TITLE: A SPOT OF TROUBLE
AUTHOR: Meercat
RATING: Strong PG-13
WARNINGS: Violence, some torture, drama, angst
SUMMARY: Hogan and the boys race to save one of their own from torture at the hands of the enemy.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrestled with myself whether this should be PG-13 or R. Some of the scenes might be considered intense enough for the harsher rating. I have read most of the fic posted on Many others who write in this fandom share my opinion--despite the high jinks of the original show, these men were at war. And in war, bad things happen to good people.
AUTHOR'S THANKS: To Patti and Marg for their wonderful beta of this story. Any remaining mistakes are my own. If you haven't yet read their Game Universe stories, run don't walk. They are awesome!
Chapter 1
Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior POW of Luft Stalag 13, hated nothing more than sending one of his men on a solo mission. A man alone, especially an Allied soldier supposedly restricted to the confines of the POW camp, was at constant risk, not only from chance patrols but also locals who either supported or feared the forces of the Third Reich. Such a soldier, caught out of uniform, would most likely be shot as a spy. At the very least, he would lose the dubious protection of the Geneva Convention.
Hogan's men ran that risk almost every single night. Tonight would be no exception.
Each of the Colonel's inner circle had some role to play in their underground organization--roles both professional and, for Hogan, personal. Ivan Kinchloe had earned his place as the Colonel's 2IC--the tall black American was Hogan's silent strength. Peter Newkirk could con a squirrel out of its last nut--the British non-com was Hogan's earthy side, fast thoughts on dancing feet, sneaky and cynical. Louis LeBeau had but to wave a steaming casserole under someone's nose to cast away all suspicions--the cocky little Frenchman symbolized Hogan's passion for life. Andrew Carter, the youngest in the group, was a chemical wizard who could turn boiling water into anything he desired, be it sedative or explosive. In all other matters, sadly, he was a total klutz. He was Hogan's innocence, and he was going out tonight into danger. Alone.
"Let me go with him, mon Colonél," LeBeau pleaded. "I can be a second pair of eyes for him. I am so small, no one would see me, n'es pa?"
"What's the matter, Louie?" Carter snapped, his fair face clearly showing hurt at the perceived mistrust. "Don't you think I can handle it?"
"Of course you can, mon ami, but why must you handle it alone? It is no reflection on you. I would ask to go with anyone in this same situation . . . even Newkirk!"
"'ere." Peter Newkirk backhanded the little Frenchman's shoulder.
"Colonél-"
"For the tenth and last time, LeBeau, no." He did not say it aloud, but his unspoken If anyone goes with him, it will be me hung heavy in the close, still air of the underground tunnel. "Hochstetter is in camp for the night. He'll be watching me like a hawk, and I wouldn't put it past him to keep me up until the wee hours just to make my life difficult. On top of that, Klink has ever so graciously volunteered you as cook and Newkirk as waiter for dinner tonight. Kinch needs to man the radio. That leaves only one of us who won't draw suspicion by being missing. Carter goes alone."
He tried to smile away everyone's concern.
"Think of it this way," Hogan said. "How could we possibly be blamed for tonight's explosions with Hochstetter himself providing our alibi? It will be the perfect chance to get the squinty-eyed little dung beetle off our backs for a while. Carter, you know what to do. Blow the depot and get back here. No stopping off for a beer at the Haus Brau." He wagged a finger in front of Carter's nose. "And no dallying with a pretty fraulein. Save that for your next R & R."
"Aww, Colonel, you take all the fun out of it."
Hogan studied his youngest soldier with critical eye for detail. Carter had dressed entirely in black, from his knit cap to his tight-fitted jacket to his half boots. A full tool belt complete with knife, sidearm, and extra ammunition hugged his narrow hips, while a bulging backpack carried the components necessary for the night's activities. Paint or cloth hid every inch of bright metal or fair skin.
"Just do the job and get back here in one piece."
"I won't let you down, sir."
Hogan swallowed his misgivings and broke protocol long enough to squeeze the younger man's shoulder. He added a gentle pat to the side of Carter's neck, careful not to smear the loam paint.
"I know you won't, Andrew. I expect you back here by eleven."
"You can count on me, Colonel Hogan, sir."
"Off you go." No. Don't send him out there alone.
Sgt. Carter shouldered his backpack and disappeared up the tunnel toward the camp's southern exit. Rob Hogan watched him leave. Every instinct screamed against letting the boy out alone, yet what choice did he have? The depot, a German way station one mile outside of Hammelburg, housed a dozen trucks filled with ordnance--incendiary and shrapnel bombs en route from southern factories to airfields in northern Germany and occupied France. Each bomb, if allowed to move on, would eventually add to the blitzkrieg of London. By tomorrow night, the trucks would travel beyond their reach. To save hundreds of innocent lives, the way station had to go up before dawn tomorrow. Of them all, only Carter had the freedom and expertise to do the job.
That knowledge brought cold comfort.