No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes character is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is implied.
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If so much didn't depend on the outcome of these assignments, Hogan thought he would actually enjoy the strategic planning that came with them. But as he headed back to Barracks Two, he felt his stomach tightening into the familiar cold knot that had been there countless times before. He sometimes felt like he was putting together a jigsaw puzzle: all the pieces had to be in place to succeed. His men, trained and at the ready; the pawns, like Klink and Schultz were to be in this mission, lined up and unwittingly cooperating; the Underground, prepared to back up Hogan's operatives; and Hogan himself, sorting all the shapes and colours to make a complete picture. Even the Germans had their role to play, their actions to be counted on. The problem with this puzzle though, Hogan always fretted, was that he had no control over the final design. At any time one of these key pieces could go missing. And one piece out of place could mean death to himself, or his men.
Hogan mentally ticked off the first item on his list. Getting Klink to agree to the scam was even easier than he had expected. Maybe one day he would actually have to get the kommandant one of those irresistible women. Schultz was an anticipated pushover. Absentmindedly, Hogan rubbed his stomach, which he knew would later be sore with stress. Back to the tunnel, he thought. London must have something by now.
This time on his descent to the bowels of Stalag 13 Hogan found he wasn't alone. Le Beau, Newkirk and Carter were all gathered around Kinch, waiting for news. Le Beau handed Hogan a mug and filled it with coffee. "Anything, Kinch?" Hogan asked.
"Due in two minutes, Colonel. They want to speak with you directly."
"What happened with Klink?" asked Newkirk.
"Are you kidding? A little more effort and he would have handed me the keys, a map, and a recording of 'Melancholy Baby'," Hogan quipped. "What about Schultz?"
"He is getting fatter," grumbled Le Beau.
"Good, that means we're getting what we want. You'll have to make him something extra special to distract him when we're in Hammelburg tomorrow morning."
"I already have it planned, Colonel. A beautiful puff pastry filled with chicken, vegetables, and a sweet curry sauce."
"Sounds wonderful!" piped up Carter.
"Never mind; with the amount Schultz eats we will be lucky to get two kilometres up the road before we run out," Le Beau warned.
"You're breaking my heart," Hogan said.
"Mama Bear, this is Papa Bear, we read you and are ready for transmission," Kinch broke in suddenly, his ear still at his headsets.
"Okay, fellas, upstairs," said Hogan. "I'll let you know what's going on when I know." Hogan then spoke over their protests. "That's an order, come on, get going." His tone of voice silenced their objections and they headed back up the ladder. Kinch was surprised when Hogan included him in the exodus as well, but he followed without comment.
Ten minutes later the group were sitting tensely in the barracks, jumping at every creak in the floorboards. The suspense was so thick, Carter marvelled that he could see through it. By the time Hogan emerged from below, Le Beau had stirred the coffee so much it had a small whirlpool in it, Kinch had practically paced a hold in the floor, and Newkirk had drummed an indent into the table.
"Okay, here's what we're gonna do," Hogan started, as his men gathered around him. "We'll start out after roll call in the morning. Le Beau, we're going to have to get a couple of uniforms in the trunk of Klink's car for you and Carter."
"What type of uniforms, Colonel?" asked Carter.
"Nuns' habits, Carter," retorted Newkirk. "German uniforms, Andrew. German."
"Oui, mon Colonel. What about for you and Newkirk?"
"Ours are going to be waiting for us at the Landgasthaus. Our contact there is Angus Voelker. He's going to give us the low-down on attendees of our little Kraut cocktail party and then RSVP for us. We'll take what we need and beat it." He nodded at Carter. "Carter, we're going to need some pretty small, pretty potent explosives. According to London, a dozen high-ranking Germans are going to be at this meeting, and I can guarantee you they won't be carpooling."
"No problem, Colonel."
"And one more thing: this little picnic in the park is going to be guarded by the SS. Heinrich Himmler is reported to be personally interested in it." Hogan's men drew in their breath at the mention of the leader of the Nazi police. "Unfortunately I don't think we're going to have a chance to have a go at him. He'd just be another person for them to protect, so he'll probably stay away." The men were silent. Hogan knew what they were thinking: that this was much bigger than they could have envisaged. "Don't be overwhelmed; we'll take it one step at a time, the same way we handle all our other assignments. We'll just have to make extra careful to watch our backs."
Hogan actually wanted to offer his men the chance to back out—they were all volunteers in his mind—but he was afraid if he did, they would pick up on his own reservations and thus lose the confidence that was vital for them to possess in order to carry out their tasks with maximum efficiency and minimum danger. So instead, he gave them all a careful stare, trying to gauge their feelings. Normally quite astute at picking up on their emotional states, Hogan found that he could not read them now through the fog of his own uncertainty.
Unused to this ambiguity, Hogan cursed himself for what he considered a weakness in his own mind. That damned dream kept coming back in unexpected ways: a flash here and there, a chill down his spine, a terror that would not go away and yet could not be expressed. And now, a draining of his usual self-assurance, something he found he needed more than ever.
It was Carter who broke the awkward silence. "It'll be nice to make such a big difference to the war effort," he said.
Hogan looked at him with pride and a fatherly satisfaction.
"Yeah, we've never had anything this big, Colonel. What we do could save thousands of lives," Le Beau said.
"London must think a lot of you fellas," said Hogan. "They are entrusting a lot to you."
"And to you, Colonel," added Kinch significantly. Hogan paused. "If anyone is going to pull this off, it's going to be Papa Bear."
"We'll all work together, gov'nor," said Newkirk. "We'll just think of it as the story of all stories to tell our grandchildren one day."
Hogan smiled quietly. "Thanks, fellas," he said. "Let's get this organised."
Hogan left his men and went into his room.
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Hogan sat at his desk and opened his Bible. With a deft movement he found a passage that he had read over and over again: in the middle of the night, when he was suddenly gripped with an excruciating anxiety that was to be his alone; when he was waiting for word from one of his men out on a mission; when the enormity of what he was doing—and his responsibility for others' lives—hit him full force. And when he woke up, sweating and shaking, as he had so often in the last few weeks, looking for an explanation for the incomprehensible. His eyes drank in the words, though he knew them now by heart: to rescue us from the hand of our enemies, and to enable us to serve him without fear.
Without fear. Hogan wondered if he would ever again know what that felt like. He closed the book, and headed down to the tunnel to complete his preparations for tomorrow.