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 turned toward the door as he heard Klink raising his voice in welcome. Schultz, trying to look his most dapper, was escorting Tiger into Klink's quarters, and, with a click of his heels and the slightest bow, grinned like a teenager on his first date as she smiled shyly back at him. Ah, Tiger, you always did know how to turn a guy's head, Hogan thought.
Hogan grabbed a drink from a passing tray to add to his own and approached Tiger as Schultz reluctantly released her. "Good evening, Mademoiselle," he said cheerfully, handing her a glass.
"Good evening," Tiger responded.
"Hogan, you have no reason to associate with the lady," Klink simpered, turning an overly bright smile toward Tiger, who lowered her head and looked away.
"Oh, that's a fine thing to say, Kommandant," Hogan retorted. "After all, we're both prisoners here; you're the free one. Leave us to our misery."
Klink "harrumphed" and was about to respond when the sound of the door made him turn again. Hogan glanced over and saw General Werden entering the room, followed directly by Hochstetter. Hogan drew himself and Tiger further into the room and away from the others. "Everything okay?" he asked under his breath, taking a sip of his drink to hide his words.
Tiger nodded very slightly. "Corporal Newkirk came to me earlier and explained everything," she said.
"Good," Hogan answered. "We'll be with you as often as we can. Just play along. But don't take any chances."
Tiger nodded, then the pair parted slightly as Hochstetter approached them. "Colonel Hogan, I see you are monopolizing the lady's attention," he said.
"Well, they say French ladies have taste, right?" Hogan said with a light laugh. Newkirk slid by with a tray of drinks. Hogan reached out to stop him. "Drink, Major?" he offered.
Newkirk presented the tray. "We have a very fine selection tonight, Major," he said. "Though unfortunately, it is a German wine. I understand French wine is so much nicer. Is that right, Mademoiselle?" he asked. Hogan smiled. Any chance to upset Hochstetter was a moment well spent, he believed. Newkirk slipped away, the tray untouched.
Tiger merely smiled graciously. Hochstetter growled and bared his teeth but did not take the bait. Instead he said, "I see Sergeant Schultz was able to turn you into a lady." He nodded approval at the simple dress she was wearing. Hogan noted that the dress was one that he had seen Klink's secretary, Helga, wear in the past, and that Tiger's hair was neatly combed, with even the slightest touch of make up on her face. It was charming, and the first time he had seen her looking so feminine, he realized with a small, unexpected thrill. The feeling was short-lived, as he realized this also appealed to Hochstetter, which made him nauseous.
"That guy from Berlin seems to think she'll pass muster," Hogan said irreverently.
"I am sure our dear Juliet will do very well, Hogan." Hochstetter looked around to find General Werden being bailed up in a corner by a practically dribbling Klink. "Excuse me," he said with surprising politeness, and he went to rescue the officer.
Hogan and Tiger turned away. "All this decorum is making me sick to my stomach," Hogan mumbled.
"At least the German men are gentlemanly enough to compliment a lady on her attire," Tiger teased gently.
Hogan tried to look hurt and then fixed her with a long stare. "You look just fine, Juliet," he said. "Any man in the room would be proud to be your Romeo." Time for lightness over, Hogan grew serious. "Le Beau and Newkirk are going to make sure everyone here gets nicely soused and well distracted, while Carter and Kinch are going to handle the tanks—both the ones outside the wires and the one inside. Later on, well get you the camera you need."
"Oui," Tiger answered. "Corporal Newkirk explained."
Hogan shrugged. "Looks like I'm superfluous," he sighed. "I could have taken a longer nap."
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"Come on, Andrew; let's get moving!"
"I just want to make sure I have everything we need. You know what the Colonel says, Kinch: Haste makes waste. Although, you know, I'm not sure he's the first one to say that. I think my Uncle Ralph used to say that when I was a kid. But you know, he might have met Colonel Hogan some time back then, before he was Colonel Hogan, and maybe the Colonel said it to him, and he liked it and started saying it himself—"
"Carter!" Kinch shook his head as he grabbed an armful of explosives from the babbling demolitions expert. "You're wasting. Try hasting."
Carter thought about that for a second, then nodded and followed the radioman up the ladder and out of the camp.
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"I think that the lady should have some German soldiers around her for effect," Klink was proposing. "Laughing gaily, drinking some Riesling perhaps, making jokes."
Oppenheimer was shaking his head. "You cannot see jokes in a photograph, Herr Kommandant," he replied.
"Klink is not very good about grasping the obvious," Burkhalter laughed, taking another drink from the tray Newkirk offered. "Hogan!" he called, seeing the senior POW hanging back on the outer fringes of the room. "Hogan, come and join us!"
Hogan came closer to the German officer. He had been trying to keep watch, to see just how much alcohol was being consumed, and once or twice he had headed out to the kitchen to soothe the ragged nerves of Le Beau. The Frenchman was still tempted to put something unfortunate in the evening meal, but Hogan again explained to him that while it was an idea to admire, it was not going to further their plans tonight. Never comfortable in Burkhalter's presence, Hogan nonetheless came forward with a happy-go-lucky smile on his face. When Burkhalter had had too much to drink, nationality didn't matter; everyone was entitled to enjoy himself.
"Why are you not enjoying the company of this lovely fraulein, Hogan?" Burkhalter asked, trying to twirl Tiger in front of the American, but succeeding only in pushing her clumsily. Hogan felt his insides twist as Tiger tried to keep her footing, reaching out with a gasp. He took hold of her arm and stopped her from falling flat on her face, her eyes betraying her anxiety in this room full of dangerous men.
"I think the General is enjoying her quite enough for both of us," Hogan said, not letting her go.
"Nonsense!" Burkhalter insisted. "This young lady is eminently suitable for a fine-looking officer like yourself," he said. "Look at the two of you standing there arm in arm. If only Gertrude could find an honorable man like you!" He fixed a wide smile on them, then the smile disappeared as he turned to the Kommandant. "Unfortunately, she seems to have her heart set on Colonel Klink."
"We can't all be as lucky as the Kommandant," Hogan said, never breaking his pleasant demeanor. Well, at least Burkhalter's drunk, if he's trying to set me up with Tiger.
"Herr General," Hochstetter broke in, as Burkhalter tried to push Hogan and Tiger into a waltz with the music playing in the background, "we need to talk about the arrangements to take the fraulein into Hammelburg for questioning."
"Major, Major—there is time for that later; the night is young, there is a full moon fit for lovers out tonight!" Burkhalter mused loudly.
Hogan danced Tiger away as the two officers debated the full moon's usefulness for romance or interrogation. Don't remind me about the full moon. It's the last thing we want tonight. Where are the clouds?
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"Are you done, Kinch?" whispered Carter, sliding out from underneath one of the Panzers parked outside the camp.
"Nearly," Kinch replied, grunting with the effort. He strained to see the delicate wiring that Carter had designed for these tiny but powerful explosives. His hands shaking slightly from the immensely detailed work, he was concentrating on making sure not a single piece was out of place, and that everything was positioned in a spot to cause maximum damage to these monstrous vehicles.
Inside, his mind was racing; he had never imagined when he joined the US Army Air Corps that he would end up sabotaging a German tank. But then, nothing had gone to plan since he came to Stalag 13, if, indeed, there was ever a plan to have when one was a prisoner of war. Kinch thought of Colonel Hogan, having drinks and dinner up in Klink's warm quarters, and briefly felt a pang of jealousy at the more comfortable assignment the officer had. But as he slipped the last charge into place around the device responsible for the fancy maneuvers the prisoners had witnessed earlier today, he snorted to himself. More comfortable? Maybe Hogan wasn't lying on his back in the cold under tons of enemy weaponry, but he sure couldn't enjoy having to conspire in a roomful of enemy officers, all the while taking responsibility for an operation that most people could only dream of—if they knew about it at all. He couldn't like playing along with people like General Burkhalter, who had brought him into the camp in the first place, handcuffed and ill-treated. He couldn't like thinking that at any time, if his plans weren't up to snuff, any number of men could be killed—and, ultimately, it would be on Hogan's head, as their commanding officer, the person whom they followed without question. And tonight, while still suffering from a horrific injury he had to endure in secret, he not only had his own men to worry about; he had Tiger to contend with as well. But putting things on hold wasn't an option; it never was for Hogan. Kinch shook his head unconsciously. I'd rather be out here. There's no way I'd want to be the Papa Bear.
He finished his handiwork and slid silently out to Carter, who was pointing toward the last of the five tanks. Carter made an "OK" signal with his fingers, and Kinch nodded. Carter slipped underneath the massive machine, while Kinch kept watch. One left after this, he thought, looking into the camp, where the tank used in the day's demonstration stood with two guards pacing back and forth around it. The hardest one of all. I hope the Colonel's having success in there.
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"I'm afraid I really have to take my leave," Hogan was saying over the din. Dinner had been a success, with Le Beau even making an appearance from the kitchen to personally receive the accolades of the Germans. Hogan noticed the muscles standing out on the Frenchman's neck as he struggled not to say anything to Werden, whose compliment of "Very fine work; it seems the French are not without some positive traits," burned through him.
"Merci," Le Beau responded through gritted teeth. Tiger smiled sympathetically as Le Beau turned quickly away, crushing the white chef's hat he was holding in his hands.
Hogan himself was feeling a burning sensation as well, but he couldn't figure out the cause: empathy for the humiliation Le Beau was feeling; anger at the audacity of the German officers to enjoy a fine meal at the expense of himself and his men; or simply the burning he continued to experience in his chest as his wound tried desperately to heal in spite of Hogan's continued activity. He put it down to a mix of the fear he always fought when in the presence of Burkhalter and Hochstetter, and anxiety for the safety of his men outside.
"Hogan, Hogan, you Americans are such party poopers!" Burkhalter wagged his finger at the Colonel. "Why, it's hardly bedtime for small children!"
"Begging the General's pardon, but it's nearly midnight," Hogan said, trying not to lose his lightness. "All good little Colonels are in bed now. And besides, I'm a prisoner, remember?"
"Ah, not tonight, Colonel Hogan," Burkhalter said again, and, having consumed more than his share of wine during dinner, thanks to Newkirk's constant and unobtrusive refilling of glasses, he returned to his theme of young lovers. "Tonight, you are merely a young man with a beautiful lady on his arm." He tried to reach for Tiger, who was standing a few feet away near Newkirk; Hogan side-stepped Burkhalter and reached her first, pulling her to his side. "Ah, now that is a lovely picture," Burkhalter said admiringly. "Oppenheimer! Oppenheimer! Where is that man and his camera—"
Hogan gave a quick, reassuring glance to Tiger, then looked questioningly at Newkirk, who nodded in the direction of the back room. Hogan nodded. One German down, five to go.
"Ah, that's too bad!" he heard Burkhalter saying as he reappeared from Klink's private rooms. He came up to Hogan and Tiger. "Oppenheimer is asleep," he said. "I think he could not handle his wine! He must have American blood in him." He laughed at his own joke.
"Makes you wonder what Propaganda Minister Goebbels would say, huh?" Hogan said, referring to Oppenheimer's ultimate boss. "Imagine him hiring a half-breed!" He laughed loudly. Tiger tried hard to suppress a grin; Newkirk didn't bother to hide his.
Burkhalter suddenly grew wide-eyed. "Did I suggest such a thing?" he asked, unable to recall.
"Oh, the General certainly did say words to that effect," Klink put in from a few feet away.
Hogan quietly watched the tumultuous effect his words were having. What a fine way to gauge their absolute drunkenness, he thought. Watching them destroy each other's credibility.
"I heard it myshelf," Schultz slurred, unsolicited. He approached the officers. "He shed that Herr Oppenheimer must be an Aremican—am Anerican—a Mericanan—from the United States," he said.
"I think they're questioning your loyalties, General," Hogan said, to add fuel to the fire.
"My loyalties?" Burkhalter echoed, his voice getting louder. "My loyalties are with the Fuhrer! If anyone's loyalties should be questioned, it's your beloved Kommandant!"
"How can you question the loyalties of a man being decorated for maintaining a perfect No Escape record?" Werden declared belligerently.
Hogan stepped back with Tiger as the fur started flying. Klink's protests, Burkhalter's insistence that there always seemed to be funny business going on around the vicinity of Stalag 13, even Hochstetter's loud input trying to calm the storm. He's not drunk, Hogan realized, studying Hochstetter. I don't think I've even seen him with a glass in his hand all night. And he's the one most likely to cause trouble. It was time for him to speak up.
"Gentlemen," Hogan said, trying to make himself heard. "Gentlemen!" A ripple in his chest pulled him up short; any pain relief he had taken earlier in the evening had well worn off by now. Tiger felt Hogan's grip on her arm momentarily tighten, and watched as he almost physically pushed away his discomfort. The room fell into silence. Hogan swallowed hard and spoke up. "This is no conversation for a lady to be exposed to. I'm going to take her back to Barracks Four. And I respectfully suggest that you all turn in for the night, until you're better able to contain yourselves."
Thus put in their place, the officers allowed Hogan and Tiger to leave, with Schultz staggering carefully behind them. Hogan said nothing to Tiger until they reached her hut. "Hold on tight," he said. "The real party is about to begin."