Usual disclaimers apply: I don't own 'Hogan's Heroes' and am only borrowing them for fun, not for profit.
Schultz was panting as he walked up to Barracks 52. Even though it was a nice spring day, his wool uniform and overcoat along with the guard's extra weight combined to make the Sergeant sweat a bit as he made his way across the camp in search of the Englander Newkirk. He took off his helmet and pulled a large red kerchief from his pocket to wipe his face while he looked at the group of men working on the roof of the hut.
The sight of a pair of dark trousers and a pale blue sweater made Schultz smile in relief until he realized that the man wearing them had blond hair instead of Newkirk's dark brown. When this Englander started down the ladder, the guard called out to him anyway. "You there, Sheffield. Come over here, bitte."
Flight Sergeant Sheffield hopped off the ladder and walked over, giving the German a nod in greeting. "You wanted to see me, Sergeant?"
Schultz nodded, and stuffed his kerchief back into his pocket before responding. "Ja, I am looking for another of you Englanders." The guard eyed his helmet, and put it back on with a sigh. "Have you seen Corporal Newkirk recently?"
"Hm, let me see," Sheffield replied as went over to a bench near the wall of the barracks where the men working on the roof had piled their uniform jackets. He dug through the pile and pulled out his own, but as he did so, his side cap slid free of its place under a shoulder strap and fell to the ground. "He was here for a while, Sergeant," the Englishman said as he bent down to pick up the cap, "but he doesn't seem to be around now, does he?"
Schultz threw up his hands and sighed. "Do you have any idea where he might be? It is most important that I find him as quickly as possible."
After returning the cap to its place, Sheffield took the time to get his cigarettes and a book of matches from the pocket of the jacket before he answered. "I don't, but some of these other chaps might." The Flight Sergeant put the jacket back onto the bench and carefully pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it. A few puffs later, Sheffield turned to look up at the men still on the roof. "Do any of you lot know where Corporal Newkirk might be?"
The German Sergeant was nearly wringing his hands by the time the question slowly made its way through the group of prisoners working on the roof. The answer seemed to take even longer to come back as each man, in turn, denied any knowledge of Newkirk's whereabouts. Schultz was ready to pull his hair out in frustration when the last man, an American private, suddenly nodded. "Oh yeah, I think he said something about it being his turn to tend goal today, whatever that means."
Sheffield flicked the ash from his Gold Flake and nodded. "Quite right, Palmer. I forgot that there's a football game on today over by the delousing station." The Englishman gave the German a smile. "Why, I'd wager that they're just getting started, and if you hurry, you can catch Newkirk before things become too involved."
"Donnerwetter!" Schultz turned on his heel and started to walk off, but he only got a few steps before he spun back around and came back to Sheffield. "I almost forgot to say thank you, Sergeant." With that, the German once again turned and moved away.
Once Schultz was out of sight, Sheffield looked back up to the men on the roof. "Well done, lads, and thanks for your assistance." The Flight Sergeant glanced at his watch and saw that it had been nearly forty-five minutes since he'd spoken with Colonel Hogan. "I'd best get cracking then, and make certain that the next few decoys are in place."
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"So what you're saying, Liesel, is that this Leftenant Schaeffer has his eye on you, right. But you don't think he's gotten wise to the fact that you're an Underground agent?" Newkirk smiled and leaned back, putting an arm around the young woman's shoulder as she sat next to him on the couch. "Can't very well say I blame him for looking, given how attractive you are, liebschen. Of course, I'd like him to mind his own ruddy buisness and go chase one of the barmaids at the Hofbrau instead."
The blonde curled up next to the dark-haired Englishman and rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "Ja, so do I, Peter. I had to hide those copies of the railroad timetables," she gestured toward the thick envelope that protruded from the top of the reticule, "in the Personnel files for two days because Herr Schaeffer almost caught me with them."
"That's it then. We're getting you out of there before he does catch you with the goods." Newkirk shook his head and placed a finger across her lips before Liesel had a chance to voice a protest. "You've done an excellent job of getting a lot of information out of Gestapo headquarters, love, but none of it is worth the risk of you being captured."
The German woman reached up, wrapping her hand around the Englishman's to draw it away from her face. She laced her fingers with his, and gently kissed the back of his hand before she spoke. "I don't want to go, Peter. My work is here, and so are you. If I stay, I can continue to help the Underground and we can still be together, but if I go..." Liesel's voice trailed off, as she did not want to even think of being seperated from Newkirk, nor did she want to say it for fear of making it happen.
"'S'trewth, love. I don't want to see you go either, but if it's the only way to keep you safe, then that's how it has to be." Newkirk gripped Liesel's hand tightly for a moment, then made himself sit up and move away from her a bit. "And I've got a feeling that the sooner we act on this, the better, before Schaeffer does get suspicious." He couldn't think straight sitting next to her, as all he wanted to do was to put his arms around Liesel and tell her everything was going to be all right. Newkirk knew he needed a clear head to be able to come up with a plan, so he pushed himself off the couch, and absently started pacing across the small sitting room.
A few minutes, and a few trips back and forth later, the Englishman stopped in his tracks and snapped his fingers as an idea came to him. "Let's work with what we have already in place. You're off from work now because you had to take care of your poor, sick grandmother, right? What if we take that a step further and say that you need to leave for a couple of weeks in order to go home with her and nurse her back to health?" Newkirk smiled, slowly working the plan out as he went on. "That gives you an excuse to scarper and means that no one here will be expecting to see you for a while, which gives us time to come up with a reason why you'll not be returning to Hammelburg."
Liesel nodded slowly as she thought it over. "That could work, Peter. I'll telephone Herr Dietz at the grocery and ask him to make arrangements for me to get to Leipzig. My grandfather has a small farm just outside of town, and I can stay with him as long as I need to. Once that's done, I can let Headquarters know I need the time off from the office, which shouldn't be a problem." She stood and went to the telephone, pausing before she picked up the handset. "After that, I pack a few bags and wait for the car to pick us up."
Newkirk smiled as he listened to her finish outlining the plan he'd started. "Only one small problem that I can think of right off the top of me head. If Schaeffer and his lot start looking for you, won't they start in Leipzig if they know that's where you're from?"
The blonde shook her head and grinned impishly. "Nein, liebschen. I may be from Leipzig, but my identity card says I'm from Berlin. Should Herr Schaeffer want to find me, I'm afraid he's going to be looking in the wrong part of the country."
"That's why I love you, Liesel. You're not only beautiful, you're brilliant!" Newkirk's smile widened, and it was all he could do to keep from laughing out loud at the thought of the local Gestapo officers chasing all over Berlin in search of their wayward secretary. "You make your calls then, and let's get your things together so we're ready on our end when it's time to move."
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Colonel Hogan had stopped pacing the common room of the barracks an hour ago. Now he sat staring into his untouched cup of ersatz coffee that had long since gone cold. Damn it, Newkirk! Where are you? Hogan's hands clenched the cup tightly for a moment, causing some of the dark brew to slop over the rim and onto the scarred wood of the tabletop. "Oh for the love of... Le Beau, pass me a towel, will ya?"
The Frenchman looked up from peeling a potato, and tossed a scrap of toweling over to the American. "Take it easy, mon Colonel. I am certain he has a good excuse for being so late." While he tried to keep his voice calm, Le Beau was also concerned about the absent Englishman. You were due back over two hours ago, Pierre. What has kept you so late this time, mon ami?
"He'd better, or he's gonna be grounded until the end of the war and
then some." Reaching for the towel caused the Colonel's shirt sleeve to
ride up his arm a bit, giving him a good look at his wristwatch. Two
hours and counting. I'm surprised that Schultz hasn't been back yet;
Sheffield's gang must have him on a real wild goose chase. Hogan shook
his head and mopped up the spilled coffee. At least one Englishman
around here understands how to obey orders!
The bunk that covered the tunnel entrance clattered up, making room for Kinch to climb into the common room. The black Sergeant caught the tension in the French Corporal's eyes, and the closed, nearly expressionless look on the Colonel's face. Le Beau's an open book as far as his feelings go; and our commanding officer isn't nearly as hard to read as he'd like to think that he is. We're all worried about Newkirk, but Colonel Hogan's got to act like he isn't because he's in charge. I just wish I had some good news to give him. "Sorry, sir," Kinch shook his head and tripped the latch that let the bunk close over the opening in the floor. "The radio's quiet, and there haven't been any odd telephone calls either. Carter's minding the store for me for a few minutes, so we're still covered in case Newkirk actually does call in."
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"...and then I got mixed up in the middle of a football game, ach du lieber, Sergeant. I tell you, I have nver seen the like of so many men jumping and running around all at the same time like that. I thought I was going to be trampled!"
Joe Wilson, the closest thing to a doctor to be found in Stalag Luft 13 sat on the edge of his exam table and listened to his latest patient go on and on about his day. Schultz had stumbled into the infirmiary about a half hour ago, half carried in by Sergeant Olsen after a run-in with the highly enthusiastic spectators at a soccer game. Olsen had settled the German in a chair with the comment that the guard needed to sit down and have a long rest before the American had quickly vanished through the door.
To quote Sherlock Holmes, 'the game is afoot' today for sure. Olsen gave me the signal that there's something going on, and the way he stressed the words 'long rest' means that I'm supposed to keep Schultz here for a while. Wilson reached over, picked up the portly guard's water glass, and nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds like you've had a pretty tough time of it today, Schultzie. I think you'd better stay here a while and get your breath back before you go out again." The medic went to the sink and refilled the glass, then took a small tin box off his supply shelf. "In fact, you need to drink a few more glasses of water and take one of these." .
"Was ist los?" Schultz asked as he eyed the small white pill Wilson had just handed to him along with the water glass. "You wouldn't be trying any monkey business, would you?"
"Come on, Sergeant, it's nothing more than a salt tablet." Wilson showed Schultz a tin box that was clearly marked 'Salt Tablets'. He opened it, and swallowed one of the small white pills it contained before putting the tin back on the shelf next to a dozen others just like it. "See?Just plain old salt. You've been sweating a lot this morning, and you look like you need it."
The German nodded, and washed the pill down with a long swallow of water. "Ah, danke, Wilson. You are a good man, even if you are one of the enemy." He set the glass down, and within a couple of minutes, he was snoring gently.
Wilson watched his patient for a few more minutes to be certain the sleeping drug had taken effect, then picked up the glass. He took it to the sink and carefully rinsed it out before refilling it and setting it on the table next to the sleeping guard. Sorry, Schultzie, but that really was a salt tablet. I just didn't bother to mention what I'd put in the water that last time I topped off the glass. The medic grinned, and stepped out of the infirmiary to give Olsen the good news.