Summary: Hogan and his team head towards the rocket base in Mutlangen, while LeBeau and Newkirk rendezvous with a group of partisans.
Author's Note: ~"Dialogue"~ denotes that a foreign language is being spoken, usually German.
Disclaimer: Hogan's Heroes is owned by Paramount, Viacom and others; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome!
Copyright March 2002****
Just Another Missionby Syl Francis
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"...A man...ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether he is doing right or wrong." (Socrates)
**** Friday 18 AUG 1944/1815hrs localForest clearing near Hammelburg Road
****
"Okay, you guys know what to do," Hogan said hurriedly. They were all dressed in German uniforms, the collar tabs identifying them as members of crack SS units. Currently, Hogan and his men stood in a forest clearing near the Hammelburg Road, about 200 meters outside of Stalag 13. It was only 1815 hours, but the evening was already shrouded in black. Tonight there would be no moon.
"Rapunzel is already at the rendezvous point, and the target's been spotted crossing the Hammelburg Bridge." Hogan reported, and then grinning added, "She says that the target vehicle has been delayed as per our instructions a few kilometers out, but it should be on the road again in less than an hour." At the others' nods, he added, "As soon as my team's in place, I'll have our Mutlangen contact, Rose White, get in touch with Baker. This it, fellas...Good luck."
The heroes shook hands all around, saying their final farewells.
Newkirk: "Good luck, Colonel, Kinch...Carter try not to blow up the truck before you get there."
LeBeau: "Au revoir, mon Colonel...Kinch...Carter."
Carter waited until he and Kinchloe were off to the side alone. "Kinch?"
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Kinch...the Molotov cocktails?" Carter paused, uneasy.
"What about them?" Kinchloe asked impatiently.
"I...I didn't...you know...um, make them."
"What?!" Kinchloe grabbed Carter by the collar and dragged him behind their truck. "What do you mean you didn't make them? Are you crazy?"
"Kinch, they won't work! The three of us can't carry enough to make a difference! Besides...there're too many things can go wrong. Not the least being that they don't always work--"
"I gave you a direct order, Sergeant! You know that I could have you court-martialed for this--don't you?!"
Swallowing, Carter ducked his head and nodded. Thinking about the scope of the mission they were about to undertake, he felt a sense of shame wash over him. Had he let his friends down, he wondered? Gathering his inner strength, a feeling of quiet resolve came over him. He slowly raised his eyes and faced his senior NCO.
"I know that we don't have a whole lot to work with, but I can make it work, Kinch. I have more explosives than timers and fuses, but I know that I can come up with something...a daisy-chain, y'know? To get the most bang for the buck!" As he spoke, Carter's face lit in the usual animated way it did whenever he spoke about explosives.
Sighing, Kinchloe closed his eyes. He had to tell the colonel, he told himself in self-disgust. "He'll have to cancel the mission," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"What d'you say, Kinch?"
Kinchloe faced Carter. "I'll have to tell Col. Hogan. He'll have to cancel the mission. It's crazy to continue--"
"But, Kinch, we can't cancel! What about Paris? All those people? And Louis? He's depending on us!"
"Carter, remember the SS battalion we went up against last night? Well, tonight that's gonna look like a Sunday school picnic. They'll be waiting for us--reinforced. With the right supplies we might stand a small--very small--chance of success! But this--? No, I should've told the CO already." Grinning humorlessly, he added, "And buddy, it's not you gonna be facing a court-martial, it'll be me!" He turned to go, but was stopped by Carter.
"Kinch...I can make it work," he said earnestly. "I know I can. Kinch, please...I've got to do this. It's my fault those rockets got away at the bridge, remember?"
Kinchloe shook his head tiredly. "Carter, we've through all this...That wasn't your fault--"
"Look, I know--here--!" Carter pointed at his forehead. "--that what you're saying is true. But here--!" He pointed at his heart. "--I can't help feeling that this whole thing is my fault." He looked down and then up again, holding Kinchloe's eyes steadily. "Please, Kinch...I know I can do this. Will you trust me?"
An endless second passed, but finally, Kinchloe nodded wordlessly...
"Colonel Hogan?"
Hogan raised his eyebrows questioningly at Whittington. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
Whittington walked up to him, tentatively holding out his hand. Smiling, Hogan took it in his firm grip and the two men shook.
"God speed, sir."
Hogan nodded, clapping the younger officer on the shoulder with his free hand. Turning, he opened the passenger side door of the waiting truck. As he climbed in, he called out, "LeBeau?" LeBeau, who'd already started out with his team, turned around, eyes questioning. "Give Rapunzel a kiss for me!" Hogan said, saluting playfully.
LeBeau returned the salute in kind, and turning quickly, disappeared into the German forest. With that Hogan, Kinchloe, and Carter climbed into the waiting truck and took off.
****
Friday 18 AUG 1944/1855hrs localHammelburg Road, 5km west of Stalag 13
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Newkirk could feel the level of anticipation rising noticeably among the group of partisans tensely waiting behind the heavy brush along the road. He glanced over at LeBeau who stood guard with him in the middle of the road, a detour sign between them. Any second now, Newkirk thought. Almost as soon as the words formed, a truck materialized along the bend on the road.
Time to play German, he added silently. Newkirk and LeBeau automatically snapped to attention, their rifles held at port arms.
As the truck approached, Newkirk took two steps forward and held his arm straight out.
"Halt!" he called, walking up to the driver's side window. "Heil Hitler!"
The driver automatically returned the salute. "Heil Hitler!" he said impatiently. "~What is the matter? Why is there a roadblock here in the middle of nowhere? We are late and in a hurry!~"
"Ja, ja..." Newkirk intoned, sounding bored. "~Everyone is in a hurry these days. The captain is in a hurry. The sergeant is in a hurry. Even the Allies are in a hurry. But I? I do as I am ordered.~" He shrugged, smiling inwardly at the driver's irritated scowl.
"~The captain ordered the sergeant to place a road block here--in a hurry!~" Newkirk continued, conscious of the partisans' stealthy movements along the brush. "~'Right now,' the captain said! 'This instant!' So of course, the sergeant ordered us to hurry up and stand guard here--'Now! This very moment!'~" Newkirk rolled his eyes, catching a brief shadowy glimpse of a dark form inching its way towards the truck.
Almost in position, he thought, his adrenaline suddenly shooting up.
"~That was five hours ago,~" he said, shrugging expansively, "~and you are the first truck that has passed through here." He sighed, the long-suffering, heartfelt sigh of put-upon buck privates the world over. "~But I follow orders. And I stand guard. And I stop whatever vehicles pass through here and ask for their papers.~"
Grumbling, the driver pulled out a sheaf of papers from his inside pocket. Handing them over to Newkirk, he asked, "~How much farther to Stalag 13? We were supposed to be there at 18:30 hours, but we ran into some trouble about 8 kilometers back--the biggest bomb crater I've ever seen. Almost drove the truck into it!~"
Newkirk shook his head in shared sympathy. "~Sabotage,~" he tsked. "~You'd think that the local Underground would be a little more considerate about our great civic works. After all, once the war is over, we will all have to live here.~"
"~Saboteurs?~" the driver asked surprised. "~We thought it was the work of Allied bombers. We didn't know that there were saboteurs in this area. Perhaps, then that is why you're here, guarding this road?~"
"You know, mate, I think you're absolutely right!" Newkirk replied in English, his Cockney accent exaggerated. The driver and his passenger looked stunned as they found themselves suddenly surrounded by a silent group of armed partisans.
LeBeau stood next to the passenger side door, his weapon aimed unflinchingly at them.
"Out," Newkirk ordered. "And don't try anything stupid. My little friend over there would like nothing better than to kill you where you sit."
LeBeau, who in reality couldn't stand the sight of blood, gave them his most sinister grin. The German soldiers exchanged worried glances and then resignedly raised their hands above their heads.
****
Friday 18 AUG 1944/1900hrs localOn the Bavaria-Baden Wurttemberg Road, South of Stalag 13
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Kinchloe drove, with Hogan riding shotgun on the passenger side. Neither man spoke much as the miles passed, lost in his own thoughts. Carter, meanwhile, slept in the back of the truck in the cargo bed. Probably the only guy in the world who can sleep like a baby next to explosives, Kinchloe thought ruefully.
Flashbacks of the previous night came unbidden. He remembered the sleek, beautiful rocket set to launch. The Luger aimed directly between his eyes. The subsequent firefight and escape.
"Once more into the breach..." he muttered.
Hogan seemed to jerk awake from his reveries. "Pardon?"
Kinchloe gave a short laugh. "I said, here we go again. How did you put it earlier, Colonel? About blowing them up only to have to do it all over again? Looks like you were right, sir."
"Of course, I was right," Hogan quipped. "I'm a Colonel."
Kinchloe flashed him a grin. "Yeah...but you were right anyway."
Hogan chuckled softly. "Watch it, Kinch. Or I may have to court-martial you for insubordination."
"Well...you could," Kinchloe admitted, remembering his earlier words to Carter. "But who'd operate your radio and decode your messages?"
"Hah! Sgt. Baker, that's who!"
"True, true," Kinchloe agreed good-naturedly, "but who'll keep those two clowns--Newkirk and LeBeau--out of your hair? And let's not forget Carter...Who'll keep him from blowing up the barracks?"
"I heard that!" a muffled voice came from the back.
"Shut up, Carter!" Kinchloe and Hogan shouted at the same time.
"Okay...so you're irreplaceable," Hogan conceded. "I guess I'll just have to make you an officer then. How's Second Lieutenant James Kinchloe, US Army Air Corps, sound to you?"
"Second Lieut--?! Oh, no, you don't! I'd rather be court-martialed. That's no promotion--that's a-a demotion!" Kinchloe shuddered at the thought.
Grinning, Hogan punched Kinchloe playfully on the arm. "Don't worry, buddy. I was a second looey once. Worse than my Plebe year at the Academy. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy--much less my best friend."
"Your best friend--!?" Who? Me?
Momentarily taken aback by Hogan's unexpected admission, Kinchloe unconsciously tightened his hands on the steering wheel, his thoughts in a jumble. Neither man spoke, an embarrassed silence suddenly hanging between them.
"Uh, um, Kinch...?" Hogan began hesitantly, and then stopped. To cover his CO's obvious discomfiture, Kinchloe spoke, keeping his voice light.
"So...you said you wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy--not even Klink?"
"Aww...the Ol' Bald Eagle's not so bad--just misunderstood," Hogan offered, tongue in cheek.
"Is that what it's called?" Kinchloe asked, his tone matching Hogan's. "Funny...I thought he was just incredibly dumb!"
"That too," Hogan agreed.
"How about Hochstetter?" Kinchloe asked. "Would you torture him with a second looey's gold bar?"
"It's probably against the Geneva Convention," Hogan mused, "but, yeah. In a heartbeat. Then I'd cast him adrift in the 10th Ranger Brigade. Those battle-hardened snake-eaters would probably chew him up and spit him out."
Kinchloe laughed softly. "That'd be something to see. Think he'd last?"
"He'd either be shot by his own men, or killed in a parachuting 'accident'--undoubtedly due to his parachute mysteriously failing to open.
"Yeah...undoubtedly," Kinchloe agreed.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kinchloe caught sight of Hogan settling back on the passenger seat as if for a short nap.
"And Kinch...?" Hogan began softly. "I meant what I said earlier about...you know..."
Not daring to face Hogan, Kinchloe kept his eyes straight ahead. After a moment, he nodded. "Same here, sir..."
Best friends...
As he drove through the darkened roads of the forests of Bavaria and Baden Wurttemberg, Kinchloe's normally taciturn features briefly softened.
****
Friday 18 AUG 1944/1945hrs localHammelburg Road, 5km west of Stalag 13
****
"Rapunzel, what's taking so long?" LeBeau called softly, worriedly glancing at his watch. He and Newkirk stood lookout while the others got ready.
"All is ready, LeBeau," a soft, feminine voice said from behind him. She materialized at his side the next moment. "Karl and his men will take care of the prisoners." LeBeau watched as Karl, Rapunzel's right hand man, waved casually from where he stood partially hidden in the underbrush.
"Let's head out, then," Newkirk said sharply, anxious to leave. LeBeau noted that neither he nor Newkirk had asked Rapunzel what she meant by 'take care of' the prisoners. Some questions were better left unasked, he knew.
Similarly, LeBeau picked up on Newkirk's impatience, knowing exactly how his friend felt. LeBeau, himself, could feel time slipping away from them. He hurriedly waved the others onto the back of the truck.
The partisans were now all dressed in the SS uniforms. The prisoners--stripped down to their long underwear and socks--were being prodded along towards the dilapidated truck in which Rapunzel's team had arrived.
LeBeau again checked his watch. Hogan and his team should be arriving at the Mutlangen base in less than an hour. Frustrated, he urged the resistance fighters to speed it up.
"Let's go! We are late! We do not want that filthy Gestapo Bosche, Maj. Hochstetter, to send out a search party for our friends over there." He pointed at the prisoners with his chin. Besides, both LeBeau and Newkirk wanted to be by the radio back at the barracks when--and if--Hogan's team reported in.
When everyone was finally loaded, LeBeau and Newkirk walked towards Rapunzel. She would not accompany them to Stalag 13; instead, she and what remained of her team would head out to the second rendezvous point and wait.
"This is it, Rapunzel," Newkirk said. "We're ready to go."
"Yes," she replied. "Tell Papa Bear for me that I believe that this plan is his most brilliant yet."
"We will," LeBeau assured her. "Meanwhile, mon Colonel ordered me to give you this message--" He stood on tiptoe and kissed her tenderly on both cheeks. "I believe he was regretful that he could not give it to you himself."
Smiling sadly, Rapunzel said, "I, too, regret that he was not here to deliver it in person. However--" She gently caressed her cheek with her finger. "--thank him for me for sending such a thoughtful message." She leaned down and kissed LeBeau tenderly on the forehead.
Nodding, LeBeau and Newkirk started jogging back to the waiting vehicle. As they rushed back, Rapunzel called out.
"LeBeau! Newkirk!"
The two men turned as one.
"Please...convey my sincerest apologies for not being able to help out with the fuses." Before LeBeau and Newkirk could reply, Rapunzel slipped into the cab of the truck, and without further word, she and her team took off into the night.
"I don't believe that I liked the sound of that, mon ami."
"You and me, both, mate. You and me, both."
****
Friday 18 AUG 1944/2025hrs localHammelburg Road, east of Stalag 13
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Newkirk, LeBeau, and Whittington gripped their weapons nervously. They sat, unseeing, in pitch-darkness, the low hum of the truck's well-maintained Benz motor harmonizing with the steadily turning rear double axles.
Members of Rapunzel's crack Underground cell surrounded them on all sides. Two of her most trusted lieutenants--Kurt and Rolf--were sitting upfront in the cab. It was their job to drive them through the Stalag 13 front gates, hopefully without more than a cursory inspection of the truck's rear passengers.
Furthermore, Kurt who was playing the part of their Sergeant of the Guard had to convince Hochstetter that nothing was amiss, that their lateness in reporting was easily explainable.
Newkirk grimaced in the gloom. Although this was the team of resistance fighters that had sabotaged the road earlier in order to delay the real SS guards, and there was little doubt that they'd be able to get them into the compound without trouble, Newkirk nonetheless hated to depend on outsiders.
I wish Kinch and the Colonel were here. He checked his watch: 2025 hours. Hogan and the others would be arriving at Mutlangen any minute now. What's taking so bloody long to get to Stalag 13? He began tapping his foot in a sign of nervous impatience. A sudden jab to the ribs and a loud 'hissst' from his left side announced LeBeau's annoyance.
Newkirk made a concerted effort to stop his fidgeting. He began counting to 100 to keep his mind off the minutes that seemed to be ticking with interminable slowness.
The next instant, he felt the truck begin to slow down and heard the loud squeal of brakes. These sensations were soon accompanied by a shout from outside.
"Halt!"
This is it, he thought. Home sweet home.
****
Friday 18 AUG 1944/2030hrs localMutlangen Road, 8 km east of the Bavaria-Bad Wurttemberg Road
****
"This is it," Kinchloe muttered.
Minutes earlier, he'd pulled the truck onto a heavily overgrown, deeply rutted dirt road and followed it several meters into the woods. He braked to a stop just short of a firebreak. Allowing his eyes to become adjusted in the darkness, Kinchloe saw that the small clearing opened out onto a rise, overlooking a narrow valley nestled between two steep hills.
From his vantagepoint, he could make out a flurry of activity directly across the valley in and around the larger of the two hills.
"Home sweet home," he said ruefully. Reaching across the cab of the truck, he tapped Hogan on the arm. The decorated combat veteran instantly jerked awake.
"What? Where?" Hogan blearily looked around in the darkness, slightly disoriented. Kinchloe pointed at the activity along the side of the hill facing them. They sat in silence, studying the traffic along the single road leading up the granite face of the hill.
Kinchloe took out a pair of binoculars and steadied them on a five-truck convoy that appeared at the base of the hill. Peering intently through the high-powered glasses, he saw that the trucks were hauling wood and coal for the vast underground network located somewhere deep inside the hillside.
He watched as the trucks lumbered up the steep trail, pausing at intermittent checkpoints before proceeding to their final destination, lost in the vast gloom.
Every few minutes, he glimpsed a careless match flare, instantly followed by the sudden glow of a lit cigarette. Probably a bored guard walking his post, Kinchloe thought.
"One way in and out," Hogan observed, yawning. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. "Many more missions like this, and I'll be old before my time."
"You sure can say that again," Kinchloe tiredly agreed. "Know what's the first thing I'm gonna do when this war is finally over?"
"No...what?"
"Sleep! And Lord help the foolish soul who tries to wake me up before I've slept for three whole months!"
"Sleep...I almost can't remember what a night of uninterrupted sleep feels like. Sure sounds nice," Hogan mused. After a moment's thought, he shook his head. Opening the passenger side door, he stepped out. "Nah...I'd die of boredom. After a day or two--a week, tops!--I'd start looking for a bridge to blow up, or a truck convoy to ambush--"
"--Or a new tunnel to dig!" Carter's muffled voice interrupted from the back. They could hear him moving heavy crates in the cargo hold.
Hogan and Kinchloe exchanged grins and walked around the back to help unload their supplies. "You're probably right, sir," Kinchloe nodded. "I guess that being able to mine a bridge faster than anyone else in the neighborhood could make a guy feel a little restless after awhile."
"And let's not forget being able to throw a grenade farther than any of your family or friends," Hogan added.
"I can see that I'm going to be in real demand back home," Kinchloe added wryly. "An endless line of prospective employers just waiting for me..."
"And here you thought the Army didn't learn ya nuthin' useful."
Thinking of the crack, battle-hardened SS battalion, which had probably been reinforced since last night's raid, that they were about to go up against, Kinchloe rolled his eyes at his CO's characteristically upbeat manner. It's as if he doesn't have a care in the world, Kinchloe thought.
Unaware of his NCO's misgivings, Hogan shouldered his weapon and equipment bag. Grinning, he said, "Remember...it's just another mission. Piece o' cake!" About to start off, he paused at Kinchloe's hesitation. "What's the matter, Kinch?" he asked. "Come on. The war's waiting."
'Just another mission?' Kinchloe thought, shaking his head. Recalling that they were short on fuses, he felt a sudden cold chill grip the pit of his stomach. I've gotta tell him! he thought, a twinge of guilt eating at him. He's gotta know! This whole mission's crazy! It'll be plain suicide to continue. He's gotta call it off!
"Colonel--?" he began, swallowing around a suddenly dry throat. At that moment, Carter jumped off the back of the truck and landed between them. He looked curiously from one to the other: Hogan's usual twinkle had been replaced by a look of mild concern, while Kinchloe looked like he'd swallowed something sour.
"What's the matter, Kinch?" Carter asked.
"Nuthin'," Kinchloe muttered, shaking his head. "Come on! Like the colonel said, the war's waiting."
Instantly all business, the three men gave their weapons a final, cursory check and started out.
****
Friday 18 AUG 1944/2045hrs localMain Compound, Stalag 13
****
Newkirk stood stiffly at attention, eyes front, weapon held at right shoulder arms. His helmet low over his eyes, face hidden in shadow, his eyes surreptitiously followed Hochstetter who was pacing back and forth as he addressed the 'SS guards.'
"~...Because of your recent distinguished record during the major counter-offensive at Avranches, while assigned to the 343rd SS Armored Division, you men have been awarded a distinct honor! In addition to receiving a unit citation for bravery from der Fuehrer, himself, you men have each been personally handpicked for this mission.~"
Hochstetter stopped pacing and faced them. Klink, who'd been standing uselessly by, wringing his hands nervously, shuffled to stand next to him. Hochstetter glared at Klink as if the Camp Kommandant were a distasteful bug he'd just as soon step on. Swallowing and smiling foolishly, Klink's nerves appeared ready to snap.
"~I--uh--also b-believe th-this t-t-to b-be a d-d-distinct honor, um, uh, M-Major--~"
"~Klink! Shut up!~" Hochstetter screamed. "~Nobody cares what you think!~"
Taking several steps backwards, the hapless Camp Kommandant beat a hasty retreat to the relative safety of his porch steps. Glancing at Hochstetter who was still glaring balefully in his direction, Klink quickly scuttled into the sanctuary of his office.
Once Klink was out of sight, Hochstetter took a moment to get his blood pressure under control. Turning back to the line of SS soldiers before him, he continued his impromptu speech.
"~This is not just another mission! We have been given the honor to hand deliver to Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin a very special group of British prisoners of war.~" He smiled suddenly, transforming his face into an unexpectedly cold, reptilian mask, which sent shivers up and down Newkirk's back.
"~A very special group of prisoners, indeed--captured British commandos!~" As Hochstetter uttered these words, he held out his right arm dramatically. A column of British POWs appeared out of the compound's high security area, their hands clasped on top of their heads.
At the sight of his countrymen, Newkirk felt a slow, deep-burning anger begin in the pit of his stomach. He somehow managed to squelch a sudden desire to turn his weapon on Hochstetter. A soft intake of breath next to him told Newkirk that Whittington was feeling exactly the same.
"Steady, Leftenant," Newkirk muttered out of the side of his mouth. "Easy does it..." He felt Whittington relax next to him. A few moments later, Kurt stepped forward, saluted Hochstetter and then turned and ordered the disguised Allied fighters to fall in on the line of prisoners of war.
"~You six--!~" Kurt pointed at the first six men in line. "~You will guard the prisoners in the first vehicle. Fall out!~" The men quickly double-timed towards the waiting truck. "~The rest of you--!~" He pointed at the remaining partisans. "~You will be responsible for guarding the prisoners in the second truck.~" As they turned to go, he pointed at Newkirk who stopped suddenly. "~All except you! You will ride shotgun with me in the trail vehicle.~"
Nodding, Newkirk hurried to Kurt's side and stood stiffly at port arms next to him.
"~Very good, Sergeant--~" Hochstetter said, "~--very good. I shall remember you in my report to Berlin.~"
"Danke, Herr Major!" Kurt said. When all the prisoners were loaded on the trucks, Kurt turned to Newkirk. With a slight wink and smile, he indicated that they should board their own vehicle.
****
Friday 18 AUG 1944/2130hrs localMarchen Hofbrau est. 1765, Mutlangen
****
Hogan and the others spent the better part of an hour traipsing through the thick underbrush that grew along the outskirts of Mutlangen. They'd avoided several patrols and just managed to escape being spotted by a German shepherd.
As the three heroes entered the town, they almost ran into a large troop convoy that was racing through the quiet streets in the direction they'd just come from. Backpedaling, they took refuge in a small courtyard until the coast was clear.
Finally, after a few more close calls, they arrived at their destination--the Marchen Hofbrau. "This is it, fellas," Hogan said, pointing at the quaint, half-timbered tavern on the other side of the street. The hofbrau boasted a gingerbread roof and a scene out of a Hansel and Gretel painted on the façade. Hogan shook his head. The juxtaposition of fairytale and Swastika flag hanging limply from the rooftop gave him a strange feeling of displacement.
"Rapunzel said that our contact, Rose White, would meet us here," he continued. "We should be able to identify him by the white rose on his lapel."
At this moment, a staff car pulled up to the front door of the Marchen Hofbrau, depositing two passengers who entered the tavern. Hogan and his men crouched in the darkness and waited as the car to drove off and disappeared into the night. Quickly, the three Americans crossed the street, keeping to the deep shadows, and darted into a narrow alleyway behind the hofbrau.
"I'll go in and make contact," Hogan said. "You two wait out here." Kinchloe and Carter nodded. From their location, they could make out the tinkling sound of an upright piano accompanied by men's voices raised in off-key singing, punctuated by raucous laughter.
On occasion the front door would abruptly open, splashing a bright beam of light onto the otherwise darkened street. Soldiers in various stages of inebriation stumbled out, singly and in pairs, probably intending to continue their merrymaking into the wee small hours.
Hogan waited until the latest group of off-duty soldiers, staggered by. Their drunken laughter echoed off the blacked-out windows that stared sightlessly onto the cobbled street below. As the slurred voices faded out around a corner, Hogan stepped out from the alley and quickly ducked into the hofbrau.
The door closing behind him, Hogan stood to the side, getting his bearings. The seating area was packed shoulder to shoulder with uniformed men and heavily made-up women. Buxom waitresses dressed in peasant blouses and full skirts carried overflowing steins of beer from table to table, expertly wending their way through the thick crowd without spilling a drop.
Hogan's ears were assaulted by a cacophony of shouts, strident laughter, loud music and singing. He squinted through the dense, acrid cloud of cigarette smoke that hung over the room, searching men's lapels for a white rose. After a few minutes, he spotted a waiter tending bar, wearing a white carnation. Shrugging, Hogan was about to head towards him, when a couple seated a few feet to his right suddenly stood and began to leave.
Hogan changed direction and started towards the table they'd abandoned. He was about to pull out one of the chairs when another hand simultaneously closed around it, tugging slightly.
"~Excuse me, but I believe that this is my table,~" Hogan said smoothly, turning to face his challenger. He stopped, his breath immediately knocked out of him. Smiling back at him were a pair of lovely, almond-shaped blue eyes. More importantly, they were set off by a beautiful face, which was itself framed by a head of soft, blonde hair.
"~Perhaps we could share?" a husky, feminine contralto asked. The words not quite registering, Hogan merely gaped. Meanwhile, the same pair of lovely blue eyes looked up him expectantly. Abruptly, Hogan realized that he was staring and recovered his aplomb.
"~My mother always taught me to share,~" he quipped, holding out the chair for her. As soon as she was seated, he pulled out the second chair and closely positioned it next to hers. Hurriedly sitting down, he took her hand in his and gazed longingly into her eyes. "~Tell me, Fraulein...what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?~"
He felt his stomach flutter as the almond-shaped blue eyes crinkled in amusement. I guess the war can wait just a couple of minutes, he thought.
"Rapunzel warned me that you worked fast, Colonel Hogan," she said softly. "But even she didn't say just how fast." Hogan blinked. Instantly, his eyes traveled down her shapely neck, stopping at the lapel of her black overcoat--a white rose!
"You--?!" Hogan hissed. "You're Rose White?" At her nod, his eyes quickly scanned the tavern, searching for any possible accomplices. No one was paying them any attention. They were just another couple grabbing a few hours of respite from the endless tedium of war. "Rapunzel never stated that our contact was a woman!" Taking a moment to get his surprise under control, he leaned forward, his expression dangerous. "How do I know you're who you say you are? How do I know I can trust you?"
Smiling her secret amused smile, she replied, "On the contrary, Herr Colonel, how do I know I can trust you?" The look she gave him was playful, yet trusting. Drinking in her loveliness, Hogan felt himself responding to her teasing. Finally, with his customary twinkle, he gave her his most wolfish grin.
"Lady, I give you my solemn pledge as an officer and a gentleman...you can't!"
She laughed softly. "I am glad to see that Rapunzel was correct about you, Colonel Hogan." Becoming serious, she nodded towards the door. "Come...There is not much time."
****
End of Part 5