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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Colonel Hogan was a light sleeper.
It was almost impossible to sneak up on him, even in the middle of the night. One creak of a floorboard or a pencil-thin shaft of light and the American's senses were on full alert, and you could swear he had never been asleep at all. Not only was he aware of your presence, but he knew who you were, and exactly where you were. And, if he was particularly on edge, he was also armed.
But that was before.
Now, after his near-fatal meeting with Hochstetter, uninterrupted, peaceful slumber was still a stranger, and when Hogan finally did succumb to his tiredness, he slept deeply, and it was difficult to rouse him. So when Kinch came into Hogan's quarters in the wee hours of the morning, he walked right up to his commanding officer's bunk and gently rocked his shoulder. "Colonel Hogan?" he called softly.
Hogan was instantly awake, but was slow to become alert. "Kinch?" he asked. Hogan propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing his eyes to help wake himself up.
"Colonel, London's on the radio. They want to talk to you, right now," Kinch said.
Hogan frowned. "Now?" he repeated, yawning. "What time is it?"
"About two, sir."
Hogan groaned sleepily and swung his feet over the side of his bunk. "Uhhn... this couldn't wait till morning?"
"No, sir," Kinch replied. "They said now."
Hogan frowned again, then nodded. "Tell them I'm coming," he said blearily. Kinch disappeared back into the barracks, and Hogan groggily started getting dressed to head downstairs.
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Hogan began to wish he hadn't woken up as he listened to the tirade coming in from London. Kinch watched as Hogan's face changed from simply tired, to confused, to angry, to almost outraged. "No, it wasn't a practical joke. How did you expect me to know that?" Hogan retorted.
Kinch ran his tongue along his lips, trying not to listen but not having much of a choice. "No, we didn't study it first. We're not rocket scientists here; we're soldiers. There was a lot going on, and we thought it was important to get it to you as fast as possible, not sit on it so we could have a look on our own." Hogan was nearly shaking with emotion. "The next time, I'll make sure we label it 'For Amusement Only' before we send it," he said sarcastically. A silence from Hogan, then, "Well, enjoy it," he said. "We'll be working on that big project for you tomorrow night while you sit back and laugh."
An even longer pause. Hogan fumed, then his face seemed to whiten as some reprimand obviously came down the wire. "Yes, sir," Hogan replied respectfully. A short silence. "Yes, sir, but I'm sure you can appreciate what's going on over here.... No, sir, I won't." Hogan's eyes told Kinch that the Colonel was feeling beaten. "No. No, sir, we didn't know." Hogan closed his eyes. "It's a great disappointment to us, too, sir.... Yes, sir, I'll pass on your best wishes.... We'll let you know when, sir." He opened his eyes. "Thank you, sir. Papa Bear, over and out."
Drained by the transmission, Hogan slowly dragged the headsets off and put them on the table, then turned away. Kinch picked them up and carefully put them away, and when he turned back he saw Hogan rubbing his temples as though trying to erase a headache. The answer was obvious, but Kinch knew he had to ask the question if Hogan was going to speak up. "Something wrong, Colonel?"
Hogan let out a short, humorless laugh and drew his hand down. "Wrong?" he asked. "Nothing could possibly be wrong." Hogan shook his head. "Except that the supposed formula for the rocket fuel we sent back to London had enough alcohol in it to get the entire Eighth Air Force drunk for a week."
Kinch's eyebrows shot up, and he gave Hogan a questioning look.
"Alcohol can be used in rocket fuel," Hogan explained, not without irony in his voice. "And had we had time to translate all that gobbledy-gook that we got from Schoendorfer, apparently we would have discovered that we risked our necks for a really nice cocktail, but not much else."
"It was useless?" Kinch asked, amazed.
"Oh, not necessarily," Hogan said with a wry smile. "All those chemical compounds will make for a pretty potent punchbowl come Christmas time at Headquarters."
Kinch shook his head. Oh, boy. "What does it mean, Colonel?"
Hogan shrugged and tried to smile. "It means we'll have the Germans to thank for the hangover we suffer through when we finally get home."
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Hogan blinked, deep in thought, as he pushed his feet into the tall brown boots and smoothed out the blue-grey tunic that formed part of his cover for the evening. The insignias he wore indicated honor and sacrifice, and Hogan listened carefully as Klink explained exactly why some of the medals adorning Hogan's chest would have been awarded. Shaking his head unbelievingly, Klink fingered the pieces Hogan called "costume jewelry" and asked just one more time, "And you're saying Eichberger got these for you?"
"That's right," Hogan answered. "Think I'll fit in, in a roomful of officers at a fancy dinner party?"
Klink nodded. "And every woman who is considering an increase in status will be after you," he said. "You will make a very attractive picture to social climbers, Hogan. For your sake, I hope you do not have to answer many questions about how you acquired those honors."
Hogan nodded, understanding. "So do I. Otherwise I'll just have to let Major Huber's natural modesty take over." He stopped for a moment as he brought his focus on the work ahead. "Sergeant Wilson will be down here tonight to make sure you have everything you need, Colonel," Hogan informed him. "Since we're all heading out tonight, you need someone here who knows what's going on, and he's it."
Klink nodded. Part of him was feeling the rush of adrenalin that Hogan must be starting to experience as he prepared to head out; the rest of him was feeling a very real fear. What would happen to him if something went wrong? "Hogan," he started hesitantly, "are you really going to try to assassinate the Fuhrer?"
Hogan paused in the adjustments of his uniform to look Klink straight in the eye. "If we can at all manage it, you bet," he said.
"Hogan... how will you do that?"
"There are several ways: we can blast the track while the train runs through a tunnel. We can throw a suitcase of explosives off the platform as the train runs through a station. We can blow the tracks in front of and in back of the train so it's stranded and then blow the train up. There are a lot of ways. Which way is being left open at the moment."
Klink stood open-mouthed, astounded as the list seemed to just roll off of Hogan's tongue. "You seem to have it all... thought-out."
Hogan nodded grimly. "We do. Get rid of old Nut Brain and we may get rid of the war."
"I doubt it is that simple, Hogan."
"So do I. But it'd sure have to help."
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Hogan tightened the sash on his long coat and surveyed his men with a serious eye. The knot that usually appeared in his stomach before a mission was there now, and larger than he could remember in a long time. Not even any room in there for a cup of coffee to calm my nerves, he thought fleetingly. The men looked back at him, equally serious. Hogan could see the intense eyes peering out from the faces dark with polish and soot from the stove. He ran his eyes up and down them for what seemed like the fiftieth time, trying to make sure that he had not missed anything that could put them in any more danger than necessary, trying to make sure that he really needed to have them all out there with him.
Trying to make sure that he could remember their faces in case he never saw them again.
Hogan swallowed and made sure he could control the steadiness of his voice before he spoke. "Now we're all clear," he said. "Are there any questions?"
The team shook their heads slowly. Hogan's tension was noticeable and they were starting to feel it, too. "I'll go out through the tunnel and meet Eichberger in the usual spot to drive to the party. Newkirk, you come with us—in the trunk. Don't let anyone see you, especially not Eichberger. I want you to be ready to grab Abington, and if Eichberger sees you, he's so new I think he'd be so busy looking at you that he'd give you away."
"Right, Colonel."
"Now we've seen the layout of the house; I want you waiting near the terrace. When the time is right, I'll draw Abington out there on the pretext of some serious talk, then you grab him and we'll make tracks. Eichberger knows we'll find our own way home."
"Right, sir."
"Kinch, Le Beau, Carter—you won't be sitting on your laurels while we're out there. You know what you have to do. Carter, you're the man in charge—you know what's best. And make it good—we may never have a chance like this again."
Carter looked earnest. "I took a good look when I went out the other night, Colonel. I know just where to take us."
Hogan nodded. "Good." He looked at Kinch and Le Beau. "Make sure he doesn't get carried away. We only have tonight."
The pair smiled at Hogan's order. Thank God he's got some humor back, Kinch thought.
"Now the train's scheduled to go through the area at twenty-two hundred thirty hours. Our meeting point is the barn about a mile east of the camp, no later than twenty-three hundred fifteen. Keep yourself hidden; even in the confusion, there's bound to be a search, and if you're in danger, don't hang around: it's back to the camp on the double. Don't even think about stealing a car; a racing vehicle would attract way too much attention. Newkirk and I will try to meet you there, but if we don't, your orders are to move out. The operation comes first." Hogan turned around to where Wilson was observing quietly. "Joe, you keep an eye on things here. We'll need you to play lookout. I'd like to avoid anyone needing you in a professional capacity tonight. But be ready, just in case."
No one could answer. A collective nod was all Hogan saw in response.
It was enough.