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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"I'm not so sure I like the idea of something like nitroglycerin being dropped out of an airplane," Hogan said under his breath, as he and Carter waited in the damp underbrush for the Allied plane to deliver their parcel.
"Don't worry, Colonel," Carter answered. "If they packed it wrong, we'll never know."
Hogan did a double take before pointing out the lights approaching in the distance overhead. "That's it," he said. He held up one of the large, powerful flashlights that had been sent by airdrop soon after Hogan had first agreed to the command at Stalag 13. Flicking the light on and off in the agreed code, he squinted in the weak moonlight, trying to see the delivery being expelled from the aircraft. He was surprised to see not one, but two parcels, and he motioned for Carter to take cover as the parachutes opened to slow the descent of the articles.
A soft thud indicated the boxes had made contact with the ground. Carter tried to spring up from his crouched position, but Hogan held him back, anxious that someone might have seen the drop and was coming. After about five minutes of silence, Hogan cautiously straightened and motioned for Carter to follow. Pulling the parachute out of the way, Hogan ran his hand along the top of the first parcel. It was cold to the touch. He furrowed his brow and looked at Carter.
"You have to keep nitro cold to transport it, or it could explode," Carter explained.
Hogan stared at the enthusiastic Sergeant. "The fact that you know this stuff, Carter, both fascinates and terrifies me," Hogan replied. He shook his head. "We'd better get a move on, then. I'm nervous enough as it is without worrying about keeping explosives nicely chilled." He turned and looked at the other, larger parcel. "So these must be the civilian clothes."
Hogan detached the parcels from the parachutes while Carter folded the cumbersome material to make it easier to carry. When they finished, Hogan tested the weight of the bigger container and found it to be fairly light. Carter eagerly volunteered to carry the parachutes and the cold parcel, and it was with some reluctance that Hogan consented. Not only was he concerned about Carter's natural clumsiness, but he was also worried that if something did go wrong, that it would be one of his men who was seriously injured. But Carter was so pleading that Hogan sighed and settled on giving him stern lectures about safety, then made sure he watched every step the non-com made.
The sound of footsteps moving in the underbrush as they headed for the hollowed-out tree stump pulled them up. Hogan and Carter tried to make themselves small and thin behind a couple of trees nearby, Carter doing his best to keep the parachute material from peeking out, Hogan holding his larger box as close in front of him as possible. Holding their breath, they waited, and out of the corner of his eye, Hogan saw the barrel of a German rifle, followed quickly by a uniformed patrol officer, and three more just like him. He glanced over and saw Carter squeeze his eyes shut, as though not being able to see the enemy would make him invisible to them as well. Hogan took another deep breath himself and closed his eyes, only to open them quickly when scenes of Connecticut unexpectedly flashed through his mind.
The footsteps faded, and Hogan allowed himself to breathe out. Ever so slowly poking his head around the tree, he looked for any sign that the patrol was still in the area. Hearing nothing but still not satisfied, he decided to wait for another minute before coming out and nudging Carter, who was still standing, eyes closed tight. The Sergeant nearly jumped when he felt Hogan's touch; Hogan brought a hand up to Carter's mouth as the young man regained his equilibrium. When Carter's wildly widened eyes recognized his commanding officer, Hogan released his hold and Carter relaxed.
Hogan gestured with his eyes toward the trail they had been following. Carter nodded and pulled away from the tree. As he reached the clearing, Hogan scanned the immediate area once, then twice, then turned as he heard an "Oomph" from behind, and reached out just in time to stop Carter from falling into him. Hogan frantically put his hand up against the now less-than-freezing box that was slipping from Carter's grasp. Carter dropped the parachutes and grappled for a good hold. Hogan continued steadying the parcel for a moment, the sweat of quiet panic cooling on his face, calming his breathing and watching to make sure Carter didn't lose his footing again.
"Sorry, Colonel—tree root sticking up," Carter whispered sheepishly.
Hogan exhaled heavily and briefly closed his eyes. Then, feeling more in control, he picked up the parcel he had abandoned in his rush to stop the nitroglycerin from crashing to the ground, and motioned for Carter to retrieve the parachutes, all the while looking around for German patrols. He nodded and then they headed back to the camp, hoping there would be no more tree roots—or anything else—to impede their progress.
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"Careful—careful!" Hogan ordered, as Carter started unwrapping the small package about half an hour later in the tunnel under Barracks Two. Le Beau, Kinch, and Newkirk had been anxious to join them there, pelting them with questions about their tardiness. Hogan simply told them they had seen a patrol and needed to be cautious on their return, then turned his attention to the parcels.
"No problem, Colonel, I'm used to dealing with this stuff," Carter tried to assure Hogan. He continued to almost offhandedly pull apart the outer wrapping.
Le Beau covered his eyes and turned away. "I cannot watch," he muttered.
"I'm telling you, it's okay!" Carter insisted. Suddenly he slowed down and his face got serious. "All right, here's where it gets tricky."
Hogan looked at the others, the tension in the closed area almost physical. "Okay, fellas, back off," he said. "Leave this to Carter."
Newkirk, Le Beau, and Kinch backed up a bit, around a curve in the tunnel that led further out toward the exit. "It's like mother's milk to you, mate," Newkirk said as he passed Carter. "You'll be all right."
"I know," Carter said, concentrating. "Thanks, Newkirk."
Hogan stood near Carter, watching. "You can back off, too, if you want, Andrew," he said. "I can open it."
Carter looked up, surprised. "Gee, Colonel, I don't mind," he said. "But if you're uncomfortable, you can join the others."
Hogan fought the urge to do just that. Carter might be clumsy, but he's no idiot when it comes to this stuff. You'll be okay…stay where you are. "I'll stay right here."
Carter shrugged and slowly removed the tissue-like paper covering the goods inside the parcel. Inside was a very flattened, very wrinkled, pale brown trench coat. Hogan let out a breath when he realised he had been holding it, then glanced at the others, who were still peering from around the corner, flinching back out of sight any time Carter's hand seemed to move more quickly than they liked. Carter just looked up at Hogan, very gingerly unrolled the jacket, and revealed the vials inside that they had been waiting for. He held one up for Hogan to see, stopper in place and still cool to the touch. Hogan nodded and took the vial with extreme care, waiting as Carter pulled out three others. He handed one to Hogan and took the other two himself. Looking for a place to put them, Hogan's eyes finally lighted on a smaller, empty box that had once held their Red Cross rations. Trying desperately to keep his hands steady, Hogan placed one, then the other of his vials in it. Carter followed suit, and audible sighs of relief could be heard from the trio in hiding.
Carter then picked up the coat and shook it out, Hogan still half turning away in case Carter had missed anything explosive before he started agitating the material. But all was well and Carter handed the garment to Hogan. Anxiety still playing on them, the others emerged from their exile but were silent as Hogan then headed for the second container. He carefully opened the lid, then looked up. "Kinch, give me a hand, will you?" he asked.
Kinch approached and looked into the box. "That looks like an—"
"—ice-cream maker," Hogan finished, hauling out the wooden, barrel-like contraption. "Why on earth—?" He put it on the floor of the tunnel, then opened the top. "A note," he said. "'Use this and the enclosed rock salt to keep the nitro cool and stable. Silica and paper will be available to you via the Underground.'" Hogan glanced inside the container. "Guess they figured we didn't have an ice box," he said. Standing, he looked back in the box that had held the appliance. "There's the rest of the suit. No cocoa to make chocolate ice-cream, though. Looks like we're stuck with vanilla."
"When we get electricity under here maybe we can make ice-cream for real," Carter said hopefully.
"Foster says he can start extending the wiring down here day after tomorrow," Kinch added.
"Good; I think we can all use a treat. Maybe in the next drop we'll get some fresh milk." Hogan sighed and considered his bunk. "Come on; we've done enough for tonight. Carter, let's get the nitro into this thing and then turn in. We've got an awful lot to do tomorrow."
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"Was haben Sie hier zu suchen?" asked Corporal Thomas Baumgartner the next morning.
"Ich bin wegen eines Verkaufstreffens hier," Hogan answered.
"Woher kommen Sie?" Baumgartner asked accusingly.
"Düsseldorf." Hogan shrugged.
"Zeigen Sie mir Ihre Reisepapiere."
"Travel papers?" Hogan asked. Baumgartner nodded. "Sehr gern, mein Herr."
"Sie sind also ein Suesswarenerzeuger?"
"Ich finde, belgische Schokolade ist die Suesse."
"No, Colonel," corrected Baumgartner. "You have just called Belgian chocolate your sweetheart. Try again—the German word for 'sweetest' is suesseste, not Suesse."
Hogan shook his head, frustrated. He was tired after over three hours of intensive German lessons, and was finding this part—learning the transmitted recognition code—maddening. "Ich finde, belgische Schokolade ist die suesseste," he said.
"Much better," Baumgartner said. "Ich ziehe Schweizer Schokolade vor."
"Ich finde, Schweizer Schokolade ist zu sues."
"Perhaps you would prefer American."
Hogan sighed and ran his hand down his face. "Belgian chocolate, Swiss chocolate—what's this all got to do with it anyway?" he asked.
"Plenty if you end up facing a Kraut, Colonel," Baumgartner said. "You already know some of this, sir. But you're going to have to talk like a native if you get stopped by someone."
"I know, I know," Hogan said resignedly. "That's why I called for you in the first place—I need someone who knows the language that can teach me all the finer points." He stretched and looked at the young Army Air Corps prisoner. "What's next?"
"We'll need to work on your accent. And you need to learn the proper greetings and military courtesies. But let's go on to something simple for awhile: 'Good evening,' and 'To your health.'"
Hogan yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Isn't there anything more pleasant—like, 'Would you care to join me in this dance?' and 'Let me take you back to Connecticut, fraulein'?"
"Guten abend, Colonel Hogan."
"Guten abend, Corporal," Hogan sighed. "Guten abend."