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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"So you fellas are clear, absolutely clear, on what you have to do tonight?" Hogan asked again, as Newkirk fussed around him, fixing up the lapels of the dark suit London had sent and Hogan had now put on.
"Oui, Colonel," Le Beau answered. "We will go and come as quickly as possible."
"What's the name of your contact?"
"Peter Pan."
"Peter Pan!" Hogan echoed, shaking his head. "I'd better brush up on all my fairy tales for this command; mine is Mother Goose." Newkirk continued fussing with Hogan's tie. Hogan pushed the Corporal's hand away when it got too much, went to the small mirror in his office, and straightened it himself. "Don't forget your recognition code," he said over his shoulder.
The others followed him into his office. "Of course, Colonel," Le Beau replied. "'It's a long way to Never Land.'"
"'But if you believe, you can fly!'" Carter finished, pleased.
Hogan, finished with his preening, picked up the trench coat from his bunk and turned to his men. Whistles and gentle catcalls greeted him. "Very nice, Colonel," Newkirk said. "If I do say so myself."
Hogan smiled mildly and inclined his head. "You did a good job with the alterations, Newkirk. They must think prisoners of war can actually gain weight—I'll have to talk with whoever it was that thought I'd take a 44. I didn't even take that size when I was eating well back in London." Hogan pulled on the new coat, suddenly caught in his own thoughts.
"You've got your papers?" Kinch asked, kindly breaking into his memories.
Hogan patted his coat where his breast pocket was hidden underneath. "Right here. Those documents from Klink's office were just the ticket. My travel papers look perfect. Thanks again, Newkirk."
Newkirk nodded, nervous. Never had so much ridden on his handiwork. "You be careful tonight, Colonel," Newkirk said quietly.
"Yeah, we've trained you too well to have you go off and leave us for something better," Kinch said, trying to bring some lightness into the suddenly darkening atmosphere.
Hogan nodded, pulling the sash tight on his coat. "I have every intention of making it back here in one piece. Let's just hope the Germans see it the same way." Purposefully changing his mood, he added, "They may not believe I'm a local, in a debonair suit like this," he grinned.
"I can always rough it up a bit, gov'nor. Put some Nazi insignias on the sleeves," Newkirk offered.
"Thanks anyway," Hogan said. "It's bad enough having to be out there; I don't want people throwing 'Heil, Hitlers' at me."
Le Beau smiled encouragingly. "By the time you come back, Colonel, we should already have what we need to finish the dynamite."
Hogan nodded. "Good." He took in the looks of the four men around him, then looked inside himself. "You guys go on; I'll be out in a minute."
Hesitantly, Hogan's men filed out, Kinch closing the door behind him. Hogan stood for a moment, unmoving, then reached for the Bible on his desk and sat down. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Hogan took a deep breath to steel his nerves. Well, now's as good a time as any for You to be looking over my shoulder, he thought. Please look after my men. Please protect them.
Please protect me.
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Hogan parted company with Carter and Le Beau just outside the hollowed-out tree stump at the end of the emergency tunnel. He knew that it would take him quite some time to walk to Hammelburg, and in the cold he was grateful for the slim warmth of a suit and coat that were not threadbare and worn like most of his clothing was; the Red Cross had promised him new clothes—and a dress uniform, as well—but so far that just hadn't been possible, and the wash-and-wear routine was starting to tell on his existing garments. A stiff, bitter wind gusted suddenly, and, shivering, Hogan pulled his collar up around his neck and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. Gloves would have been a nice touch.
Hogan knew he wouldn't be able to keep his hands protected for long; the flashlight he carried under his clothes was going to be needed soon. The moonlight was some help, but it wouldn't be enough if he had to come off the main road and into the brush. Unwillingly and unbidden, memories of his first foray out of the camp came to the fore. He had been a relatively new prisoner, trying to escape from Stalag 13 when it became known that the Gestapo was coming back to question him the following day. He had resisted initially—so many others had been ahead of him. But the men had insisted that he go first, and so he did. Wounded, exhausted, and scared out of his mind, Hogan had nonetheless tried to go along with the initial plan: meet up with Oskar Schnitzer, the elderly man who changed the dogs, and get out of Germany with the help of the Underground, of which Schnitzer was a part. But it hadn't worked quite to plan, and with Schnitzer's help, Hogan had actually voluntarily returned to camp, carrying with him the final piece of a radio transmitter that the prisoners needed in order to start planning their own escapes.
How ironic that turned out to be, Hogan thought, as he put those incidents next to the fact that Stalag 13 was now effectively, voluntarily, escape-free, at least in the eyes of their German captors. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind, and bowed his head against the now biting cold, forcing himself to walk more quickly, as images of the big fireplace in his family home burning brightly consumed him, until he could almost feel the tingling of the warmth on his cheeks.
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"But if you believe, you can fly," Carter said.
The man crouched nearby straightened and offered his hand. "I was not sure you would come; there have been many patrols out tonight."
"We did not have many choices," Le Beau replied, shuddering at the thought. Though he and Carter had done their best to remain completely silent, they had seen one such patrol, and stayed in hiding until they were certain of their safety. It had not occurred to either of them that there might have been yet another patrol so close by.
"We have what you need. Do you know how to use it?"
"Oh, sure," Carter said. "That's easy." He opened his mouth to start explaining what he knew about the construction of dynamite, but was stopped by Le Beau, who interrupted.
"Oui, we do know what needs to be done," the Frenchman cut in.
Peter Pan nodded as he handed over the boxes. "Something else you need to know. The Germans are converting the old factory a few miles from here into a munitions plant. If they can get it fully operational, it will mean they can replenish the troops at the front twice as quickly as they can now."
Le Beau nodded grimly. "We will tell Papa Bear," he said. "Thank you for everything, mon ami."
"I wish we could do more."
"You will," Le Beau assured him. "Now go, while you can. Bonne chance."
They watched as their contact disappeared into the woods. Le Beau nudged Carter, who seemed rooted in place after Peter Pan had told them about another plant in the area. "Let's get back. The Colonel has enough to worry about without us freezing to death out here."
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Hogan stood on the landing just inside the front door of the Hauserhoff, letting the blood start to recirculate through his fingers and toes. He had had to take cover in the woods more than once on his trek from the camp, thanks to German patrols tramping noisily past. Though when home in New England Hogan actually quite enjoyed the winter weather, he had not spent an extended amount of time out in it since he was a teenager sledding down the hill in the nearby park, and now he remembered why. He winced as a slightly painful prickling sensation in his fingers told him his internal temperature was returning to normal, and, not wishing to draw undue attention to himself, he stepped down amongst the tables of the crowded establishment.
Despite his both mental and physical discomfort, Hogan was on full alert, his eyes scanning the room meticulously for any indication that he was being observed. A well-dressed woman, laughing too loudly at corner table, wedged in between two men in uniform; a group of civilians, toasting some private triumph; a few men noisily singing an old German folk song around a smoke-encased table; here and there, German officers and other soldiers, quietly enjoying a drink and a smoke; other, scattered, loners and couples, all looking for a brief respite from the cold and the war outside. No one sporting a pink carnation that would bring Hogan some sense of belonging.
Hogan moved slowly over to a small table toward the back of the room that was being cleaned by a young, pretty waitress. She glanced up at him as he approached and smiled. "Guten abend, mein Herr," she greeted him.
"Abend, fraulein," Hogan said, nodding. The girl smiled again, and Hogan wondered whether she was just being friendly, or whether she detected something unusual about him being there. You're being paranoid, he scolded himself, and he sat down. She looked at him expectantly. "Ein Bier, bitte," Hogan requested, not at all in the mood for any drink but coffee, or, better yet, a hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows melting together on the top, its steam snaking up to warm the tip of his nose and his cheeks.
The waitress nodded and moved away. Hogan unbuttoned his overcoat and continued to look around. Still no one, but at least no one appeared to be studying him. He wondered, briefly, how Le Beau and Carter were making out meeting their contact, and glanced at his watch. They should be headed back by now. I hope they're safe.
Hogan was finally beginning to absorb the warmth of the room when the waitress returned. She placed the drink in front of him, and a napkin beside it. Hogan looked up to thank her and discovered that she had added a pink carnation to her attire. She smiled at him again. "Woher kommen Sie?" she asked casually.
Hogan faltered briefly, thrown off by this young, innocent woman before him. Surely she wasn't his contact? She began to look slightly uneasy, and Hogan realized that he had to answer, even if her question had simply been asked out of politeness, and not as part of the code. "Düsseldorf."
The girl nodded, as though praising a student for a correct answer.
"Ich bin ein Suesswarenerzeuger," Hogan added. The girl, of course, had not asked for his travel papers; that had only been a contingency in case he was stopped by the German authorities. Still, he hoped he was doing the right thing by continuing the sequence. Hogan was nervous, and found himself sweating beneath his coat, and fleetingly wishing for some of the cold of the outside to flow across his hot brow. "Aber ich finde, belgische Schokolade ist die Suesse."
The girl's eyes seemed to take on a light that had not been there before. "Ich ziehe Schweizer Schokolade vor, " she replied.
Hogan paused, his nerves fighting to get the better of him. "Ich finde, Schweizer Schokolade ist zu sues."
A broad smile crossed the girl's lips. "Perhaps you would prefer American," she said almost inaudibly. Hogan nodded. "Papa Bear?" she asked.
Hogan relaxed only slightly, and nodded. "Mother Goose?"
The girl giggled. "Silly, isn't it?" she said chidingly. Hogan smiled at her charm. She moved in closer. "Here, mein Herr," she said. "You have soiled your coat; allow me." She pulled a cloth out of her apron and started dabbing at Hogan's coat. Hogan was wondering if she suspected they were being watched, when he felt something fall into his lap below the table. Glancing down, he saw a small, fat envelope. He looked at the girl, easing it nonchalantly into his pocket, and nodded. "That is fine, fraulein. Danke," he said.
The girl straightened and smiled again. "Sophia!" came a call from the bar.
The girl gave a slight start. "That is me. I have to go," she said.
"Danke," Hogan said again. "Oh, look, do me a favour?" he asked.
Sophia paused. "Ja?"
Hogan smiled like a child about to ask for a sweet. "Have you got any hot chocolate?"
Hogan stayed at the table, taking a drink so he wouldn't attract any attention by departing abruptly. Without a hot chocolate available, he settled for a strong cup of coffee, to prepare him for a long, cold walk back. The envelope Sophia had passed on to Hogan seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket, but he was clever enough to know it would be death to take it out for a look in public; that would have to wait till he was back at Stalag 13.
Hogan left some money at the table to pay for the drinks and stood up, buttoning his coat and tightening the sash in anticipation of the blast of freezing air that would hit him as he opened the door. But he was pulled up short when someone standing right in his path caught his eye.
Sergeant Schultz.