicacy. All eyes were on the plate of peeled bananas in anticipation, and even those still sick showed some interest.
Threatening Olsen with his feared wooden spoon, LeBeau shouted, "Hands off my *bananes!"
"Come on, Louis, I just need a piece or two-,"
LeBeau was guarding the banana slices like a protective mama bear.
"For the," Olsen cleared his throat. "Parrot."
Apparently, those words were personally offensive to all of France because LeBeau didn't even bother to explode in English, and he still got his point across.
"But it's gone a whole day without eating," Olsen protested.
"And it can go another day without eating! I will not sacrifice this rarity to a Nazi spy!"
The war continued for the next few minutes, neither one of them backing down.
Then, silently as a cat, Newkirk dropped out of his bunk. Two slices of banana disappeared from right under LeBeau's nose, and Newkirk disappeared down the ladder.
Olsen grinned smugly, "Well, thanks anyway, LeBeau." He slapped the bunk twice and left the opposing side still ranting above him, oblivious to the theft that had just taken place.
"You're a Nazi spy, are you?" Newkirk's voice drifted from the dugout storage room they were using as a containment cell for the bird.
"Heil Hitler!" Came the squawking response.
Olsen shook his head and leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Cor Blimey," Newkirk seemed quite impressed.
"Englander. Bawk. Englander," the parrot bobbed up and down in celebration of its knowledge.
Newkirk lifted an eyebrow, "Bloody show off." He held out a slice of banana and the parrot cocked its head, talking to itself as it looked longingly at the fruit. Then, quick as a flash, it nipped Newkirk's hand.
"'Ey!" Newkirk jerked his hand away. "Don't bite the hand that's feeding you, you li'l blighter!"
The macaw made a noise that sounded like a throaty chuckle, and it started dancing once more with sheer joy at its latest conquest.
"It's an evil bird, isn't it?" Olsen asked from where he still stood in the doorway.
"All 'e needs now is a li'l brown mustache," Newkirk examined his hand a bit closer. "Blimey, went clear through the skin, 'e did."
"What do you think we should do with him?"
Newkirk frowned at the bird thoughtfully, "I wonder if LeBeau could make 'im into a nice pot of bouillabaisse?"
Olsen smirked, "Turn a parrot into fish stew?"
"Tasted me socks in 'is last batch," Newkirk mused.
Just then Colonel Hogan walked in, a broad smile on his face, "We have a taker."
"For the parrot?" Olsen asked hopefully.
Colonel Hogan nodded, "For the parrot."
~*~H~*~
"London wants the thing?" Olsen beat Garlotti to the question by one second.
"That's what they said," Colonel Hogan replied.
Garlotti couldn't believe it, "But why? That thing's maledetto!"
"Whatever you just said, I agree completely," Colonel Hogan crossed his arms over his chest. "But London wants it for analyzation."
"Couldn't we stuff it first?" Garlotti asked hopefully.
"Afraid not, Garlotti," Colonel Hogan gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder before turning to Cinderella. "You and Red Chief will be picked up tonight at Lily Pad 8 at twenty-one hundred hours-,"
Cinderella frowned in confusion, "Red Chief?"
"Affectionately known as Nazi Parrot," Colonel Hogan clarified with a smirk.
Down the hall came the now anticipated, "Heil Hitler!"
"And just how will we keep that thing quiet?" Olsen wanted to know.
"Try singing *Panzerlied in the key of D," Colonel Hogan suggested.
Olsen shook his head with an exasperated chuckle, "Our luck, he'll burst into song alongside us."
"Maybe we could put it back in shock," Garlotti grumbled under his breath.
"The concoction Carter's cooking up in his lab is bound to do just that," Colonel Hogan assured them wryly.
Garlotti looked up with a smile. Nazi Parrot would be stoned for the journey.
Piece of cake.
~*~HH~*~
They crept through the darkness- the only POWs in all of Germany escorting an Underground agent and a drugged-up parrot through woods full of Krauts.
So far, so good. Red Chief was out like a light, and he wasn't even mumbling cultic rituals under his breath.
It was about the third time in five minutes that Garlotti had checked to make sure he was still asleep, and for the third time in five minutes, Garlotti breathed a sigh of relief.
Yes, he'd be one of a small handful of grandparents who could say that he'd helped smuggle a highly trained enemy parrot out of Germany. That was if said enemy parrot didn't wake up and raise hell doing what he was trained to do- raise hell.
Garlotti checked him one more time, just to make sure that wouldn't be happening.
It wouldn't.
They reached Lily Pad 8 a few minutes early. A lot can happen in a few minutes. They waited tensely behind some brush. Nothing stirred. Nothing moved. They were barely breathing.
Red Chief slept on.
And then, right on time, a black car pulled up and slowed to a stop. The driver cautiously rolled down the window, his voice low, "A ride for the lady in the dark."
"And the twisted parrot," Olsen completed the code and they stepped out of the shadows.
"Careful," Garlotti handed Red Chief over to Cinderella.
Red Chief slept peacefully through the transfer. Wrapped up in his blanket, he looked like a harmless baby in her arms. "Thank you for getting me out," Cinderella whispered, painstakingly stepping around the front of the car with her dangerous bundle.
Garlotti nodded.
"Safe travels," Olsen whispered.
The car drove off and Garlotti and Olsen made for the woods.
Piece of cake.
~*~HH~*~
"Both packages arrived safely. London sends their thanks," Hogan informed them the next day.
By then, everything was back to normal. The heroes who had been sick were feeling almost better, Major Hochstetter hadn't returned for more questioning, and the first message of the day had been a good one.
Garlotti sighed in relief. He and Olsen had played their cards well.
The image of Red Chief rose before Garlotti's closed eyes, and he cringed. They'd played their cards almost well. Bringing home a brainwashed macaw certainly ranked up there with some of the craziest things they'd gotten away with so far.
At least this one had a happy ending for everyone.
He was starting to feel pretty good about his first mission, when Kinch came up with another blue piece of paper, "Message from the underground, Colonel."
Colonel Hogan quickly read over it, "Ah, this one will be a piece of cake."
"I-I-I don't feel so good," Olsen started coughing and threw his arm over his eyes.
Garlotti pulled his blanket over his face with a groan, "Me neither." He broke off coughing.
And just like that, they got out of a mission.
Piece of cake.
El Fin
Author's Note:
After a year of not writing fanfiction, posting next to nothing on this site, and finishing up eleventh grade, I'm back! And thank goodness, because I was really starting to miss ya'll!
1) Il destino da le carte, ma chi le deve giocare siamo noi. Translation: Fate deals the cards, but we have to play them.
2) Hauptmann is the equivalent of Captain.
3) Reichskriminaldirektor is the equivalent of Oberst, which in turn is the equivalent of Colonel, the highest rank in the Gestapo.
4) Maledetto means "cursed" in Italian.
5) Okay, so I know a bunch of bananas in the middle of war-time Germany is a bit sketchy, but in the episode "The Scientist" Hogan obliterates the front desk of the Hauserhof, and what else does he obliterate? A bowl of oranges and bananas! Obviously, the owner of the Hauserhof had his connections...and was not scared about letting the world see that he had plenty of sacred bananas on display!
6) Bananes means "bananas" in French.
7) Panzerlied means "tank song" and it was a Wehrmacht marching song of the Nazi era.
8) Original word count without this author's note: 4,864 (According to Word)