Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes or any of the characters; I merely borrow them and play with them for a while.

Gertrude's gaze drifts slowly to the man lying next to her, his chest heaving with each snore. It's too dark for her to discern much, the man's – well, her husband's – facial features vague and shapeless in the dimness. For a while, she imagines that it is Otto lying there next to her, snoring contentedly. She used to enjoy listening to his snores at night before falling asleep, the noise that other women might have resented serving as a steadfast reminder of her beloved husband's presence.

But the man lying next to her now isn't Otto, of course. Otto is long dead, his frozen remains lying under a giant, impenetrable sheet of snow somewhere in Russia.

At least, that's what she thinks, even if she doesn't have any idea what happened to him. But if he were truly alive, he would have come back to her by now, or at least sent her a letter…

But there was nothing, not a word from him, only that telegram delivered by that stout-faced officer years ago; we regret to inform you that your husband Otto Linkmeyer is missing in action.

For a long time, she refused to believe that malicious message, hoping against all odds that there had been a mistake, a simple mix-up, perhaps there was some other Otto Linkmeyer that had gone missing, something. Anything.

But over the years, she slowly came to accept the gruesome facts. Otto was dead and wouldn't be coming back at all. All she had left of him were memories and those reoccurring dreams where they were together again, from which she would wake up with tears running down her face.

Eventually, the grief abated somewhat. It never left her completely, of course, it was always there hanging over her like a grey cloud or a persistent shadow, but it wasn't quite so overpowering anymore. The pangs of sorrow were more like a dull throbbing instead of the previous spiky thorns boring into her heart, sharp and painful like needles.

For a short while, she had even been foolish enough to entertain the hope that she might find another man, someone else to love. Perhaps not quite like Otto, but at least someone she could feel affection for.

Those hopes had been short-lived, however. Her brother Albert's insistence that she marry had only intensified as the inevitability of the outcome of the war grew more obvious.

You realize as well as I that it is only a matter of months before Germany loses this war. And when that happens, I might not be able to provide for you anymore. You need to think about your future. Without a husband to support you, how will you get by? If you don't want to marry for social status, then at least marry out of necessity! Not for me, but for your own sake, Gertrude…

In the end, she had agreed to meet this man that Albert had served with in the Great War, Major Helmut Bernhofer. He turned out to be at least twenty years her elder, overweight and with a stiff leg. But as a retired officer, he had the financial means to be a good match, could easily support a wife even in these troubled times when everything was scarce.

Like expected, she felt no affection whatsoever for the man. Oh, he was courteous enough, kissed her hand and showed her all the manners of a true Prussian officer. The medals on his chest were shining and his uniform immaculate, the creases of his trousers oh-so sharp and symmetrical.

But still, she felt nothing.

Later that evening, when she and her brother were alone again, Albert continued to press her. But this time, it was different. And that difference made her stop in her tracks, because it was so unexpected, coming from him. Unlike all those other times when he had played the matchmaker, trying to secure a husband for his wilful sister, she sensed the note of genuine concern in his voice. It wasn't just about finding a match for her, about upgrading her social status from widow to wife. No. Whatever fate had in store for their fatherland and for him, he did not want to leave her with no means to provide for herself in the trying times ahead.

And his persistence was unwavering.

There are thousands of widowed women in Germany who would do anything to marry Major Bernhofer. Bur for old friendship's sake, he has agreed to marry and support you. This might be your last chance, Gertrude. Please consider it.

And the way that he said please, one of those words that Albert rarely used, finally convinced her. Even if she didn't care about marrying for her own sake, she would marry for his.

She owed him that much.

The marriage itself was a hasty affair, only attended to by a pitifully small number of guests. But who cared about a wedding these days anyway, when people would trade their heirlooms for a loaf of bread and air raid sirens filled the air with alarming regularity?

It didn't matter. She never loved him anyway. And, at their wedding night, when he finally rolled his massive weight off her and fell asleep, loudly snoring, she only felt a gaping void inside.

Because the man next to her wasn't Otto, and never would be. She knew then that he'd never harbour anymore love for her than all those other friends and acquaintances of Albert's that had come and gone, their eyes glazing over with disinterest as they looked at her and her plain appearance.

She steals another glance at the man lying in the bed next to her. She supposes she should be grateful that she has a husband when so many German women have lost theirs, along with any decent means to support themselves and their children.

She should be glad that she has a bed to sleep in, that she has food to eat and a roof over her head, when so many others in Germany have none of these things.

But all she feels is emptiness.