Family Matters

by marylinusca

Reposted. Christmas Story December 1943 Kinch gets disturbing news from home, and the men recieve a disturbing assignment from London.

5. Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho, to Bomb a Plant I Go

Chapter 5: "Heigh Ho. To bomb a plant I go."

"Doktor," Colonel Hogan looked across at her. "Did you say a few minutes ago that you actually saw the Schatze factory?"

Marlena looked startled. "Yes," she said warily. "I saw the showcase in the front office."

Colonel Hogan snapped his fingers. "Newkirk. The map of Heidelburg. The one inch to a half mile. Carter. LeBeau. Clear off the table. Kinch. Your calibrators."

Carter was already piling the left over food to one side of the table. Newkirk unrolled and laid the map down on the cleared space. Kinch and LeBeau weighted down the corners of the map with plates before it re-curled itself.

"Doktor, where is the factory located on this map?"

Doktor Falke looked it over. She pointed. "Those large rectangles to the north, where the railway tracks curve toward town …." Her eyes widened. "You're not going to blow up Herr Schultz's factory?"

Kinch looked over her shoulder at her pointed finger. Then, gently pushing her to one side, he bent over the map, made his measurements, and worked out the results. He stared down at the numbers, and rechecked them. Then he groaned. "I'm afraid we are, Doktor." He handed his calculations to Colonel Hogan, along with the instructions he had received from Goldilocks earlier in the morning. "The co-ordinates fit those of the target, sir."

Marlena looked from Kinch to Hogan in panic. "But it's Herr Schultz's toy factory!"

"They're not making toys there now, Marlena. They're making guns."

"But it's his family business! His life's work! His family's work for over two-hundred years! You can't destroy his life's work!"

"We must, Doktor. We're ordered to do it." Kinch held out his hand to her; but she backed away from him.

"We're sorry, love; but we have to," said Newkirk.

"Be reasonable, Doktor. They're making weapons of war, not toys." Colonel Hogan stared at Marlena's shocked face. "I promise you. We'll make it up to him someday."

"How can you make it up to him?" she demanded.

"I have some influence in Washington. I'll see he gets compensation after the war."

"A few marks? A pittance?"

"I'll see to it that the factory's rebuilt. By my government."

Doktor Falke shook her head. "Colonel, not even you can influence a government to rebuild a toy factory. Not in an enemy country. No one man has that much influence."

Colonel Hogan reached out to her. She backed away from him, into Carter's arms. She struggled, but Carter held her close to his chest.

"Doktor Fledermaus, listen to me." Kinch quietly commanded. "Listen to me. Try to understand. We have to blow up that factory or a lot of kids won't have their fathers with them next Christmas." He looked deep into her eyes. "I had a chat with Schultz this morning. Going by some of the things he said, I don't think he'll mind too much if his factory goes boom."

"Please, ma chére. Do not make it harder than it is," pleaded LeBeau.

"Please, Doktor," Carter whispered in her ear.

Doktor Falke sagged against him. She nodded and closed her eyes. "All right. I won't argue. I just think it's a rotten shame."

"It is," Colonel Hogan agreed with a heavy sigh. "Carter, you're the demolition expert. Study the map with Kinch. Tell us how and where we plant the explosives."

"O.k. Doktor, were you ever inside the factory?" Carter asked as he released her.

Doktor Falke shook her head. "Once, five years ago. I can remember only the foyer of the office building, where the showcase was. I – I saw the plaque Herr Schultz described to you. 'The Schatze Toy Company. Gunther Schultze. By Royal Appointment, Toy maker to His Majesty and the Royal Family.' Pity it will be destroyed."

"Yeah. A great pity," Newkirk said.

Carter looked at Kinch. "Did Schultz say anything about a warehouse full of unsold toys?"

"No, but he must've had one. Every factory has to have a place to store their goods before they're shipped."

"It's probably full of guns instead of toys," said LeBeau.

"But they must've put the toys someplace!" Carter insisted

"The goons probably destroyed them, like they've destroyed everything else." Newkirk grumbled.

"But we don't know that!"

"Are you suggesting that when we plant your explosives, we search the ruddy factory for a room full of toys?"

Colonel Hogan looked at him. "Why not?"

"Beggin' your pardon, Colonel, but what do you mean, 'why not'?"

"I mean, 'Why not liberate Schultz's toys?' Why not help him carry out his family tradition? It will be a long time before he can do it again, so let's see it gets done."

"How do you figure on doing it, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"First of all, we have to find out from Schultz if there is a warehouse full of toys and where it is." Colonel Hogan turned to LeBeau. "You're in charge of that. Kinch will take the ball from you if you have any trouble, since he already seems to have softened up Schultz about his factory turning out guns instead of toys, but I don't want him to make the initial play. The big guy might get suspicious and think Kinch had pumped him. When we blow up his factory, I don't want Schultz to take his revenge on us by blabbing what he's seen and heard all these years."

"I'll make my finest apple strudel, if Doktor Falke will give me some of the apples she's hoarded."

Doktor Falke nodded in resignation. "Yes," she said bitterly. "To get the toys out of the factory you intend to destroy and into the children's hands."

"Good. Doktor, you know where those toys will do the most good. Write out your list of needy children."

"Anything I can do, Colonel?"

Colonel Hogan looked at Carter's eager face. "Right now, keep Doktor Falke from scratching my eyes out. You and Kinch are still on sabotage planning detail; but I'll keep you in mind."

He turned to Newkirk. "I'll need Klink's staff car, a truck or two, and at least three uniforms, for you, Carter and either myself or Olsen." He waved his hand. "Inspector General's Office. Works Production Department. Speer's office. You know what I want."

"With credentials to match of course."

"Of course. Carter's explosives won't be much good if we don't know the best places to plant them. We'll go early tomorrow morning. The brass will be nursing their Christmas hangovers. We can much more easily confuse them or their underlings then. Have you got a nice variety on hand, Carter, in case we can do the job tomorrow night?"

"You bet, Boy! I mean, 'Sir!' I've got pineapple bombs, gelignite, exploding pens, your standard demolition packs. You name it!"

"Good boy. I'm glad to know we have a full range of stock."

"Back to 'Operation Toy Liberation'." He looked Doktor Falke up and down. "Marlena, do you have one short skirt in your wardrobe?"

Doktor Falke looked down at her unfashionable ankle length blue skirt. "What's wrong with this?" she demanded.

"Well, calves are 'in' this season, Doktor Pacifist."

Marlena blushed. "Not mine, Colonel."

"Come on, Doktor Fledermaus! Your legs are fantastic."

"You've actually seen them, Kinch?" Colonel Hogan and the other men stared from Kinch to Doktor Falke open-mouthed. Marlena blushed even redder.

"Sorry for embarrassing you, Doktor; but yes, Colonel. I have. When I saw her trying to get aboard Hobson's plane. Her long skirt was hampering her, so she took it off, along with her petticoat. Believe me, Colonel, our Doktor Falke's got the finest legs in bloomers."

"I don't know why you wear those old fashioned clothes anyway, angel," said Newkirk.

"I will show you why," she replied angrily. Pulling up her skirt and petticoat to the thigh, she whipped off her garter and rolled down one black woollen stocking. Along her leg were the scars of a whip. "That's why. Sergeant Kinchloe, you did not see that in the dark, did you?"

Kinch pursed his lips. "I'm sorry, Doktor Fledermaus," he apologized. He looked into Marlena's tear filled, stormy eyes, and gently added, "You still have the finest legs in bloomers."

Marlena gave him a reluctant smile. "I guess I can't vamp Herr Schultz with them in daylight, can I, Colonel Hogan?"

"Doktor, we'll have to update your vocabulary as well as your wardrobe, but no. You can't 'vamp' either Schultz or Klink with your legs, though they are otherwise well worth seeing. Still," he mused, "most of a woman's allure is in what she conceals, rather than what she reveals. And I know Klink's shown you that he appreciates what he has seen."

"He has not seen more than my face." The smile slowly widened, and a dimple appeared on her right cheek. "I think he's so bored with looking at granite jawed guards and scruffy prisoners of war that he'll fall for a dog in a dress."

"No he won't," Carter laughed. "General Burkhalter's sister, Frau Linkmeyer, is a dog in a dress, and Klink stays well away from her."

"Marlena, I don't think I can con him into this one all by myself," the colonel said, a twinkle in his eyes. "If you want him to play Saint Nick and get Schultz's toys out safely, you'll have to flirt with him."

Doktor Falke's eyes widened. She gulped and pulled her courage around her.

"Then may we get Sergeant Kinchloe to play Schwartze Pieter?" she asked, with a sidelong glance at him.

Kinch started from his stool. "Oh Doktor Fledermaus! You take a cruel revenge! Besides, Zwarte Pieter is Dutch, not German. He punishes naughty children with a scourge. Don't you think we both have had more than enough of that?"

Colonel Hogan smiled like the Cheshire cat. "Will you flirt with Klink on that condition, Fraulein Doktor?"

"Colonel! Me? Play Black Peter to Klink's St. Nick? Don't push me farther than I'll go."

"I'm pushing Doktor Falke farther than she's gone, and she seems willing," Hogan said serenely.

Marlena shook her head. "Your colonel is just teasing you, as I was, Herr Kinchloewen, so that I may get back at you for making me reveal my legs. Danke, Herr Oberst. I would not put him through the children's gawking, even if he did consent to it."

Kinch relaxed, grew meditative. He stroked his moustache. "Maybe I was too hasty in refusing. After all, if a child's never seen a man of colour, how can he realize that what he's been taught is a load of garbage? May I give it some thought, Colonel?"

"Of course, Kinch, but it's not obligatory. After all, 'Black Peter' is not really German."

"You'd really do it?" Doktor Falke asked warily.

"I might, if you do me one favour in return. Newkirk, where it that mistletoe?"

"Right here." Newkirk put the sprig in Kinchloe's hand.

The sergeant held the mistletoe above Doktor Falke's head. "Doktor Maria Helena Falke. Call me 'Kinch' now, just once."

Doktor Falke shivered, but smiled. She took a deep breath. "Kinch."

Kinch bent and cupping her chin in his hand, guided her lips to his.

"How do I compare with Newkirk?" he whispered after he kissed her.

"You compare very well, dear mein Herr," she answered softly, hesitantly.

"Then you've got your Zwarte Pieter, Doktor, but take care whom you next insult. He may demand a harsher forfeit."

Colonel Hogan coughed. "I hate to break into your duet, children, but we do have a mission to accomplish. Since you seem to do so well with Kinch, Doktor, you should have no trouble flirting with Klink."

Was I 'flirting' with Herr Kinchloewen? Marlena Falke felt bemused, dreamy, as if she was floating on bubbles.

"Flatter him. Tell him how sensual you find philanthropy to be. Tell him how impressed you are by generosity. Butter him up until he slips in the grease." Colonel Hogan cocked his head at her. "Doktor Falke?"

She blinked. "Did you say something, Colonel Hogan?"

"Did I say something? Doktor, I think that loaded Apfelsaft has finally hit you."

Kinch and Carter walked Marlena back to her cottage. They watched the falling snow swirl around the trees and the night wind wave the heavily laden branches up and down. It was a very dark, starless night, the kind of night that make you think of death rather than of life.

"Doktor Falke, do you believe in Santa Claus?"

Marlena smiled at Carter. "No, Herr Weiss. Do you?"

"No. Not really. I wish I still did. How I would've loved to see him fly across the sky last night."

"Like your friend 'Horse'."

"Yeah," Carter said wistfully. "Just like 'Horse'."

"He'd be shot down if he tried it now," Kinch replied. "But you're right, Carter. I wish Santa Claus had come here. I would've loved to have met him."

"Could you imagine if he was shot down and he was sent to Stalag Thirteen?" said Carter, excitedly.

"Or if we rescued him and he spent Christmas in the tunnel with us."

Marlena shook her head. "I thought you were too sensible to believe in Santa Claus, Sergeant Kinchloe."

"Now how am I to take that, Doktor? Every time you feel some scorn, you call me by my rank. What's the beef this time?"

"I didn't think you believed in a being who brings joy into the world. Not when you bring death into it."

Kinch heaved an exasperated sigh. "Doktor, you pacifists don't have a premium on love and joy. Soldiers are as human as you are. We've gone through this argument a million times. I don't like killing; but I have to do it. You don't like putting together shattered bodies, but you have to do it. Don't you wish to meet someone who brings joy into the world? I do. Of course I do."

"You are about to kill many people who work in that factory."

"And we are about to destroy a factory that makes weapons to kill many other people." He put his hands on her arms. "Doktor, if we could destroy the plant, but not the workers, we would do so. But we can't. That factory runs round the clock. People are always there. I know you don't understand. You probably don't want to, but try. If we don't end a few lives – O.k. More than a few – a lot more people are going to suffer much worse for much longer."

"We have to do it, Doktor," Carter agreed sadly.

Marlena sighed. "We're constantly at an impasse, gentlemen."

Kinch grimaced. "We said it was going to be over the Niagara, didn't we? Building that bridge between us."

"The swirling rapids," Marlena Falke sighed.

"The falls," added Carter with a grimace.

"I wish there were angels rowing against the current to save us, like they saved your ancestor, Herr Kinchloewen."

"Maybe there are, Doktor Fledermaus. Maybe we just don't see them as such."

"What do you mean?"

"What if you had gone home at the start of the war? You would not have been here to save LeBeau's life. He just hinted that you may have even saved it once before. You know how stubborn he is. He would've got out of that hospital half dead, and either his wound or another capture would've finished him. You were the angel in his river. I don't know about Carter here, but I would have gone stir crazy without your company this past year."

"Corporal Simms can't go to town either; but he does all right."

"How do you know?" Carter laughed. "When Marcus Simms says more than five words at a time, it's an event."

"Simms does not sit in a dark tunnel every night listening for beeps and clicks."

"Neither need you, mein Herr, according to your colonel and Corporal Newkirk."

Kinch sighed. "I can't trust Newkirk with the radio. He's a devil may care joker, and I'm the devil who cares for it. Do you know what it's like to fix? It has parts from at least twelve sets I've salvaged. English. German. American. French. Even Russian parts. Remind me to tell you sometime how we got those. The radio's too precious and too temperamental to let anyone else fool with. Besides, what else am I good for?"

Marlena touched his sleeve. "Dear mein Herr, you must be still depressed. What else are you good for? From the first moment of our acquaintance, you impressed me with your skill and your self-control. Corporal LeBeau's life lay in your hands as much as in mine. From the first moment I entered your tunnel, I was reminded that it could not be run without you. The radio, the allotment of living space, everything passes through your hands."

"Except mission planning."

"Well, you must leave your colonel something to occupy his mind."

Kinch grinned. "He's right about you. Always sticking your thorn in his back."

"He's just as quick to stick his in mine. And your work keeps me awake for days on end, which does not improve my disposition toward you."

"Or mine, but not toward you, Doktor Fledermaus. You were there for us, which makes you our angel, and never since my grandmamma Lily's day was there an angel so determined to row against the current of her times."

Doktor Falke looked at Kinch and at Carter with affection. They had thrust themselves into her mouse like existence, demanding she heal their injured friend LeBeau. They had roused her, teased her, tormented her, stimulated her mind, coaxed her into action, confronted her and comforted her. How had she lived without them until now? How could she live without them when she or they must leave? Two angels in khaki and olive drab, with stripes on their sleeves, who rescued her from her loneliness and fear.

"I love you both. But how can I live with that love, when I hate what you do?"

"War does create dilemmas," Kinch sighed. "I wish we could solve that one."

"Yeah, it sure does create dilemmas," said Carter. "We've got to blow up a toy factory, because it isn't making any toys. Poor old Schultzie. He's our enemy, but he's also our friend. I don't think I'm going to like doing it."

"But we're going to do it."

"It's kinda like we were blowing up Santa's workshop."

"Herr Schultz is much like Santa Claus, isn't he?" Doktor Falke smiled ruefully.

"Yeah," Kinch admitted. "But let's think of it this way. A lot of bad elves took over Santa Schultzie's factory. We've got to destroy those elves and what's in the factory, so that someday Santa can get it back, rebuild it and restore Christmas again."

Doktor Falke put her hand on Kinch's sleeve. "I'll try to think of it that way."

He put his hand over hers. "That's my Doktor Fledermaus."

Stalag Luft 13 Colonel Robert Hogan's Quarters. December 26, 1943 6:10 p.m. 1810 hours

"Colonel Hogan. Why are all of you suddenly so interested in my toy factory? Yesterday it was Sergeant Kinchloe. Today LeBeau tried to bribe me with Apfelstrudel."

"And you refused to eat it."

"Of course not! It was delicious. Just like Mutti used to bake. Nein, even better than what Mutti used to bake." Schultz rolled his eyes in ecstasy and licked off the residual crumbs of strudel sticking to his lips. "But I don't trust you. And I don't like the sudden questions. I know you are up to something and that it involves my factory."

"Schultz." Colonel Hogan put on his most patient, helpful manner. Schultz looked at him with increasing suspicion and alarm. "The men were just interested in your story about your grandfather. They're fascinated that you make toys and they just want to know more about it."

"Nein. That can't be it. I know that they know that I made toys before the war, and they know that I know that they know, and they know that I know that they know that I know and…." Schultz counted on his fingers and started mumbling to himself. He threw up his hands. "That is not the point, Colonel Hogan. Why are they suddenly so interested in my toy factory? I haven't made toys since the government took it over to make weapons."

The American colonel patted the German guard's vast back. "The fellas felt sorry that you could not send toys to the poor and injured children this year, like you've always done. They don't want a fine family tradition to die out just because there's a war on, so they thought…. I admit it's crazy but they thought – and I agreed with them – they thought that we could get out the toys in your warehouse and distribute them. I'm sure that Doktor Falke keeps a list of sick children that she visits regularly. She could help with the distribution."

Schultz visibly relaxed. His eyes went dreamy. "I would like that. To see the little faces happy again. But how, Colonel Hogan?"

"Could Klink commandeer them? He's your commanding officer, and you still own the company."

"But I signed away my factory to the government, and Heidelburg is outside the Kommandant's area of control."

"If we got the toys to a warehouse in Hammelburg, within Klink's jurisdiction, Doktor Falke could persuade him to commandeer them for her patients."

"Ja. She is a nice lady beneath her severe expression. Between you and me, Colonel Hogan, I think she is shy in front of men in German uniforms. That's why she looks so stiff. Sometimes I have seen her laugh with the children, or once or twice here with Carter or Newkirk or Kinchloe." He whispered in the colonel's ear. "I do not want to tell her that she should not laugh with the enemy. It creates such a bad impression in certain big shots' minds."

"I'll mention it to the guys. They'll play her some chill." Hogan smiled, touched by Schultz's concern for Marlena. The lady needed friends, and Schultz was a good one. "Thanks for telling me."

"Danke. I do not want our Doktor Falke getting shot."

"Neither do I." Nor us with her. "But she could be very helpful in finding good homes for the toys in your warehouses."

Schultz's brows came back together. "What makes you think there are still toys in my warehouses?"

"There must be. The war came on so suddenly. It must've caught you unprepared. It did us."

"Now you are joking, Colonel Hogan. You must have known since Munich that there would be war." He sighed. "But you are right. The takeover of my factory did catch us unprepared." Schultz's eyes clouded at the memory. "They came into my office. An S.S. officer, hardly taller than LeBeau, with two big unterofficiers carrying machine guns. They talked about how we should make sacrifices for the glorious Vaterland. I asked the Sturmbannfuerher if the Vaterland's Kinder must sacrifice their Christmas joy. One of his men poked his gun in my belly. They made me sign away my factory."

Schultz looked at Colonel Hogan. "Not even during the last war did the government stop the Schatze Toy Company from making toys."

"Toymakers even to Kaiser Wilhelm?"

"Ja. So I told Sergeant Kinchloe." Schultz grew wistful. "Mein Vater's days, before that war, were glorious days, Colonel Hogan. Toys of such beauty, such workmanship, such enjoyment. I dreamed of making toys like Papa's."

He shook his head. "I thought, after the Great War ended, that I had my chance to 'make my mark', as you call it, but it was not to be. The high inflation here, and then the world depression, made it very hard to make toys like Papa's, or even develop more than one or two designs of my own. This war has destroyed whatever dreams I had left."

Schultz looked up. "They should've left us alone, Colonel Hogan."

Colonel Hogan patted his back again, this time with sincere sympathy. "Yeah. Kinch told me how you felt." He paused. "Schultz. Are there still toys in your warehouses?"

"I doubt it, Colonel Hogan. They will not let me visit my factory. There are guards posted all around it."

"Is there a way you could find out?"

Schultz looked squarely into his eyes. "You mean, is there a way I can smuggle you inside so you can do some monkey business?"

Colonel Hogan hid his alarm as best he could. Sometimes I forget that Schultz is not as stupid as he acts.

"Schultz, we want to do this for you too."

They looked at each other candidly. Schultz dropped his eyes. "I wish there was a way. Perhaps I was not brave enough to make one for myself. Perhaps I could find one now."

"Thank you, Schultz." Colonel Hogan paused. "Schultz, I know we owe you a lot."

The big guard waved his hand to shush him. "I don't want to know anything about what you are planning. I want to do this for the children."

"They'll thank you for it, Schultz." Colonel Hogan sincerely meant it. "A lot of children will thank you for it."

Stalag Luft 13. Kommandant's quarters. Mid morning of December 27, 1943.

"Froehe Weinachten, Herr Kommandant Klink." Doktor Falke smiled warmly and squeezed Klink's hands in hers.

Colonel Klink's jaw dropped. So did his monocle, splintering on the floor. Doktor Falke recalled Newkirk's offhand remark that the Kommandant must order his monocles by the carload, he smashes so many of them. She bit her lower lip to stifle a laugh.

"Froehe Weinachten indeed, dear lady! When they announced you at the gate, I could not believe it. I did not think that you would care to honour me with a Christmas visit."

"Nor would I, Herr Kommandant, if I did not think the outcome so important," Marlena Falke replied inwardly. She tugged her hands gently until the Luftwaffe officer finally released his grasp on them.

She looked at Klink, jaunty, trim and tall, and wondered why she disliked him.

His baldness did not put her off. It actually made him look more distinguished.

His uniform? Perhaps what it stood for. She despised men who made their livings killing others. Yet, Colonel Hogan was also a career officer. She did not despise him as much. Indeed, she always had to fight his charm. Perhaps because Klink's uniform is Goering's uniform, and Goering is Hitler's thug. The whole world has seen what evil Hitler has spawned.

And the Kommandant is too smarmy, too obsequious. No woman liked to be so fawned over. It denotes a lack of real feeling. It says, 'I'm courting you by the book, my dear. I say pretty things to you. You do pretty things to me in return.'

"Not likely, Kommandant. Stick to Frau Linkmeyer."

And you, Maria Helena Falke. Stick to what you want from him.

She turned away from him slightly, as if shy, and patted her hair. Women always primp their hair when in the presence of a man who attracts them. She wondered why the streaks of grey in her reddish brown hair, or the sedate roll, did not put him off. After all, she was thirty-three and prematurely old for her age. She glanced down at her long blue dress, her high brown boots. "The finest legs beneath bloomers." And his colonel agreed with him.

She bit her lips hard to restrain a flow of tears.

Perhaps it's the way I'm dressed. I must remind Herr Klink of his mother. Not for the first time, Doktor Falke wished she could wear shorter skirts. Then she felt the linsey-woolsey fabric of her petticoat against her calf. It was warm, and it covered her blemishes. It was familiar and comforting. No, she would not give them up. Not yet. She needed all the comfort and security she could get. Especially now, she thought, repressing a shiver.

Kommandant Klink offered her some wine. She declined it with thanks.

She bit her lower lip again and summoned up a smile. How am I going to do this? That smile of his. It's like looking at a death's head. Try, Marli! There must be something about him that is positive. Something kind, something generous, something vulnerable. Something we can use to win him over.

Herr Kinchloewen once said, "When cornered, read your enemy's eyes. Don't look away from them. Wait for your moment. Then hit fast and hard." His colonel said, "The only way to diddle Klink is to go in flying and don't stop for breath." Well, meinen Herren, let us hope I've learned from you when to feint and when to strike."

"Herr Kommandant, may I confide in you?"

"Of course, my dear. I am entirely at your service."

"I need to ask a favour of your Sergeant Schultz; but I'm quite sure that he will refuse. I thought, since you are his commanding officer, you could … ." Doktor Falke paused, looking doubtful.

Klink leaned forward, his eyes eager. "Yes, dear lady?"

'Count it out, Doktor." She heard a voice inside her head prompt her. "Five… Six... Seven…Eight…"

She inhaled and looked at him hesitantly. "I was told that Sergeant Schultz owns the Schatze Toy Company." She hastened on. "Now, I am aware that he turned over his factory to the war effort and it is no longer producing toys. But, I was also told that he still has access to his warehouses, and that in them are hundreds of unsold toys."

She gave the kommandant a shrewd look. "The sergeant knows how great is the demand for toys at Christmastime. Parents do not want to disappoint their little ones. Toys are fetching a very high price on the black market right now. Too high, I'm afraid, for me to pay for them out of the Winterhilfe funds alloted to me. Sergeant Schultz knows that. He knows others can meet his high prices."

"Are you saying that Schultz is dealing in the black market? One of my men? Nonsense, Fraulein Doktor."

"The shock and dismay in your voice is a little overdone, mein Herr," she said silently. Then, aloud, "Ja, Herr Kommandant. Your Sergeant Schultz."

Klink's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do you know about it, Fraulein Doktor, unless you've had dealings yourself?"

Doktor Falke shrugged. "Herr Kommandant, you know the ways of the world. If I cannot obtain what I need legitimately for the orphans, or for my needy patients, I must find other sources of supply." She spread her hands helplessly and heaved a sigh. "Little gifts now and then, hints in the right ears, a whisper that one can get a bargain here or there, an offer to trade this for that."

Klink's eyes were fixed on her bosom, waiting for her to heave another sigh. He was almost salivating.

Doktor Falke felt panic rising in her throat. I've never flirted before. Am I overdoing it? What am I involving myself in?

She steadied herself. "With the Schatze Toy Company's reputation for quality, Sergeant Schultz could name the highest price for his toys. He could ask for a king's ransom, and get it.

"Of course, I could denounce him to the authorities as a black marketer; but how would that profit me? The Gestapo would impound the toys – perhaps destroy them - and lock up both Sergeant Schultz and yourself as well, Herr Kommandant."

"Me?" Klink squeaked. "Why would they lock me up?"

"You are his commanding officer, and you are much more intelligent than Sergeant Schultz. They would think you were behind the trading." Doktor Falke hesitated. She did not want to use this card, but Klink was looking unconvinced. "I have heard rumour that Major Hochstetter from the Gestapo has harboured suspicions about you."

She shrugged with apparent nonchalance, while in her heart, she desperately prayed that what she said would not cost the lives of the prisoners of war.

"I know the gossip is unfounded, but you know the crazy things people say. There has been a lot of sabotage in the area. The hospital constantly runs short of splints and surgical thread, not to mention blood plasma. The nurses and I take bandages to wash at home, but there are never enough clean ones to reuse. All because of the sabotage and the enemy bombings. And you have so many soldiers of that same enemy here, nearby, in your camp."

"Of course it's ludicrous," she continued. "I've seen your Luftstalag. After all, I am the Red Cross liaison for the area. It's a model prison camp. The prisoners are locked up tight, and they are so well cared for that they don't even wish to escape. But that Major Hochstetter … ." She shook her head and spread her hands.

Klink no longer looked at her bosom. He looked sick.

"Perhaps you could – persuade – your sergeant to donate the toys to the orphans for Christmas. It would show how patriotic you are, and how generous. There you are, Schultz's commanding officer, convincing your sergeant to turn from the error of his ways. Brightening the lives of the orphaned children of the Reich – the children whose fathers and mothers died for the Fatherland."

Klink brightened up. He straightened his posture. "Ja. They could not say anything against me then, could they?"

"Herr Kommandant, you would be a hero to my little patients. A Saint Nicholas: liberating those imprisoned toys and delivering them safe and sound into their little arms. The children would bless you forever. And think of the prestige! Who could touch you? Everyone would sing your praises. 'Colonel Wilhelm Klink. So noble. So manly. So brave and yet so compassionate. So tender to the little children.' They'll probably write songs about you," Doktor Falke concluded emphatically.

"Ja. Ja. To be immortalized in song." He stood up proudly, all thought both of sex and of self-pity forgotten. His monocle gleamed as he thought of the fame. He strode to the outer door and flung it open.

"Schultz! Schultz! Where is he?" Klink crossed the threshold of the door. "Schultz!!" He stamped his foot in vexation.

What seemed an avalanche of snow fell from the roof, covering the Kommandant from head to foot in a coat of glittering white.

Doktor Falke rushed through the door and guided him back inside. "You must get out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia, Herr Kommandant." Glancing up, she thought she caught a glimpse of a head of fiery red hair at the apex of the roof; but it disappeared from view. "Now into your night attire and into bed. I'll make you a mug of hot tea to keep out the chill – or would you prefer coffee?"

"But I must speak to Schultz."

"You can do that after you are warm and well rested. Now, you must follow doctor's orders." She fussed him into his bedroom and shut the door on him. She crossed into the kitchen, closed the door and leaned against it.

That was close. It wouldn't have helped the cause if the Kommandant discovered that his sergeant of the guard, his senior prisoner of war officer and thirty of the prisoners had taken a trip to Heidelburg in two trucks and his staff car.

Reaching into her coat pocket, Marlena Falke drew out two white pellets. She looked at them. Choral hydrate. She filled the kettle with water and lit the stove. I hope they work in hot drinks as well in cold.

She heard a soft knock on the back door. Cautiously opening it, she saw Group Captain Donovan standing outside. His uniform looked as if he had recently brushed snow off it.

"How are you, m'colleen? Is everything well in hand?"

Doktor Falke showed him the tablets in her hand. "Mickey Finnegans." He chuckled. "So t'is well in hand. From Colonel Hogan, are they?"

"How did you know?" Doktor Falke asked him, surprised.

"Ask Sergeant Kinchloe sometime about how well he slept the night of your last visit but one."

Doktor Falke raised her eyes and shook her fists. "I should've known! And after he promised he'd respect his privacy!"

"He did respect his sergeant's privacy. He guessed correctly what was in the man's letter; but he wanted to stage a surprise for him with the fruitcake. Did it relieve our good Kinchin's heart somewhat?"

She relaxed and gave the group captain a wan smile. "Somewhat, Herr Donovan." She sighed. "If Herr Kinchloewen can forgive his colonel, then I suppose I must."

"Good. I think our bold Robbie's half-way convinced to lift his ban concerning you. He realizes that his two sergeants need your company and you need theirs. If it's for the good of the operation, he'll let them visit you again – so grit your teeth, mavoreen, and act agreeable to him."

"I'll try, Herr Donovan. Thank you for what you just did. What inspired you to do it?"

The group captain grinned. "I enjoyed cooling old Klink's ardour; but t'was Colonel Hogan and his operations manager who inspired it. Good day, m'colleen." He winked at her and left her to her thoughts and the boiling teakettle.

In front of the former offices of the Schatze Toy Company, Heidelburg:

"Colonel Hogan. I do not like this."

"You can't get cold feet now, Schultz. Don't worry. We'll keep you out of it as much as we can."

"That's what you always say."

"And haven't I lived up to it? You're still here and eating strudel, instead of at the Russian Front eating your snowshoes. Brace up and act like a sergeant of the Third Reich guarding two prisoners on a work detail."

Schultz ventured a doubtful glance at the American officer. He had to admit it. From cap to boot, Colonel Hogan looked the epitome of a high-ranking Nazi officer. And the look he directed at Kinchloe and Simms – as if he was clinically regarding two repulsive slugs. No one would guess that he was looking at his own men.

"Very well," Schultz sighed. He put on his gruffest manner. "Stand at attention!" he bawled. "Eyes front! None of your insolence! You are under the command of Sergeant Schultz, the Terror of the Luftwaffe!"

Kinch and Marcus Simms exchanged a glance out of the corners of their eyes. Schultz continued to bawl them out, shouting as loudly as he could to draw everyone's attention from the truck parked nearby and the men emerging from it. Men and women stopped passing to and fro to gape at the two black POW's, and to listen and admire the insults the sergeant flung at them.

Kinchloe's glance shifted imperceptibly to Colonel Hogan.

"If we weren't doing this for the Allied cause…."

"I know, Kinch. Hold tight. They're almost in position."

As Schultz ranted, the trunk of the staff car opened. LeBeau cautiously crept out and closed the lid. He slipped into the shadow of the building. The black leotard he wore made him practically invisible in the darkness.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Olsen, dressed in the uniform of that portion of the Nazi military machine responsible for accomplishing Herr Speer's production objectives, hustled twenty-five other men in civilian workman's attire and eight men in uniforms similar to his own from the back of the truck. Under the shirt or jacket of each man was one of Carter's demolition packs. The explosives were smaller than his standard sized demolition packs, Carter had taken pains to tell them back at Stalag Thirteen, but they caused just as much damage.

The men formed up in lines beside the truck, trying to look as weary and dejected as only conscripted labour could look.

Newkirk, dressed in a neat black suit as an inspector of production, sauntered over from the staff car. Carter, dressed as his assistant, followed close behind, pushing his wire-framed glasses up from the end of his nose. Together, they inspected the men. Newkirk glowered at the motley crew, reminding them with his eyes to remember the instructions they were given back at the prison camp.

"Right. Carter and I will look over the plant with the foreman. You are to walk about, pretending to be on errands or going to the latrines until you get to your assigned area. When you get there, keep out of sight or watch the real workmen and blend in as well as you can. Carter will signal to you where to plant your explosives, or, if you're too far away, he'll signal to Olsen, who will be sauntering about nearby. Plant them and return to the trucks as inconspicuously as possible.

"Olsen, when we're near them, you and your eight stooges must pay special attention to the warehouses. Note the entrances and exits, how heavily each one is guarded, where we can drive our trucks up to it and how well we can keep them concealed from the goons at the gate and in the compound."

"How will we know which warehouses have the toys?" asked Olsen.

"Schultz told Colonel Hogan that his company had six buildings full of toys ready for shipment when the S.S. took over. If all goes well, we'll have time to fill one truck – the one Schultz is bringing Kinch and Simms in. They have to get inside the director's office files and find out which warehouses, if any, still hold the toys. Schultz or the colonel will signal that to us, either themselves or through LeBeau, who will be stationed outside near the office windows.

"We must overpower the goons guarding it and get in and out quickly and quietly. If the guards near the other warehouses see us – well, mates, it will be all up with the lot of us. We'll be shot, either on sight or when they arrest the guys in the office, find out they're from dear old Stalag Thirteen and put two and twenty-seven together.

One of the men spoke up. "Seems like we're playing a lot of this by ear – and just for a load of toys. Why not just set the timers and scram?"

"Look, pal," said Carter coldly. "Colonel Hogan wants it done this way. Schultz is deliberately turning his back on us. Heck, he's even risking his hide for us, so long as we get those toys. I bet he knows what we're really going there to do and he's letting us do it."

"Yeah, mates. We owe him for two years of seeing nothing. If we pay some of it back by helping him honour his family's tradition, I think it's worth the risk. If you don't, then leave right now."

None of the men stirred.

"Right then. Remember to set the timers for 1700 hours – at the change of shift." Newkirk gave Carter a hard look. "That goes for you too, Herr Carterhoff."

"Jawohl, Herr Neukirche!" Carter raised a stiff armed Nazi salute and giggled. Newkirk scowled at him.

Newkirk now concluded the instruction. "Get back here as quick as you can without attracting attention by running. Even a fast trot will look suspicious with this lot. After all, these poor sods are driven hard to fill their production quotas. In the truck and keep the tarpaulin closed. Olsen will drive out the truck you came in on three hours from now and you better be inside it." Newkirk looked at his watch. "Let's go."

Olsen marched the 'workmen' across the open area in front of the office building. As soon as they were out of sight, Colonel Hogan gave an almost imperceptible nod. Kinch coughed softly. Schultz ended his tirade with a menacing glare.

"Raus! Mach schnell!"

The prisoners picked up the ropes and paint buckets at their feet and followed Schultz inside the building.

"Painting detail from Stalag Nine," Schultz grumbled to the man at the marble kiosk in the foyer. He showed them a pass, signed by General Burkhalter and countersigned by the Kommandant of Stalag Nine. Neither signature was genuine. "To paint the office of the director of the factory."

The clerk checked the pass in a bored manner and handed it back. "Ja. Upstairs. Third floor."

Schultz just managed to check himself from saying "I know. It used to be my office." He ushered his charges into the elevator.

The clerk looked up at the next arrival. Never did a face so rapidly change countenance: from boredom to terror to obsequiousness within ten seconds.

"Herr Gruppenfuehrer! Heil Hitler, sir, and welcome to our factory! Please tell me what I may do for you?"

Slapping his leather gloves repeatedly against his left hand, the officer replied in tones of steel. "I wish to see the director of this factory at once. I have come from Berlin on very particular business and will not be kept waiting while guards and prison rats are accommodated ahead of me."

"Of course, Herr Gruppenfuehrer! I assure you, it will not happen again."

"I assure you it will not happen again. Well, why isn't he here to greet me?"

"I – I – I." The desk clerk fumbled at the register. "If the Gruppenfuehrer would honour me by repeating his name?"

Hogan sighed in bored impatience. His glanced at the fat Luftwaffe sergeant and his two black prisoners as they entered the elevator. "I did not state it to you, but it is Hoganschwein. S.S. Gruppenfuehrer Hoganschwein. I have come from Berlin to chat with your director about the regrettable laxness he has permitted this factory to fall into." He added silkily, "I see I must do more than chat with him."

The desk clerk gulped.

"You do not even have my name in your book, do you?"

"Ja, Herr Gruppenfuehrer. Ja. The director is expecting you. He made a point of telling me to give you every assistance. Would you like me to escort you to his office?" Clearly it was the last thing the poor clerk wanted to do.

"Nein." Hogan gave the clerk a wolfish smile. "I shall surprise him. The third floor, did you say?"

"Ja, Herr Gruppenfuehrer." The desk clerk gulped again.

'Gruppenfuehrer Hoganschwein' looked at him beneath hooded eyes. "Danke."

He walked to the elevator, making a point of taking the one not used by the Luftwaffe sergeant and the two black prisoners of war.

They met him in front of the elevator doors on the third floor. He pulled Schultz to one side and glared at Kinch.

"You were supposed to be inside the office by now."

"I know, Colonel, but Schultz won't budge."

Schultz shifted from foot to foot. "Colonel Hogan. What if he recognizes me?"

Hogan laid his palms on the guards wide chest. "Shhh. He won't, Schultz. Trust me. If he's the same guy, he'll have long forgotten what you look like. If he isn't, even better for us. Just close your eyes at the fatal moment." Hogan looked at the quivering sergeant. "Trust me, Schultz."

Schultz shuddered, but he pulled himself erect, took a deep breath and nodded. Hogan nodded back, his smile reassuring.

The four men walked along the corridor. Schultz first. Then Kinchloe and Simms. Colonel Hogan lagged behind; gently closing each open door as he passed by.

Schultz showed his pass to the director's secretary, a prim, narrow nosed, narrow lipped, angular woman.

"Stalag Luft Neun? That's forty miles from here. Why do you bring these men forty miles, just to paint an office?"

Schultz gaped at her foolishly.

"We are very talented painters, Fraulein, and very fast workers." Sergeant Kinchloe gave her his most unctuous smile. "Reichmarshal Goering swears by our work more than he does that of any other prisoner work crew in any of his Luftstalags. I guarantee that we will be in and out of here within an hour."

The secretary looked aghast at the audacity of a prisoner of war – a Negro prisoner of war at that – addressing her, a member of the master race.

Schultz saw Kinch's blunder but could only stare speechlessly at the fuming woman.

"How dare you presume to address this Fraulein!?!!" Colonel Hogan, dressed in his S.S. uniform, struck Kinchloe across the face with his leather gloves and shouted abuse at him. It had the effect of immediately ensuring the secretary's trust. She turned meltingly toward him.

Kinchloe mimed his "The things I have to endure for the operation" look to Corporal Simms behind the secretary's back. Simms looked as impassive as ever. Kinch shot him a glance. Sometimes I think there's Red Indian blood in Simms. I must ask Carter if he has any relatives among the Buffalo Soldiers.

"Is the director in his office, my dear?"

"Nein, Herr Gruppenfuehrer, but we expect him momentarily."

Colonel Hogan looked at his watch. "Surely it must be time for your mid morning Kaffee, Fraulien…"

"Schnittel, Herr Gruppenfuehrer. Gerta Schnittel."

"Gerta. Such a lovely name for such an alluring young woman," Hogan purred.

Simms lips twitched. "Glad to know you're human, Marcus," Kinch said silently.

"I have no pressing need to see Herr Director. Why don't I buy you lunch? We could become better acquainted. Would you like that, Gerta – I mean, Fraulein Schnittel?"

"Oooh, ja, mein Herr! I would like that very much."

"Then let us go, my dear." Hogan turned to Schultz. "You! Take these – these pigs and go about your business." He helped Fraulein Schnittel into her coat, caressing the back of her neck as he did so, to her extreme delight. They left the outer office together.

"That was not very nice, the things he said to you," Schultz said reprovingly to Kinch as the door closed.

"Don't worry about it, Schultzie. He didn't mean them." Kinch and Simms each donned a pair of very supple leather gloves. "Now, stay in the outer office and watch for approaching company."

"What are you going to do, Sergeant Kinchloe?" Schultz asked nervously, grasping Kinch by the elbow as he turned to follow Marcus Simms into the inner office.

"You don't want to know, Schultz. Just make a noise if anyone comes."

He gave Schultz's hand an encouraging pat and closed the door to the inner office in the big German's face.

"I thought Goering swore at our work, not by it," said Marcus Simms.

Kinchloe held his hand against Simms mouth and pointed to the light fixture in the ceiling. Simms nodded an apology. Of course, the office would be wired for sound.

They searched through the papers in the desk and in the cabinets. The noon whistle blew. They glanced at each other, wondering how Newkirk and Carter were faring.

"Gerta, Liebchen. It's your Poopsie Bunny."

"Oh brother," Kinch mouthed to Marcus Simms. They took up their positions, one on either side of the door. Simms fingered the hilt of a knife sheathed at his waist.

"You're not Gerta! Who are you?" The voice was slurred. Kinch glanced at Simms, who nodded. Herr Director was drunk as a skunk.

"I am Sergeant Hans Schultz, of Stalag 13, Herr Director." In his panic, Schultz had forgotten the lies he was to tell. He began to recite his serial number, but was cut off by a curse and a blow.

The two prisoners tensed. The door opened. The Nazi officer walked through. Kinch grabbed him under the chin, snapped his head back and twisted it violently, dragging the body away from the door just as Simms closed it.

"Nicely done," Marcus Simms remarked, watching his companion lay the director down on the open tarpaulin.

"Comes with practice." Kinchloe felt his victim's neck for a pulse, the rose from his crouch with a sigh of satisfaction.

Schultz cautiously opened the door. One side of his face burned red. He looked down at the corpse, then up at the man standing beside it. His jaw dropped. One of his 'cowed' prisoners had killed the director of the factory.

Kinch again pointed to the light. He came to Schultz and whispered in his ear. "We found the plans of the warehouses." He handed the sergeant a file of papers. "From what's on these, it looks like one still has your toys inside it."

Schultz skimmed through the papers. "Ja. They are in there." He gazed down at the body of the director. His face hardened. This man had taken away his factory, and with it, his self-respect. "But how do we get them out?"

Kinch smiled a grim smile. "Leave that to Colonel Hogan. Help Simms get rid of 'Poopsie', will you? I've got other work to do."

A very officious manager was conducting Carter and Newkirk, disguised as production officers, around the rifle assembly plant.

"This used to be the Schatze Toy Company factory, gentlemen. Of course, we had to change a lot inside the plant when we converted it from toys to weapons."

"From toy rifles to the real McCoy – I mean the real Mauser," corrected Carter hastily.

"My colleague, Herr Carterhoff, watched too many American Western movies when he was a little boy." Newkirk said quickly, scowling at his companion. "I'm afraid that National Socialism has not yet cured him of all his regrettable errors."

"Surely, Herr Neukirche, watching American Westerns is not so regrettable. I was fond of Tom Mix when I was ein Jugend."

"It is not the forward thinking way of our beloved Fuehrer, Herr Foremann. He does not admire the Americans. For the British, he as a reluctant respect; but to him the Americans are too interbred."

"Jawohl, Herr Neukirche. You are quite right. I will adjust my thinking accordingly."

"I hope that there are no vulgar American toys lurking in odd corners of this factory. This Schultz, the former owner of the factory, did he make any toys similar to the Americans?"

"Oh no, sir. He used American production methods, I regret to say; but that was because this factory produced so many toys. It was the largest and most prestigious toy factory in Germany, perhaps in all of Europe. The Schatze Toy Company filled orders from all over the world. It could not keep up with the demand for quality toys."

"Better toys than the Americans?"

"Much better, mein Herr."

"I would like to see some of these toys," Herr Carterhoff growled. "Are there any about?"

"Oh Jawohl. There is an entire warehouse full of unsold toys. Let me show them to you at once."

The fussy little manager let the way through the compound of the factory until they came to a large building near the railway tracks. "They were to be shipped to England, France and the Netherlands for Christmas four years ago, meinen Herren. But then our glorious armies swept through Poland, and those countries declared war upon us."

He looked around conspiratorially. "In confidence, there used to be six such warehouses full of toys; but Herr Goebbels and Herr Goering took most of the toys for their children and those of their friends. In fact, there were some toys in the vaults here that were made by Gunther Schultze, the founder of the Schatze Toy Company. I did not see them myself, naturally; but it was said they were very beautiful and very valuable. Of the finest craftsmanship. Herr Goering presented some of the lesser pieces to der Fuehrer. The rarer toys…." The manager shrugged.

Poor Schultzie. They did not leave him his own family heirlooms. Newkirk gritted his teeth to keep his fraying temper in check.

The manager conducted them through the warehouse, pointing out the location of each type of toy. Carter asked to see an example of each one. While he examined the toys with the manager and commented on their workmanship, Newkirk looked around the warehouse, noting entrances and exits, sizes and distances. There were not a vast number of toys in the warehouse, but there were enough to satisfy all on Doktor Falke's list, if they could get them out without getting caught. He shook hands with the manager, nudging Carter to do likewise.

"We must see the head of the factory before we leave to report to Herr Speer," Herr Carterhoff drew on his gloves. "Would you conduct us to his office, bitte?"

"With the greatest pleasure, gentlemen. Come, it's this way."

LeBeau crawled out from under the last vehicle. "There. When the filthy Boche leave tonight, they will not be leaving through the gate." It had been risky going back and forth from the trunk of Klink's staff car to the other vehicles in the parking lot, but it was worth the risk. He had wired a demolition pack beneath almost every car and truck except those he and his fellow prisoners had come in. They were set to go off just before those in the factory. The confusion will be greater if the big brass who give the orders were dead or critically injured.

The colonél will drive Klink's car out of the factory. Newkirk and Carter will ride with him. Olsen will drive out with his sabotage squad in the rear of one truck. Schultz will take the other truck with the toys hidden inside it, and Kinch and Simms inside it as well.

LeBeau had watched in gleeful satisfaction as the Nazi director heaved himself out of the driver's seat of his Mercedes-Benz and staggered into the building. Kinch and Simms would have no trouble subduing that couchon. Now he saw Newkirk and Carter enter the office building, escorted by an obsequious little man who must be the plant manager. Carter glanced anxiously his way but Newkirk tugged his colleague's sleeve and shot him a dirty look.

The sound of an engine coughing into life arrested LeBeau's attention. The truck carrying the 'conscripted labour', with Olsen at the wheel, was leaving the compound. He watched it stop at the checkpoint, then heaved a sigh of relief as it passed through the gate. He glanced at his wristwatch. 1225 hours. So far, everything was proceeding on time.

Newkirk and Carter exchanged 'Heil Hitler's' with the manager inside the outer door of the former Schatze Toy Company's office building.

"I thought he'd never leave," Newkirk grumbled.

Carter stifled a giggle.

The English corporal in the German suit sauntered around the lobby. All was almost as Doktor Falke had described it to them. The great green and white marble information desk was in its place, but the rose and trumpet logo of the Schatze Toy Company was gone, replaced by a large ugly swastika. The re-enforced glass showcase still held pride of place in the center of the rotunda, although instead of toys, it held flags and pictures of Hitler and his upper echelon flunkeys.

Newkirk gave the display a cursory glance. He was looking for something else.

Carter, walking at his side, tried to emulate his friend's nonchalance, but he kept darting little glances at everyone they passed by. He knew what Newkirk was after – the plaque that announced to the world that the Schatze Toy Company bore the honour of Toy Maker to the King. It would imperil their lives and their mission, trying to steal it here and now, but Newkirk wanted that plaque for Schultz.

The young American touched his companion's sleeve. A handsome, dark haired man had just stopped the woman he was escorting from entering the elevator. He was looking in their direction. Now he had left the woman and was coming toward them.

"Bloody hell," Newkirk whispered.

The man stopped in front of them and raised his hand in the stiff armed 'Heil Hitler' salute. Both men responded with identical salutes.

"What are you two playing at now?" Colonel Hogan demanded, sotto voce.

"We want to get Schultzie's plaque for him, sir," Newkirk replied, shamefaced.

"If it goes kaput with the rest of the place… ." Carter quailed under the furious frown of his commanding officer.

"Look. You'll need a diversion. Wait here, then follow me upstairs."

He walked back to the woman. "Gerta, Liebling. Those two men have been waiting for your boss to escort them around the plant, but he has not set foot inside his office. Do you know where he may be?"

"That stuffed hog? Since the two Schwartze are repainting his office, he is probably in one of the others, sleeping off his morning schnapps."

"No, darling. They have checked and he is not in the building. It is very important that he must be found. These men are personal assistants of Herr Speer himself and it will not go well for this plant if Herr Speer's assistants are kept waiting any longer."

"I do not care."

"But I would care."

"Would you really care, dearest?" Greta batted her eyelashes at him.

"Ja. That I would. My wife is Herr Speer's first cousin and very jealous of any woman who even looks at me. She can be very unpleasant." Hogan shook his head and sighed. "Maria. Poor Maria."

"Is that the name of your wife?"

"No. Only one of her victims. There was Gizela, Heidi, Anna, Magdala, Hanna. Like moths around a flame, they perished. Three in concentration camps after intensive interrogation. Maria was exposed to a corrosive acid. Heidi was thrown beneath a bus. Very messy deaths. Those men would report our meeting to Herr Speer at once." The 'Gruppenfuehrer' sighed dramatically. "He is very devoted to his cousin."

"Oh." Gerta backed away. "Perhaps I should see if Herr Director is inspecting production in the shop." She continued to back away. Auf Wie – I mean Guten Tag – I mean 'Heil Hitler.'"

The secretary moved out the door as fast as her dignity and her sensible shoes could take her.

"Heil Hassenfeffer." Colonel Hogan muttered with a smile, turning away on his heel. He walked to the elevator. Newkirk and Carter entered it just as the doors began to close.

"That took too much time. We've got to get out of here before she blows the whistle."

"But Schultz's plaque, sir!"

"We'll get it when we leave. Right now we have to get Kinch and Simms out of here."

He exited the elevator just as the doors opened and walked briskly along the corridor. Carter and Newkirk trotted at his heels.

He passed Schultz and entered the inner office. Kinch climbed down from the director's table, holding the listening device he had snipped from the light fixture. He refastened his jacket; hiding the toolbelt he wore around his waist, and dropped the director's wallet, papers and car keys into Newkirk's outstretched palm.

"What kept you, sir? The girl was too eager?"

"Yeah. It's getting harder to shake them off. Everything set to blow up here?"

"Simms is just finishing his part of it, sir."

"Ok. Where's our target?"

Kinch pointed to the diagram. "Appears Warehouse Number Two's the one."

"Kinch is right. It's Warehouse Two." Carter broke in. "We've seen inside, Colonel. Lots of toys."

"And Krauts?"

"Two at each entrance."

"And two entrances. One in the compound. One facing the railway tracks."

Schultz entered the inner office. Simms nodded to them from behind his back.

"Colonel Hogan! What are you going to do?"

"We're going to get your toys for you, Schultz. Isn't that what you want?"

"Ja. I do. But Sergeant Kinchloe killed the director. A very important person. When they find his corpse, they'll look for us."

Crossing his arms, Hogan glared into the big guard's face. "Schultz, are you in with us or not? If not, ring up Hochstetter now and give us all up – including yourself. If you are in with us, then sit quietly and let us do the work. It's up to you."

Schultz looked at the men around him. He saw the determination in each face. "I will wait outside. That way I will know nothing much more easily. Danke, Colonel Hogan. Danke, gentlemen." He tiptoed from the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Hogan let out an impatient breath. "O.k. Olsen and his elves have probably changed uniforms by now. They should be coming through the gate by 1300 hours. Kinch. Simms. These two want to grab Schultz's plaque on the way out. It'll mean staging a fight. One or both of you might get hurt or be put under restraint. Are you willing to take the risk?

James Ivan Kinchloe and Marcus Simms looked at each other.

"How long do you need, Newkirk?" Kinch asked.

"Five minutes and a screwdriver."

Kinch tossed over his multiplex pocket knife. "There should be one there. One change though. I fight Carter, not Simms."

"But I need to install my demolition pack in the foyer!" Carter said.

"And I need Carter to stand in front of me as a screen," Newkirk protested.

Hogan raised his hand. "Kinch is half right. It's more realistic if he fights a Kraut, rather than Simms. But, Kinch. Carter can't hold out against you for a moment. Attack me."

"You, Colonel? No."

"You want a tame Kraut to fight. I'm the only one available that will give you enough to make it look interesting. Don't pull your punches; but try not to hurt me too hard."

"What do we do about Schultz?" Newkirk asked. "He'll give the game away on the first blow."

"Simms, break away before Kinch and I start swinging. Make Schultz chase you outside. Give us five minutes; then let him capture you. Understood?"

Simms nodded. "Right, sir."

Hogan smiled at the lithe corporal. "Try not to get shot, Simms."

Simms grimaced. "Same to you, Colonel."

Carter turned from the window. "LeBeau's signalling. The guys are coming back through the gate. Oh, no! That woman you were with is coming back."

"Alone?"

"No. With that foreman."

"Any guards with them?"

"No, sir."

"Then our luck is still holding. I'll go, meet them in the foyer, and bring them upstairs." He glanced at the two black soldiers. "I'll take the lady. You two can toss for the man." He said as he left the room.

Simms looked at Kinchloe.

"My turn, Sergeant."

"Be my guest, Corporal."

"Don't kill him, Simms. He's really a nice guy." Carter interjected.

"Carter, we don't know any of the underground around here and we've no way to contact them to pick him up," Kinch argued.

"Then we'll have to take him with us when we leave and dump him in the woods outside of town on the way home."

All three men stared at Carter.

"All right, Andrew." Kinch smiled reluctantly. "Since it's Christmas."

Newkirk shook his head. "I hope you'll have room in the truck. I don't want to hear his nattering all the way back to camp if he's in the staff car with us."

They heard voices coming from the outer office. "Herr Formann, the plans should be in the desk. Third drawer down on the left."

Kinch and Simms took up their positions. Simms also took up a wooden chair. The door opened and Simms brought the chair down hard. The little man crumpled before he got more than two steps inside.

"A second too soon," Kinch remarked.

"Perfectionist," Simms grumbled amiably.

"Will you two stop arguing, send out Carter and Newkirk to guide the guys to the warehouse, and help me tie up the lovely Gerta?"

All four men exchanged their "the things we must do for this operation" expressions. Simms picked up one coil of rope and ushered Carter and Newkirk outside.

Kinch uncoiled the other rope. I hope Schultz and those kids will appreciate what we're going through for their sakes, he said as he bound Herr Formann's arms.

The twenty-five men, now wearing S.S. uniforms, formed a human chain, passing toys into the truck parked outside the railway loading dock entrance to the warehouse under Newkirk's and Carter's direction.

LeBeau made his way stealthily through the service entrance of the office building and downstairs to the basement. He planted his last demolition pack in the electrical room, next to the generator. He noted that the wiring was old, perhaps dating from the time of Schultz's grandfather. It will short out easily. With a few papers soaked in kerosene, he could make a very cheery blaze. Klink had left his newspaper in his staff car and there was a can of lighter fluid in the glove compartment. LeBeau cocked his head. Why not?

Guided by Schultz, Kinch and Simms carried their human burdens down the service stairwell and deposited them in the back of Olsen's truck next to a cache of toys.

The two men guarding it nudged each other. "Hey, a dame! Just what I wanted for Christmas, Schultzie!"

"Just keep them bound and blindfolded, Seaton," Kinch growled. "The less they know and the more fearful they are, the better for all of us."

"I hope they don't come to before we leave. Knocking in the motor we can explain away, but knocking in the back of a truck? That's not so easy."

"Schultz," Kinch laid a hand on his arm. "Promise us. Don't get involved in anything that happens in the next hour."

"How can I get involved when I do not know what is going on?"

"Just keep it that way, Schultzie, and we'll all be o.k. Just get out and to the truck with the toys."

They saw LeBeau emerge from the office building. Schultz's eyes bugged out and he began to stutter.

"Get in the Kommandant's car, Louis. This truck's already occupied."

"I will, mes amis. I just need to borrow something from Klink. Hello, Schultzie."

"LeBeau! What are you doing here?"

LeBeau patted Schultz's belly. "Do not ask me, my friend. Then I will not lie to you."

They heard the rumble of a truck, approaching from the direction of the warehouses. Olsen parked it beside them. Newkirk, Carter and eight men, carrying rifles, jumped from the tailgate.

"We've got the second lot, gents," Newkirk informed them. "Almost all your leftover stock, Schultz. It's quite crowded back there, what with the men and all."

"I hope the Krauts in the compound won't notice a few of their guards are missing." Olsen said.

"Plus a few boxes of rifles and ammunition." Carter added, grinning.

Schultz squeezed his eyes shut. "I know noth-ing. I see noth-ing."

"We thought, Kinch, that if you're going to be arrested, you might as well be arrested by your friends."

The corner of Kinch's lip twitched. "Thoughtful of you, Olsen. Stick around. You may have to arrest everyone else in the building."

"As well as the two of us." Carter chortled. "Don't worry, Kinch. Newkirk and I will get what we came for."

"Well, you just better. I'm not looking forward to facing death because I struck my commanding officer, even with his permission. The Krauts will think I punched an S.S. Gruppenfuehrer, remember? I'll be lucky if they don't lynch me on the spot."

"They won't," said Olsen. "You've got us protecting you."

Kinch shook his head and heaved a sigh. "Well, at least my sister got married. She won't be alone in the world. Tell Doktor Falke I prefer roses to lilies on my grave. Blood red ones, if she can get them."

He clapped Simms on the back. "Let's get back up the service stairs, guys, and get it over with."

Colonel Hogan scanned the foyer from the second floor landing. Newkirk and Carter were in position near the plaque. Two burly guards stood on either side of the entrance door. He could just glimpse Olsen and his gang of eight through the plate glass door, loitering outside on the steps. Simms has to get past those gorillas and past the guys, so that they can block them from getting him. He's also got quite a distance to sprint if he's going to make it to the staff car.

He hoped that LeBeau was safely curled up in the trunk of Kommandant Klink's car, and that their two unexpected guests were still out cold in the truck.

Good luck to us all, he wished as he descended the stairs. He kept the numbers of the elevator visible to the corner of his right eye. Everything had to look spontaneous or they'd be seeing Great-Grandpa Gunther Schultze sooner than they desired to.

The elevator doors opened. Marcus Simms dashed past, jogging the colonel's elbow.

Colonel Hogan spewed a stream of curses and insults at him. Kinch spun him around and socked him on the jaw just as Simms passed between the two goons at the door. The sergeant shifted his punch aside and he didn't put his might into it, but the blow still stung and Hogan's senses reeled. Kinch had to grab the front of his uniform to keep him from falling.

True to his words, Schultz just stood there with his eyes closed, whimpering that he knew nothing of what was happening around him.

Olsen and his eight men poured across the threshold, but they didn't block the two goons guarding the door. The goons had decided to go for Kinch rather than Simms. Olsen managed to get his eight men between the goons and the fighters.

There was only one thing for Colonel Hogan to do. They were here to stage a fight, so a fight there would have to be. Barking out an order in German for Olsen to hold back the crowd so he can teach this Sweinhund manners, he gave Kinch a right cross, which the black sergeant blocked, followed by a left uppercut that connected. If Kinch wasn't strong and well trained, he would've went down beneath it. As it was, he came back hard with his right.

The two men had sparred in friendly fashion back at camp. Although the colonel was not up to his sergeant's skill, he could give back as good as he got. But now they had to make the fight look both realistic and hostile. Their lives, and those of at least thirty other men, were the stake.

Newkirk worked Kinchloe's pocket screwdriver manically. The precious plaque had been screwed on tight with both Germanic pride and thoroughness when the building was dedicated in 1883. The screws were rusted, but the rust held well. If he was doing the fighting and Kinch was prying the plaque loose, it would've come away in a moment. As it was …

"Come on! Carter muttered. "They can't keep it up much longer!"

"God help us, I can't get the bloody thing off!"

Newkirk tugged on the plaque in despair. He saw Kinch and Simms tortured to death, Colonel Hogan in front of a firing squad, Carter hung by the neck. God help us. He prayed. He wedged his fingers between plaque and wall and, squeezing his eyes shut, desperately tugged again, as hard as he could. With a 'crack', the plaque separated from the wall. He stared at it, as if he could not believe that it was actually in his hands. Then he quickly slid it under his coat.

"Come on, Andrew! Let's get out of here!" The two men slipped out the door and walked briskly to the staff car. It was all they could do to keep from running. They opened the doors, got inside. Newkirk turned on the ignition. Marcus Simms popped his head up from the floor of the back seat. "Aren't we waiting for Kinch and the colonel?"

"Colonel Hogan ordered us to get out the moment we got the plaque."

"You're going to leave them inside there?"

"They'll be all right, Simms." I hope they'll be all right.

Newkirk put the car into gear and drove toward the main gate.

Colonel Hogan saw Newkirk and Carter walk out the door. His eyes met those of his opponent. The message and its acknowledgement flashed between them. The colonel delivered a right cross that sent Kinch sprawling to the floor.

He shouted at Schultz. "Get this scum out of my sight."

Schultz moved forward like a sleepwalker. "Jawohl, Herr Gruppenfuehrer," he murmured in a daze, responding to the uniform rather than to the man inside it. Olsen and Schultz together pulled a dazed looking Kinch to his feet and, with Olsen's eight men surrounding them, rifles at the ready, half led, half dragged him out the door.

Colonel Hogan brushed imaginary specks of dust from his sleeves and coolly examined his fingernails. He turned on his heel and sauntered through the foyer, passing guards and office staff without seeming to notice their stares of wonder and satisfaction. He walked through a small door in the back, then through a corridor to the service entrance of the building. He calmly walked to the truck containing the toys.

Sergeant Olsen smartly saluted and opened the passenger door. Colonel Hogan glanced beneath the seat.

"I didn't hurt you too much, did I, Kinch?" he asked as he climbed into the cab.

"Didn't feel it at all, Colonel."

"I sure felt you."

"I guess I don't know my own strength, sir."

Hogan chuckled. "You and Donovan. Two of a kind."

"Thanks for the compliment, Colonel. The Group-Captain's quite a man." Kinch smiled, and stretched out under the seat of the cab. Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Olsen covered him from view with the skirts of their long coats.

"Where's Schultz?"

"In the back of the other truck, Colonel, being tended to for shock by the other guys. Captain Margitsen's driving."

"Good. To the warehouse the underground found for us in Hammelburg, Olsen. Then home to Stalag Thirteen."

In the children's ward of the hospital in Hammelburg. 7 p.m. 1900 hours December 27, 1943:

The ringing telephone could hardly be heard through the sounds of the children's excited laughter and squeals. The adult patients sat back, Schnapps, wine or mulled Apfelsaft in hand, enjoying every shriek of joy or cry of delight. Even Kommandant Klink beamed at the children through his monocle.

Sergeant Schultz, wearing a false white beard and draped in the gaudiest bathrobe ever beheld by mortal eyes, handed a doll to Sergeant Kinchloe, who was wearing the second gaudiest bathrobe ever beheld by mortal eyes, as well as a crimson turban with a long white feather in its center. Schultz's blue eyes twinkled. He was having the time of his life, and so was Kinch.

Marlena Falke, when she beheld him entering the ward in Schultz's wake with Newkirk, Carter and LeBeau, nearly collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Kinch made a graceful salaam before her. "You wanted 'Schwartze Pieter', Doktor Falke. Here he is."

"I didn't think you'd do it, Sergeant Kinchloe." She smiled up at him. "Thank you so much."

"No. Thank-you, Fraulein Doktor. I wanted to repay you for your wise advice." He spread out his arms. The material hung in folds to the floor like a stage curtain. "Schultzie's second best bathrobe. Newkirk and LeBeau put in quite a few nips and tucks, but I'm drowning in it."

"Then I'm even more grateful to you, mein Freund," she whispered.

The two colonels stood by the punchbowl. Kommandant Klink stroked his shaven chin, perplexed.

"You know, Hogan? Dressed like that, your Sergeant Kinchloe reminds me of someone." Klink shook his head. "I can't place who it could be."

"And I hope you never do," Colonel Hogan replied inwardly. One thing neither he nor Kinch needed was for Klink to be reminded of Prince Makabana, the African ruler that Kinchloe impersonated a year ago in order to obtain new-style German currency for their operation.

Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau were dressed, like their colonel, in their usual uniforms. Worn and patched though they were, they made a delightful contrast to the drab grey uniforms of their guards.

The children loved Carter immediately. He looked so funny, and so reassuringly German. Everyone's Cousin Fritz. Even before he began to hand out the toys Schultz put into his hands, the smallest ones were already pulling on his pant legs and reaching up to him with demands to be held. The gangly American Sergeant did the best he could to satisfy them all. Neither Colonel Hogan nor his men could remember seeing such a wide grin stretch Carter's lips, not even when they blew up the Kessling oil refinery.

Newkirk's accent was also a hit with the children. The English corporal had to remind himself constantly not to lapse into German when he spoke to them, and to look at all times as if he did not understand a word they were saying. It made for some very droll expressions. He gave his audience every accent and every magic trick in his repertoire and he visibly luxuriated in the applause he received.

Indeed, Comedy knows no barriers, Doktor Falke had thought as she watched him pull candies and pfenning pieces from LeBeau's hair and ears and toss them at the children lying in their beds.

LeBeau had put aside his animosity toward all things Boche that night. He even put aside his rancour toward Newkirk's heavy handed teasing, acting without complaint as his fellow corporal's stooge. At this moment, he was assisting Sergeants Schultz and Kinchloe in distributing the gifts: bowing to each little girl and boy with his own unique brand of Gallic charm as he presented the toy.

Seeing his colleague was in such good humour, Kinch whipped off LeBeau's cap and placed his turban on the Frenchman's head. The two men, tall and small, bowed low to each other. The feather on the turban brushed against the sergeant's nose. He sneezed theatrically, blowing LeBeau just as theatrically backward against Newkirk, who fell forward against Carter, who fell against Schultz's massive girth. Everyone in the room roared with laughter.

"'Rob Hogan and His Four Stooges'", Colonel Hogan remarked, not entirely sotto voce.

Kinch grinned back at him, catching on. "Curly. Larry. Shemp and LeBeau," he replied, pointing in turn at Carter and himself, then putting his hands on the shoulders of Newkirk and LeBeau. "All at your service, Colonel."

"Qu'est-ce qui, 'Shemp'?" LeBeau asked Newkirk, who shrugged and shook his head. "Americans. Who can figure them?"

A nurse tugged at Doktor Falke's sleeve and mimed holding a telephone receiver to her ear. The doctor nodded. She shot a nervous glance at Colonel Hogan and followed the nurse from the room.

"Heil Hitler!" She spoke into the telephone receiver. She hated using that obligatory greeting, especially at this time, but rather that than arrest by the Gestapo, which could result in worse indignities. "Hello? Who is this? Oh, Captain Gruber from the Luftstalag. Ja? What a tragedy! Completely destroyed? Jawohl. I'll bring the Kommandant to the telephone. Please tell the hospitals in Heidelburg we will assist them in any way we can. Jawohl. Hold, bitte, and I'll locate Kommandant Klink."

She slowly put down the telephone receiver. 'The Schatze Toy Company. By Royal Appointment, First Toy Maker to the King.' For two hundred years the finest toy company in Germany. Internationally famous. Destroyed in less than half an hour.

"Fraulein Doktor? Why are you staring as if you've seen a ghost? Are you ill?" the nurse asked.

"Nein, Schwester. Could you bring Kommandant Klink to the telephone, bitte? And Sergeant Schultz. Bring him too. I need to speak to him immediately."

"Jawohl, Fraulein Doktor."

What do I tell him? Everything his family accomplished. All the fine, wonderful, decent things his company stood for – rubble and ashes. And I helped to destroy it.

"Doktor Falke?" She looked up at Schultz, still wearing his ridiculous bathrobe and beard. "You wanted to see me, Fraulein Doktor?"

She looked across at Kommandant Klink, jabbering into the telephone. Then she looked beyond Schultz, to Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Kinchloe.

"How do I tell him?" her eyes begged them for an answer.

She took a deep, deep breath. "Sergeant Schultz. Herr Schultz…"

"Doktor." Kinch interrupted her gently. "Maybe Schultz would rather hear it in privacy."

"You are right. Of course." Doktor Falke led them to an empty room. She motioned them inside. Colonel Hogan shook his head.

"Kinch and I will wait out here. Don't be afraid to tell him, Marlena. I think he already knows what you'll say." The colonel squeezed her forearm. "Don't say too much."

"Doktor…" Kinch began.

"I know, dear mein Herr. I can see from your faces that you do not like seeing Herr Schultz suffer. It comforts me."

She took a deep breath, walked over the threshold, and closed the door behind her.

Schultz sat on the bed, looking expectantly at her.

"Sergeant Schultz. I have bad news for you. Captain Gruber received a telephone message from the Gestapo in Heidelburg."

Schultz straightened up in alarm.

"No. It's not your family. They're safe and unmolested," she reassured him. She took another deep breath. "Your factory and warehouses are destroyed. They believe it was sabotaged by resistance agents who infiltrated the plant."

"My factory." Schultz said dully. He shook his head. "Nein, Fraulein Doktor. Not my factory. Not since the war began." He looked at Doktor Falke and said softly. "They made it into an evil place. I am happy that it is destroyed. I bless those who destroyed it."

Doktor Falke looked at him incredulously. "All your lifework. Your family's legacy. And you are glad it's gone?"

Schultz gave her a gentle smile. "That is not gone, Fraulein Doktor. Do you hear the children laughing right now? That is my family's legacy. I want to carry that to my grave."

"Can you rebuild?"

"I hope so, after the war is over, although where I will get the money to do it…. Maybe the Englander Newkirk will let me win a few thousand poker games, although Colonel Hogan once told me that in matters of money, Newkirk will go so far and no further."

Schultz rose and opened the door. "Colonel Hogan. Sergeant Kinchloe. Come inside, bitte."

The two men entered warily. Schultz carefully shut the door behind them.

"What's up, Schultzie?"

"Fraulein Doktor Falke just told me that my toy factory has been destroyed. The Gestapo say it was sabotaged."

"Was it, really?"

"That's hard luck, Schultzie."

"It would be, Sergeant Kinchloe, if they were still making toys in it. As that was not happening…" Schultz shrugged. "Why should I care?"

"You're really taking it well, Schultz." Colonel Hogan sounded sincerely impressed.

"I just thought you'd like to know. That is all."

"Schultz," Kinch said, "I'm not sure how much money I've got coming to me after I get home; but if you're going to rebuild your company, would you consider my investing in it?"

"And me as well, Schultz? We promise we won't take it over from you."

"Yeah. What do we know about making toys?"

"That is very generous, gentlemen. When the war is over, I will consider your offers very carefully."

"You won't accept them now?"

"Now, it would mean my life, trading with the enemy. After the war, when we are friends, perhaps. If I can learn to trust you in the meantime, which I doubt."

The two Americans exchanged wryly amused glances. Doktor Falke bit her lower lip to keep from laughing at them.

Colonel Hogan laid a hand on Schultz's broad arm. "You know, I've always thought you're smarter than you look."

Schultz smirked. "Well, Colonel Hogan. Now you have your proof."

He bowed and held out his arm. "Shall we return to the children, Fraulein Doktor?"

Doktor Falke laid her hand upon it. "I have to alert the emergency staffs and the other surgeons; but I do want to see the children laughing just once again."

Hogan and Kinchloe watched them leave the room.

"I had word from the underground in Heidelburg, Colonel. Doktor Falke and her colleagues will have a long wait. The bridges surrounding the plant are out of commission."

The colonel rose and the sergeant followed him to the door, just in time to see Schultz swing Doktor Falke into his arms and waltz her down the hall. His hearty laughter flowed back to them.

"He's taking it rather well."

"Better than I would've done, Colonel."

Colonel Hogan smiled. "It seems you're not the only one around here who distrusts me, Kinch."

"I don't distrust you, Colonel. I just prefer to watch my back when you've got that gleam in your eyes." Kinch gave him an arch look. "Now Doktor Falke. She distrusts you."

"She's also smarter than she looks. And she'd look too smart for her own good if she were in shorter skirts." He saw Marlena Falke's ankle length skirt bell out as Schultz turned her. He also saw her glowing, laughing face. "I think I'll get LeBeau to design her a frock for her birthday."

"She won't wear it, sir."

"Bet she will, Kinch."

"In London, Colonel? We plan to send her home soon, remember?"

"I remember. It may score her extra points with the Allied High Command to show the greatest legs ever hidden beneath bloomers."

"Colonel Hogan. Those are her legs and she wants them kept hidden."

"Five bucks, Kinch."

"Fifty, Colonel."

"Done."

Stalag Luft 13 Kommandant Wilhelm Klink's office. December 29, 1943. 11:23am 1123 hours

"Hogan, I called you here on a very serious matter concerning the demolition of the toy factory." Klink glanced at them nervously. "I just had a visit from Hochstetter. He told me that a number of very strange occurrences happened at the factory that day. Sifting through the rubble of the office building, they found the charred body of the director – dead of a broken neck. Fraulein Schnittel, his secretary, was interrogated. She claimed that the only people in the director's office that day were a pair of Negro prisoners of war and their guard from Stalag Nine on a work detail. A work detail that neither its Kommandant nor General Burkhalter authorized. Their descriptions match those of Schultz and your men Kinchloe and Simms."

Doktor Falke spoke up quickly. "But Herr Kommandant, it could not have been Sergeant Kinchloe and Corporal Simms! I saw them here! They were shovelling the heavy snow from the roof of your quarters. Remember? It came down all over you."

"What were they doing on the roof of my quarters?"

"Getting the snow off, before the roof collapsed under its weight," Colonel Hogan explained hastily. "Kinch has an eye for spotting potential disasters. The moment he saw all that snow on your roof, he pointed out to me what would happen. We couldn't risk our beloved Kommandant getting hurt, so I ordered him and Simms to get up on the roof and shovel it off." He turned to Schultz. "You even supervised them."

"I did?" Schultz looked confused. Colonel Hogan pressed his foot down on top of his. "Oh, ja! I did." He looked earnestly at Klink. "I was standing right beside Colonel Hogan, supervising."

"And letting them dump all that snow on top of my head. Dummkopf! I could have contracted pneumonia." He shook his fist in Schultz's face.

"But you didn't, Herr Kommandant." Schultz smiled. "Doktor Falke was there, and she got you into bed just in time."

"So, you see, Herr Kommandant, those men could not have been at the factory at the time they were here."

"But Fraulein Schnittel said two black prisoners and their guard came from Stalag Nine to paint the director's quarters, and their descriptions match Kinchloe, Simms and Schultz."

"Kommandant, are you going to believe your own eyes and those of the good doctor here? Or are you going to believe the ravings of a woman who probably killed her lover and who was caught near the factory when it blew up. I bet the next thing she said was that she saw me there."

"Well, she was seen that day with an S.S. Gruppenfuehrer who resembled you." Klink looked Hogan over thoughtfully. Schultz gulped. Doktor Falke clutched her gloves tight in her hand.

Klink came to a decision.

"No. It could not have been you. Or them. The Gruppenfuehrer left the office in Fraulein Schnittel's company and the other three men never left the office at all, except under heavy guard. How could they have blown up the plant? Doubtless, the woman is covering up her own crime with some far fetched story."

"And of course Fraulein Doktor Falke saw the prisoners outside your quarters, shovelling snow, with me there as well, supervising them," Schultz pointed out.

"You'll verify that, Fraulein Doktor?"

"Of course, Herr Kommandant. But the Gestapo won't need my word when your own carries so much influence. After all, with your eagle eyes, you must have seen Sergeant Schultz and the men who dumped the snow over you."

Klink looked doubtful, and a little frightened.

"The only alternative is that you permitted your guard and two or three of your prisoners to blow up a vital factory."

Klink now looked only frightened.

"And since you saw them here, and I saw them here, and Sergeant Schultz said he was supervising them here, they must have been here."

"Ja. Ja. You are right, Fraulein Doktor. Fraulein Schnittel is only one voice against six." The Kommandant waved his hand in dismissal. "Go tend to Carter's bellyache, Fraulein Doktor, and let me tend to my paperwork."

The two men saluted Klink. Schultz held the door open. Hogan cupped his hand under Doktor Falke's elbow. Together, the two men escorted her outside the Kommandantur and across the compound to Barracks Two.

Schultz winked at Doktor Falke, gently punched Colonel Hogan's arm and let them enter the barracks without him.

Colonel Hogan looked her up and down. "What a cool liar you are, Marlena Falke."

Doktor Falke gave him a little smile. "I could not let them hang you, could I?"

The four men of Colonel Hogan's inner circle gathered around them. The colonel led them into his 'office' and shut the door.

"Fellas, I've decided that since Fraulein Doktor Maria Helena Falke is for better or worse one of us, she should be treated as one of us." He looked her straight in the eyes. "I'm lifting the ban on visits, but watch yourself and your tongue, Marlena Falke."

"And that goes for all of you," he added, looking around at the happy expressions on the faces of his men. "Hochstetter's stupid but nasty. With him on the prowl – well, even a look may put him onto us."

Marlena smiled. "I'll remember, Colonel Hogan. Thank you."

"And we won't let her forget. No, sir!" Carter put his arm around Doktor Falke's waist and, to her surprise, suddenly kissed her on her lips. She blushed crimson.

"How does he rate, Doktor?" Kinch laughed.

She smoothed down her skirt, but couldn't hide the dimples in her flushed cheeks. "On par with you and Corporal Newkirk. I have no favourites."

"That is because I have not yet kissed you," said Corporal LeBeau, doing just that. "Well, ma chére?"

Doktor Falke assumed an air of indifference, but she blushed even redder.

"You need a standard for comparison, Marlena." Colonel Hogan took her in his arms and gave her a long, lingering kiss that left her breathless and weak in the knees. "Well?" he asked as he released her.

Kinch caught and held her against his chest until she recovered. "Not bad, Colonel Hogan," she replied.

"Not bad?!? Is that all you can say?!?"

She looked up at Kinch, squeezing his hand as he quirked a sceptical eyebrow down at her. "Adequate. Perhaps a little overdone. Would you not agree?"

Colonel Hogan smiled. "Perhaps." Cupping her face in his hands, he gave her a gentler kiss. "Happy New Year, Doctor Pacifist."

"Happy New Year, Colonel Hogan," Doktor Falke gently replied.

LeBeau touched Newkirk's sleeve. They left the office. The others heard excited voices in the common room. They gathered at the door. Newkirk was seating Schultz at the head of the mess table while LeBeau was hustling Sergeant Olsen and Corporal Simms to get all the glasses and mugs together.

Then LeBeau took from a hiding place a couple of bottles of wine. He glanced at Colonel Hogan. The colonel nodded his permission. LeBeau decanted the wine.

"Aged two weeks. Take care how you drink it."

Newkirk pulled a small brass plaque from beneath his pillow. He offered it to his commanding officer. Colonel Hogan shook his head and smiled.

"It was your idea to liberate it, Newkirk. You give it to him."

The English corporal lowered his eyes. Caught in a good action, he felt suddenly shy. He passed the plaque to Schultz. "A Christmas present from us, Schultzie."

"My grandfather Gunther's brass plaque." Schultz whispered in awe. He looked at Newkirk with tears in his eyes. "Thank you, Corporal Newkirk." LeBeau patted his massive shoulder as he gave him a glass of the wine. Schultz looked at him gratefully, then at the men around the room. "Thank you, LeBeau. Carter. Sergeant Olsen. Corporal Simms. Sergeant Kinchloe. Colonel Hogan." He looked down sadly at the plaque.

Colonel Hogan laid his hand on the big German's shoulder. "It will live again, Schultz. You will bring it back to life."

"Will I, Colonel Hogan? I let them take it."

Kinch cleared his throat. "You had no choice, Schultz. But the colonel's right. You will bring it back."

"You must bring it back, mon ami," said LeBeau softly. "And you will bring it back, after the war."

"All the children of Germany will need toys, as much as they will need the love that gives them," said Doktor Falke, "and the care that makes them."

"I've never known you to turn your back on the children," Carter encouraged him. "Did Newkirk risk our lives for nothing, to get that for you?"

"Our lives and a crack on the jaw," Colonel Hogan rubbed it theatrically as he exchanged a look and smile with Kinch.

"So that was why you fought each other." Schultz shook his head. "That had puzzled me." He roused himself, stood and lifted his glass. "Then I must bring it back. 'To the Schatze Toy Company.'"

"The finest toy company in Germany."

"In every sense of the word."

Epilogue:

The Schatze Toy Company resumed production in a small rented half-bombed building in Heidelburg in late October 1945. Hans Schultz had lost a considerable fortune but he made sure that many orphaned and homeless children in Germany had a doll or a stuffed toy animal to hug that Christmas and in the Christmases to come. By 1948, the factory was largely rebuilt, thanks in part to the efforts and investment of several former Allied prisoners of war and former colleagues of Herr Schultz, including Karl Langenscheidt and Wilhelm Klink. It would never again be the largest toy factory in Germany but by Christmas 1950, it again set the standard of excellence.

The plaque Newkirk 'liberated' hung in a place of honour in the new offices, under a new Schatze logo: a phoenix, clutching a trumpet in its talons, rising from a bush of blood red roses.

One of the first Schatze toys exported to the United States in 1946 was a small stuffed toy lion, a gift to James Thomas ("Jik") Harris, infant son of Thomas and Jessica (Kinchloe) Harris.