Author's Note: I don't own Hogan's Heroes. This is a fictional story any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
To Marie1964: You are right, of course. I had only planned on a short story, and it got away from me. I guess it is now a long story. ;)
To Guest: They will get him sooner or later. ;)
I shouldn't be doing this. I like them, but this is wrong.
I will get into so much trouble. I will see the Russian Front if I do this.
I will see the Russian Front if I don't.
Schultz's conscience was working him over. He was just about to get in the truck and head back to Stalag Thirteen, when Hogan and his men came out of the forest and up to the truck. They were all dressed in German uniforms, except Kinchloe, of course.
"Nein! You said nothing about impersonating officers in the German Army. I cannot let you do that, Colonel Hogan." Schultz was shaking his head and starting to get back in the truck.
"Now, Schultz, you can't chicken out on me now." Hogan said, grabbing his arm.
"You are going to do monkey business, I know it." Schultz said, with determination, "I will not allow it. I am a German solider. I must do my duty."
"Schultz, you ARE doing your duty." Hogan said, causing Schultz to turn around,
"I am?" Schultz said, extremely puzzled.
"Yes, you are." Hogan nodded, with a smile, "As a guard, your job is to keep the prisoners in camp. So, when one is out of camp, he must be brought back. Right?"
Schultz tried to reason this in his mind, "That's right." he said slowly, "I must recover Newkirk."
"Good, we'll drop you at the Hofbrau." Hogan said, pushing Schultz into the truck, and motioning to the heroes to get into the back.
"Colonel Hogan, where is Newkirk?" Schultz asked, "And what was he doing out of camp?"
Hogan started the truck and slipped it into gear, "Don't ask so many questions, Shultz."
Schultz groaned and started to mumble to himself in German. Hogan drove for about ten minutes, before he pulled off the side of the road. Climbing out, he moved to the back of the truck.
"Colonel Hogan! Why...Why are we stopping." Schultz asked desperately.
Hogan ignored him, asking Kinch if he was ready. Kinch nodded and with Carter's help, they managed to get Kinch up to the telephone wires.
"If we're not back by eleven thirty, you head back to camp." Hogan told him.
Kinch opened his mouth to protest, but Hogan cut him off, "That's an order, Sergeant."
"Yes, sir." Kinch replied, reluctantly.
Hogan nodded turning back to the truck, he and Carter climbed back in and set out for Hammelburg.
Schultz leaned in close to Hogan and whispered, "What is Sergeant Kinchloe doing?"
"Tapping into the telephone wires." Hogan replied.
"Why is he..." Schultz started to ask, "Nein, I do not want to know."
Hogan smiled, "It's better if you don't."
After about five more minutes of driving, they pulled up to the Hofbrau. Schultz climbed out of the truck slowly, taking a step forward before turning around, "Colonel, promise me you will come back." He pleaded, "Promise you won't escape."
"Schultz, I give you my word, as a gentleman, an officer, and most importantly, as an enemy. I will not escape." Hogan said, putting his hand into the air, "Scout's honor."
Hogan pulled away from the Hofbrau, and turned the truck around leaving the rotund sergeant staring after them, hoping and praying he hadn't made a mistake in trusting the American Colonel.
They drove back passed were they left Kinch, towards the farmhouse, where Carter had met Lisbeth. They stopped about a mile away from the house. Climbing down, Hogan met the men and went over the plan one more time.
"Carter, you ride upfront with me. Olsen and LeBeau, in the back." Hogan looked directly at Olsen, "Now remember, don't pad your parts."
Olsen nodded, as LeBeau nudged him, "Uh, sir?"
Hogan raised his eyebrow, "What's the matter, Olsen, cold feet?"
Olsen shook his head, "No, sir, not at all. It's just...well...we were talking...and if anything goes wrong." Olsen paused briefly, "I'm not saying it will, but if it does, we'd appreciate it if you would follow your own order."
Hogan looked at them, confused, "What do you mean?"
"Well, if it goes south, and they catch us. We want you to beat feet, boy. Uh, Colonel." Carter said looking down.
"Oui, no sense in all of us getting caught." LeBeau said emphatically.
Hogan stood there for a moment, overwhelmed by the loyalty and concern his men gave him. He smiled softly, "I'll see what I can do. Come on, let's go."
They all climbed in to the truck, steeling themselves for what was to come.
1***************************************1
Newkirk spluttered as he felt the water being thrown in his face. He had lost consciousness after about ten minutes of Lutzen working him over. His black turtleneck was cut off him and he had lacerations all over his torso. His face was covered in bluish-purple bruises and his left eye was almost swollen shut.
"Don't think you can get out of your punishment by passing out." Lutzen said with a heartless smile.
"Wouldn't dream of it." Newkirk deadpanned, earning himself another smack across the cheek.
"You are only making it worse for yourself, Englander." He purred, close to Newkirk's ear, "Tell me what I want to know, and all this stops."
Newkirk rolled his eyes, "And I'm s'posed to believe that?"
Lutzen leaned back, "I give you my word, if you tell me what I want to know, your misery will end."
"Oh, I'm sure." Newkirk laughed, bitterly, "With a bullet in me 'ead?"
Lutzen came around and looked him in the eye, "All I want is my family returned to me." He looked down and swallowed hard, "My sister and her children are all I have left in this world. I will keep them safe at all costs."
Newkirk smirked, "Right. Forgive me if I find that 'ard to believe."
Lutzen straightened and smiled down at his prisoner. Newkirk braced himself for a blow, but it never came. Surprised, he looked up to find Lutzen had turned and was closing up the case of tools. Lutzen rolled his sleeves down, and called to the guard,
"Feed der Englander, und neigen dazu, seine Wunden." he ordered.
"We done then?" Newkirk threw out cautiously.
Lutzen turned, "For now. I know you have the information I desire. I can't have you dying on me before I get, can I?" He pulled his uniform coat from the hook on which it was hung, "Besides, I'm hungry."
Newkirk gagged, the thought of anyone eating after something like this made him sick.
"I'll see you in an hour, Englander." Lutzen went up the steps, leaving Newkirk and the guard alone.
The guard uncuffed him from the chair and moved him over to the dirt floor, laying him against the wall. The guard then proceeded to clean up the many wounds that covered the Englishman's body.
Newkirk studied the guard, he was maybe twenty, with blond hair that flopped into his eyes, which were blue. The guard grimaced when Newkirk groaned.
"I am sorry, Englander." The young man said, softly.
"You speak English?" Newkirk asked.
"My father was American." The guard said.
"American?" Newkirk said in surprise, "Then 'ow on earth did you end up in the Gestapo?"
The guard looked away, in what Newkirk could only describe as shame, "I was called up for service, and General Lutzen was in the office when I reported. He liked the look of me and ordered me into the S.S."
"Didn't your dad 'ave anything to say about it?" Newkirk asked.
"My father died of pneumonia five years ago." The guard's eyes filled with pain, "I couldn't refuse the Gestapo, they would've hurt Mama. So, I do the General's biding, I clean up after he is done." He hung his head, "And I pray Mama never finds out what I have done."
Newkirk sighed, he wished there was something he could do to help this young man. Maybe the Colonel would be able to 'elp 'im. He thought before he shook his head. The Colonel isn't 'ere, and I'm in no position to 'elp anyone.
The guard finished cleansing Newkirk's wounds and went upstairs, returning in a few minutes. He brought a bowl, of what looked like stew, and offered it to the battered Englishman.
"Thanks, mate. I mean danke." Newkirk said, with appreciation, eating the food quickly. "What's your name?" he asked, in between mouthfuls.
"Wilburt, Wilburt Fielderbach."
"Wilburt, I need your 'elp." Newkirk said slowly, he didn't want to spook the lad.
"With what?" Wilburt asked, suspiciously.
"Getting outta 'ere."
"Escape?" Wilburt gasped, "Nein, I can't do that."
"Wilburt." Newkirk tried to get his attention, but he was already backing away, mumbling in German. "Wilburt, please." Newkirk tried again, but the lad had turned and ran up the steps, disappearing through the door.
At least 'e left me uncuffed. Newkirk thought, as he tried to pull himself upright. He landed back against the wall with a thud and a groan. Can't even stand. 'Ow am I gonna get outta 'ere.
He sat there for quite a long time, studying the cellar and trying to come up with something. He had just about given up, when his eyes settled on the suitcase. If he could just reach that box, with more determination than before he tried to pull himself up. He gritted his teeth against the pain, as he completely righted himself. He took a deep breath and stumbled his way over to the table.
Newkirk could have yelped for joy when he reached it, grabbing the suitcase he was only slightly deterred by the lock on it. Then with a smile, he dug in to his right shoe, pulling out one of his lock picks. The lock was putty in his expert hands and in a moment, he had the suitcase open and was digging through the contents. He shuddered as he remembered what each of these instruments had done to him, but finally he chose the biggest and sharpest knife in the case. Sighing deeply, he hobbled over to the steps, hiding off to the side and out of view.
Hearing the door open, he tensed waiting for whoever was starting down the steps. He rolled the knife in his hand, tightening the grip. The German soldier stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking around. Looking for him. Newkirk stepped out of the darkness and lunged at him.
1*****************************************1
The guards were eating their stew, laughing at the youngest guard who was unable to eat after tending to their prisoner.
"Poor, Wiburt, such a baby" laughed, the bigest guard, "Do you need your, Mommy?"
"Shut up, big mouth." The Sergeant said, standing, "There's a truck coming."
Stepping off of the porch and over to the truck, which had come to a stop.
"Can I help you?" The Sergeant asked, keeping his gun up.
"Where is Lutzen?" The General in the truck said, in a cold voice.
The Sergeant raised his eyebrows, "What is the nature of your business?"
"That is between us. Fetch him, now." The General stood up and climbed out of the vehicle.
The Sergeant stared at him debating whether or not to obey.
"Did you not hear me?" The General screeched, "Do you dare disobey General Carterheim of the Abwehr? I shall have you sent to the Russian Front!"
The Sergeant paled, "Of course, I wouldn't disobey you, Herr General." He motioned to the big guard, "Get General Lutzen."
The guard jumped up and ran into the house, after a minute or two, Lutzen strode out. The driver ducked his head, adjusting his helmet.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lutzen asked, haughtily.
"You!" shouted General Carterheim, "Is it the Gestapo's chief mission to jeopardize Abwehr operations?"
Lutzen was confused, "What are you talking about?"
While Lutzen was speaking two soldiers jumped down from the back of the truck and strode over to their general. Carterheim spun to the taller soldier and said incredulously, "He has no idea what I'm talking about." Then he spun back to Lutzen, "Perhaps you think questioning the Führer's orders is within your authority!"
Lutzen paled, "The Führer?"
"Imbecile!" Carterheim crowed.
"Herr Geneal, perhaps the Gestapo were not aware. The Führer doesn't tell them everything." The taller man, a major, said, smirking.
Carterheim started to laugh, "You are right, Olsenberger. The Führer obviously did not tell them." Turning to the Major he leaned in, "It's not like he trusts them."
Carterheim and Olsenberger chuckled. Lutzen stiffened, he was angry. How dare the Abwehr insult him and his S.S. "Why are you here interfering with official, Gestapo business?" He said angrily.
Carterheim stopped laughing, his eyes burning with anger. "YOU are interfering with Abwehr affairs." Lutzen and Carterheim tried to stare each other down, neither one of them flinching. Major Olsenberger finally cleared his throat,
"You caught an Englander this evening, in the woods, did you not?"
Lutzen's eyes snapped to the Major's face, "How did you know that?"
"We have our ways." Carterheim snipped.
"Anyhow," the Major continued, "The Englander you captured was an escaped prisoner from Stalag Eighteen."
"Escaped prisoner? No, he is an English commando." Lutzen said, stiffly, "He has been working with the underground, they took a prisoner of great value to the Third Reich."
"Nein." Carterheim said, "We know the man you have is our escaped prisoner."
"How?" Lutzen asked.
"Because, we allowed him to escape." Olsenberger said, simply.
"You allowed him to escape?" Lutzen said in disbelief.
"Ja, we fed him phony information that he was supposed to give to the Allies. The operation was working smoothly, until you recaptured him." Carterheim said, scoffing at Lutzen, "The Führer will be displeased. I will be sure he knows to whom the blame belongs."
"I hear they need generals at the Eastern front." Major Olsenberger said in a conspiratorial whisper.
Lutzen flinched, then he smiled, "I still say that our prisoner was a commando, you don't see many escaping prisoners dressed in black turtlenecks."
"Supplied to him by the Underground." Olsenberger replied, evenly.
Lutzen paused, finally he said, "Let me see your orders."
"Are you questioning my honesty?" Carterheim said angrily.
"Nein, it is protocol in a transfer of a prisoner to have identification and orders." Lutzen said, calmly, "After all, you could be the Underground trying to get the prisoner out of custody."
Carterheim motioned to Olsenberger, who dug into his coat pocket and retrieved the necessary papers. Lutzen inspected them, his heart sank, there at the bottom of the page was The Führer's signature. "I will need to phone Berlin and verify these orders."
Carterheim huffed in impatience, while Olsenberger nodded, "Of course, Herr General."
Lutzen went in to the house, leaving Carterheim and Olsenberger behind him. He went into the kitchen and over to the phone, picking it up he dialed the switch board.
"Hello, number please." the female operator said.
"Offices of the Abwehr, Berlin." Lutzen said.
"One moment."
There was some slight static and then a male voice answered, "Hello, Captain Schmidt, Abwehr."
"Captain Schmidt, I need to verify the orders of a General Carterheim." Lutzen spoke rapidly.
"One momen, please. You will be transferred to General Kinchmyer"
Lutzen stood in the kitchen waiting when he heard Carterheim stomp into the room, followed by Olsenberger and the short private.
"What is taking you so long?" Carterheim demanded.
"General Kinchmyer speaking." A slightly deeper male voice spoke.
Lutzen held his hand up to Carterheim, "General Kinchmyer, this is General Lutzen S.S. I am calling to verify General Carterheim's orders."
"Yes, General Carterheim is in charge of the operation to allow an Allied prisoner to escape with false information, so as to confuse the Allies."
Lutzen sighed, "Thank you, General Kinchmyer, the orders are confirmed. Auf Wiedersehen." He hung up the phone and turned back to Carterheim, "Your orders are in order. Sergeant, get the prisoner."
Carterheim nodded to Olsenberger and the private to follow, "Danke, General Lutzen."
"Of course." Lutzen replied, coldly.
Translation:
Feed der Englander, und neigen dazu, seine Wunden. - Feed the Englander, and tend to his wounds.
P.S. Poor Newkirk, I just won't give him a break. Haha, Don't worry he'll be home soon ;) As always feel free to ask questions, criticize, or make suggestions. Much love ;)