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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Hogan stood before Klink's desk after roll call, his right arm embracing his left side in a futile gesture to soothe his aching ribs. Tonight wouldn't come soon enough. "Colonel Hogan, you are quieter than usual today," observed Klink lightly, in high spirits that grated on Hogan's raw nerves. In a rare show of generosity, Klink opened the humidor perched on his desk, took a cigar, and motioned to Hogan. "Care for a cigar, Colonel?" he asked.
Curious but suspicious, Hogan painfully extended his left arm and nodded as he accepted the offer. "Thanks."
"I want you to know, Hogan, that I appreciate your cooperation in keeping your prisoners in line, and in the camp," Klink said, lighting Hogan's outstretched cigar with a flourish. Hogan inhaled deeply, then dizzily regretted the action. His sore flank slammed against his hand, pounding ruthlessly in time with his chest. The muscles below his collarbone were beginning to contract painfully. Klink noticed the change in Hogan's bearing. "Are you ill, Hogan?"
"I'm fine, sir," Hogan said, thinking that this may be the one time even Klink would be able to see through his lies. He was seeing Klink through a crazy aura that wouldn't leave his vision, and found it hard to focus his attention on the Kommandant.
"Your face is scratched, Colonel Hogan." Klink suddenly came back around the desk, his eyes alight. "What is going on?" he asked, adjusting his monocle to look more closely at the senior POW's contusions. He waved his hand near Hogan's face, his index finger and thumb pressed tightly together. "Have you been fighting, Colonel? You know that is against camp regulations!"
Hogan was grateful for Klink's idea, as he had none of his own at present. "No, I haven't been fighting, Colonel. I just got caught in the middle of someone else's argument. I've disciplined the men involved, and it's all under control now."
They must have packed quite a punch, Klink thought, looking at Hogan's pallid, bruised face. Normally Klink would have had a ready reprimand for the American, but something about Hogan's appearance today arrested that. The POW officer was not himself: none of the usual complaints, no improbable requests for his men, no mischievous grin with a matching light in his eyes. He was different today. And while Klink was more than happy to put Hogan in his place, he had also come to find a strange comfort in the Allied officer's presence, and it bothered him when the personality he counted on for buoyancy was uncharacteristically dulled.
Still, nothing was going to spoil this week for him. And so Klink resumed his confident attitude, saying, "That is very good, Colonel, because it is even more important now than ever that this camp run like a well oiled machine." Hogan nearly mouthed Klink's next statement with the Kommandant; he had become quite good at imitating the singsong voice with which the balding man always crowed, "There has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13."
Hogan merely stared at Klink. At the moment he was incapable of being witty enough to prompt Klink into spilling the secret he was so obviously relishing. But he was counting on the Kommandant's puppy-like enthusiasm to loosen his tongue.
He wasn't disappointed. "It may interest you to know, Colonel Hogan, that this camp is finally being recognized for the fine military establishment that it is."
Even in his weakened condition, Hogan could still think wryly, So, Allied Headquarters is going to give my fellas some acknowledgment at last. He allowed himself the briefest smile at his private joke.
"Given this camp's perfect record since my arrival, and Berlin's knowledge of my strict disciplinary policy in this LuftStalag, a special ceremony will be held here on Thursday – that's in just three days' time, Hogan—in honor of that accomplishment. Some very high ranking officers will be stopping here on their way to an essential military briefing. You yourself are also expected to be there."
Hogan was trying to absorb what he was being told, so he could consider the ramifications of the information, and possibly work it to the Allies' advantage. But he had obviously already done too much today: he was being distracted by an ever-growing stinging sensation high in his upper left chest. Was that blood he could feel rushing out of the wound? Why wouldn't his vision clear? Why was Klink's voice starting to echo in his aching head? "I'm sure it'll be a day to remember," was all he could manage to say. He had to get out before he gave himself away. How would he be able to explain his condition? You don't get shot stopping a fistfight.
Thankfully Klink was too involved in discussing his plans for the presentation to notice Hogan's inattentiveness. And when Hogan handed back the used cigar and casually saluted, backing his way out of the office with an "I'll go tell the men, sir. I'm sure they'll be as proud as I am," Klink barely paused for breath. "Fraulein Helga!" the Kommandant sang out as the American left, eager to continue his organizing.
Hogan practically staggered back across the compound towards Barracks Two. He couldn't remember ever hurting this badly. It was still twelve hours before the morphine drop, and he needed to concentrate on other things before then. But no matter how much he tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere, he couldn't help but be dragged back to what was quickly becoming unbearable pain.
Finding himself alone when he got into the barracks, Hogan felt his muscles spasming. Not capable of holding himself up, he grabbed the nearest bunk and dropped to his knees as a strangled gasp escaped his lips. Breathing hard, with feverish tears stinging his eyes, he pressed his head to the pillow as he struggled not to be consumed by the fire devouring his whole left side. He knew he wouldn't be able to hide this from his captors for long now, let alone his own men, before whom he always desperately tried to maintain a strong façade for the sake of the operation.
He heard the door to the barracks open and felt himself being surrounded. Unable to stop himself, he cried out as the pain in his chest exploded and his side burst with devastating thrusts of agony. "Get Wilson," he heard someone hiss. Then he heard nothing at all.
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Hogan's mind crept slowly toward full awareness. His body was a mass of hurt, but his brain was determined not to fall back into darkness. He could feel hands on him, fuelling the fire in his body with every touch. But it had been worse before, and now he could at least try to concentrate on what was happening around him. His groan of protest at a tight feeling around his torso was greeted with soothing sounds that did nothing to comfort him. Hogan opened his eyes a slit but could make out only indistinct forms. "Leave… off," he tried to command, quickly wincing at another stab of pain in his side. "I said, leave…" Hands continued to probe his side, "off!" Hogan didn't know how forceful he sounded, but he had a feeling it wasn't a very strong voice that was objecting to those around him.
"'E's back, all right," came Newkirk's voice. Hogan tried clearing his vision by squeezing his eyes shut tight and then opening them again. It only made the aura around his vision brighter. He opened his eyes a bit wider.
"Colonel, can you hear me? Can you see me?"
Hogan tried hard to focus. "Wilson," he whispered. The men had sent for Sergeant Joseph Wilson, camp medic.
"That's right, Colonel. You're in your quarters. I'm binding your ribs; you've broken a couple. It will make it a bit easier for you to breathe. You're pretty badly bruised inside, too."
"Get your hands…off." Hogan tried to sound authoritative.
"Soon, I promise, sir," Wilson replied.
Hogan didn't have the strength to force the man away. He tried to make out who was around him while Wilson continued his work. He had heard Newkirk. Was that Le Beau hovering near the door? He was sure it was Carter who seemed to be hopping from one foot to the other nearby. How long had he been here?
"I had to redress your chest wound, Colonel," Wilson said, giving a last tug on the binding. Hogan grunted uncomfortably. "It was bleeding through. Whoever looked after you at the time did their best, but I was concerned about infection, so I cleaned it thoroughly. It was a good time to do it…" He trailed off, not finishing. But Hogan knew the rest—while you couldn't feel it happening.
"I gotcha," Hogan murmured.
"I've administered a light sedative. I'm afraid that's the best I can offer until the morphine arrives," Wilson said with a sigh. "I can make it stronger. That would keep you pretty well out to the pain until the drop."
"Why don't you take it, Colonel?" Le Beau ventured, moving in to where Hogan could see him. "We can handle things today."
"Thanks anyway," Hogan said. "But I need to be aware of what's going on at the moment. I'll let you know if I want to take you up on your offer later on."
Wilson nodded. It was no surprise to him. In his experience Hogan had the name Papa Bear for many reasons, including his grizzly-like stubbornness when it came to standing down, even for his own good. "I'm always on call," he said, more to his men than to Hogan, then left Hogan to his closest companions.
"You need to rest, Colonel," Le Beau admonished, coming to Hogan's side. "No one expects you to cope with this with no painkillers."
"Le Beau and I'll go out tonight for you, sir," piped up Carter, who stopped dancing in nervousness and came forward as well. Though he hated seeing Hogan in pain, he was strangely grateful that the Colonel had refused to be totally sedated. It frightened him more to think of Hogan flat on his back and passive than to have him growling at his men while he tried to fight his pain. Hogan's presence was too strong in their midst to be silenced, even for awhile, without impacting the spirits of those around him. "We'll be back faster than you can say 'Jack Rabbit'."
"We'll mind the store today, gov'nor," said Newkirk. "You take it easy; just tell us what to do." To him there was to be no argument. The others were too soft; if the man is ill, someone else does the job. If he's stubborn about it, you leave him no choice.
Hogan listened through a drug-induced haze. "Gotta call… London," he persisted.
Making a foolish attempt to rise, Hogan found that the sedative didn't dull his senses nearly as much as he suddenly hoped it would. Three men came flying at him to lay his pounding head back on the pillow. "Kinch is down there now, sir," Carter said. "They radioed through while you were…"
"Being looked after," Le Beau finished hastily, with a scolding glance in Carter's direction.
"I'd better get down there," Hogan said. But while in his mind he was up and heading down the ladder, his body was not obeying, and Hogan succumbed to the drug and his own tiredness, and unwillingly fell asleep.
"Blimey, 'e's gonna be 'ard to hold down," Newkirk remarked.
"I wonder what happened in the Kommandant's office," Carter said.
"We'll have to wait and see," Newkirk replied. He watched as Le Beau placed a blanket over Hogan's still form. "The gov's left a lot of questions unanswered today."
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Kinch closed the door to Hogan's room and came back to the others waiting at the table. "He's still sleeping," he said. "I guess Wilson's sedative was a bit stronger than we thought."
"It's just as well," Le Beau remarked. "The Colonel has had not given himself time to begin to heal. He needs to be still for awhile."
"Still, I'd 'ate to be Wilson when the Colonel realizes he's been out to it for two hours," Newkirk observed.
"It doesn't matter," Kinch said. "Our first priority is to get that morphine drop. As soon as we hit lights out, you fellas are out of here," he said, nodding at Le Beau and Carter.
"You betcha, boy—Kinch," Carter agreed.
"Okay, Kinch, we've given 'im long enough. What did you find out on the radio?" asked Newkirk.
Kinch hesitated. He had honestly wanted to give Colonel Hogan a chance to tell them the details of the mission himself. But there was more to be done, and Hogan was in no fit shape to give the orders at the moment. With a rueful glance back towards Hogan's door, Kinch sighed and began. "The information the Colonel was carrying last night detailed future German tank movements in the area. They'll pass by here on Thursday." The others didn't speak, looking at Kinch expectantly. The radioman paused, choosing his words carefully as he looked at Le Beau. "Apparently the Nazis are planning to have another tank division go through Paris in a show of force to the rest of the Allies."