No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
"Krauts at the gate, Colonel." Kinch popped his head into the hut to see Hogan sitting at the table in the common room, deep in thought.
"Thanks, Kinch," Hogan responded. "Tell the fellas it's show time." Kinch understood Hogan's mood and disappeared. Hogan stood up, giving a final look to his dress uniform, which had been neatly pressed and freshened up that morning by Newkirk. Then, determined not to let doubt plague him, he visibly straightened, and headed out the door.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
"General Burkhalter, always a pleasure to have you here at Stalag 13," Klink was groveling, as Hogan made his way over to the men standing near the Kommandant's office.
But General Albert Burkhalter was in his usual mood when dealing with Klink—surly. "Klink, I think you would say that to me even if I were coming to say that the war was over—and we lost," he growled. Then, pointing to the man beside him holding a large camera, he said, "This is Herr Klaus Oppenheimer from the Propaganda Ministry. He will be taking photographs of the ceremony and the tank demonstration this afternoon." Klink nearly bowed his welcome. Scowling in Hogan's direction as he saw the senior POW approaching, Burkhalter added, "I see Hogan has wasted no time in getting his nose into the middle of this."
"Now, General, is that any way to greet the man responsible for your evening feast?" Hogan chided him. He nodded at Klink. " 'Afternoon, Kommandant. Have you explained the celebration to the General?"
"What celebration is that, Klink?" asked Burkhalter, not sounding at all like he was in the mood for a party.
"Well, General," Klink began, with a false laugh that always made Hogan sigh inwardly, "Colonel Hogan and the other prisoners thought it would be nice to have a special dinner for our distinguished guests this evening, in honor of the… honor…being bestowed on our humble Stalag." He laughed again. "After all, if it weren't for the prisoners, there would be no 'No Escape' record to have!" He continued laughing. Hogan just cocked his head and looked at him, while Burkhalter glared at the two Colonels before him.
"I don't believe we've been introduced," Hogan put in, nodding toward the third man.
"Hogan, this is Herr Klaus Oppenheimer from the Ministry of Propaganda. Herr Oppenheimer, this is Colonel Robert Hogan, senior POW officer here at Stalag 13.," Burkhalter said. Hogan couldn't help by notice the distaste in the General's voice when the man said his name. A part of Hogan smiled inside.
"So you are saying that Colonel Hogan suggested this meal tonight?" Oppenheimer said, looking at Hogan curiously.
"That's right, sir," Hogan said.
"Then, Klink, you had better make sure that Sergeant Schultz comes along as taster. Just in case the food is poisoned." Burkhalter looked with what was only a half-joking face at the American.
"Don't worry, General; I've almost forgiven you for letting the Nazis conduct tests on me….and then delivering me here. But then, you never know what impact those experiments had on my mental stability." He started twitching his left eye in an exaggerated fashion, to offset the warning in the words.
Burkhalter shifted uncomfortably, then decided to change the subject. "General Werden will be here soon, Klink. Then the ceremony can commence. Once it is over, there will be a demonstration of the prototype of the new Panzer tanks. Their increased maneuverability will mean a great deal to our war effort. It has always been one of our weak spots."
So that's it. "I'm sure the men would be delighted to watch as well, General," Hogan piped up. "After all, it's our boys who are going to be facing them. And the Kommandant is always telling us it's about time we accepted the inevitable defeat of the Allies."
"It will be a general order, Hogan," Burkhalter replied. "The men should be falling out already near the platform."
"I would like to see some of your men near the new tanks, Colonel," Oppenheimer said to Hogan.
So would I, Hogan thought.
"I am sure the General will be able to arrange whatever you need. Right this way, gentlemen," Klink sang.
Hogan lagged behind as Klink led Burkhalter and Oppenheimer toward the open area near the motor pool where the temporary platform had been erected. Scanning the perimeter of the camp, he looked for any signs of what was to come. Nothing. The knot in his stomach tightened, and loosened, and tightened again. Just like at the start of any mission, Hogan was being made fully aware of his humanity—and his potential to fail. What if he was doing the wrong thing? Putting Tiger's life at risk foolishly? What if he was overestimating his ability to get her to safety? He almost preferred the acute pain of his injuries to this mental pain; those were his alone. But his mind was telling him that his plans involved others, who were putting their trust in him. And he wasn't able to escape that. Not this time, and not as commander of a sabotage and intelligence unit. He couldn't work alone to protect the others, no matter how much he wanted to.
Now, his chest still aching terribly, Hogan headed toward the front gate of the camp. All Wilson had been able to offer him in the morning was a sedative, which would leave him oblivious, or morphine, which would make him more likely to succumb to the tiredness he was feeling, and therefore have the same result. So Hogan had rejected both and opted for a couple of aspirin tablets, which hardly seemed enough. Still, he sighed, studying the fringes of Stalag 13, it was the best he was going to get.
All was forgotten as he started to hear a thunder-like rumbling. Looking around, he saw that Kinch and Newkirk had taken up their observation posts outside Barracks Two. Le Beau was walking with Carter across the compound toward the platform. Olsen was playing football with Foster near the warning fence. Squinting in the midday sun, Hogan looked toward the source of the noise, and saw a very large, very dangerous machine heading toward the camp.
A Panzer.
Not just any Panzer, but a Panzer the likes of which Hogan had never seen. Through critical eyes, Hogan looked carefully at the sloped front armor, the long gun turret reflecting the rays of the bleak sun, and watched as the earth beneath the caterpillar tracks of the machine crumbled while small rocks bounced out of the way like basketballs being dribbled at high speed. The noise got louder and Hogan could see a head sticking out of the top of the tank as the vehicle pulled closer to the gate. Two camp guards swung the front gates open wide and the tank rolled in, turning awkwardly through the gap in the fence and coming to a halt in the middle of the compound. A German officer's staff car followed in its wake, small flags bearing swastikas on the hood waving in the breeze. Hogan watched as it carelessly pulled up alongside Burkhalter's car and sprayed dirt up from the tires as it ground impatiently to a halt.
A severe-looking officer burst out of the car, not bothering to wait for the driver to open his door. With only a quick glance around him, the man set his eyes on Hogan and called out in heavily accented English, "You—American. Where is your camp Kommandant?"
Hogan fought back the urge to reply "You—Kraut—go to Hell." Instead, he strolled as nonchalantly as he could manage toward the tall, strongly-built officer; a General, Hogan noted. "I believe you're talking about Colonel Wilhelm Klink," Hogan offered, a tolerant smile crossing his lips. "I'm Colonel Robert Hogan, senior POW officer," he added, offering his hand to shake but not saluting.
"Hmph—if I had wanted to know who you are, I would have asked you to tell me," the man said, ignoring Hogan's hand. "Of course I mean Wilhelm Klink; who else would be running this place?"
"Well that depends on who you ask," Hogan quipped, crossing his arms and thinking of the many times he had personally heard Gestapo Major Wolfgang Hochstetter's declaration that it was the prisoners who had control of the camp—or as he once put it, the inmates who were running the asylum. "Major Hochstetter—"
"Never mind," the General scowled. "Where is Klink?"
Hogan looked toward the motor pool area. "He's down there with General Burkhalter and someone from the Propaganda Ministry. They're waiting for some hot shot General to show up so they can get on with this award ceremony and then watch this thing here go through its paces," Hogan said, hitching a thumb toward the tank behind him.
The General's face reddened and his eyes started storming. Hogan pretended not to notice. "I believe I am that 'hot shot' General they are waiting for," he seethed.
"Oh yeah?" Hogan said innocently. Inside, a small thrill of victory loosened the knot that was always present when he was dealing with the Nazis. Though he often appeared to be at ease, almost carefree, when facing them, the truth was he was he was wound tighter than a propeller. The trick was never letting the enemy know that, and sometimes that wasn't as easy as other times. "Who are you?"
"General Jens Werden is who I am, Colonel," he said warningly.
Hogan took the hint. Couldn't afford to be in the cooler, not now—not even for the sake of letting off some of his own frustration and anger. "Oh," Hogan amended, trying to look apologetic and surprised. "Pardon me, General, of course I'll take you to the Kommandant." Then, before he could stop himself, he added, "Would you like one of my men to park your tank for you?"
Werden stopped in his tracks, then obviously decided to say nothing and burst ahead of Hogan when he could see the platform and the people starting to gather around it.
Hogan nodded toward Kinch and Newkirk as he walked up to the small stairs that led to the podium. Schultz could be heard crying "Raus! Raus!" at the stragglers who had yet to make it to the assembly area at the appointed time. Klink was busy making clumsy introductions between the Generals and Oppenheimer. Hogan simply smiled charmingly when Klink tried to introduce him to Werden, saying, "I've already had the pleasure, Colonel." Werden shot Hogan a dirty look but said nothing in response.
Meanwhile Hogan's men made their way to the front of the platform, some with plain view of the fence, others close to the open area where the tank would be moving. "Look at all those filthy Krauts," Le Beau spat under his breath. "It must make the Colonel sick just to stand there with them."
"He doesn't look really happy, does he?" admitted Kinch.
"He needs to be sleeping, that is what he needs. He needs a doctor and someone to watch over him while he recovers. He is in pain—you can see it—but he has not stopped yet, Kinch," insisted Le Beau.
"Don't worry, Louis. You know the Colonel. He'll stop when he has to."
"That will be when he falls down."
Closer to the fence, Carter and Newkirk were scanning the woods, trying not to seem obvious to the guards. "Anything yet, Carter?"
"Not yet, Peter," Carter answered. "Y'know, I'm not sure how this is supposed to work."
"We never know exactly, do we?" Newkirk replied. "Colonel Hogan—he always knows. Consider it an adventure, something to break up the monotony," Newkirk said, shaking his head. "Uh-oh. There's an adventure we didn't plan on." He pointed toward an approaching vehicle. "Better tell the Colonel."
Newkirk turned and signaled to Kinch, who nudged Le Beau. Le Beau edged toward the platform, where Hogan was carefully distancing himself from the fiasco that was Klink's charm, and bent down quickly. "What is it?" he asked, wincing slightly at the pull on his chest.
"Hochstetter is coming," Le Beau whispered.
Hogan quickly stood up and looked around to see the black car pulling in through the gate. "Great," he muttered. He bent back to Le Beau. "Okay, tell the men the plan is still on. It's too late to warn Tiger; I'll just have to play my fiddle a bit faster," he said in Le Beau's ear.
"Oui, Colonel."
And hope Hochstetter likes the tune.