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 Robert Hogan ran his hand brusquely across his mouth for the third time in ten minutes. He had been happy with the results of tonight's sabotage outing—his men reported that the ball bearing plant had been destroyed, and no one had been hurt—but it bothered him that they had seemed so relieved earlier tonight when they had been told Newkirk was staying behind. Hogan sighed. He still often caught the others watching Newkirk particularly closely when it came to encountering anyone outside their close-knit group. He had wanted to think that was all behind them. But he wasn't naïve enough to believe it truly was.
Peter Newkirk had angered Hogan almost beyond reason when the RAF Corporal had showed up at Stalag Luft 13 in the middle of Nazi Germany with a woman—a woman that he had brought through the secret tunnels that helped keep Hogan's intelligence and sabotage operation up and running right under the noses of the guards of the prisoner of war camp and its pompous but bumbling Kommandant, Wilhelm Klink. Newkirk had been ordered by Hogan to get back to England as fast as he could after an unexpected order for transfer by Klink. But Newkirk had believed that Gretel was in danger of being arrested by the Gestapo and had disobeyed orders to bring her to safety. Unfortunately for him—and for his companions—Gretel was a member of the Gestapo and couldn't wait to spill all the men's secrets to the Germans. It was only Hogan's quick thinking and Sergeant Andrew Carter's fine performance as a giggling German officer that saved them all from the firing squad.
Hogan had come down hard, as had the other men under his command. After all, what Newkirk had done was unconscionable, regardless of his motives. And it had undermined the one thing that a group like Hogan's desperately, absolutely needed: complete trust in each other. Hogan and his men had been on almost a dozen forays since that nearly disastrous day, and every one of them had been a success—technically. But Hogan had kept watch on his men, and though he hated to admit it, he knew that the dynamics had changed. They were still watching their backs—but not just against the enemy. Now they were watching one of their own.
"Damn it, Newkirk!" Hogan burst, exasperated. He slammed his fist down on his desk, upending the tin can that served as a pencil holder and rattling his lamp. Hogan knew another truth as well: that he himself had been hurt by Newkirk's actions. Not just because the man had disregarded his orders; Newkirk wouldn't have been Newkirk if he didn't follow his heart. But because Hogan had hoped that the safety of the men he worked with—and the success of the vital operation they were all part of—would have been more important to the Englishman than any girl he had just met, genuine or not. Newkirk had overlooked one of the basic rules of thumb—never sacrifice many for the sake of one. Especially when the loyalties of the "one" were unknown. And never, never bring someone who hadn't been cleared by Hogan through the tunnels.
Hogan stood up from his desk and let out a heavy sigh, then began his customary pacing, a habit he didn't realize he had until it had been brought to his attention as a telltale sign of his worry. He was glad that tonight all his saboteurs were safely tucked in their beds, so they wouldn't see him walking the floor now. They didn't know—yet—that Hogan's own outing hadn't been so successful. Or that they were going to have to trust each other implicitly when they woke up in the morning, if they wanted to survive.
-
The saboteurs may have been safely tucked in their beds, but not all of the men in the barracks were asleep. One man was lying on his bunk facing the rough wooden wall without really seeing it. He hadn't slept well for weeks, and it looked like he wouldn't again tonight. Two years of living in a roomful of men had taught him how to shut out all the little noises of the night: the creak of a bunk as someone turned over and the occasional quiet cough, not to mention the sounds of seventeen other men doing nothing more than breathing. He didn't notice such things any more, and they had nothing to do with his insomnia.
Newkirk felt like sighing, but didn't want to make even that small a sound that might draw someone's attention to himself. He'd had far too much of the others' attention coming to him in the form of sidelong looks and barely hidden questioning glances ever since the day he'd nearly blown the entire operation at Stalag 13. He'd disobeyed a direct order from Colonel Hogan, then made matters much worse by bringing a Gestapo agent through the tunnel and into camp. Disaster had been averted only by the Colonel's quick thinking and Carter's brilliant acting job.
By all rights, he should have been court-martialed. He had been, in a way, and Newkirk would never forget the solemn faces of his closest friends as they sat in on what could only be called a trial. He'd also never forget the hard tone of Hogan's voice as the American officer laid out the charges. He'd managed to partly talk his way out of it, resulting in the Colonel starting a program of "weekend passes into town" for the men who were the most active in the operation. That part was working out well, judging from the stories they were telling on their return to camp. Newkirk didn't mind being left out of that. He knew he didn't deserve the privilege, and Hogan had made it clear at the time that it would be a while before he would be going into town for any reason. That was a part of his punishment, and he'd made up his mind to get through it without complaint.
The rest of it, though, that was another story. He could deal with any punishment that Hogan assigned, but what he couldn't handle was losing the trust and respect of everyone in the group. The others had tried to act like nothing had changed, but it didn't last long. They'd still played cards with him at first, but the silence during the game had taken all the pleasure out of it, and no one asked him to tell jokes or do magic tricks anymore.
The last three weeks had been a living hell for someone as sociable as Newkirk. He'd gradually given up on doing anything other than falling out for roll call and performing his assigned work detail duties. When he wasn't working, he'd taken to spending as much time away from Barracks Two as possible, even to the point of going to the mess hall instead of joining the others for cuisine de Le Beau.
Newkirk finally let out the sigh he'd been holding in. He couldn't keep living like this; better to be sent to the cooler and kept in solitary until the end of the war than to have to face another day among the men he'd hurt by his thoughtless actions.
The Englishman slipped to the floor, moving carefully so he wouldn't disturb Carter, who was sleeping in the bunk below. He was fully dressed, not having bothered to change into his usual nightshirt before going to bed, so all he had to do was pull on his boots before silently crossing the common room of the barracks. He paused, gathering his courage along with a deep breath before knocking softly on the door to Hogan's quarters.
Hogan wasn't startled by the light knock on his door. Then again, if Klink had walked in and told him the war was over and Hitler had surrendered to Patton, he wouldn't have raised an eyebrow, either. He was in a jaded frame of mind, preoccupied by problems within the camp and problems within the operation itself, and after ten minutes of unproductive pacing, he had given up and hit the bunk for equally unproductive lying down. He glanced toward the door and said, "Come," but didn't move to sit up and greet his late night visitor.
Newkirk opened the door and stepped hesitantly inside. He stood quietly, almost as if he expected to be told to leave.
Hogan didn't give the response Newkirk had anticipated, and instead gave a brief, distracted smile. "Something on your mind, Corporal?" he asked. If it was anything like what was on Hogan's mind, he would have a blinding headache. But he wanted to give Newkirk a chance to reveal himself at his own pace.
Newkirk nodded, then took another deep breath before beginning. "Colonel Hogan... I'd... like to request a transfer to another barracks. Sir."
Hogan furrowed his brow and cocked his head slightly, concerned. "Newkirk?"
Another hesitant nod. "I'm not doing anyone any good here any more. If I'm no longer a part of the operation, I'd just as soon not stay here and be in everyone's way, sir."
Hogan frowned. "What makes you think you're not a part of the operation? I haven't discharged you from service yet that I'm aware of."
"You may as well, and be done with it. I know how everyone feels about me, sir... and I can't say I blame them one bit. I nearly got everyone killed... and all because I didn't listen and do what I was told."
Hogan sat up and swung his feet off his bunk. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then threw a reluctant look at the Englishman. "Everyone feels..." Hogan paused and stood up, wishing just then that he was holding a cup of coffee so he could take refuge looking inside the cup instead of at Newkirk. Without one, he absentmindedly rearranged the papers on the desk. "You belong here. It's just going to take time."
"Time, sir? It's been three weeks already. Three weeks, and none of the others want anything to do with me. Not even Carter..." Newkirk's voice trailed off, remaining silent for a long moment. "Not even you, sir."
Hogan paused with one paper in mid-shuffle. "I've had a lot on my mind," he offered, sounding a little too casual to convince even himself. "Mostly about the operation." The final paper was replaced. "And about you."
"I've put a lot of that worry there, sir. I made a right mess of things. I almost ruined everything we've been doing here... and I... let everyone down."
Hogan let a small flash of anger burn through him. "You disobeyed a direct order," he said sharply. "Because you couldn't get your mind off a dame!" Hogan let his eyes drop and looked away quickly, cursing himself for giving Newkirk a glimpse of the chink in his armor.
Newkirk took a half-step backwards, recoiling a bit from the sharp sound of anger cutting through the Colonel's voice. The first time he'd heard that tone was during the "court-martial," though he'd heard it many times since in the back of his mind.
"Yes, sir... and I don't know what to say except that I'm sorry I let it happen. I betrayed your trust, betrayed every one of the others as well. I wouldn't blame any of you if you never could trust me again... God knows I don't deserve it."
Hogan had immediately regretted the hostility in his voice. He straightened, hoping the movement would diffuse his hurt, and flexed his shoulders. "You made a mistake," he said roughly, heading toward the window. Anywhere but face to face with Newkirk. "Everyone makes mistakes. No one quits over them."
While the Englishman stood facing Hogan, he couldn't bring his eyes up to meet the American's face. Head bowed, shoulders slumped, he presented quite a different image than his usual one of the brash Cockney magician. He said nothing.
"Is that what you want to do?" Hogan pressed. "Quit?"
"No, sir," he said very quietly. "But for the good of the outfit... I have to. You can't trust me any more, and my being here in the same barracks isn't doing anyone any good. Papa Bear can't have anyone along on a mission that he can't count on, and neither can the rest of the men. You can't use me any more as part of a team, so I thought it might be for the best to move on an' make room for someone else."
Hogan let out another sigh, weary of this conversation even before it started. He had known he would probably have to explain this to Newkirk eventually, and had played the dialogue over and over again in his head. But every time, he had been dissatisfied with having to reveal himself, and possibly make Newkirk feel any worse than he already did. Hogan wasn't blind; he had seen how the other men had been cautious about the time they spent with the Corporal, whether in the middle of a mission or just hanging around the prison camp. In the beginning, Hogan had felt it was justified; after all, Newkirk had brought them all dangerously close to the business end of a firing squad. And the Colonel's own feelings had been wounded by the man's actions, more deeply than he had expected. But after about a week, he was concerned when he saw Le Beau, Kinch, and Carter still giving Newkirk a bit of a cold shoulder, and had taken it on himself to invite the Corporal to play darts, cards, and even listen in on radio transmissions. It seemed to make a difference—on the surface. But the friendliness of the prisoners had been shallow, almost too much of an effort to maintain, and they had drifted away. Eventually, even Hogan had given up, heavily burdened with his responsibility for the unit as a whole, and with his own hurt.
"You broke a very fragile bond, Newkirk," Hogan said at last. "But it's not irreparable." He took in a breath to steel himself before speaking again. "It wasn't just the fact that you disobeyed orders... You hurt… them." There, he didn't have to include himself here. But was he being fair if he didn't?
"I know that, sir. I got you all with what I did... the best friends a man could ever hope t'have, all of you, and I couldn't have done more to hurt you if I'd tried." Newkirk shook his head slowly. "Some more than others, maybe. You're my commanding officer, both because of rank and because I agreed to work for you back when this whole thing started. I broke my word to you, Colonel... and you of all people deserve better."
Hogan swallowed, feeling his Adam's apple dropping back where it belonged, at least for the moment. He turned back to face Newkirk and was surprised to see the Corporal's dejected stance. "It's my job to keep the operation running. It's not my job to let my feelings get in the way. You disobeyed an order; you've been disciplined. As far as I'm concerned, it was over when I handed down my decision at the time." At least that's what I wanted to believe. So why does it still grind me up inside? "I expect the others to respect that. If they aren't coming to the party, Newkirk, I'll make sure they do. Request for transfer denied."
The dark-haired Englishman raised his head just enough to get a glimpse of Hogan's face. The American was saying what he'd never thought to hear, as he'd fully expected Hogan to take the opportunity to remove a problem from the ranks. Instead, he was being offered a reprieve, and quite possibly a chance to redeem himself. "Understood, sir... and thank you." He paused to gather his thoughts. "May I ask why?"
Hogan shrugged, hoping to appear casual. "The place wouldn't be the same without you," he said. "Who else can get us fresh eggs for breakfast by pulling them out of Olsen's ear?" Hogan tried to smile, though worry still tugged at the edges of his mouth and kept him from offering much more than a split-second grin. "Besides, you're one of the best men I've got. And I'm not about to let the Gestapo take you away from us. I'll—We'll get over it, Newkirk," Hogan amended quickly. "I'll see to it personally that everything's status quo in the morning. Before I get busy with my own work."
Newkirk smiled for a moment until he took note of the look on Hogan's face. The American had always been one to smile and laugh easily, unless he was doing what Newkirk thought of as the "commanding officer" routine. Newkirk's natural gift for imitating voices also made him sensitive to subtle inflections and the word choices others used. He frowned as he put two and two together. Given the recent problems between them, Newkirk wasn't sure he should mention it, but there was just something there that made him think that the Colonel might need to talk about as much as he himself had earlier. "Begging your pardon, sir... but is there something else you'd like to talk about?"
Hogan abruptly replaced his mask of command. "Something else?" he echoed, not angrily.
Newkirk ran a hand over his hair and nodded. "You seemed pretty upset this when you came back from making the pickup this evening... well, more upset than you've been of late, that is. Did something go wrong?"
Hogan headed for his desk and shook his head, studying the lamp with undue concentration. "Nothing you need to worry about," he said. "And before you ask, it has nothing to do with me not trusting you to know about it."
Newkirk nodded slightly, that having been the first thought that crossed his mind. "Colonel 'ogan... it's probably not my place to say this, but you look like you need someone to talk to. Believe me, sir, I know exactly how that feels." He waited, watching Hogan closely, noting the tension in the other man's movements.
Hogan gave a shrug, admitting without words that the Corporal was right but that he was unable to accept his offer. "In answer to your question, Newkirk, something did go wrong tonight. But I need some time to figure out how to handle it before I pass this problem on to someone else. Is everyone off the radio for the night?"
"I believe so, sir." Newkirk frowned as he replied. "Everyone's in their bunks, and the tunnel's closed up."
"Good. No one goes on the radio until further notice. All contact through the Underground is to be done through Schnitzer, in person." Hogan paused, then looked at Newkirk, who hadn't moved. "That's all, Newkirk."
"I don't think it is, sir." The Englishman shook his head as he stood a bit straighter. "With all due respect, Colonel, whatever's worrying you... it concerns the rest of us as well."
"Look let's just forget it for now," Hogan said, shaking his head. "I'll let you know when it's time for you to worry."
Newkirk smiled briefly at the irony in Hogan's words. "I'd say it's a bit too late for that."
Hogan let out a loud breath and turned to face Newkirk. "All right, I'll lay it on the line. I came back empty-handed tonight. I don't have the code book."
Newkirk took a step forward, reaching out to gently lay a hand on Hogan's shoulder. Getting that close to the Colonel let him finally see the lines of strain and exhaustion on the man's face. "Best you sit down, sir, and tell me what's going on."
Hogan just shook his head and sat down on his lower bunk, trying to piece the night together in his mind before presenting it to the Englishman. Newkirk pulled out the desk chair and took a seat. "I made it to the drop site okay... just in time to watch the code book fall straight into the middle of a Kraut patrol." Hogan stared at the scene in his mind's eye and heaved another sigh. "Of course, that meant they figured out that someone was supposed to be out there to meet the drop... I was lucky to get back here with the same number of holes in my body that I went out with."
Newkirk shook his head in disbelief. "Blimey! And you're sure none of them saw you?"
"Oh, they saw me all right," Hogan replied. "There are a few trees missing some bark they used to have."
"You okay, then, Colonel?" Newkirk leaned forward, his eyes anxiously scanning Hogan's body for signs of injury. It would be all too typical of the American officer to hide his wounds from the men; in fact, Newkirk was quite certain that if Hogan could keep Sergeant Joe Wilson, the camp medic, from finding out about them, he would.
Hogan noticed the worried look on Newkirk's face and nodded quickly to reassure him. "I'm fine, Peter, fine. I ran around in circles for awhile to throw them off the trail and then hid in one of the caves nearby. When I was sure it was safe, I bolted back here." He let out a humorless laugh. "All I have to show for it are a few gray hairs I didn't have when I woke up this morning."
"I think we'll all have more than a few of those before this ruddy war comes to an end." Newkirk sighed, and settled back in the chair. "Bad break, that, the Krauts gettin' their hands on the code book. So the question is: who besides you and London knew about the drop tonight?"
Hogan ran his hands over his face, fighting to stay focused as weariness finally started to overcome him. "I didn't think anyone did. It was probably just a lucky break. Lucky for the Nazis—unlucky for us. If the Krauts figure out what they've got, we could all be up the creek... and rowing our way to the front of a firing squad."
Frowning, Newkirk leaned forward, again taking note of Hogan's obvious exhaustion. "Right. Except there's not a thing we can do about it tonight. Don't even know where it is, for starters. At any rate, you look all done in, sir, and quite frankly, I'm ready for a kip myself. We've got a little while till roll call; why don't we both try to put it to good use?"
Hogan nodded resignedly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. There've been too many late nights this week; I've had it. I'll worry about the firing squad tomorrow... if I'm still alive to do that." Hogan swung his legs up on the bunk as if to lie down, then stopped when he saw Newkirk stand up to go. "Newkirk—" The Englishman looked at him questioningly. "It'll be back the way it was, tomorrow."
"Thank you, sir." Newkirk spoke quietly, his voice choking with emotion. "I'm glad to hear it." He turned, moving quickly toward the door before he broke down completely. "Good night... gov'nor."
Hogan smiled softly, then lay down to allow Newkirk the dignity the Colonel knew he so badly needed. "Good night, Newkirk. See you in the morning. And remember—I'm trusting you to keep this to yourself until I say so."
Unable to speak, Newkirk nodded and went through the door, closing it carefully before moving quietly toward his bunk. I'm trusting you, the Colonel had said, words that the Englishman had been waiting so long to hear once again. He knew it would be a while before things were back to the way they had been before, but it was a start.
