No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.
Many thanks again to Marty, whose story provided much of the background for this chapter.
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Colonel Klink grabbed his cup of cocoa and settled onto his bed, armed with the file he had been handed when Colonel Hogan arrived. Through the evening he had stayed in his office, trying to ignore the thick dossier, as there was other work to be done. But his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and on this warm night, he finally surrendered to his inquisitiveness and let the monthly reports slide long enough to immerse himself in this airman's career.
Apparently there was a lot they already knew about this Colonel Robert E. Hogan, even without him telling them. He had been Commander of the 504th Bomb Group. Countless successful missions responsible for the destruction of an equal number of key German military installations and strategic bases had been executed under his command. Both hated and admired by the leaders of the Third Reich, his exploits as an American Flying Ace had been legendary, and his tactics studied in great detail, until he was finally downed by a Luftwaffe Colonel, whose long-wanted victory was rewarded with a promotion and a commendation from the Fuhrer himself. Blind luck, Klink thought, with a pang of envy. If this Hogan was what he seemed to be, Biedenbender would have had to have been a psychic, or the luckiest man alive.
Klink flipped through some of the routine forms. The Arrival Report Form was blank, except for Hogan's full name, rank, and serial number. The outline of his interrogation at Oberusal was telling on its own: forty-five days, interrogations twice a day, for a total of ninety sessions. Sarcasm in the face of threats of punishment. The feeling that the prisoner was the one doing the observation, instead of the other way around…. Was that what he had been doing in Klink's office earlier today? Klink didn't think so; there would have to be more.
Ten days in solitary confinement. An overheated cell. Starvation rations. No Red Cross luxuries—necessities. More aggressive attempts to gain tactical information; still nothing from Hogan.
Klink sipped the cocoa he had let grow cold beside him. What kind of man are you? he wondered. Klink turned to another section of the file, labeled Hohemark. This hospital was only used for airmen who were seriously injured, wasn't it? There was no listing on the official report of major injuries, but this seemed to be a completely separate document, not originally intended to be put with the rest of the file. Most of the medical jargon made no sense to Klink, but as he read and re-read the pages, he understood that at the very least Hogan had actually been quite seriously wounded. He was kept drugged and only semi-aware of his surroundings for more than a week. Pages and pages of medical reports on his progress after surgical procedures that Klink could only vaguely understand had been included, leading him to believe that had the doctors not intervened, no prisoner would have arrived at Stalag 13 today. So the Germans saved your life, Klink thought. And for what good end?
Klink shuddered at the next document, as the word Gestapo appeared. So, Hogan had been interrogated by them already, and lived to tell the tale. With a reluctant eye that was unwillingly drawn to the page before him, Klink noted that according to the dates listed, Hogan had undergone four days of torture by the State Secret Police. His hands went cold when he read the final entry in the Gestapo records: "Flogging will begin at 1800 tomorrow. Doctor Weinzaphel will be in attendance." Doctor in attendance…only required when more than thirty strokes are to be delivered…to pronounce the death they expect to follow….
Another report followed, indicating a second trip back to Hohemark Only brief mention was made of the cruelty Hogan would have suffered at the hands of the Gestapo in his final days at Durchgangslager de Luftwaffe. At the hospital came stress tests, sleep deprivation tests, tests to determine when delusions and hallucinations would take over and torment a man's mind, comparisons with a British subject undergoing similar study. Resistance would have been useless in his weakened condition, but still the report indicated that Hogan was strapped to the table for examination and two days of experimental mescaline drug therapy, resulting in excitability, loss of self control, hallucinations, seizures. Still nothing but a bit of personal information from the American. Klink shook his head in horror. So the Germans were both your saviors and your tormenters, yes, Hogan? The American had been used as a guinea pig, a laboratory animal to help German soldiers excel and improve. Klink felt he ought to be pleased that his people were trying to learn from specimens as obviously strong and healthy as this Colonel Hogan. But he couldn't help somehow feeling sick inside instead. Klink wanted to continue but found he could not read any more, as his brain concocted images of Hogan's confinement in Oberusal and the Hohemark. He left his cocoa unfinished and settled in for an uneasy night's sleep, knowing he had to face this man tomorrow.
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"Roll call! Roll call! Raus raus raus raus raus! Everybody up! Come on, up, up, up, up, up!"
Schultz's booming voice pierced the early morning air in Barracks Two. The prisoners rolled, grumbling, out of bed, bleary-eyed, wondering why they had to start such a monotonous day so early. "Hey, Schultz, why don't you ask the Kommandant to move roll call back an hour or so?" Kinchloe said. "We can stay up later instead."
"Jolly joker," muttered the guard, waving them out the door. "How is Colonel Hogan doing?" he asked as the Frenchman passed.
"I have not seen him yet," Le Beau answered. "I will check on him, eh?"
Schultz waved the man away and continued to call loudly for the others to speed things up. Le Beau knocked quietly on Hogan's closed door and then entered. Hogan was sitting on his bunk, bent forward, his arm clutching hisleft side, head down, eyes closed. To Le Beau, Hogan looked as though he was trying to get the strength to stand. "Colonel?" he said gently.
Hogan looked up but didn't answer. He looks more tired than he did last night, Le Beau thought. Did your memories keep you awake, Colonel? "Roll call, Colonel. We have to be outside."
Hogan nodded, then took a deep breath and started to stand. The exertion obviously tired him, and he leaned on the upper bunk as he put on his crush cap.
"We are supposed to take you to the medic after roll call, Colonel," Le Beau said, thinking this might help Hogan cope with the morning activities.
"No doctors," Hogan answered. His eyes flashed for the briefest moment.
"Just the camp medic, Sergeant Wilson," Le Beau said soothingly. "I am Corporal Louis Le Beau. I have been here for huit mois—eight months. He shrugged. "It's not much, this place," he said, indicating their surroundings, "but it's…well, who am I to say. It's a toilet. But it's our toilet, and we look after it, and each other. Come on, let's go to roll call. I have some extra soap we can use to get your uniform clean later on so you don't have to look like a Kraut all the time. I am little—I don't use as much soap as the others," he said with a smile.
Hogan gave him a weak smile in return. "Thanks, Corporal." He glanced at his uniform on the bunk, then at what he was wearing, and shook his head. "Sorry I'm…a bit awkward."
"We all were at first, Colonel. You'll catch on. Come on, let's go."
The air hummed with small talk as the men came into formation outside Barracks Two. Though some of them had seen Hogan before, the men were anticipating the explanation of his presence in the camp from Klink. Anything different to talk about was welcome, even if it was other people. And in some cases, it would give them something to write about in their YMCA diaries other than "Potatoes and grass soup…again."
Hogan took in what was happening around him. He had gotten used to roll call at Wetzlar transition camp, but these men seemed to have adjusted to life here in a way that he could not yet comprehend, even joking with the guard Schultz as he counted them. "Ein, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben…" Hogan kept his eyes ahead, watching the office of the camp kommandant whom he had met on arrival. The General who brought Hogan to the prison camp had said Klink was to continue interrogations. He wondered, after his recent experiences, exactly what that meant.
Klink strutted out of his office, his monocle firmly in place in front of his left eye, a riding crop shoved under his arm and gripped till he was white-knuckled. His fur-lined jacket seemed out of place on this warm morning, though he let it flap in the breeze created by his movement. His hat was cockily perched on his head. "Re-poooooorrrt!" he bellowed, stopping in front of the men.
"Herr Kommandant, all prisoners present and accounted for," Schultz announced.
"Yeah—for today," laughed one of the men out loud.
The group broke up into fits of laughter. Hogan did not join in. Klink's face turned red and he was shaking when he said, "Enough!" The men slowly quieted down, and Klink addressed them sharply. "Gentlemen, you have a new senior Prisoner of War officer. As you may know, Colonel Robert Hogan was brought here yesterday. You will now channel your requests and complaints, few though they should be, through him. Now, gentlemen," Klink continued smoothly, "Colonel Hogan's capture represents yet another example of German superiority. Please use him as a reminder that the war is, for all intents and purposes, over for you, and that it will soon be over for the Allies when the Third Reich claims a glorious victory."
Klink smiled broadly. The laughter in his eyes seemed to enrage Hogan, who said loudly, "The only thing my capture represents, Colonel Klink, is that it took four of your planes to shoot me down. I wouldn't be so quick to use me as a recruiting poster for The Hitler Youth if I were you."
The men surrounding him hooted and cheered. Hogan glanced at them and raised his chin defiantly at Klink, whose face was darkening with embarrassment and a sense of loss of control over the morning formation. "We will see, Hogan," Klink said crisply. "You are to see the camp medic this morning and then report to me. Dismissed." He turned on his heel and quickly walked away.
Newkirk came up beside Hogan as the men broke formation. "That was bloody brilliant," he smiled. "If Klink'd turned any redder we could've used his face to make tomato soup!"
"Did it really take four planes to get you, Colonel?" asked Le Beau.
"Yeah," said Hogan, suddenly distracted by memories.
"What about your men?" asked Kinchloe carefully.
Hogan shook his head, his mind no longer in the prison camp, but up in the skies over Hamburg. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I ordered them out. I know we lost at least Montgomery, but… I don't know," he said again. He broke away from them. "Excuse me," he said, and headed back to the barracks.
Schultz stopped him. "No, no, no, Colonel Hogan. You must go see the medic this morning. Kommandant Klink's orders." He tried to turn Hogan around toward the medical building.
Hogan pushed his hands away with a swift, sharp movement. "Get your hands off me," he hissed. Kinchloe, Le Beau, and Newkirk watched with interest. "Don't you ever touch me again."
Schultz recoiled, hurt. Hogan didn't notice. But just as suddenly as Hogan's anger had flared, it subsided. "Sorry," he mumbled, eyeing Schultz's rifle. "You just surprised me, that's all."
Schultz nodded almost sagely. "I did not mean to startle you, Colonel Hogan," he said in a low voice. "But you need to be looked at; you know you are not well."
"I'll get there, Sergeant, I'll get there," Hogan said, with a voice that told the guard he had no intention of doing that any time soon.
"I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan. You must go there now."
Hogan looked at Schultz as if to protest, then shrugged and followed the guard's urgings to accompany him to the medical barrack. Newkirk, Kinchloe, and Le Beau exchanged silent looks. Life was certainly going to be different at camp, now that Hogan had arrived.