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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Major Brinkfried sat at his desk, eyes resting on an open folder without really seeing it, as his thoughts were on his newest prisoners. Kirkland and Dane. An interesting pair. It's clear from their behavior that they have known each other for some time, and they know the basic routine of a prison camp too well, meaning they've been held elsewhere. Brinkfried had filled out the paperwork to add the two men to the files kept in Berlin, but the courier would not be around to collect them until later in the week. No matter; I'll know soon enough where they came from.
The way they act when they're together is... I can't quite put my finger on it yet. When they were first brought in, the Englander stepped forward and tried to defend the American, exactly as the senior ranked man should. But it's obvious that the American was clearly the leader in what happened at evening mess. Brinkfried leaned back in his chair and smiled slowly. Quite a puzzle these two have brought me, and one I shall enjoy working out.
The Kommandant's reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Enter," he said as he went back to looking at the file. He looked up as Private Dane was escorted into the office, acknowledging the guard but ignoring the prisoner. "Dismissed, Feldwebel." Brinkfried turned back to the papers as if the American wasn't there.
Hogan waited for a few minutes in the silence, trying to guess Brinkfried's motives in bringing him to the office this late in the day, but failing as he realized he didn't know the man well enough yet to predict his movements. After another minute of being ignored, Hogan finally spoke up. "Kommandant?"
Brinkfried didn't look up; he merely turned a page and kept on reading as if Hogan didn't even exist.
Hogan waited again, growing more and more concerned as Brinkfried's silence continued. He shifted to take the weight off his sharply hurting knee and looked at the door to the office, at the window behind Brinkfried, and finally at the Major. Then he tried again. "Something I can do for you, Kommandant? I haven't brushed my teeth yet for lights out." Can't afford to be here very long; I've got work to do tonight at that storehouse!
Brinkfried turned up the last page of the report and signed at the bottom before closing the folder. He stood and took it to a cabinet, filing it away before turning to Hogan. "I understand you have a problem with the seating arrangements in the mess hall." The casual tone of his voice made it clear the German really didn't care what Hogan's opinion might be.
Hogan raised his chin to look Brinkfried squarely in the face, but he said nothing.
Brinkfried moved behind Hogan, his boot heels making slow tapping sounds on the wooden floor until he stopped directly behind the American. A silence fell over the room, measured only by the steady ticking of a clock on the wall. Hogan didn't move or turn to face the German. He felt his muscles tense, and a single bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Whatever game he's playing, don't let him get to you.
An eternity passed. Or perhaps it was only a few minutes. The boot heels slowly made their way around Hogan, carrying their owner back into view. Brinkfried settled onto his desk chair, then gave the American a long, calculating look. The cold glitter of his single eye, and the barest hint of a thin smile, gave the Major a sinister appearance as his silence continued.
Still, Hogan said nothing, though the tension was eating him up from the inside. Leave it to this nut case to play mind games with an enlisted man. How do some of these kids take this on a regular basis?
"Because of your actions tonight, Private, I've assigned a select group of prisoners to a special work detail tomorrow. And because you've demonstrated such concern for their welfare, I've decided to allow you to accompany the detail, just so you can watch out for them. That is all; you are dismissed." The casual tone of Brinkfried's voice was offset by the unsettling emphasis he placed on certain words, and by the way he opened another folder and began studying it, once again acting as if Hogan wasn't there.
Hogan took in a calming breath, having braced himself for a blow that never came. At least not a physical one. The man's apparent serenity was even more unsettling than any outburst could have been. Hogan waited, then spoke quietly. "I don't understand how the other prisoners are responsible for anything I may have done, Kommandant. Especially since nothing I did tonight was against the Geneva Convention or the general rules of civilized warfare."
Brinkfried picked up a pen and wrote a few words on the page he was reading, then turned to the next one. He gave no sign that he'd heard Hogan's words as he read that page, and it wasn't until he'd turned to the next that he said anything. "Understanding is not required, Private. Obedience, however, is, and your failure to obey my last order has now cost your English Corporal another punishment tour." He paused. "Another such failure will cost him three days in the cooler. You are dismissed." The Major picked up the handset of his desk phone and spoke with clear disinterest. "Bekommen Sie einen vollen Rucksack für Kirkland wieder und lassen Sie ihn das Lager siebenmal bereisen, bevor er sich in heute Abend dreht. Sagen Sie ihm, dass das ein Geschenk vom Privaten Dänen ist."
Hogan nearly spoke in protest, but censored himself when he realized that Brinkfried would, without a second thought, follow through on his threat. Seven times around the camp—a gift from Private Dane! Hogan shuddered inwardly. Now I know how these kids deal with this madman's mind games—they die inside. Hogan shook himself and blinked hard. You can't let this happen to you. You won't. You've got work to do tonight, and you'll do it, and then you'll come back one day and punch this arrogant bastard in the mouth! Hogan suddenly realized he still hadn't moved, so he straightened at once and said, disheartened, "Yes, sir. Good night, sir." And he offered a salute to the German Major, though his arm felt heavy with what was becoming despair and, if he was honest, a touch of fear that he wouldn't be able to pull off what would be almost routine if he was back at Stalag 13.
Major Brinkfried had already turned back to his paperwork by the time Hogan was able to speak. Once again, he appeared completely uninterested in anything the American had to say, as if Hogan was invisible once Brinkfried was finished.
Hogan waited for a few seconds for a response, then lowered his arm, and his head, and allowed the guard to escort him out of the office. A very long night had just begun.
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Newkirk wandered around the compound, his eyes taking careful note of the layout of buildings and the guard towers, as well as the paths the guards walked as they patrolled the camp. He slowed as he passed a group of Englishmen crowded around one man who was in the middle of telling a long, funny story that he hadn't heard since leaving London. It had changed a bit in the telling, the way all stories did, and Newkirk found himself laughing with the others when the punch line was delivered. The storyteller looked around when the laughter died down and asked, "Who's next?"
When no one spoke up right away, Newkirk stepped a bit closer and nodded. "Did you lads hear the one about the Yank Captain and the Squadron Leader's secretary?" The success of that joke encouraged Newkirk to continue spinning out selections from the vast repertoire of stories and routines he'd developed during his time on stage in London before the war. A performer at heart, he was pleased to see the effect he was having on his audience: smiles and laughter from men who didn't have a lot to laugh about. Noting that the crowd was slowly starting to include some Yanks, he began to include jokes told to him by his American friends back at Stalag 13.
When he went into a Charlie Chaplin routine, Newkirk was surprised to see one of the Americans step out of the crowd and begin doing the same routine as a mirror image to his own. Having an appreciative audience, and another talented thespian to work with, made Newkirk almost forget he was in the middle of a prisoner of war camp. That forgetfulness came to an end all too soon as the skit ended and the two performers took their bows.
As the crowd dispersed, a young RAF man came up to Newkirk. "That was good," he said in almost a whisper.
"Thanks, mate." Newkirk smiled and nodded to his impromptu American partner. "Couldn't have done it without him, though."
"What that friend of yours—that American chap—did at mess… I wish I could have done that," the young man said. "I used to be quite good friends with some Yanks before Brinkfried stopped it." He looked around, as though saying the German's name was a punishable offense. "We can't do that now. Not without getting in trouble." The youth's large, sad eyes looked up into Newkirk's. "What do you think the Kommandant's doing to him?"
The smile disappeared from Newkirk's face as he gave the Aircraftsman a searching look. "The Co—" He caught himself just in time to keep from referring to Hogan as "the Colonel" and shook his head. "You're sayin' Dane is in with Brinkfried right now?"
The boy nodded guiltily. "I saw a guard come and get him. But he hasn't come back out yet. That I've seen." He paused. "I know you're friends—I'm sorry." He looked around the compound, then shrugged, unable to think of a graceful way out of this situation. "I'll… see you around." And the young man was gone.
Newkirk turned to his fellow thespian for a moment. "I've got to go find out what's going on. We'll have to talk shop another time." With that, he took off toward the Kommandant's office, leaving the American to stand and shake his head sadly.
He hadn't gotten very far when he saw Hogan moving listlessly as a guard left his side. The Englishman moved in quickly, but before he had a chance to speak, the Colonel turned to Newkirk, looking very tired. "Look, you're about to have another tour around the compound," he said, sounding beaten. "Brinkfried just pulled one of his stunts when I was asking questions in his office." He paused. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be, gov'nor. It's not your fault, especially since you're dealing with a right arrogant sod like Brinkfried." Newkirk spoke quietly as he studied Hogan closely. He's starting to look the way he did when he first arrived at Stalag 13. Bloody hell, that means Brinkfried's starting to get to him! We've got to get out of here before that Kraut drives him into the ground. "I knew there was a chance of this happening, Colonel, and while I bloody well don't like it... I can handle it, mate."
Hogan grimaced. "Hang on, it gets worse. Tomorrow there's a work detail for some specially chosen men who had the gall to socialize with those outside their country tonight. And as their ringleader, I get to go along and watch!" A small spark of anger made its way back into Hogan's voice, leaving Newkirk some hope that not all was lost with his commanding officer. Hogan shook his head, frustrated. "Everything I did to help at Stalag 13 is just wrong here. This guy's a whole different ball game. I've gotta wrap my head around him—but doing that is scaring the hell out of me!"
Newkirk shook his head. "You can't be thinking that way, sir. I'll be the first one to admit that ruddy Kraut gives me the shakes, too. The thing is, Colonel, we've got to keep our minds on the mission here, which is gettin' back to Stalag 13." He paused, taking a quick glance around before continuing. "That's not to say that I wouldn't mind coming back here some dark night real soon and doing for Brinkfried." The hardness that came into the Englishman's green eyes left no doubts about just precisely what he meant by "doing for."
"Save that for the professionals. Don't worry; I have my own plans for this prize when the time comes. I'll give him one thing—he's making me all the more determined to haul freight out of here as soon as possible." Hogan sighed. "I know you can take it, Newkirk; the thing is, I didn't want you to. Plus," he added, looking around the compound, "it means the Krauts will be just that much more alert when I'm out and about tonight. And that's something I didn't need."
"How long do you think you'll need to be out then?" Newkirk gave his watch a thoughtful glance. "I can always arrange to make my walk take just this side of forever to finish if need be."
"That's exactly what I don't want," Hogan countered. "I want you in bed and out of sight as quickly as possible. The longer you're out, the longer there'll be Krauts out watching you, and the less time I'll have on my own. Not to mention that since we're going to have a charming work detail tomorrow, I want you to get as much sleep as you can manage. We'll have a big night coming up, and I don't want you falling asleep half way over the wire."
Righto, gov'nor; I'll make it quick as I can then, but what's this about a work detail? Brinkfried can't make us work unless we want to; it's against the Geneva..." Newkirk trailed off as a sudden thought came to mind. "He's not following the Geneva Convention, is he? No wonder these poor blokes here are so beaten down."
Hogan shook his head. "He's a real winner, this one," he muttered angrily. "I'd better get back to barracks before he decides to do something else nice for us—like call an all-night parade of guards around the place. I'll be out after lights-out. Do me a favor and try to steer clear of the storehouse, all right?"
The Englishman frowned. "That might be a problem, sir, if they take me on the same route as last time. Tell you what, when I start getting close, I'll give you a signal so you can get yourself clear before me and my escort come round the corner. I reckon if you go to the other side of the building and stay low, I can keep the guard distracted so he's not looking at anything else."
Hogan raised an eyebrow. "Don't overdo it. I need to know you're coming; I don't need an Academy Award-winning performance. Remember—"
"I know, I know," Newkirk interjected. Then he finished with Hogan: "Don't pad your part!"
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Kinch didn't look up from his clipboard as Olsen led his team down the tunnel toward the tree stump exit. The radio man was far too busy taking down a coded message to even realize that the men were leaving camp in order to join the search for Hogan and Newkirk. A burst of static from the walkie-talkie that was on the desk did get his attention, but as he reached for it, he found that Carter already had the portable radio in hand.
Carter smiled at Kinch and gestured to the main radio as he took a few steps away from the desk before speaking softly into the walkie-talkie's microphone. He went across the tunnel to where Le Beau had a map spread on the table, and pointed to an area west of the camp. "Okay, Louis, that was Team Two. They're where they're supposed to be and are having a look around."
Le Beau crossed his arms and nodded, frowning. "Good. Let us hope they find something—or maybe that they don't."
Townsend quietly came up beside the men and looked at the map. "Don't know what you boys are going on about here. The deep-cover agents I called into play are going to be your best chance to find out anything about Colonel Hogan and your other fellow."
"I trust the Underground," Le Beau said defiantly. "They are completely dedicated to mon Colonel and will never stop looking." He exhaled, deflated. "I only wish I could be out there with them."
"Me too, Louis, but you know that someone's gotta stay here and keep track of things. I mean, as good as Kinch is at this kind of thing, even he can't do it all by himself." Carter gave the Frenchman a faint smile that faded when he turned to Townsend. "Um, Group Captain, sir? With all due respect, sir, that other fellow has a name, too. Peter Newkirk, and he's a Corporal in your Air Force. Sure, you're thinking of the Colonel because he's an officer and all, but Newkirk's just as important to us as Colonel Hogan is, sir." Carter swallowed nervously, but kept his eyes on Townsend's face as he spoke.
Townsend's face slipped into a smile that no one seemed to trust. "Of course, old man; I didn't mean any disrespect toward your Corporal Newkirk. After all, he's a fine man himself, good RAF chap, what? But it's your Hogan who was responsible for you all being out that night, yes? I was just thinking that perhaps this mess might have been avoided somehow, if…" His voice trailed off as he apparently thought better of finishing his thought out loud.
"If we could have just blown up the train and not had to worry about you at the same time," Le Beau muttered under his breath, but it was still loud enough to be heard.
"Ah, yes," Townsend said, nodding. "The train. Dashed thing couldn't wait a night, eh? It was very hard to schedule my trip out. Now I'm here, and all I can do is wait!"
Carter gave Le Beau a worried look, and spoke up before the Frenchman could say something to make matters worse. "Well, you see, sir, that train was a last minute sort of thing. The Colonel was giving us the plan to go out and get you when one of the Underground groups called and asked us to take care of it for them, because they couldn't get to the right spot in time, and they hoped we could. And since it was a special train full of ammo and stuff that the Krauts were taking to France, the Colonel said we'd handle it. Because you see, sir, there wasn't gonna be a second chance at it, so it was a kind of 'now or never' thing." Carter grinned. "Besides, we do that sort of thing all the time, so it wasn't gonna be a problem for us." The grin disappeared. "Except it didn't turn out the way it was supposed to. We got the train, and we got you, sir. But we lost Newkirk and the Colonel."
Townsend just listened, flabbergasted by the young man's long-winded defense. So Hogan had taken on the extra job as a matter of course—they did that sort of thing "all the time". What did Hogan do for sport—build airplanes? "Surely Colonel Hogan would have known there were risks involved in this type of double maneuvering?"
It was Kinch who answered. He had moved away from the radio and had heard the end of Carter's heartfelt monologue. "The Colonel doesn't like to disappoint anyone," he said now. "Once London said you were coming, he knew he had to obey orders and go get you. But he has his own agenda, too, Group Captain: getting this war over just a little bit sooner, and with a little less blood shed on the side of the Allies. And that meant getting that train, too. To the Colonel, a little risk to his life is all part of the job. And he'd fight to the death to keep us out of danger. But if it means making things a little bit tougher for the Krauts—he's there. And we're there with him." He paused. "That's why Newkirk went after him. We'll always follow the Colonel, sir. Even if it means going into Hell. And that's something I don't think Allied Headquarters will ever understand."
There's definitely a lot more going on here than Headquarters knows about. These men are totally dedicated to Colonel Hogan, and are quite willing to give everything, including their lives, for him. It's a rare thing, indeed, and needs to be considered in future plans for this operation. Townsend moved quietly into the shadows along the tunnel wall after hearing what had been said about the missing men. He stood watching as they worked, each man doing what was needed without anyone having to "take charge." Hogan's trained his men well. It's amazing what they can do without him here. There's definitely a lot to report back to Headquarters.
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Hogan stood pressed up against the back wall of the storehouse as tightly as possible, listening as the footsteps of the nearby guards faded into the distance. He counted to ten once the sounds disappeared and then cautiously peeled himself away from the building and again approached the fence.
Hogan squinted in the darkness, trying to scan the area, looking for places for himself and Newkirk to take cover when they finally made it through. The Englishman had been correct in his assessment of the spot: it seemed perfectly situated to accept an escape. A few trees, a couple of fairly large boulders, and even some scrub. Excellent. Then Hogan turned his eyes upward and scanned the perimeter of the camp. It would be just like the Germans to leave a perfect escape route on purpose—tempting prisoners to try it, so they could be captured as they got through. He watched the sweep of the searchlights in the tower; nothing seemed to come this way. A small arc of light hit the roof of the hut then disappeared, never making it to the small area where Hogan was standing. And aside from a slim beam of light hitting that third tree from the edge, the outside area was also untouched. So far, so good.
Hogan pulled out the tiny saw that he had gotten from Newkirk earlier in the evening. Time to check out what was possible. Stifling a groan, he carefully and with difficulty knelt down to touch the tool to the lowest crosswire when he heard another sound and froze in place.
Newkirk came walking along the fence, moving as fast as he could considering he was nearing the end of his final lap around the perimeter of the camp. Cor! Five times around before, and now seven! Good thing we're leaving tomorrow night, else I'd have a ruddy path worn around the place before long at this rate. I think they've added some extra weight to this bleedin' pack as well. Newkirk sighed and hitched at the shoulder straps, trying to ease his aching shoulders with no real success. Right then, nearly at the storehouse.
The Englishman took a breath, and began to whistle "God Save the King" as he had been doing at random intervals since the punishment tour had begun. The first few times he'd done it, the guard had given him a sharp look, as if trying to see if Newkirk was up to something. But by now, the German was bored with the whole thing and ignored it.
Hogan smiled in spite of himself at the noise. Leave it to Newkirk to warn him of danger with an ode to King and country. The Colonel drew away from the wire and melted back into the shadows on the opposite side of the building, and watched as Newkirk and his German escort trooped by. Damned Krauts—look at that pack they've got him carrying. I owe him a long, hot shower back at Stalag 13, Hogan thought. Then, in a moment of self-punishment, he added, And I owe it to him to keep myself out of trouble. Sorry, Peter, but I'm going to have to let Brinkfried beat me for awhile… or he'll beat you.
When Newkirk was safely out of sight again, Hogan went back to the wire did a small test of the agility of the saw on the fence, and found that it was up to the job. He slipped it back into his pocket, and waited until the searchlights passed again before making his way back to his barracks.