LeBeau knew that the reprieve wasn't going to last long. Kommandant Klink was under too much pressure to take Schultz's word at face value and he would want proof of the so called sickness.
And, even if Schultz was under the impression that Hogan was one of the sick men, Hochstetter would know better.
"Having a Colonel Hogan, where no Colonel Hogan can be won't do us any good. The less we 'know' about why he isn't here, the better." Newkirk argued.
LeBeau, carrying one end of a dummy, considered his statement then nodded reluctantly.
"I suppose." He said, backing into the colonel's quarters and working with some of the other men to set up the second dummy as they had the first. One for Carter, and one for Kinchloe. Each half-dressed in the corresponding night wear of the American soldier they represented.
While Olsen cranked up the stove in the colonel's room and closed all the shutters, LeBeau unscrewed some of the light bulbs in the room to create as much forgiving shadow as possible. A second pot of water was put on the colonel's stove and filled with dirty laundry. The hope was that the soon to be pungent smell might sell the need for quarantine.
To one of the men's doubtful glances LeBeau replied, "If it is unlivable for us, it will be unlivable for the Krauts."
"Right-o." Newkirk whispered in agreement before returning his attention to the face of the man in front of him. His hastily applied makeup job had inspired the need for more of the men to be suffering from measles and Newkirk had been made official costumer. "Best case scenario…we fool the ruddy major and Klink, they leave us alone and we sneak into the cooler the minute the dust settles and spring the colonel."
"Worst case scenario," LeBeau began, feeling his empty stomach twist and turn. "They do something to the colonel before we can get to him."
"And they've already done something to Carter and Kinch. I know, Louie, I know."
An hour later they were still waiting, suffering from the noxious smell of the week-old socks and shirts boiling in the other room and watching the increased activity in the camp through minuscule cracks in the windows.
"You'd think they were expecting the Fuehrer, himself." Newkirk muttered, careful to breathe through his mouth and not his nose. On the bunk below him, LeBeau had begun to turn green, but resolved to grin and bear it. Who knew? Perhaps getting sick on one of the guards would prove there was something going through the camp.
"Ahh, 'ere we are. The friendly Kommandant has finally come to call." Newkirk hummed, then shut the window all the way and curled into his bed, prepared to moan and suffer on cue.
LeBeau grabbed the tray of props he had prepared and shoved the thermometer just under the lid of the boiling pot, watching the mercury. It hit 103 degrees a few seconds before Klink burst through the door.
LeBeau reacted with feigned surprise and launched a barrage of street French at the officer and enlisted men that barged into the barracks, slapping on the lights and searching the bunks. The reaction to the heat and the smell in the building was immediate and, LeBeau had to admit, satisfying.
"Oh…God, that smell." Klink moaned, putting his gloved fingers to his nose. "Schultz, what did these prisoners claim they had?"
Even Schultz looked shocked, certain it hadn't been this bad the last time. "The measles, Herr Kommandant." He barked, saying under his breath, "But it smells more like the black plague in here."
Approaching LeBeau, who added a dramatic twist by swaying a little on his feet, Klink demanded to see the thermometer in his hand and nearly lost his monocle when he read the numbers. "What man did this come from?" He asked, his voice shaking a little as the self-preservation instinct began to kick in.
"Sergeant Kinch." LeBeau seethed, yanking the thermometer back, careful not to touch the end that was still scalding hot from the pot. "He is in there with other very sick men."
"My God, Cockroach, why didn't you call for the medical officer?"
"Trust a Bosch doctor?!" LeBeau sniped, then muttered a few choice insults under his breath. "He would do the same as you, barging into a quarantine area and spreading a terrible disease into the towns and villages."
At the sound of the 'q' word Klink stiffened and turned on his master sergeant. "Schultz, why didn't you tell me this barracks was quarantined?"
"But Herr Kommandant, I, I, I…."
"Shut up! See that proper signs are put on the doors, and that all of you guards are looked over by the camp physician before you leave Stalag 13."
"We will need more medical supplies." LeBeau called, his voice implying that this need should have been Klink's first concern.
Irritated, and clearly in a hurry to get out of the barracks, Klink quickly shoved the problem Schultz's way. "You may give your requisition list to Sergeant Schultz, anything else?"
He was playing a part, yes. Just as he always had. But it irritated LeBeau that nothing had been said about Colonel Hogan. That clearly Klink wasn't going to mention Hogan's presence in the cooler, or his condition, and that the sick men were only the cause of minor friction compared to the bigger to-do in camp.
His bone deep hatred for the Fuehrer, and the army that served him, riled a bit and Louie's voice dropped to an even lower octave. "Oui," He bit out, standing stock still with his arms crossed, "I hope you are the first to get sick, and the last to get better."
That comment was not ignored and the angry look on Klink's face touched a small note of fear in the Frenchman. He had struck a chord, one that Klink wasn't likely to forget anytime soon. It took a moment for Wilhelm to rein in his composure and his voice shook when he replied, "You are lucky that the Gestapo is here…cockroach!"
Klink didn't explain and LeBeau didn't ask. They both knew what he meant. A few minutes after the barracks had emptied of Krauts, Newkirk slid down from his bunk and put a hand on his little mate's shoulder.
"Mighty close, that one…" He said quietly. He could feel the tension thrumming through every muscle and tendon in Louie's body. It was rare for LeBeau to get this angry.
"Oui. Close." LeBeau took a deep breath, then crooked the corner of his mouth up a little. "Come on…we can listen to Klink's quarters until they bring us the medical supplies."
"Colonel Hogan!" The voice whispering to him was heavily accented, familiar. Oddly enough the voice made him remember that he was hungry.
"Colonel, can you hear me?" Another voice, and he thought of snarky wise cracks and fast paced poker games.
"Hogan, you have to wake up. You are in the way of the door." The food voice…no, not food, French. A small Frenchman…LeBeau!
The second the name appeared in his dream, Robert Hogan jerked awake with a grunt and returned to a world filled with pain, cold and hunger. He opened his eyes to the familiar view of the bars of one of the cells in the cooler, and this time, thankfully, no Major Hochstetter.
"Colonel.." The voice said again and Hogan pushed himself carefully upright, moving off the uncomfortable cot just before it slid to the other side of the cell on a hidden track. Behind it was a door and two of the most beautiful faces he'd seen in a long time. Two seconds later he was irritated as hell to see them because of the risks they were taking. It must have shown clearly on his face.
"What are you guys doing here? Have you lost your minds?"
"The barracks have been quarantined, Colonel. No one will go anywhere near them." LeBeau explained, his voice still hushed, crawling from the opening quickly so that Newkirk could follow. Preceding the Englishman was the glorious smell of fresh baked bread and hard boiled eggs and Hogan's stomach growled loud enough to echo.
"LeBeau, Newkirk…" The Colonel said, the look of consternation turning slowly into a tight smile, "Can't tell ya how good you two look."
Both of his men nodded in response, LeBeau struggling to hide a sudden, prideful grin. Newkirk pushed past the frog in his throat by opening the small paper wrapped bundle of food and pulling at the cork of his canteen, handing it over.
"LeBeau spotted them bringing you in this morning, sir. Hatched a plan at about your speed. Said he thought you were injured." Both men could easily see the gash on the Colonel's temple, cleaned up, but no attempt had been made to stitch it.
Hogan leaned back against the wall and sighed. "The mission went bust, in a big way. Hochstetter showing up clinched that it was a set up." he said before biting deep into a soft, steaming slice of bread.
LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged a glance, each feeling as though they'd just been punched in the gut. They wanted to ask who, and how, but they only had so much time, and there were other concerns.
"We brought medical supplies." LeBeau said, moving to where he could tend to the gash. It didn't take long for a careless jostle to upset the colonel's arm.
Hogan hissed, and stiffened and LeBeau insisted they remove the torn shirt, only to reveal a softball sized bruise engulfing the Colonel's shoulder, and another set of bruises circling his rib cage.
"Did Hochstetter do this?" Newkirk demanded, struggling to keep his voice at a whisper.
"No…" Hogan gave Newkirk a warning glance, getting his breathing under control. "And it wouldn't matter even if he had."
"This has to be set, mon Colonel." LeBeau said quietly, instantly regretting the necessity when he met Hogan's pained glance.
"Yeah, and I'll probably not be any use to you once it's done, so let's talk now, and do that last." As Louie reluctantly went back to treating the head wound, Hogan happily shoved more of the food down his throat and explained what little he understood about what had gone wrong.
"These girls…the nuns…you can trust them?" Newkirk asked, skeptical.
Hogan nodded thoughtfully, "They risked a great deal agreeing to look after Kinch and Carter. Would have risked more if the Gestapo had decided to search the grounds after they nabbed me."
"How badly wounded was Carter?" LeBeau asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Bad…" Hogan said, quietly. "I made sure the girls understood they had to find a doctor if at all possible. The freckled one seemed to know where."
"How shall we contact them, sir?" Newkirk asked, and was surprised at the stern look that overtook Hogan's features.
"You won't. You can't. No radio use from here on out, period. Not until I know exactly how much Hochstetter knows, and who spilled the beans." He paused a moment, drank the last of the canteen of water then admitted, "Hochstetter called me Papa Bear when he first saw me. He's confident enough that he has the leader of the underground, he hasn't even tried to bug the cell."
"Now he wants the rest of the underground." Newkirk said, feeling a chill sink in. Hochstetter had decided he had the leader, and he would stop at nothing to get anything and everything out of Hogan that he could. "Sir…why stay here? Our cover's blown, half of us are blown to bits. We can cut out tonight."
"Colonel, why let yourself be tortured when there is nothing left to save?" LeBeau added.
Louie would later admit that he was mildly surprised when the colonel fell silent for a few minutes, clearly contemplating that this might just be the end of the team that the Allied Command had come to call Hogan's Heroes.
A moment later Hogan sighed and met both their gazes, "Listen fellas, I'm with ya. Believe me, I am. But we've got a lot of scattered pieces to pull together before we can even contemplate pulling out. This is where I want you to start…"
As the colonel explained, Newkirk cleaned up any traces of the food they had brought for Hogan, and stood at the cell door to keep an eye out for any approaching guard. When he finished, a look of green reluctance crossed their CO's face. LeBeau tried a sympathetic smile and helped the colonel to his feet and to the cot before the Frenchman got on one side, and Newkirk on the other.
Getting a grip with his good hand on Newkirk's arm, a piece of leather wrapped wood between his teeth, Hogan gave an assenting nod and LeBeau gave a heave, maneuvering the dislocated shoulder back into place as quickly and forcefully as possible.
To his surprise Hogan was still conscious after the pain had begun to die away, if barely.
"Remember…don' use the radio." He muttered as both corporals eased him onto the cot, giving soft affirmations. "And don' leave camp until you hear from me…"
Again both men nodded in affirmation, gathering what evidence remained of their presence and moving to the cot back to where it had been before their arrival.
"Oh…good LeBeau, food." Hogan breathed, seconds before he passed out, exhausted.
For once LeBeau didn't feel any irritation at the association. Their scattered band was pulling back together again, and even a tiny bit of hope was better than none.