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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"Are you sure we're doing the right thing, Colonel?"
"I'm not sure of anything at the moment, Carter," Hogan answered. He had just given his men their directions for tonight, and he was feeling dead beat. "I'm just hoping for the best." The others had gone upstairs to prepare, but Carter had lagged behind, looking for reassurance.
"Well, this is one of your plans, Colonel Hogan, so I'm sure it's a good one," Carter said chirpily.
"Thanks." Hogan was aware of a steady, hot throbbing throughout his body, particularly concentrated at his hand and his abdomen, and the ferocious headache he had awoken to a few days ago had never completely disappeared. I'm not supposed to be in charge any more, he thought fleetingly. Just let me go back to sleep. But habit or the persistence of his crew would not let him relinquish his position, and so he quashed the idea and tried to pay attention. "It's gonna be hard on Klink," he said.
"Better than facing the firing squad," Carter replied.
Hogan nodded carefully. "You've got that right." He paused, trying to conserve his strength long enough to stay awake for the rest of the conversation. Though it would have been a blessing to fall asleep again, Hogan sensed that Carter had more on his mind, and he wanted to hear it. "Carter?" Hogan said finally.
"Yeah, Colonel?" Carter looked at Hogan with big eyes. "Do you need anything? Are you feeling okay? I can go get Sergeant Wilson—"
"Carter," Hogan interrupted gently, hoping to stop him with just a word, "what is it?"
Carter stopped, guiltily looking at Hogan and then away. "It's nothing, sir." Carter tried to sound dismissive, but somehow he couldn't quite manage it.
Hogan wasn't fooled. "Since when?" he asked softly. "Come on, Sergeant. Spill it."
Carter fidgeted while he clearly debated the issue, then whispered, "I was so scared, Colonel," he said. Hogan noticed that Carter had tears in his eyes. "That day they took you away, I was just—" He cut himself off, not wanting to force any painful memories on his commanding officer. "Well, I mean... it was the first time I thought we might really be in trouble. And without you to help us figure out what to do, I was just... scared."
Hogan understood. "So was I," he said simply. "But we always knew the risks involved in what we do." He thought of Klink in the cooler, awaiting trial tomorrow, and the tasks Hogan had set forth in motion for tonight. "And we're not out of the woods yet. You'd be stupid not to be scared." Hogan shifted with difficulty. "One step at a time, Carter," he hissed through his teeth, as he started to feel sick with pain again. "That's all we can do."
Carter nodded. "I guess you're right," he said, and, aware that Hogan's condition was starting to deteriorate, he added, "I-I'll leave you alone now, sir. You get some sleep."
"Carter," said Hogan, in a voice so strong that it startled the Sergeant, "we'll get through it, whatever happens." Hogan could feel his concentration disappearing and, seeing that his words and tone had had the reassuring effect on Carter he had hoped for, he let himself once again slip away into soothing darkness.
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Klink bade good night to Schultz as the big guard ended his shift outside the Kommandant's cell. Left with no visitors and nothing to occupy his mind but alarming thoughts of his possibly short future, he started a slow, steady pace around his prison. He was consumed with the idea that tomorrow would more than likely be the last day he would spend at Stalag 13. Depending on the outcome of his trial—and he doubted there was little chance that a favorable outcome would result—another man, a mere Captain, would be taking his place.
This place wouldn't be the same anyway, he thought morosely, not without Colonel Hogan to liven things up. Klink tried to picture Hogan standing in the office, smoothly stealing cigars from the locked humidor, or lining up with his subordinates at roll call in the cold, with only that thin brown jacket to protect him from the elements. An officer deserves more, but you never complained for yourself. He remembered the more than rare occasion when Hogan would sit across from him with a chess board between them, and though the American rarely won a game, Hogan had always remained good-natured, and full of clever anecdotes and good conversation. He could have just been playing you for a fool, if what Hochstetter believes is right, Klink thought bitterly. You should have just followed procedure immediately. But when the next image of Hogan forced its way into his consciousness—that of a man tortured and broken at the hands of a man who hated him—Klink had a change of heart. He closed his eyes to the horrific scene playing before his mind's eye. No one deserves that, Hogan. Wherever you are, I hope you're healing.
Then the next question came painfully to him. Where was Hogan? How did he get out? Klink himself was being asked these things, with no clear answer. If he could only come up with something that would convince the authorities that he did not have anything to do with Hogan's disappearance, he might one day have a chance at solving the mysteries. But he could not think of one, wryly realizing that if he were here, Hogan would certainly have come up with something that would help immediately. How ironic that my future is being determined by you, without you even being here.
Klink ran his hands uselessly along the walls of the cell, wondering if there was some truth to the notion that Hogan had simply slipped through the walls of the other room, and he wished there were some magic that he could use now, to steal away himself.
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Hogan's dark eyes followed Kinch as the radio man checked the instruments on the panel nearby and picked up a couple of small items from the desk. Kinch nodded fleetingly in Hogan's direction, a gesture that Hogan accepted with a slight incline of his head, but no words. Hogan moved uncomfortably on the cot when the penetrating wounds in his abdomen began smarting distractingly; he shot a glance over at Wilson sitting nearby, trying to keep his discomfort as invisible to the medic as possible, in the hopes of spending less time being hovered over, and more time being active.
The movement, however, was not lost on Wilson, who sagely decided to pretend he had not seen it. But he was more than aware of Hogan's limitations. The Colonel, while making a great deal of progress considering the limited medical resources of the camp, was still prone to sudden exhaustion that would unexpectedly slam his eyes shut, and bouts of nearly unendurable pain persisted, even with painkillers administered as often as allowed. The one or two times that Hogan had been permitted to get up, he had quickly returned to the sanctuary of the cot, as his still-sore muscles protested the stress, or a sickening dizziness would threaten to pull him down. Then he would sleep for long periods, his energy quickly spent.
Now, Wilson saw the look of rejection in Hogan's eyes as the tunnel hummed with activity. "They'll be all right, Colonel," he said simply.
Hogan closed his eyes briefly, took a deliberate breath, and opened them again. "Let me go out with 'em, Joe. Please." He turned briefly away from the traffic around him, to focus on the man holding him back.
Hogan's plea was genuine, but his voice was weak. Wilson asked gently, "And what help do you think you'd be in your condition?" He watched Hogan's frustrated gaze drop to his useless, throbbing hand. "Look," Wilson said gently. "You've done your bit. Let them do theirs."
"But, Joe, this time it's different. This time—"
"I know," Wilson interrupted. He didn't want Hogan to have to say it. This time everything is at stake. "But we both know you won't be any good to them the way you are, don't we?" he reminded him. He tried to smile reassuringly. "They've got your orders. They wouldn't dare disobey."
Hogan stared at the floor, downcast. "I guess so," he said.
"One rescue tonight is more than enough. They don't need to worry about the possibility of adding another one to their list." The first one was devastating enough.
Hogan nodded, then brought his left hand to his head. "Dizzy," he announced suddenly, his voice unsteady. Wilson got up and immediately helped slide Hogan into a resting position. "You're right, Joe," Hogan said breathily, and sounding slightly distressed, "I'd just... slow them down tonight. MaybeI'm just having a... hard time letting the chicks... leave the nest."
Wilson smiled softly. "I don't blame you, Colonel," he replied. "But you don't have to let them go yet.... Just loosen your grip till you've recovered, okay?" Hogan's reply was a sigh that slipped through his lips as his head lolled once very gently back and forth, his eyes half closed, seeing nothing. "Yeah..." Wilson answered himself, studying the now-still face of his superior officer, "yeah, I guess that's okay."
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Carter very slowly opened the tree stump lid outside the prison camp and scanned the surrounding area. A searchlight from the tower near the gate about thirty meters away swept overhead, causing him to duck down, and then he timed his exit from the tunnel below with the next arc of light from the camp.
Closing the lid, Carter made sure he had his binoculars and his pack, and moved out into the darkness.
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Louis Le Beau made his way quietly up through to the dog pen near the fence line and tried to raise the kennel above his head that allowed him to see the compound. Très lourde. He braced himself on the ladder and tried again, this time able to move the structure a few inches. Peering into the darkness, he saw four furry legs hanging over the edge. "C'mon, you two; get off!" he whispered loudly to the dogs above him. "Vite!"
The German shepherds gave a short whimper and then hopped out, turning around to sniff the face of the man emerging from below. Le Beau looked at the pair of dogs that had squeezed into the small space together. "Ah, Heidi, Bismarck...I should have known." He ruffled their ears affectionately. "Amour." Le Beau quieted the other dogs that started milling around him, and pulled out some homemade snacks for them, as he hid in the shadows away from the lights from the towers.
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If it were for anyone but Colonel Hogan, I wouldn't be here. Peter Newkirk considered what he was about to do as he waited for the signal to move in. Well, he reconsidered, shifting from foot to foot in the cold of the tunnel by the cooler, he'd probably do the same if it was for Kinch, or Carter, or Le Beau. How had he ever ended up caring about anyone but himself? His mind drifted to his prior existence on the streets of London and the less wealthy areas of the city. There, it was a rough-and-tumble life, gruff and impersonal more often than not. But here, there was a closeness and camaraderie that Newkirk couldn't get out of, no matter how much he tried to cover it with smart remarks and baleful stares.
And, surprising even himself, he realized he didn't want to.
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Kinch peeled himself away from the side of the building when the search light had passed by, heading for the next stopping point—the truck parked outside the cooler. Considerate of Langenscheidt to forget to return it to the motor pool, passed through his mind. When he was sure the next run was safe, he dashed to the building he was aiming for, creeping along the side of it until he got to the window he wanted.
Kinch started to look inside the opening when the tower light once again made its rounds. He ducked, hugging the wall, with his head tucked down into his chest, and when no siren sounded, he straightened, pulled the tool out of his pocket, and got to work.
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Wilson watched Hogan's chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. The Colonel had been asleep since before the men had left the barracks, and had not moved, aside from an occasional turn of his head or groan from his lips. What was it about this man that made other people put everything on the line at a word from him? Why did no one question his schemes?
Wilson had no sure answer, but he could guess: Hogan never asked of others what he would not do himself. There was risk, great risk, in every move they made as saboteurs and spies. But Hogan's willingness to do whatever it took to support the Allied war effort had brought out the natural bravery of the men under his command, and they now all trusted each other with their lives. They knew that somehow, whatever Hogan said, even if it seemed spontaneous, he had actually taken into account the safety of the people involved, and the very real consequences of action versus inaction.
In short, this seemingly unsophisticated flyboy was an exceptional leader. He had earned the respect of the men, and they showed it by laying their lives on the line day in and day out. A team of real heroes, led by a hero. Hogan's heroes, Wilson thought knowingly. None of them would be able to do this without Hogan— or him without them. Hogan grunted uncomfortably, a frown passing over his features as he slept. Wilson touched Hogan's forehead. Still warm, but not on fire as it had been when Hogan had come out of solitary. Now let's just make sure we can keep them all together.