Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes or any of the characters; I merely borrow them and play with them for a while.
The train is busy; it's rush hour and sweaty, stressed people are jostling for precious space. Even though the windows are open to let some of the stale outside air in, the summer heat is suffocating.
Suddenly, there's a sharp jolt and the train comes to a screeching halt, lights flickering for a short while before going dark.
Power failure.
People groan and mutter, dismayed at the delay. They have places to be, after all.
Hogan, however, only leans back in his seat; unlike most others on the train, he has nowhere he needs to be. Not now, not today.
The train remains still, unmoving. So to pass the time, he starts talking to the man in the seat next to him. After all, it's not like he has anything else to occupy him, so he might as well.
The other man is wearing a pinstriped suit and a tie, and has a briefcase in his lap. He looks important, but unlike the stressed commuting people around them, he seems to take the delay in stride.
His name is Goldmann, he tells Hogan, and he has a slight but still noticeable German accent. Probably most people wouldn't react to it, but after the years as a POW in Germany, it doesn't escape Hogan.
It turns out that the man is the CEO and owner of Goldmann Bank Corporation, and on his way home from an afternoon business meeting. Or rather he would be, if their tax money were spent more wisely, Goldmann remarks with a pointed look at the unmoving interior of the train. In any case, there are far too many boring meetings with self-important people in his line of work, he confides to Hogan with a shrug.
Hogan nods in quiet understanding. He never much enjoyed attending meetings either.
They talk for a while. Hogan likes the man; he is open and straightforward, without being pushy or brusque. They come from very different backgrounds, but perhaps under other circumstances, they might have been friends.
"I have to say that I'm surprised to see a CEO willfully subjecting himself to the joys of public transportation," Hogan says half-jokingly when there's another jolt, but no further movement. "Hardly fit for a man of your standing".
Goldmann suddenly becomes serious. He hesitates for a while before saying anything more. When he does speak again, his voice is solemn, reflective. "You know, it's funny how people consider me a rich man because I have money. Because my business has succeeded. But I tell you, money is not everything, and it's not what makes a man rich. No, in the beginning, when I first started the company and had to work myself half to death just to barely make ends meet, that's when I was truly rich."
It's a rather cryptic thing to say, and Hogan isn't quite sure how to interpret the words. So he remains quiet, waiting for Goldmann to elaborate. He has a nagging feeling that there is more to this little exposé than merely a self-made man's appreciation for hard, honest work.
Again, Goldmann hesitates, but then resolutely reaches into his pocket and brings up his wallet. Out of one of the partitions, he pulls out a picture, looking wistfully at it for a few seconds before showing it to Hogan. The photograph is wrinkled and yellow with age, but still clearly shows Goldmann, several years younger and surrounded by a smiling woman and two adorable little children, the perfect picture of family happiness.
"This was my family, once," he says, the fingers holding the picture shaking slightly.
And Hogan knows, he knows, what Goldmann is about to tell him. With that German accent, Hogan can already guess what happened to the man's family.
Yes, he knows what Goldmann is about to say, and he doesn't want to hear it. He just wishes the man would stop talking.
Because maybe, just maybe, there's a chance, however tiny, that he could have helped these people – the smiling woman and the two little children in the picture whose names he doesn't even know. Perhaps they would have been alive today, if only he hadn't chosen to do nothing. If only he hadn't listened to London as they forbade him to intervene and thereby endanger their undercover operation, because there were more important things to deal with. If only he had questioned those orders, if only he hadn't...
If only.
He resists the urge to put his hands over his ears like a child stubbornly trying to shut out the outside world. In the end, he has no choice but to hear this one out.
"The Germans took them," Goldmann continues. "I was away on a business trip in Switzerland when it happened, and I never heard from them again. I tried to look for them after the war, after everything was over, but they were gone. Without as much as a trace." The shaking fingers holding the picture are slowly turning white, because they're clutching so hard. Like they're holding onto a fading memory that's threatening to disappear into thin air. "I only wish I had been there too, when the Germans came for them. At least that way, we would all have been together at the end."
Hogan hears regret in his voice. The kind of regret that can only be held for something unfathomable, something a man has carried with him for far too long without being able to forgive himself.
"Sorry about your family," he says. And he means it. More than Goldmann will ever know.
The light comes back, there's another sudden jolt, and slowly, everything starts moving again.
No, Hogan thinks as the train picks up speed, Goldmann isn't the only one still regretting things.
End note: Well, Hogan is the final character and hence this is the last "real" chapter of this story. However, there will be an epilogue as well to tie some loose ends up.