Colonel Klink stood at his window, squinting slightly and adjusting his monocle as he peered at the object standing outside. It was strapped to a trailer, roughly the height of a filing cabinet, the length of a large desk, irregularly shaped, and draped in a tarp. Hochstetter had dropped it off earlier in the day, wanting a "safe" place to keep a new, top secret, experimental device he'd been entrusted with transporting by someone in Berlin who must be extremely stupid. What the hell, exactly, the thing was supposed to do was anyone's guess.
Hogan, of course, had already been sniffing around it and been told off for it. The man's curiosity was insatiable. There had been a couple of appropriately stupid but cruel gestapo goons left behind by their equally stupid but cruel commanding officer. He'd been forced to order a couple of his own guards to take over while they took a break, however. He'd picked a couple of the most junior guards, boys really, as he wasn't inclined to spare any of his more experienced people for whatever the newest gadget the pinheads in Berlin had cooked up. He'd only been told it wasn't a weapon, per se, (when he'd protested at something dangerous being placed in his camp) but that it would be "useful, if not downright revolutionary!" in the war effort.
Klink was starting to greatly resent everyone and their mother using Stalag XIII as a storage depot any time they felt like it. Yes, the Allies were unlikely to bomb their own people, but he wasn't running a damned warehouse. Hochstetter would return to retrieve it, he said, in a couple weeks. Weeks! He'd have to work the damned thing into his guard rotation for weeks! The gall of it, really. As if he didn't have a difficult enough job!
He had half a mind to just tell the guards to go ahead and sleep on the job. Let Hogan break the stupid thing, teach Hochstetter and the gestapo that a POW camp didn't exist to give them a convenient place to stash their toys. He grinned at the thought of the shorter man screeching over the broken pieces of the thing. He cringed, though, when his imagination involuntarily strayed to the thought of the shorter man screeching over himself, beaten to a pulp or worse. Damned gestapo.
Hogan reappeared as Klink watched, sauntering around just far enough away from the guards to not elicit a reaction, a cigarette dangling from his lips, clearly trying to look casual. He was plotting something of course. When was he not? A couple of Hogan's other men appeared, pestering the guards. An old trick, of course. Have a few run interference, cause a distraction, and then you can get what you want. A look at the contraption, of course, was what he was after, at the very least, or more likely trying to damage the damn thing.
Klink's annoyance with the gestapo and his prisoners both had him rushing outside. Klink didn't care about the machine, whatever it was, but he was tired of Hogan's total, blatant disobedience. He couldn't control the gestapo, he couldn't control the military brass, he couldn't control the Allies, but he would be damned if he didn't at least try to control his own damned prisoners.
He reached the machine just in time to see Hogan ducking under the tarp as Newkirk and Carter distracted the stupid boys he'd left guarding the thing. Amateurs. He'd have them moved to the last shift tomorrow for that one after all, see how distractible they were at 0300...
"HOGAN!"
He ducked under the tarp himself, just in time to catch a glimpse of Hogan crouched over some sort of control panel. The man startled as Klink shouted his name, turning to look at him and stumbling, catching himself with one hand on the closest solid surface, which happened to be one of the switches. A burst of light hit him in the face, then the world went black.
Hogan hadn't actually intended to set the whatsit off, he'd just wanted to get some photographs for London, let their scientists figure out, later, what it actually did. Leave it to Klink to shove his nose into their business at the worst possible moment! The results were immediate and disastrous. One second Klink was standing with his head shoved under the tarp, yelling at him, and the next, a bright flash of light had... what? Vaporized him? Was it some sort of nazi destruction ray? They came up with the damnedest things sometimes, and this one could spell real trouble for the Allies.
Swearing prodigiously, Hogan stepped over to what was left of their "beloved" Kommandant. Newkirk, Carter, and the two junior guards crowded around him. Somehow, Klink's uniform was completely untouched, leaving a pile of cloth, a riding crop, and a monocle piled on top of a pair of leather boots. Carter leaned against him, the younger man's chin coming to rest on his shoulder, trying to catch a better look at the carnage.
"Oh boy, Colonel, we're in trouble now!"
Hogan sighed heavily. "Yeah, it'll take months to break in a new Kommandant. Damn-"
Schultz arrived, shouting at the crowd, shooing off the useless young guards.
"Colonel Hogan, what have you done this time?!"
As they peered down at the wreckage, something moved within the pile of cloth. Hogan held his breath, steeling himself to reach down and investigate, when a head popped out, followed by a mouse-like squeaking that might have been speech.
"Oh, hell no-" Hogan stepped back, swearing a bit more just for the hell of it.
Schultz reached down toward his commanding officer, now all of maybe five inches in height. Klink gave a panicked squeak and swiftly ducked back into the mass of clothing to avoid a hand that now seemed massive hurtling toward him.
Hogan finished his cursing and turned back toward the latest disaster. "We'd better keep this under wraps until we can figure out how to fix it."
Hogan scooped up the entire pile, boots and all, hoping Klink would have the sense not to let himself slip out and go tumbling to the ground. He peered at the machine, now standing inert again in the middle of the dust of Stalag XIII. "We'll have to figure out how this gadget works before Hochstetter gets back. And keep those two gestapo goons from finding out. Schultz, I need you to work with me here. You want your Kommandant back, don't you?"
Schultz laughed nervously, shrugging. "Well, uh..."
"Do you really want to find out who they'll send to replace him?"
Schultz ducked his head sheepishly. "You have a point, I suppose. We'll have to get the big shot back to being a big shot somehow."
"Carter, I want you and Kinch to dedicate yourselves to studying that control panel. There's gotta be a reverse switch somewhere. I hope. God I hope there's a reverse switch..."
"You got it boy! I mean, Colonel!"
Hogan sat at the table glumly, a heap of rumpled Luftwaffe uniform balanced on his lap. He set the monocle and riding crop on the table and had left the heavy coat and boots in a corner on his way in. He nudged a lump still wrapped up in the cloth. It trembled slightly, but didn't emerge.
"He's gonna have to come out of there eventually." Kinch sat back in a chair, lit a cigarette and smirked. "Naked as a jaybird, no doubt."
"If I could get a look at 'im, I could probably make something for him. I've got a few odds'n'ends in the sewing basket. Used to make things for my sisters' dolls as a kid for their Christmas. Couldn't really afford to buy 'em anything but there were always a few leftover bits layin' around."
Hogan leaned back and regarded the pile of laundry on his lap. He gave it another poke before scooping it all up and setting it on the table, leaning down on his elbows to get closer to it. "You'll have to come out of there sooner or later, Klink. You'll get hungry eventually, and nobody likes a bed-wetter."
A head the size of a large marble emerged from under the cloth, just barely, and glared at him. The effect was hardly intimidating and Hogan bit his lip, trying not to laugh (because he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop).
Carter stooped down behind Hogan, blinking owlishly at Klink. He leaned in further, and Klink disappeared back into his "nest" immediately. Hogan used an elbow to shove the Sergeant back a bit. "Quit crowding him, he's already jumpier than your pet mouse!"
Carter stood back up and scratched his head. "Well, I guess it would be a bit scary to be that tiny, if you aren't used to it. Felix isn't scared of me anymore, but of course he's always been a mouse."
Klink was trapped in some sort of waking nightmare. The world had always been a scary place, too big and too full of things that wanted to harm him, but it had suddenly become massive and terrifying. At first he hadn't been sure what the hell had happened, but as the face of the senior POW officer swam over him like a massive zeppelin occupying the entire horizon, it had dawned on him what, exactly, that idiotic contraption Hochstetter had left just sitting in the middle of his camp was for. That complete imbecile! Who leaves something like that sitting a camp full of enemy prisoners with a measly two guards? Was Hochstetter trying to get him sent to the Russian front? Did they have no way of disabling its function? Even an ordinary automobile generally required a damned key to operate! That stupid little rat of a man!
Except who was the rat now? Klink wasn't sure, exactly, what his height had been reduced to, but he was literally lost inside of his own uniform, now a mountain of cloth. And who had picked him up but Hogan himself? His luck could not be more rotten. He knew he'd been lifted and moved, and thought he was now probably in Barracke 2, maybe. His vision had changed along with his size, everything in the distance now as hazy as the far reaches of the forest outside of the camp. Distance, apparently, was a very relative thing, at least when your eyes were shrunken to the size of fish roe. His left eye was a bit useless without correction even at the normal size.
The only thing he couldn't figure out is why he hadn't already been crushed underfoot. Hogan had been trying to destroy him, at least metaphorically, since the man had arrived in his camp. Klink had always been too clever, of course, to be defeated so easily, but clearly Hogan now had the vast, vast advantage. Where the hell were his own men? Where was Schultz? He could only pray Hochstetter's two underlings were still unaware.
Think, man, think! How could he fix this? Was it even possible? That machine had done this to him, could it undo it? But there was no way he could be both in the line of its... shrink-beam? Whatever the hell that was, and the control panel as well. He'd need help, but there was nobody he could trust to help him. The Allies were his enemies, and his own people... Well, some of them hated him as much as the POWs, and the rest were too ambitious, looking for any way to get a leg up, so there was no way they wouldn't use this situation to their own advantage somehow.
He was doomed.
After a few hours, Hogan's patience wore out. He was no medical doctor, and couldn't even guess at the effects of being reduced to the size of a large hamster on the human body, but eventually Klink would need food and water, at least. Supper time had come and gone. He'd smuggled a few scraps out in a napkin, but Klink was still balled up in his now-outsized clothing, hiding away like the coward Hogan had always known he was.
He'd left Klink behind, briefly, during dinner, then evening roll call. Schultz had counted them all up, and had stopped only moments to inform Hogan that he'd told everyone Klink was ill. Hogan had hoped Klink would use the time to emerge from his hiding place, but both times he'd found him right where he'd been left upon return to the barracks.
He nudged the lump. "C'mon out of there Klink. I have a nice buttery green pea for your supper, and a bit of chicken, and you've already let it go cold."
After a few minutes of no further response, Hogan rolled his eyes and reached into the cloth, fishing around for its occupant.
"Ow! You little shit-"
Klink had bitten him! Bitten him! Right on that little strip of skin between the base of his thumb and the rest of his hand. Losing patience entirely, he started pulling the uniform apart, removing the jacket and tossing it aside, and picking the shirt up to shake it out over the rest of the cloth. A squeal heralded the final reappearance of Klink as he tumbled out and landed on his old trousers, emitting a squeaky string of something that was probably cursing. He was, of course, completely nude, and turned red immediately, grabbing a corner of cloth to pull over his bits. Hogan rolled his eyes again and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He grabbed Klink inside it as though he were picking up a large beetle with it. "C'mon, get dressed, it's dinner time."
He deposited Klink, handkerchief and all, onto a tin plate. The diminutive Kommandant pulled an edge of the handkerchief down off of his head, glaring over his shoulder. Hogan couldn't completely prevent the laughter this time, it was like being threatened by a mouse.
Klink briefly wished Hogan would just go ahead and wring his head off or stamp him to death, or whatever method he was planning to dispatch his enemy with, and be done with it. Was he hoping to extract intelligence from Klink? What the hell could Klink even do? Squeak Morse code at him? His own voice was... comical to say the least. Even to his own ears.
A massive hand had chased him, then grabbed him, and in his panic he'd done the only thing he could when he was suddenly being squeezed painfully, and sunk his tiny teeth into the closest bit of skin he could reach. The huge paw had, at least, withdrawn. His relief had been short-lived when his entire "nest" suddenly lifted into the air and shook like an earthquake. He'd tried to grab the cloth, but had tumbled instead, experiencing a moment of absolute terror as he was suddenly in a free-fall. The landing, at least, had been soft enough, but he found himself naked and staring up at a face that was three times as big as his entire body, in its current state. He tried to cover himself but the big paw returned, wrapping him in a handkerchief and dropping him onto a metal surface.
He turned around and glared at the face as it retreated, turning blurry in the distance. Before him was something he eventually recognized as a green pea, its surface shiny in a coating of butter. The thing was larger than a tennis ball, and beside it was a scrap of something that smelled like roast chicken.
He could hear Hogan laughing in the distance. Stupid bastard. Of course he's enjoying this. Well, that explained why Hogan hadn't simply killed him, at least. He wanted to humiliate Klink first. Maybe the actual torture would come later. Why me?
Klink sighed and resigned himself to his doom. He pulled the handkerchief more securely around his shoulders. He bit at the strip of chicken for a while, then picked up the pea, gnawing at it morosely. Another blurry figure appeared, dark-headed. The cockroach, probably, although the smaller Frenchman's hand looked equally massive as the others' had been as it deposited a sewing thimble beside him. Klink peered into it to find a drop of water, bowed upward with surface tension. He picked it up, the relative size of a small bucket, and tried to drink from it, but the water barely shifted as he tipped it. Finally, he turned it up completely and managed to drink a bit directly from its surface. It wasn't quite like drinking from a straw, but close enough.
As soon as he finished eating, though, another hand snatched him up without so much as a by-your-leave. He was getting sick of being treated like a child's toy, but realistically there wasn't a lot he could do about it. He was set down again in what looked like a small wooden box lined with a folded scrap of flannel. It smelled odd, a mixture of the soap that the Red Cross sent the prisoners, and something vaguely musty. Did they expect him to sleep here? Out in the open, where anyone could just grab him again?
"Colonel, I've washed out Felix's bed so Klink can borrow it for, uh... however long I guess."
"Where are you putting Felix then?"
"He sleeps under my pillow half the time anyway. I don't think he'll mind."
Hogan picked up the box, Klink and all, and took it into his private room with him, setting it on the desk, before stripping down and climbing into his own bed. What a day! Maybe things would look better in the morning.
It was dark in Hogan's room after he cut the lights and went to sleep, but Klink could not settle himself. He'd converted the handkerchief from ersatz robe to ersatz blanket, but he still felt terribly cold. The barracks were heated, but not exceptionally well, and apparently it was harder to stay warm in general when you were the size of a doll. He wrapped himself up as best he could and tried to sleep anyway.
Klink was somewhere on the edge of sleep when a noise caught his attention, his eyes popping open again. There was a scratching from somewhere. Carter had a pet mouse, didn't he? Weren't mice nocturnal? Maybe it wanted its bed back. The noise stopped after a moment and Klink resettled himself and hoped the rodent would decide to go elsewhere.
Suddenly the scratching got a lot closer and Klink bolted upright. Dim moonlight spilling through the window reflected two eerie red points entirely too close. Klink threw the handkerchief off and wedged himself into a corner of the box, trying to hold his breath. The scratching of claws and snuffling of the nose were followed by a massive snout appearing over the far edge of the box.
It was no mouse, but a huge rat, staring at him. Klink quickly looked around, and made a decision. He hauled himself over the edge of the box and made a mad dash toward a chipped coffee mug on the table holding a few pens and pencils, and grabbed the sharpest looking one he could find just as the rat leaped over his makeshift bed, its chisel-like teeth aiming directly for him.
Klink screamed, jabbing out as hard as he could with his pencil-spear. The rat squealed in pain as he, entirely by chance, managed to stab it in one twitching nostril. He lost his balance and scrabbled backwards as the rat lunged again, and jabbed outward, the graphite tip of the pencil stabbing into the roof of the animal's mouth and breaking off beneath the skin. Even this did not seem to deter it! The rat darted forward again, and Klink wedged the now-blunt tip of the pencil into the soft part under its jaw, desperate to keep the snapping teeth away while its claws wheeled in the air, scratching at Klink's bare chest as it tried to gain purchase on its prey.
Klink screamed again as the room suddenly flooded with light. The rat squealed and fled, darting away under the gap of the door out into the main portion of the barracks as Hogan stared down at him. He struggled to get his panting under control and dimly realized he'd managed to piss himself on top of everything else. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about soiled clothes, given that he wasn't actually wearing anything. Hot blood was beading up across his torso where the rat's claws had raked over his skin and beginning to ooze downward to complete the night's humiliation.
Hogan bent down uncomfortably close to him, his eyes narrowing. Klink clutched what was left of the pencil to himself, managing to cover at least one key area from view, but he still felt himself flushing beet red. As the adrenaline began seeping out of him, he began to shiver, the fear-sweat on his skin rapidly evaporating in the cold air of the room.
Hogan's warm breath hit him as he spoke. "Damn. I knew we had mice, didn't realize rats had gotten in too."
One of Hogan's hands scooped him up from behind and the other plucked the pencil out of his grasp, dropping it back onto the desk. Part of him was mortified, the other part of him just wanted to burrow into the warmth of Hogan's palm. The room really was absolutely freezing.
Hogan tried to be gentle as he carried Klink. He grabbed the handkerchief out of the makeshift bed on his desk and gave it back to the grateful Kommandant. He pressed the re-wrapped Klink against his chest as he left the barracks, stepping out into the cold night air. Their medic, Wilson, was in another barracks, and he wanted the scratches on Klink's skin seen to before infection could set in. God only knew what sort of germs were on a rat's nails.
He shook Wilson to rouse him out of bed, careful not to wake the other men in the room. The fewer people who knew of Klink's condition, the better, really. He'd have Carter and Kinch look into the nazis' latest little gadget in the morning, and hoped their combined talent in chemistry & mechanics would come up with a way to reverse the effects on Klink. Hochstetter would return for the damn thing eventually, and he wanted Klink back to his normal state well before then.
Pulling Wilson and his medical bag back into Barracks 2 and his own office, he finally set Klink back down on the desk. Wilson's jaw hung open for a few moments as he stared openly.
"Dare I ask-?"
"That whatchamacallit out there in the yard. Don't ask me how it works. We're going to try and figure out how to reverse it, but in the meantime, a rat got in and scratched him up pretty bad."
Wilson's mouth shut. "Well I can clean him up with a bit of disinfectant. Where was he sleeping? In that box over there?"
Hogan cringed and nodded. In hindsight it had been a mistake, clearly, but how was he to know there were rats running around?
Wilson shook his head and opened his medical kit, pulling out a clean cloth. He soaked a corner of the rag with water from a canteen and reached toward Klink, who scrambled backwards. Wilson paused a moment before simply blocking him in with his other hand behind his back and pressing the rag against the small chest, letting it soak against the torn skin for a moment before scrubbing at him a bit, trying to remove any dirt that might be in the scratches. He held the rag out to Hogan after a moment.
"Get that bottle of iodine and soak the other corner of it, will you?"
Hogan did as he was asked and handed the rag back. Wilson pressed it against the scratches, holding it there for several minutes. He glanced back at Hogan over his shoulder.
"It's rather cold in here, Colonel. The smaller you are the quicker you lose heat. That's why infants and children die in the cold faster than adults. Rats aside, you can't just leave him out in the open all night like this. Especially with nothing but a handkerchief to wrap up in."
Hogan looked around at the room, assessing his options. "I can find more bedding for him, Newkirk should have a few more scraps in his sewing box. Or maybe I can steal a washcloth from somewhere..."
"Probably not going to be good enough, unless you can find a way to heat this room up more. I know it's been colder than usual lately, and it's not like the krauts can be bothered to ration out more wood for the stoves."
Hogan thought Klink might be glaring at him, but he hardly cared. If he was suffering from the cold now, it was through his own stinginess. "What do you want me to do, have him sleep in my pockets?"
Wilson smirked. "That would certainly work. Might deter the rats as well. You're lucky you didn't wake up and find nothing but a patch of blood on your desk. Rats can be nasty, they'll bite chunks out of full-sized people, especially drunks, old folks, and babies, never mind... whatever this situation is."
Hogan sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Anything else I should know?"
Wilson shrugged. "Can't say I'm actually an expert on five-inch tall people. Just... be careful with him. People weren't designed to be this damned small. Keep him close, but, uh, maybe try not to roll over on him."
Klink's humiliation was total at this point. He was five inches high, wrapped in a scrap of bandage cloth, and trying to make himself somewhat comfortable. Hogan had gone back to bed, tucking himself in before dropping Klink onto his chest unceremoniously like a child might a teddy bear, more or less leaving him to fend for himself while he fell back into a heavy slumber almost immediately.
The sensation was odd, to say the least, sitting on something that rose and fell as the leviathan beneath breathed. There was no way Klink could sleep in such a way, and what would happen if Hogan did, indeed, roll over in the middle of the night? Klink would be crushed flat! Or smothered, at least. He sat staring into the cold darkness of the room for a few minutes, and shivering.
This just wouldn't do at all.
He tried to stand and fell again when Hogan's chest moved beneath him. Changing strategy, he crawled on his hands and knees up toward Hogan's chin, then let himself drop down to the gap between the pillow and Hogan's shoulder. There was still a chance of being smothered, but he estimated it might be somewhat less so. Wedging himself into the crook of Hogan's neck, he shoved his ice-cold feet under the edge of the pillow and tried to sleep. At least he was finally warm...
Hogan woke with something pressed against his neck, but thankfully his memory of the previous 0200 drama seeped in before he gave into the impulse to slap or grab at it. He rolled out of the bunk on the opposite side, leaving Klink to flop to the mattress in his absence. Klink didn't wake, but curled up on himself once his personal heat source had fled. Hogan ignored a feeling of... something... flitting past, and simply pulled the edge of the blanket up over Klink.
He took a few moments to wash up at the sink and dress himself, strategizing how they'd make it through the day. He had just enough time to scoop a still-drowsy Klink up off his mattress and drop him into the pocket of his jacket as he rushed outside with the rest of the prisoners to line up for roll call.
Schultz completed his count and paused to give Hogan a searching look. Hogan managed to whisper a quick "later" before Schultz had passed out of earshot. At the moment, Hogan was more interested in the two gestapo goons standing beside the source of their current conundrum. They'd remain until just before supper before being relieved of duty and replaced by a couple of the guards from Stalag XIII.
It would be easier to deal with their own people, he decided. Hochstetter's men were as dense and unimaginative as most gestapo were, but they were also generally hyper-aggressive and trigger-happy, and Hogan didn't want to risk Carter and Kinch getting into a confrontation with them. If he could get hold of Schultz before shift rotation, he might be able to have a couple of the more sympathetic guards put in the place of the two boys they'd had the day before.
Klink-sitting meant largely avoiding Barracks 2, however. The last thing Hogan wanted was Klink getting too close a look at their operation. It would only take the tunnel entrance popping open at the wrong time to make life even more complicated. The whole point of trying to restore Klink to his normal state was so that they could return him to his position – if he knew too much, they'd have to pack him off to London regardless and deal with whatever replaced him.
Staying outdoors, however, presented another problem. It was damned cold out. German winters were never exactly balmy, but this February was proving to be unusually wintry. He'd reach into his jacket pocket from time to time to check on its passenger and Klink was soon shivering madly. By mid-morning, he'd had to transfer Klink from the jacket pocket to the breast pocket of his shirt, zipping the jacket up behind it. There was the risk of Klink suffocating, perhaps, but at least he wasn't so exposed to the elements, and he was relieved to note that his little passenger finally stopped shaking.
"Colonel Hogan! How is, uh..." Schultz's voice dropped to a whisper. "...your little friend doing?"
"Had a bit of a problem with a rat last night, but he managed to fend it off with a sharp pencil."
"Really? Oh, my! I guess I never thought how scary a rat would be if, ah..." Schultz's eyes darted over Hogan, no doubt looking for whatever spot he'd hidden Klink away.
"I've got him in my shirt pocket."
Hogan felt his passenger shifting against him and a tiny bald head appeared around his jacket collar, a pair of eyes and a pointed nose poking out to peer up at the sergeant-of-the-guard.
"Oh, there you are, Kommandant. Uh, things are going well in the camp, I've done the roll calls for you and everyone is still here!"
The tiny eyes narrowed up at Schultz, who pursed his lips and leaned slightly back. Hogan choked back a laugh at the sight of the massive guard looking cowed at his five inch tall commanding officer's glare. Hogan smirked and use one finger to push the bald head back into his jacket, ignoring the protesting squeaks.
"Listen, Schultz, I need to get Kinch & Carter closer to that doohickey the gestapo dropped off. I can distract those two boys again if I need to, but it might be easier if you put a pair out there who aren't going to get in the way. Corporal Langenscheidt, maybe?"
"Oh! Uh, yes, I can change the rotation schedule. I'll just join him myself, actually, makes things simpler. After supper? Yes. That should give you a couple of hours between then and roll call. Oh, Colonel, I do hope you can fix the Kommandant, I've been telling everyone he has a bad flu and is staying in his rooms, but eventually people will get suspicious, and if Major Hochstetter shows up before-"
"Don't worry, Schultz. I haven't let you down yet, have I?"
Schultz stood, chewing at his lip for a moment, clearly lacking any confidence in that statement, but Hogan had bigger problems to deal with.
Klink was thoroughly sick of the whole situation by the time Hogan took him back out of his pocket, depositing him on the table of Barracks 2. Another issue had arisen, and he was getting rather desperate, practically dancing from one foot to the other, trying not to wet himself again. He could hold it for rather a long time, but not all day. He was pissed off at Hogan, but hadn't really wanted to piss on Hogan, particularly when he was the one who would suffer from the damp pocket the most.
Hogan gave him an odd look before it finally seemed to dawn on him what was happening after several uncomfortable minutes. Dummkopf. Klink allowed himself to be picked up again and left on the edge of the sink, where he relieved himself at last, then used a few drops of soapy water on the edge of the soap dish to wash up. This is ridiculous!
Hogan had left him to talk to one of his men. He was far enough away it was difficult to see exactly who it was, but the navy blue of the uniform and general outline made Klink think it must be Newkirk. Hogan returned long enough to grab him like a pet mouse again and return him to the table, sitting down beside his man (definitely Newkirk, now that Klink could see more clearly). Laid out on its rough wooden surface, however, were a simple shirt and trousers. Finally.
"Try 'em on Kommdant. I think I got the size right, but I can adjust 'em a bit if I have to."
Klink sighed, wondering if he'd ever get his life back. What would he do if they couldn't fix him? He couldn't spend the rest of his life like this! If nothing else, all it would take to end him would be a hungry cat or hawk. He grabbed the clothing off the table and ducked behind a tin cup before tossing cloth he was wrapped in aside. He held up what resembled a simple long-sleeved undershirt, pulling it over his head. It was a bit loose, but would work well enough. The trousers were also simple, and fastened with a bit of string that had probably been taken off a Red Cross parcel. No shoes, of course, but he at least felt a bit less humiliated than a minute ago.
Taking a deep breath, he re-emerged from behind the cup, pulling at the cloth to straighten it a bit. It didn't quite drape right, but at such a small scale, the cloth felt impossibly thick and rough as it was. He doubted the tailor could get hold of anything better, anyway.
"Not my best work, admittedly, but it's got to be more comfortable than a bit of old bandage."
"It'll do for now, Peter. Thanks, by the way."
"No problem, Colonel."
Klink sat down, leaning against the tin cup. The door opened and shut, a gust of cold air coming in behind it. A plate went over his head, causing him to briefly panic as some ancient instinct reacted to the massive shadow passing over him. It plopped down in front of Hogan, and the smell of food filled the room.
"C'mon Klink, get what you want before I eat the rest."
Klink pulled himself to his feet and walked over to the dish. Potatoes, beans, something that looked like badly overcooked spinach. No meat, but that had been getting harder to obtain lately. He pulled a fork taller than himself off the table and managed to maneuver it well enough to scrape a bit of potatoes, a single whole bean, and what to his full-sized self would have been barely a pinch of the yellowish-green leafy disappointment.
Not much of a dinner but he hardly cared at this point. He had more important things on his mind. Fingers plucked the fork from his grasp, lifting him only slightly before he had enough sense to let go and drop back to his bare feet. He hated eating with his hands, but what other choice did he have? Sitting on the edge of the plate, he ate what he'd chosen for himself as Hogan polished off the rest of it.
The tin cup, now full of cold water from the tap, had enough condensation forming on the outside of it for him to more or less wash his hands off at least. He went to jam them into his pockets, and realized he had none. Hmph, and he calls himself a tailor!
When Hogan picked him up again and put him back in his breast pocket, Klink didn't even bother to complain.
"The controls aren't labeled well, some of them aren't labeled at all, but I think the reversal mode is already built in, Colonel. Question is, what is it going to do to him? It might return him to his original size, it might make him twenty feet tall. It might kill him to go through that transformation again, I really don't know. I think we should test it on something else, first."
Hogan leaned against the wood of the barracks wall, staring out at the sunset as Kinch updated him. They had only a few minutes before the last roll call. Schultz, at least, had been true to his word, standing there after supper with Corporal Langenscheidt. Carter and Kinch had managed to slip under the tarp with a flashlight without any of the other guards noticing, and the gestapo goons were off doing who-knew-what in Hammelburg somewhere. They generally left the camp when they weren't on duty, thankfully.
"It shrank Klink, but not his clothing. Maybe it only works on something that's alive?"
"Maybe, Colonel. Or maybe it hit him square in the face and missed his clothing entirely, although that wouldn't explain the monocle being left behind. It might be a matter of aim, or maybe it just hit the other side of his face. It might be an extremely narrow beam."
Hogan rubbed at his chin. He felt Klink pulling himself up to peek out of his jacket, no doubt listening to the entire conversation. What the man's own thoughts (and, no doubt, intense worries) were, Hogan didn't know. Klink was in no state to put in his own two cents either, his voice reduced to a mouse-squeak pitch that was unintelligible.
Hogan felt a slight twinge of sympathy for Klink's utterly vulnerable state. Klink was usually somewhat anxious, but after nearly being eaten by a rat the night before, he wouldn't doubt if the man were a ball of nerves for a while. He thought back to that time he'd convinced Klink an assassin was after him, and Klink had made him swap places. Klink had been terrified that death might come leaping out of every window and doorway, and had metaphorically climbed into Hogan's pocket then. He was now sitting in Hogan's pocket quite literally.
The man was thicker than day-old oatmeal, but even Hogan's cruel streak grew only so wide before it slammed into his conscience. Klink was a self-serving coward, and a useful idiot, but he wasn't exactly a real nazi like Hochstetter. Enemy or not, Hogan didn't really want Klink getting killed. Not like this, especially. It would be too pointless a death, even for him. Not to mention the inconvenience of dealing with whatever the krauts sent to replace him.
"Something alive, hm? Carter can we borrow Fe-"
"No way, boy! I mean, Colonel... We're not using Felix. I can go put a trap out for that rat if you have to have something like that, I'm sure we can catch it."
Hogan was about to tell Carter off for not following orders, then thought better of it. "Actually, a man-sized rodent isn't such a great idea anyway, that could get... troublesome. We need something more, uh, benign. Kinch, do you think a vegetable from the mess hall might stand in as 'something alive' here?"
Kinch raised an eyebrow at his C.O. "No offense, Colonel, but this is all just a semi-educated guess here. I'd definitely start small. Maybe a turnip or something might work, I don't know. I mean the worst that can happen is you get a pumpkin-sized turnip, right?"
Hogan shrugged again. "Or a roasted turnip, or a creamed turnip, or maybe an exploded turnip. Although I'm rather hoping not. Pinch a few of whatever's the freshest-looking root vegetable from the mess hall tomorrow. We'll test it out after shift rotation again, I think I can get Schultz and Langenscheidt to fill in again."
After evening roll call, Hogan returned to his room and excavated Klink from his pocket, dropping him on the desk long enough to strip before picking him up again and going to bed. He felt Klink shuffle across his chest, sliding down his shoulder to curl up against his neck as he had found him that morning. Hopefully they'd both sleep without the ravenous rodent interruption tonight, and he desperately prayed that tomorrow night, Klink would be sleeping in his own damned bed.
Hogan passed the day doing very little of anything, wandering about the camp with Klink in his pocket again. Kinch had filled in London on what was going on, and they were interested to be sure, but had another small mission that he'd sent LeBeau out on his own to deal with. Not knowing how long it would take, he couldn't be in the barracks when Louis returned and came back up from the tunnel.
Klink had taken to tugging at his shirt demandingly if he needed to come up for certain necessities, although thankfully the man's bladder seemed fairly robust. The Kommandant always returned to his pocket shivering violently whenever he spent even a brief time exposed to the cold air; Wilson hadn't been wrong when he'd said Klink would lose heat fast, and the clothing Newkirk had fashioned weren't exactly insulating, not to mention the bare feet. The whole situation was simply ridiculous and unsustainable, it was getting difficult to juggle both Klink and their operation, when the two could not be allowed to mix.
Carter had returned from lunch with his pockets stuffed with a couple of raw potatoes and a turnip, and Kinch had managed to nab an onion and a carrot. So, they had a few test subjects, and maybe a vegetable stew later if LeBeau felt like cooking. The tricky part would be running the test. They'd figured out the thing was rigged up for operation by two people – one to aim it, and another to activate it. They'd have to wait until after dark to deal with it. Carter had hidden one of the nail-tipped sticks they used to spear trash during pick-up duty, and they planned to spear the vegetables with it to line it up with the machine's targeting sight, which means it would take a minimum of three of them to do this.
The searchlights moved in a predictable pattern, most nights. Hogan had been watching them for a while, getting the current shift of guards' paths mentally marked out. They'd have about twelve and a half minutes to do this, if they started at the right moment. Schultz was already in on the plan, and had also informed Langenscheidt of the situation, although the younger man had been... skeptical, to say the least. Ultimately, Hogan had needed to unzip his jacket and give the corporal a glance at the occupant of his pocket to get his cooperation, and convince him it wasn't some Allied scheme to escape the prison or sabotage Hochstetter's gadget.
They would absolutely be sabotaging Hochstetter's gadget, of course, but that would happen after they had Klink back to normal. Corporal Langenscheidt didn't need to know that, however. Neither did Schultz. So, Hogan had just kept that little fact to himself.
Hogan stood just outside of the range of the last searchlight of the cycle, and took out the first vegetable, spearing it on the end of the nail. "Alright, I'm going to hold up the turnip first once the light passes. Carter, are you sure you can aim at something this small?"
"Yeah, Colonel, it's got a pretty fancy sight on it. I think I've seen one like it on a sniper's rifle."
"Good, it'll be hard enough working under the tarp as it is, even with the lamp. Kinch, you sure you got the controls figured out?"
"No, Colonel, but if I'm wrong, we'll find out. Hopefully before we run out of vegetables."
Klink had pulled himself upright from the bottom of Hogan's pocket, peering upward at the machine that had ruined his life. It was covered in wires, vacuum tubes, and weird levers and buttons and dials. It looked like something out of a Hollywood movie about a mad scientist. Hell, it was something out of a Hollywood movie about a mad scientist. What the hell was Berlin thinking? He could think of several uses for it off-hand, shrinking spies and saboteurs down small enough to get into just about any place and do just about anything, theoretically, but after his experience of the past two days, he couldn't think of anyone with half a brain volunteering for this nonsense. The rat alone had made his life flash before his eyes, and the only time he wasn't freezing to death was when he was curled up in Hogan's shirt pocket like a pet gerbil. Maybe they planned on using it only in the middle of summer? Outfitting their test subjects with tiny, rat-sized firearms? The whole thing was just pure insanity. When you were this small, literally everything was a threat to your life. Hogan reached out with the turnip on the end of the stick, and the same light flashed in front of Klink as he held his breath, hoping against hope that it wouldn't just explode into a million fragments.
A heavy, dull thunk sounded as a turnip the size of a large pumpkin hit the ground and rolled slightly. Hogan crouched down, pulling out a tape measure to compare it to its original size and Klink peered at the now significantly larger vegetable. "Success, I think. Seems to be the right ratio... Okay, let's step back and wait for the light to pass again, then do a potato next, I want to make sure before we drop the Kommandant in front of this thing. Schultz, you have his clothes, right?"
"Yes, Colonel Hogan. I hid them on the corner of the trailer there behind the machine."
One potato and one searchlight cycle later, and Hogan was pulling Klink out of his pocket and setting him gently on the ground.
"I know you're freezing, Klink, but this'll all be over soon... one way or another."
Klink's face went white, but he forced himself to stand where he was and nod.
Hogan stepped back, gestured to his men, and Klink's world once again turned upside down as the light flashed before him. He vaguely felt himself flying upwards, then falling back down.
Klink woke up as he was being manhandled into his own uniform on the ground, one pair of hands buttoning his jacket and another roughly pulling boots onto his feet, while a third pair of hands was tapping at his face, no doubt trying to wake him up. He flailed, his hands shooting outward before his wits fully returned, one hand making contact with somebody. The indignant shout he got in return sounded like Carter. He rolled to his side and heaved a few times, but his empty stomach brought up nothing. Oh, right, dinner was of a pinch of bacon and a pebble-sized piece of bread.
Once the nausea passed, he actually felt ravenous, but that was the least of his worries. He could raid the pantry later. He managed to stand up, still feeling dizzy. The contraption had returned him to his normal size, but the disorientation was taking even longer to dissipate than it had the other way around. He rubbed at his eyes and finally looked up, taking in his surroundings. A crowd of faces all stared at him openly – Hogan, Kinch, Carter, Schultz and Langenscheidt, all peering at him with varying levels of unguarded curiosity, although at least Langenscheidt seemed genuinely concerned. The young corporal reached out to pass Klink his heavy winter coat, which he took gratefully and pulled on as fast as he could when another wintry gust of wind kicked up.
Klink felt at his pockets out of habit, feeling caught short when he came up with nothing. "Where is my monocle?"
"In your bedroom, on the nightstand. Your gloves and riding crop are in the same place."
He blinked again, stupidly, at Hogan's answer, rubbing at his eyes, both of which seemed to have trouble focusing on anything, not just the wonky left one. They'd vastly changed in size twice in as many days. His head was beginning to throb as well. He gave one last look over the assembled crowd, and stumbled his way back toward his quarters, determined to pretend this "incident" never happened.
He had half a mind to take Hochstetter to task over leaving such a dangerous thing in his camp, but that would mean admitting that he'd allowed it to be tampered with and learned what it's function was. Too many damned secrets, too many damned schemes, on both sides of this war. There's no fair play anymore, he thought. Didn't war used to be honorable? Maybe that had always been a fairy tale. After living through two of them that had proven to be anything but honorable, he was certain it must be the case. He thought about Hochstetter and men like him, all squatting in the positions of power and decision. "Bah," indeed. Bah!
Klink managed to sleep for an hour or two before he woke, rolling over and groping for something that wasn't there. He curled in on himself, feeling cold despite taking a hot shower and stoking the fire in the heating stove before going to bed. The room was too quiet. He held his breath, listening for anything. He almost thought he could hear the scratching of sharp nails, but it was probably his imagination. A mere rat was no longer a monster for him anyway, he could kick the damn thing and send it flying now. So why did he suddenly feel so exposed and isolated?
Klink pulled the covers up nearly over his head, then the pillow as well.
Klink dragged himself out at roll call the next morning, trying not to notice how tired he was. He'd slept poorly, drifting off for short periods only, and waking from vague nightmares of rats the size of bears and dying of exposure in snowstorms. The machine he'd been subjected to had no doubt affected his mind. He only hoped it was a temporary phenomenon. There was some scientific explanation for it, no doubt, some sort of stress caused by the shrinking and expansion of nervous tissues. It would wear off, he was sure.
He wandered up and down the lines of prisoners as Schultz counted them off, reporting all present. His guard caught his eye, briefly, but turned away when Klink scowled at him. The look on Schultz's face had almost seemed concerned, but the mere idea of that was preposterous.
Klink stopped in front of Hogan, trying to think of something to say, although he wasn't sure what, or why. Hogan gave him his usual crooked, insolent smile, crossing his arms and slouching. A moment later, Hogan's eyes narrowed and he stood up straighter, lifting a hand to his own forehead as though saluting, although Klink couldn't imagine why he'd bother now. That same hand traveled the short distance between Hogan's head and his own, then back.
"Well, damn."
"What is it now, Hogan?"
"It's not fair! It's just not fair!"
Klink rolled his eyes, his patience with Hogan's usual monkey shines even thinner than usual. "What isn't fair, other than life and everything in it, as usual-"
"You're taller than me!"
"I've always been taller than you, Hogan."
"Not a chance, Kommandant! We've always been exactly the same height. And now you're at least half an inch taller! I demand we redo the shrin-"
Klink grabbed Hogan by the collar. "Shut up, Hogan. You know nothing about that damned machine, nobody knows anything about that damned machine! And if Hochstetter asks you, then You. Know. Nothing. Nothing! Do you understand?"
Hogan's hands came up to gently press Klink back from where their noses were nearly touching. "Fine, whatever you say, Kommandant. But I still say it's still not fair!"
Letting go of Hogan and stepping back, Klink rolled his eyes. "Life isn't fair, Hogan, get used to it. With any luck, that bedeviled contraption will be gone, soon. I only hope I never see it again. And for the record, I've always been taller than you."
"Tch. Believe whatever you want, Kommandant, but you never were, I just don't always stand up straight."
"Yes, Hogan, your posture is an embarrassment, but I'm still quite certain I've always been just slightly taller than you."
"Can you two quit bickering already? I want to go back inside, it's bloody freezing out here."
Hogan and Klink both turned to glare at the Englishman's cheek, but Klink had to concede he did have a point, as the wind howled around them. "Dis-missed!"
Klink turned to go back to his office. He glanced back at Hogan briefly as the man followed his men back into the barracks, their eyes meeting. Hogan winked at him before stepping inside and shutting the door. Klink shook his head, dispelling some sudden odd, intrusive thoughts. After all, he was a grown man, he certainly didn't need to be carried around and coddled like a pet kitten. He didn't really miss it at all, it was just some weird after-affect on his mood from the machine's interference, clearly.
Klink plopped himself down behind his desk, pulling the papers that had piled up over his "sickness" and started the work of catching up, and decidedly not thinking about Hogan at all.
Utterly ridiculous...
Hochstetter's phone rang and he picked it up. The yelling on the other end accused him of damaging a very sensitive piece of experimental machinery. He yelled back that the damn thing had never been touched. It had looked precisely the same when it left Stalag XIII as when it had arrived, and Klink, as stupid and useless as he was, had kept it under 24-hour surveillance with a rotation of guards. He'd been assured that none of the prisoners had been allowed to even approach it. His own two men had assured him that they had completed the daily inspection and confirmed that nothing had been altered.
If the scientific pinheads in Berlin didn't even know how to operate their own damned machines, that was hardly his problem. Bah!
