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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"Herr Kommandant, the prisoners have the list of parts they need to complete the repairs to your car." Schultz stood before Klink in the Colonel's office, reluctantly. He had not wanted to bother his commanding officer at the moment; he seemed so gloomy since Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Carter had been taken out of camp last night.
Klink merely blinked up at the large man. "They do?" he asked.
"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. Sergeant Kinchloe says the men would like to go into Hammelburg to get the parts so they can distract themselves in the motor pool until Colonel Hogan and Carter are brought back."
"They want to distract themselves with my car," Klink said, shaking his head. "I'll be lucky if it doesn't run off the road by the time they're done with it." He paused. He supposed he should be grateful that the prisoners were behaving in such a civilized manner; considering no one knew whether to expect Hogan and Carter back in camp any time soon—if at all—they were handling themselves fairly well. That was either because they had been trained well by Hogan—or because they were scheming.
Klink consciously discarded the second thought. "Very well, Schultz. You may take them for the parts. But make sure you guard them well—I don't want any funny business while you are away, or it will be on your head!"
"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. On my head!" Schultz dropped his attentive posture for just a moment as he added worriedly under his breath, "Oh, boy."
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"I still don't understand why I'm here, Major," Carter dared to say, as Oberholzer settled back nicely at a desk with his coffee and looked at the young Sergeant with a great deal of satisfaction.
"It's very simple, my boy: Colonel Hogan will either save your life, or die trying."
"I beg your pardon?"
The Gestapo officer smiled tolerantly. "The plant is due to be bombed by Colonel Hogan's old Bomb Group today."
"What makes you say that?" Carter asked, wondering how he was managing to carry on a polite conversation with a man who had treated Colonel Hogan so badly.
"If you must know, Sergeant, our Intelligence was able to intercept a radio transmission. We traced it to the source—London, of course… but not to those receiving the information." Oberholzer smiled gently. "However, we have our own theories on who was intended to be told."
Carter shifted uncomfortably. It was clear who the Gestapo officer was talking about. The American said nothing.
"The bombing will not happen, if you are here. Colonel Hogan will see to it."
"How is he supposed to stop it?"
"You place a great deal of trust and faith in Colonel Hogan, don't you?" the Major asked. "You think he is a clever and resourceful man. And in many respects, I would have to agree with you. But, you see, he is actually quite simple to figure out. He would let any scheduled bombing raid take place if only his life hung in the balance. But he would never let anything happen to one of his men, if he could stop it. And those under his command would reciprocate that loyalty. I am anticipating that those men will pull out all the stops to contact the Allies before this place is obliterated. And then… well… we shall have all our little spies, shan't we?"
"Well, that's not gonna happen, pal," Carter burst before he could stop himself. Oberholzer merely raised an eyebrow, amused. Carter was encouraged to continue. "You know, you're sure full of yourself." His flash of anger was spent as quickly as it had appeared, and he looked wide-eyed at the Major. "Sir."
Oberholzer grinned. "I think the word you are looking for, Sergeant, is confident." He nodded approvingly. "Colonel Hogan has trained you well. You sound a bit like he did during our little talks."
"I could do worse," Carter dared.
"You could, indeed," Oberholzer replied. His smile disappeared. "And if you are alive tonight you will know your loyalties have not been misplaced. There is a chair over there—get some rest. You never know if it may be your last chance."
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"Why didn't you tell me?"
Hogan shook his head even as Bailey spoke. "You know why."
"But, gee, Papa, daytime bombing? Without fighter escort? Why don't they just line us up and shoot us?"
"It might not be that bad."
"No?"
"No."
"You don't like this, do you." Hogan's navigator, his Baby Bear, didn't have to ask. It was a statement of fact.
Hogan once again cursed that this young man could see right into his thoughts. "You can't stop it," is all he said.
"Are you telling Roberts?"
"I did. But orders are orders, and he and I both follow them. And so do you."
"Sometimes I think we're idiots, you know that?"
Hogan smiled briefly, ironically. "Yep. But that's what war is all about."
Hogan watched as the navigator walked away, his mind still reeling. You can't stop it…. You can't stop it…. And then the screams of wounded men and twisted, dying metal pierced his soul….
Hogan's head jerked up so fast it hit the wall and bounced away. He winced and slowly brought his hand up to soothe his offended skull. He didn't remember falling asleep on the floor, and now his thoughts were full of the past, and of a disaster he could not prevent, no matter how hard he had tried. You lose again….
Hogan tried stretching sore, stiff muscles, still groggy from the unexpected slumber, and wondered how long it would be before the plant was bombed. There had to be something he could do this time; he couldn't just let Carter die. In his mind, he saw Kinch's anxious face as the radio man declared, "We can't just let this happen!"
"No, we can't," Hogan agreed aloud now. He didn't want his men to risk their lives for him. And at the same time he wanted desperately for Carter to be saved—and, if he admitted it, himself as well. He sighed as his own words floated back to him. Whatever Oberholzer does to me, he's not going to get all of you. "Guess you were wrong, Robert Hogan," he said, shaking his head. In his heart, he knew his men would risk anything—everything—to rescue them. And it filled him with reluctant hope, and forceful despair. You can't stop it, he had told them. But now that was both an order… and a challenge.
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Newkirk, Kinch and Le Beau scrambled out of the car and moved onto the sidewalk, looking around them. Newkirk then pointed toward a familiar landmark and the trio started walking away.
"Wait! Halt! Back, back, back!" came the voice of their guardian, Sergeant Schultz.
The prisoners paused and turned to him. "What's the matter, Schultzie?" Newkirk asked.
Schultz hurried up alongside them. "What is the matter? You cannot go wandering around Hammelburg on your own, that is what is the matter. You are prisoners of war!"
"Are we, now?" Newkirk retorted. He looked at the others. "Did you hear that, mates? We're prisoners of war!"
Le Beau and Kinch responded loudly. "Such a shame!" Le Beau declared, shaking his head. "And on a lovely day like today!"
"You know, that's too bad, Schultz—we never get to see this beautiful city!" Kinch added.
Schultz shook his head, vibrating the rest of his ample form. "And you will not get to see it today. We are going to get parts for the Kommandant's car, and then we are going back to camp." He paused as he saw Le Beau look worriedly at the sky. "What are you looking at, Cockroach?" he asked with a tinge of suspicion.
Le Beau immediately dropped his eyes. "Uh—nothing, Schultz. I think it might rain today."
Schultz laughed. "Rain? There is not a cloud in the sky. It is perfect weather!"
"Not for our ruddy bombers," Newkirk muttered. "Bleedin' fighters'll spot them in a second."
"What was that, Newkirk?" the German asked, as Kinch nodded grimly.
"I said, 'We'd better go, Schultz, before the Kommandant beckons,'" the Englishman amended.
Schultz nodded. "Ja, let's go." The men started walking in the direction they had taken when the car first pulled up. "Wait—wait a minute, where are you going? The motor repair shop is that way."
"Is it, Schultzie?" Newkirk asked, sounding surprised. "Well, what do you know about that?" He looked at the others, who nodded approvingly. "Tell you what, Schultz," he said, patting the guard's chest as the other two got into the car. Newkirk reached into Schultz's uniform and silently and smoothly lifted the keys: "You head that way, in case we're wrong—and we'll head this way." Keeping Schultz's attention on his face, the Englishman held the keys out to Kinch, who took them and started the car. Newkirk then backed himself into the vehicle and closed the door. "You know, just in case we're right. Two heads are better than one, after all, right, Schultz? Or in this case, four heads!" The car pulled away from the curb. "We'll meet you back here in an hour or so, right?" He patted Kinch on the shoulder from the back seat. "Off we go, then!"
And they were gone, leaving the guard to slowly change from bewildered, to angry, to absolutely terrified at being caught without his prisoners… again. "Newkirk!" he called out. "Newkirk!" Deflated, he looked around to see if he was being watched, and sat down in a doorstep to wait. The boys always came back… eventually.
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"Nice work, Newkirk," Kinch said as he drove toward the factory a couple of miles away.
"Oui, that was magnifique," added Le Beau.
"We'd better hurry," Newkirk said, accepting the praise with a shrug. "We don't know how long we've got before those B-17s come screaming across the sky—if they hit, they get us, the gov'nor and Carter. And if they miss, they get Schultz. And I don't want to explain that to Klink when we all turn up dead back at camp."