No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.
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Newkirk practically ran Le Beau down as he flew towards the checkpoint. Surprised at his sudden appearance, the others pulled him into the darkness and fired questions at him, not waiting for any answers. "Hang on, fellas, hang on," Kinch said. "Give him a chance to catch his breath. Newkirk, where's the Colonel?"
Newkirk took only the briefest of pauses. "They've got 'im. The bloody Gestapo have got 'im. It was a trap. I didn't even have time to warn him."
"London called to cancel the operation when they found out it had been let out of the bag. But it was too late--we were heading out to try to warn you," said Kinch. "Looks like now we'll have to change our destination."
"How was the Colonel?" asked Le Beau.
"Not good." Newkirk thought of the way Hogan looked when he was being led away, and how hard it was to watch him struggling just to stay standing. "And I don't think it's going to get any better now that the Gestapo's in the picture."
"There's a truck waiting a couple of miles up the road," Carter said. "Are you all right to keep going?"
"Yeah, yeah mate, I'm fine," Newkirk answered. "Just cold and bloody scared."
"Let's get going," Kinch said.
"Where were they going, Newkirk? Could you make out anything?" asked Carter
"Gestapo Headquarters," Newkirk shuddered. "And the way the guard was acting you'd think he learned everything he knew from Hochstetter himself."
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Hogan lay sprawled on the floor of the back of the truck, only partly aware of what was going on around him. The patrol had parked their vehicle a couple of miles away from where he had been captured, and the journey back to it had not been an easy one. Aching and feverish, he had fallen more than once, and the hands that helped him up were not kind. Finally, his ankle gave out completely, and Hogan knew walking was going to be torture. But he was dragged back up and pulled along, panting and gasping. Still he refused, even in his agony, to ask for help or mercy from his captors.
A dull throb at the base of his skull reminded Hogan of the rifle strike that had robbed him of his weapon, and disoriented him. But that was unimportant now. ~~Just have to stay alive,~~ he told himself. ~~Hail Mary, full of grace...~~
A few jolts told Hogan the truck was still moving. He smarted with every bump in the road, but enjoyed the coolness of the floor against his flushed cheek. Drifting in and out of reality, Hogan thought of the men he had left behind. They would be worried, he thought, when they didn't see him come back. Would Hansel and Gretel get to the rendezvous and suspect trouble, and raise the alarm? ~~Gotta stop that shipment.~~ The truck lurched, and Hogan groaned, not opening his eyes, as his body jerked and hit the floor again. ~~The Lord is with thee...~~
He was vaguely conscious of a guard sitting in the back of the truck with him. Hogan tried to focus his thoughts. He had to get out, and he had to get rid of that guard who knew him--permanently. But all that seemed beyond him at the moment. His will to stay conscious finally failed him, and he slipped into painless black.
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"We got in contact with the Underground when we got the news," Kinch said, as the truck moved along the road. "There are a lot of eyes out there looking for both of you."
"Can't you speed it up, Carter?" asked Le Beau. His mind kept seeing Colonel Hogan being tortured by the Germans. It was almost physically painful for him to be unable to help the American who had come to be a friend. "The Gestapo will not wait nicely for us to get there."
"I'm going as fast as I dare, Louis," Carter answered. "We can't help the Colonel if we're in an accident--or captured, too."
"Sorry, Andrew," Le Beau mumbled.
Carter understood his friend's anxiety. "That's okay."
Newkirk recounted everything he had seen and heard. Kinch noticed the commentary was punctuated with several "should"s, like, "I should have stopped him," and "I should have let him know I was there," and "I should have killed the Krauts before he even arrived." Newkirk shook his head in frustration and anger. "He's in the 'ands of the bloody Gestapo, and I watched the whole thing happen!"
Kinch patted his friend on the shoulder. "Newkirk, you did what you had to do. Nobody knew it was a set-up. You were supposed to keep watch, not interfere."
"I was supposed to keep him safe!" Newkirk argued.
"You couldn't get two SS officers on your own. The Colonel wouldn't expect you to try that," put in Le Beau. "He would have wanted you to do just what you did. And you are helping now--you let us know where he is, so we can bring him home."
"Yeah, bloody good of me, wasn't it?" Newkirk said. "Now all we have to do is hope he's alive to GET home."
None of them had an answer for that.
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"Take him to the interrogation room," the voice said. It was German, Hogan observed, not even sure why that was significant. "You will have to get help with him."
Still hovering somewhere between consciousness and unreality, Hogan absorbed bits and pieces of what was going on around him. He remembered being on a truck, and being unceremoniously dumped in someone's office. Only distant, blurry pictures of the room were in his mind. A barking voice, sharp and unforgiving, echoed in his ears. The sting of a slap across his face remained... or was it just a memory? Who were these people, and why were they so unhappy with him? And why were they not speaking in English?
Occasionally the situation was clear to him: he was being detained by the Gestapo. The German voices were those of his captors. In other words, he thought when he was most lucid, he had been taken to Hell. At the moment, however, he was just Robert Hogan, civilian, stuck in some strange and powerful nightmare, his mind unable to process the motives of these people who were doing everything they could to keep him from a peaceful, dreamless sleep. He was grabbed under the arms and dragged bodily into another room, where a bright light forced him to turn his head away. He felt himself being shoved into a chair, and then felt raw rubbing as ropes were tied around his forearms, holding him fast.
His mind cruelly and suddenly drove him to the present. He was aching everywhere, his body felt almost electrified. He could hear his blood pumping through his skull, and the lower half of his right leg felt like the skin was being ripped off by a hacking, jagged knife. He was sweating, and yet he was shivering with cold. ~~Stay alive, Robert,~~ he pleaded with himself. ~~Blessed art thou...~~
Someone was speaking to him. Hogan tried not to listen, and instead studied these new faces. Neither of them was the guard who had come to Barracks Two. Where was that man? And had he said anything to Hochstetter? How could he get out of here? And if he did, where would he go? No one knew where he was. The roar of the person shouting in the room got louder, and Hogan turned his attention to the man whose face was now mere inches from his own.
"And you will tell me what your purpose was for being out in the woods tonight, Herr Black!" So, at the moment his identity was safe; this person was calling him by the color of his soaking wet clothing. Name, rank and serial number was definitely out of the question, so Hogan simply blinked, unmoving.
His silence was answered by a strong blow to the stomach. Unable to double over, Hogan grunted and bowed his head. He answered the continuing questions with the same stony silence, and was met with a flurry of attacks.
Who are your contacts? A whip crack across the cheek. ~~Blessed is the fruit of thy womb...~~
Where did you come from, and what were you trying to do tonight? A bone-crunching strike to the ribcage. ~~Holy Mary, mother of God...~~
What is your name? A punch that sent blood running down his face. ~~Pray for us....~~
Confess what you have done, and you will make it easier on yourself. The butt of a weapon hard against the back of his head. ~~Pray for us...pray for me...please....~~
And finally, welcome darkness overtook him.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Newkirk practically ran Le Beau down as he flew towards the checkpoint. Surprised at his sudden appearance, the others pulled him into the darkness and fired questions at him, not waiting for any answers. "Hang on, fellas, hang on," Kinch said. "Give him a chance to catch his breath. Newkirk, where's the Colonel?"
Newkirk took only the briefest of pauses. "They've got 'im. The bloody Gestapo have got 'im. It was a trap. I didn't even have time to warn him."
"London called to cancel the operation when they found out it had been let out of the bag. But it was too late--we were heading out to try to warn you," said Kinch. "Looks like now we'll have to change our destination."
"How was the Colonel?" asked Le Beau.
"Not good." Newkirk thought of the way Hogan looked when he was being led away, and how hard it was to watch him struggling just to stay standing. "And I don't think it's going to get any better now that the Gestapo's in the picture."
"There's a truck waiting a couple of miles up the road," Carter said. "Are you all right to keep going?"
"Yeah, yeah mate, I'm fine," Newkirk answered. "Just cold and bloody scared."
"Let's get going," Kinch said.
"Where were they going, Newkirk? Could you make out anything?" asked Carter
"Gestapo Headquarters," Newkirk shuddered. "And the way the guard was acting you'd think he learned everything he knew from Hochstetter himself."
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Hogan lay sprawled on the floor of the back of the truck, only partly aware of what was going on around him. The patrol had parked their vehicle a couple of miles away from where he had been captured, and the journey back to it had not been an easy one. Aching and feverish, he had fallen more than once, and the hands that helped him up were not kind. Finally, his ankle gave out completely, and Hogan knew walking was going to be torture. But he was dragged back up and pulled along, panting and gasping. Still he refused, even in his agony, to ask for help or mercy from his captors.
A dull throb at the base of his skull reminded Hogan of the rifle strike that had robbed him of his weapon, and disoriented him. But that was unimportant now. ~~Just have to stay alive,~~ he told himself. ~~Hail Mary, full of grace...~~
A few jolts told Hogan the truck was still moving. He smarted with every bump in the road, but enjoyed the coolness of the floor against his flushed cheek. Drifting in and out of reality, Hogan thought of the men he had left behind. They would be worried, he thought, when they didn't see him come back. Would Hansel and Gretel get to the rendezvous and suspect trouble, and raise the alarm? ~~Gotta stop that shipment.~~ The truck lurched, and Hogan groaned, not opening his eyes, as his body jerked and hit the floor again. ~~The Lord is with thee...~~
He was vaguely conscious of a guard sitting in the back of the truck with him. Hogan tried to focus his thoughts. He had to get out, and he had to get rid of that guard who knew him--permanently. But all that seemed beyond him at the moment. His will to stay conscious finally failed him, and he slipped into painless black.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
"We got in contact with the Underground when we got the news," Kinch said, as the truck moved along the road. "There are a lot of eyes out there looking for both of you."
"Can't you speed it up, Carter?" asked Le Beau. His mind kept seeing Colonel Hogan being tortured by the Germans. It was almost physically painful for him to be unable to help the American who had come to be a friend. "The Gestapo will not wait nicely for us to get there."
"I'm going as fast as I dare, Louis," Carter answered. "We can't help the Colonel if we're in an accident--or captured, too."
"Sorry, Andrew," Le Beau mumbled.
Carter understood his friend's anxiety. "That's okay."
Newkirk recounted everything he had seen and heard. Kinch noticed the commentary was punctuated with several "should"s, like, "I should have stopped him," and "I should have let him know I was there," and "I should have killed the Krauts before he even arrived." Newkirk shook his head in frustration and anger. "He's in the 'ands of the bloody Gestapo, and I watched the whole thing happen!"
Kinch patted his friend on the shoulder. "Newkirk, you did what you had to do. Nobody knew it was a set-up. You were supposed to keep watch, not interfere."
"I was supposed to keep him safe!" Newkirk argued.
"You couldn't get two SS officers on your own. The Colonel wouldn't expect you to try that," put in Le Beau. "He would have wanted you to do just what you did. And you are helping now--you let us know where he is, so we can bring him home."
"Yeah, bloody good of me, wasn't it?" Newkirk said. "Now all we have to do is hope he's alive to GET home."
None of them had an answer for that.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
"Take him to the interrogation room," the voice said. It was German, Hogan observed, not even sure why that was significant. "You will have to get help with him."
Still hovering somewhere between consciousness and unreality, Hogan absorbed bits and pieces of what was going on around him. He remembered being on a truck, and being unceremoniously dumped in someone's office. Only distant, blurry pictures of the room were in his mind. A barking voice, sharp and unforgiving, echoed in his ears. The sting of a slap across his face remained... or was it just a memory? Who were these people, and why were they so unhappy with him? And why were they not speaking in English?
Occasionally the situation was clear to him: he was being detained by the Gestapo. The German voices were those of his captors. In other words, he thought when he was most lucid, he had been taken to Hell. At the moment, however, he was just Robert Hogan, civilian, stuck in some strange and powerful nightmare, his mind unable to process the motives of these people who were doing everything they could to keep him from a peaceful, dreamless sleep. He was grabbed under the arms and dragged bodily into another room, where a bright light forced him to turn his head away. He felt himself being shoved into a chair, and then felt raw rubbing as ropes were tied around his forearms, holding him fast.
His mind cruelly and suddenly drove him to the present. He was aching everywhere, his body felt almost electrified. He could hear his blood pumping through his skull, and the lower half of his right leg felt like the skin was being ripped off by a hacking, jagged knife. He was sweating, and yet he was shivering with cold. ~~Stay alive, Robert,~~ he pleaded with himself. ~~Blessed art thou...~~
Someone was speaking to him. Hogan tried not to listen, and instead studied these new faces. Neither of them was the guard who had come to Barracks Two. Where was that man? And had he said anything to Hochstetter? How could he get out of here? And if he did, where would he go? No one knew where he was. The roar of the person shouting in the room got louder, and Hogan turned his attention to the man whose face was now mere inches from his own.
"And you will tell me what your purpose was for being out in the woods tonight, Herr Black!" So, at the moment his identity was safe; this person was calling him by the color of his soaking wet clothing. Name, rank and serial number was definitely out of the question, so Hogan simply blinked, unmoving.
His silence was answered by a strong blow to the stomach. Unable to double over, Hogan grunted and bowed his head. He answered the continuing questions with the same stony silence, and was met with a flurry of attacks.
Who are your contacts? A whip crack across the cheek. ~~Blessed is the fruit of thy womb...~~
Where did you come from, and what were you trying to do tonight? A bone-crunching strike to the ribcage. ~~Holy Mary, mother of God...~~
What is your name? A punch that sent blood running down his face. ~~Pray for us....~~
Confess what you have done, and you will make it easier on yourself. The butt of a weapon hard against the back of his head. ~~Pray for us...pray for me...please....~~
And finally, welcome darkness overtook him.
