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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Sergeant Schultz dabbed delicately at the sides of his mouth with a napkin as he sighed contentedly. "That was beautiful, Le Beau. Beautiful!" He leaned against the side of Klink's car with a smile that very little would be able to wipe away.
Le Beau, for his part, was sporting a scowl. As he stuffed the remnants of his cuisine back in the picnic basket, he could not help but think about his commanding officer and his comrade. Hogan and Newkirk had been gone for over two hours, and all those left behind had learned was that the meeting place was two blocks away. It might as well have been two miles. Kinch had roamed the perimeter of the fence, ostensibly to see if he could spot Hogan, Newkirk, and Strohm. And while that was high on his list of priorities, he knew that Hogan would want his men to continue with their part of the plan: to find and wire the cars of the people in the Luftwaffe meeting.
Carter, meanwhile, was thoroughly—and slowly—polishing the outside of the car. "What now?" he whispered to Kinch when he returned. "The Colonel was supposed to meet the contact at the Landgasthaus, wasn't he?"
"He wasn't told," said Kinch. "He was just told that Voelker would make himself known, and was given the contact code."
"Maybe we can convince Schultz to go and look for him," said Le Beau. "Then we would know for ourselves where he and Newkirk are, and make sure they are safe."
Kinch nodded. "Okay, let's give it a shot. Maybe we can get closer to the cars that way, too." Kinch broke away from his companions and casually approached Schultz, who seemed about ready to doze in contentment. "I admire the way you're handling this, Schultz."
"Danke," Schultz responded, still grinning broadly, his eyes half closed in satisfaction. Happily settling himself against the side of the car, his face suddenly dropped and his eyes opened wide. "Sergeant Kinchloe, handling what?"
"This Captain Strohm barging in and taking off with the Colonel and Newkirk," Kinch answered, positioning himself comfortably beside Schultz. He crossed his arms and considered. "I mean, they went for spare parts a long time ago and haven't come back. I'd hate to be you, going back to Stalag 13 with two fewer people than you started out with."
Le Beau picked up the thread and, wiping his hands from any remaining crumbs, squinted in the sun as he bombarded Schultz's sense of peace as well. "Oui, what will Colonel Klink say when he finds out you lost two of your prisoners?"
"Yeah, that's pretty careless, y'know, Schultz," piped up Carter.
Schultz's face had by now lost any boastfulness, and instead he was looking almost wildly from one prisoner to the other. "No, no, no, no!" he said. "Herr Kapitan outranks me; he could have done as he pleased!"
"But you had orders to keep your eyes on your prisoners, Schultz. From the Kommandant!" argued Le Beau.
"Oh, Cockroach, why did you not say something about this earlier?"
Le Beau grinned as he watched panic set in. Good, this just might work. "And you did not even find out where they were going. They could be half way to Berlin by now!"
Schultz was starting to look apoplectic. Time to deliver the final punch, thought Kinch. "It's your responsibility to find them, Schultz."
"But where do I look? It is like Le Beau said, they could be anywhere!" Schultz fretted.
"We will have to comb the streets, Schultz." Le Beau shook his head in mock disgust. "I do not know how such a good soldier could let this happen. But we had better start soon. You do not know where that Strohm has taken them." Then, to himself, Le Beau realised, We do not know where he has taken them. Just let them be safe.
"What do we do? What do we do?" Schultz was rambling.
"Don't worry, Schultz," Kinch comforted. "Let's get in the car and do a nice, methodical search of Hammelburg."
"But what happens if Herr Kapitan comes back here while we are gone?"
"Well one of us could stay behind while you search, Schultz," offered Carter.
"Jolly joker," mumbled the corpulent guard. "I have already misplaced two; I cannot afford to misplace another." Sighing, he heaved himself off the car and opened the door. "Let's go, boys. From the look of it, he will not be coming back of his own accord anytime soon."
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Colonel Robert Hogan was meanwhile standing at full attention, eyes forward, face expressionless. To the unknowing bystander he was simply a dedicated and well-trained SS soldier, silently pledging his life to protect the Fuhrer and his appointed leaders. But inside, his mind was processing everything he saw and heard, archiving it all for future retrieval when the time came.
It had not been particularly difficult to get into the conference room; armed with the exquisitely done papers that Newkirk had furnished him, and clad in the perfect uniform provided by Voelker, Hogan had simply presented himself when the changing of the guard shift took place. Hogan thanked his lucky stars again and again that the SS guards wore coats that could cover the sight of the perspiration soaking through his shirt. It was hard enough to take on a mission unexpectedly, but to put on the uniform of the men who had caused him so much anguish mere weeks ago was an exercise in self-torture. Thankful for the privacy when changing, Hogan had had to stop when putting on the boots; his whole body was shaking so much he could not pull them up properly. He wiped his face with a trembling hand and gripped the side of the bed while he tried to calm his breathing. Get over it, Hogan, he said to himself, frustrated, and, if he admitted it, scared. Get over it or you'll get yourself killed.
He had come out of the room on unsteady legs, reviewed his orders with Newkirk—mainly, to keep Voelker around long enough for him and Newkirk to be able to get back to the others when ready—and left to take over the mission in which he had intended to have a much lesser role.
So now, after only the briefest of direct questioning, mainly related to his paperwork, here he was, by the minute becoming more horrified by what he heard, and working hard not to let any of it show. Words came into his head and were immediately sorted and sent to separate sections of his brain. Scorched earth…complete annihilation… loss of life irrelevant… submission of the Allies to save their helpless comrades… And visions of fiery destruction and ruthless killing that made Hogan want to weep. How could any man, any person who claimed to be a human being, agree so easily to these ideas? He felt a chilling fear mixed with anger rising inside his chest, pounding hard from the inside to demand release as a primal scream. Other things he found disturbing but could not fully comprehend: brief mentions of camps, round-ups, purification. Combined with the details of what seemed like an offensive encompassing the entire Luftwaffe in one massive air strike, Hogan felt as though he were suffocating under the weight of the wickedness pressing down on the room.
Suddenly the closeness of the officer near him made Hogan nauseous. "Ein Getrank, bitte, privat," Hogan said, nodding toward the glass and jug on the table.
"Jawohl, Leutnant," said the soldier, moving away. Hogan took a deep gulp of air. One more hour of this.
The man returned with a glass. Hogan downed the contents quickly, then handed it back to the soldier. "Danke," he said. "Sie trinken außerdem." He directed the young man to drink himself, anxious to be as far from him as possible. "Nicht für eine lange Zeit kann bewegen Sie schwächen." He doubted that any weakness the man would be feeling would be from standing for a long period, but the excuse was enough to make the Private do as he was told, and Hogan was grateful for the respite.
The convention continued, and Hogan had to admit that he completely missed some of it. Every word was a revelation to him of the cunning and heartlessness of the Third Reich. As images washed over him, he felt sweat trickling down his back, and he gripped his rifle more tightly to combat the sickness he felt closing in on him. A severe, unyielding headache was building in his skull, but this was hardly the time for such a debilitating attack. He could not look down or close his eyes, for fear of being pulled up for slacking on the job, and he could not face the other men guarding the meeting, for fear of being physically sick. He instead stared at nothing, his eyes taking on a faraway expression, his intellect handling the information but trying desperately not to assimilate it.
Hogan could not think clearly past the incessant pounding in his head. Every noise in the room was amplified: that chair that got scraped across the floor as a small, angry Major rose in defense of his idea was dragged across the front of Hogan's brain; the glass being slammed down on the table as debated points were volleyed back and forth echoed near his temples; the voices raised in anger or excitement were shouting in his ears. He felt himself weakening. I'm not going to make it, he panicked. He brought a hand up to his stomach, fighting to get himself together. Then, very gradually, he felt his breathing stabilize. The clamminess of his hands went away, the cold sweat drying uncomfortably on his back and forehead.
The arguments and strategic planning continued, and now Hogan was hearing it more clearly than he wanted to. Abandoned areas must be unfit for future use… dive bombers will always get through… starvation of the masses through destruction of food depots and supply lines will force capitulation… economic strangulation… if Russia falls, England will follow… .
This madness has to be stopped, Hogan managed to think. What these men are planning is nothing short of a massacre; a massacre, with no code of honor or rules of war. And he turned his beleaguered mind to his men, praying with all his strength they would be able to stop these madmen from getting their plans back to Berlin. The Allies had to formulate a plan to destroy the Luftwaffe, before it helped to change the face of Europe.
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"I know you do not understand the decision I have made," Voelker said to Newkirk.
Newkirk was leaning against the wall of the small room, still holding the rifle Hogan had thrust at him before leaving. "You're right, I don't," he answered. "You want to save your family, but you're not willing to do anything about it. Do you think it matters to the Nazis if you were involved in espionage or not? They'll still want your daughter."
"I will get her out of Germany," Voelker said. "Somehow."
"Why back out of this mission half way through?"
Voelker shrugged, then shifted his position on the bed uncomfortably. "Cold feet, I think you would call it. The sheer rank and number of Luftwaffe and SS here—if I am discovered then I cannot help my family at all. And I could make it worse for them if I am caught."
Newkirk pushed himself away from the wall. "So you'll leave that charming risk to Colonel Hogan," he said. "He's already faced the Gestapo once, you know. I don't think he's any more anxious than you to deal with them."
Voelker nodded. "So I understand. It is regrettable. It is difficult to ask a man to put himself in such a position once, never mind twice."
"Difficult, but you've managed nicely," Newkirk said sarcastically. "You know, thanks to your little trick we still don't even know where the bloody cars are. Part of our mission is to make sure these plans don't get back to Berlin. What are we supposed to do about that, give all the men lobotomies?"
"The cars are parked in a lot next door, guarded by more SS members," Voelker said.
"Fine," said Newkirk. "I'll get changed into that German uniform, and we'll go have a look. We still have over an hour before the Colonel's due back here." He patted the rifle. "And don't get any ideas, Voelker. This little mate of mine gets a bit anxious at times like this."
Voelker stood up but made no move towards Newkirk. "Just for the record, gov'nor," added the Englishman, "I know you love your family, and I respect that. But you've put a lot of people I care about at risk now, and that makes me edgy, if you know what I mean."
"It is a difficult time for us all," said Voelker solemnly. "Men do things they wish they did not have to."
Newkirk nodded, and, making sure he had the rifle by his side, grabbed his clothes to get changed.