Hi, guys! So, I know it's been forever. Uh, lots of things have happened since I've posted on here. (Not the least of which is that the most amazing man in the world has asked me to marry him! \O/ Oh, and I'm now a teacher!) Anyway, pardon my excitement. :3 Please enjoy the first chapter of this story! I was inspired by the "Bring back the whump!" challenge! :D

"Hogan's Heroes" does not belong to me. I sure do love playing around with these characters though!

"What do you think, Newkirk? Hitler and Goering, ready for a night on the town!" Andrew Carter grinned and then wiped all emotion but boredom off his face to match his Gestapo uniform.

Peter Newkirk snacked Carter on the back of the head. "Watch it!" Under his breath he muttered, "Bleeding idiot."

Carter stared at him for a second, his gaze almost searching. Just as Newkirk opened his mouth to snap at the American, Carter hmmed. "What do you say we stop at the Hof-Brau after this? After all, might as well get some use out of these uniforms, right?" His tone was playful but reassuring, almost as though he had realized Newkirk's bad mood stemmed from his worry about the mission.

Newkirk's scowl was unable to hold up underneath the cheery disposition his partner exhibited. It melted, giving way to an amused smirk. "Might as well."

"All right, knock it off you two." Colonel Hogan turned the corner, grinning.

Newkirk shrugged, murmuring, "All I'm saying, Guv, is that he has a point. Why go to all the trouble of sneaking our way out of camp if we're not going to enjoy the benefits of a night on the town?" If possible, his smirk widened.

"Point or not, we have a job to do. Once you're all suited up for the mission and have your fake papers in your pockets, I want you to head out. Do you both remember your names?"

Newkirk saluted. "Feldwebel Hans Kirkenheim at your service."

"And I'm Oberst Otto Carterhof!" Carter grinned, hands on his lapels. All of a sudden, he realized he was supposed to be in character and started. "Oh! I mean—!" With a grimace, he corrected his stance and facial expression.

Hogan nodded. "Much better. You two will go to the headquarters in Dusseldorf. Carter, I want you to distract the guards in charge." Hogan held up a hand to stop Carter from asking the question the younger man so obviously wanted to ask. "You can pretend to need to speak with the man in charge if you want. Something about the conduct of his men in a recent investigation, maybe. You're good at improv, so I'm not worried. While you're doing that, Newkirk will sneak back to the room and crack the safe. Get back here as quickly as you can. This is sensitive information, you know." At their simultaneous nod, the colonel grinned. "This is also a routine mission. It shouldn't take longer than—" He checked his watch— "four hours."

"Begging the colonel's pardon, but what happens if we take a bit longer to get back?" At Colonel Hogan's unimpressed stare, he hurried on to say, "We're not going to stop on the way back. But if we get held up? What happens then?"

Hogan shook his head. "You know we'll keep the tunnel open until you get back. Just do your best and hurry home. Wouldn't want to worry the Kommandant now, would we?" He smirked.

Newkirk winked. "Wouldn't dream of it, sir." He and Carter turned and climbed up the ladder.

"Bye!" Carter called out before they shut the lid to the tunnel.

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "You want to talk any louder, mate? We might be able to get ahold of all the ruddy Krauts in the area."

Carter's face contorted into one of mortification. "Oh. Sorry. . ." The next few minutes continued in silence. "Peter? Do . . . do you think the Germans will buy my story? That I need to speak with the man in charge? I mean, it kind of reminds me of a time when I was in the drugstore back in Bullfrog—my ma needed something for her headaches—and this lady came in. She was awfully mean, and no one in the town liked her. She found things to be upset about even when everything was perfect! Like, one time she even got mad at Uncle Luke! Everybody loves Uncle Luke! Well, he's not really my uncle, but the whole town has kind of adopted him as uncle. Anyway, she walked into the store and demanded to speak to the manager. She got really mad at Uncle Luke and told him that he'd done a bad job with her milkshake, that it was too cold. Y'know, I was never able to figure that out. How is a cold milkshake bad? But you know how it is. Miss Karen, the lady who wanted to speak to the manager, wasn't very nice to Uncle Luke, and it just made everyone else mad at her. Actually, I'd have to say tha—"

"Carter, I'd say you've got a right chance at distracting them. Stop your nattering, and let's carry on." Newkirk shook his head.

Carter nodded. "Okay." He trudged along beside his companion.

After a few minutes, Newkirk groused, "Why didn't we take the staff car again?" His legs were aching with all the effort of traipsing about in the snow. He knew his grumbling wouldn't help matters, but it sure felt nice to act like it would.

"It was in the shop, remember? I mean, it was actually in the shop, not just with us pretending it was broken. I think it was something about the axle?" Carter put a hand to his chin in thought. "You know, it's actually kind of ironic that we can't use it for the same reason that we usually tell Klink he can't use it."

Newkirk clenched his fist. "Yeah, hilarious." His dark mood didn't seem to affect Carter's cheeriness any. Newkirk blew on his hands and began rubbing them. "We're barmy, going outside on a night like this. I think I heard it's supposed to snow more tonight. What's with that? We've had perfectly nice weather for a week—Well, nice for here, anyway—and yet we've been given no missions 'til a blooming snowstorm's s'posed to come. What—Does London think we're miracle workers?"

Carter spoke softly, "Peter, do you think they won't believe us because we look like we've been in the snow?" His words held a sort of seriousness and gave the idea that he had been thinking on them for a while.

Newkirk huffed, "Carter, why are you so dead sure we've not got a chance?" Carter was usually so bright and optimistic, so this behaviour seemed out of character for him.

Carter cleared his throat. "I, uh, had a dream last night. It was us on a mission, and it didn't end well for us. We didn't die, but we, um, didn't complete our mission, either. I just have this feeling that something will go wrong." He shrugged. "It might be nothing, but dreams are important to . . . my people. I can't help but worry."

"Andrew. . ." What should he say? Newkirk wasn't superstitious by any means, but Carter's dream did offset him a little. Had the American not been asking so many questions, Newkirk probably would not have realized there was something the matter with him. Truth be told, that irked him a little. How could he not have seen that Carter wasn't quite his normal self? And how did one go about comforting another for a dream that seemed to spell doom for the mission? Newkirk finally decided upon saying, "It'll be all right. . . Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

Carter shrugged. "You already looked worried, and . . . Well, I didn't want to give you something else to think about." He stopped walking and stood still. "I mean, the dream didn't say that we'd die, so there's that." He smiled weakly.

"Well, then. I sure am glad that, although the mission'll be a complete and utter flop, at least we won't die," Newkirk commented sarcastically. He knew he had to get Carter's mind off the nightmare. As it was, the Englishman was a pessimist and worrier. It wouldn't do to have Carter, who was perpetually happy (or daft, as Newkirk liked to think of it) down as well. What could he do to distract the lad? "What other dreams have you had recently?"

Carter's face brightened. "I had one about Felix riding on Hassenpfeffer! Felix had a sword and everything!"

Newkirk stifled a laugh at the ridiculous notion. "I can't see Felix riding on anything other than you, let alone that rabbit."

Carter's mock-wounded look reminded Newkirk of a kicked puppy. "I'm sure he could do it if he tried." A smile overtook his face. "Besides, he was off, saving other mice and the occasional guinea pig in distress. You know how it is. He got a big head about it, too." Carter nodded sagely.

Newkirk felt his own grin creeping across his face. To hide it, he tugged on his friend's arm. "Come on. Can't be more than a few more miles."

~\*/~

Sure enough, the town of Dusseldorf came into view shortly. Newkirk and Carter stopped at a nearby store to freshen up and make sure they looked the part of Gestapo officers. Their clothes were a bit damp from the snow, but there was nothing to be done for that. After straightening their collars, they assumed character and walked into the headquarters proudly.

Newkirk was speaking the moment before they opened the door. "Mein Herr, I'm not sure that—"

"Silence!" Carter barked, "I have told you before that I demand perfection! This was not perfection!" He clenched a fist and slammed it into the wall.

Newkirk, seemingly cowed, nodded. "Jawohl, Herr Oberst. It shall be done."

As they walked up to the desk, Carter adopted a smug expression. "Tell me, who is the officer in charge here?"

The Hauptman, a short blond with a moustache, snapped to attention. "Uh, it is Leutnant Schneider, mein Herr! Shall I retrieve him?"

"Ja! I must see him immediately! We have things to discuss." Carter glared at the man, a sneer forming on his face. "Feldwebel!"

Newkirk immediately straightened and saluted his commanding officer.

"I want you to take a look around the building. Inspect every area of it. General Hoganmueller will not be pleased if it does not meet inspection." Watching Newkirk salute once more, Carter raised a hand to silence the protests. "I have promised him excellence, and that is what he shall receive!"

The Hauptman opened his mouth slowly, wary of Carter's gaze. "Um, sir, may I send someone with him? Perhaps to guide him?"

"Nein! You have not yet gone to get Leutnant Schneider! How can I trust you to get my man through the building safely?" Carter shrieked.

The man's eyes widened. He saluted and left in search of his superior.

Carter whipped around to face Newkirk. "Feldwebel Kirkenheim, go and do as I command!"

Newkirk went off to do Carter's bidding, grateful for the excuse to go pick the safe's lock. This mission's gotten to my head. . . I can't wait for it to be over, he thought to himself. Finding the room with the safe was incredibly easy, thanks to the map Colonel Hogan had requested. As Newkirk approached the room, what Carter said about that nightmare played over and over in his mind. Blimey, I do hope he was wrong about that!

He slipped inside and immediately spotted the safe's hiding place. A picture of Hitler, almost identical to the one hanging in Klink's office, was slightly off-kilter. Newkirk grinned, purring, "I do believe we've yet to be acquainted. What say we get to know each other a bit better?" He pulled out his lockpicking tools and got to work.

He had just finished the last tumbler when he heard voice coming from the hallway. Eyes darting around, Newkirk covered the safe with the painting once more and dove into the corner of the room. He prayed that the voice wouldn't enter, the the person belonging to it wouldn't see him. As seconds passed, and the voice continued to get louder, dread began to build in the pit of Newkirk's stomach. The door handle began to turn.

I know I'm evil. . . I don't get much time to write anymore (what with teaching and all), but the next chapter should be up soon! In fact, it's partially written! :D

Edit: Dude. I misspelled "Krauts." *facepalms* Sorry 'bout that. I must've been really tired (or super eager). . .

Soli Deo gloria!