The Short Con

It was a tense morning in Barracks 2 as Klink tightened security amid rumors of a surprise inspection. The Heroes needed to move vital intelligence, but with Klink on high alert, Hogan knew they needed a solid distraction.

Gathering his men, Hogan said, "We need something different. Klink's watching us closely, and we have to get those documents out to London."

Newkirk lounged casually by the bunk, flashing his usual confident grin. "I'll distract him, sir. Just say the word, and I'll have Klink chasing shadows."

Hogan shook his head. "Not this time, Newkirk."

"Why not?" Newkirk protested.

"Because Klink knows you're our resident sneak. If you're involved, they'll sniff it out faster than Schultz at a buffet."

Newkirk folded his arms, offended. "I'm the dodger around here, Colonel. You're telling me to trust Carter or LeBeau over me?"

"Exactly," Hogan replied, pointing at LeBeau. "Klink won't expect this to come from him. That's why it'll work."

LeBeau, surprised, said, "Colonel, I'm a chef, not un escroc, un arnaqueur!"

Newkirk snorted. "I don't know what you just said, but I'm fairly sure I resemble those remarks."

"I mean them affectionately, mon pote," LeBeau said. "But seriously, mon Colonel, this isn't my métier."

"That's why it's perfect," Hogan grinned. "Klink will never see it coming. Kinch, you and Carter will prepare the props."

Newkirk scowled. "This is madness. I'm the expert, and I'm getting left out."

"Consider it a day off, Newkirk. You'll be on lookout duty," Hogan said, patting his shoulder.

Newkirk muttered, "Some day off."

The next morning, everything was set. LeBeau had his story ready, Carter and Kinch had prepped fake wine bottles and other props, and Carter was had a plan to dash out of camp to deliver the intelligence. They would sell Klink on a fake black-market deal involving luxury French goods—fine wines, truffles, and the works. LeBeau had overheard a delivery man talking with the guards the previous day, and Hogan had woven a yarn.

As Klink walked past the barracks, LeBeau casually approached him. "Herr Kommandant!" LeBeau called out, feigning sudden inspiration.

Klink stopped, slightly annoyed. "What is it, LeBeau? I'm very busy!"

LeBeau dropped his voice conspiratorially. "Herr Kommandant, I noticed the man who delivered supplies yesterday."

Klink raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"

"Well," LeBeau said, glancing around, "I overheard something interesting. He's not just an ordinary supplier. Word is he deals in... rare goods—fine wines, truffles, luxury items."

Klink's curiosity piqued. "Luxury items? And you're sure of this?"

LeBeau nodded. "Absolutely, Herr Kommandant. I've worked in fine kitchens and seen these dealers before. They keep things quiet, but for the right price, they can acquire things most people can't."

Klink stroked his chin, tempted. "And you think he'd be willing to sell to me?"

LeBeau smiled. "For a man of your stature? I'm sure he'd be more than happy to make you a very special offer."

Klink's eyes lit up. "Fine wines? I could use something special for General Burkhalter's visit. But this better not be a trick!"

"Of course not," LeBeau said with a bow.

Meanwhile, Newkirk was stationed on lookout just outside of Barracks 2, grumbling to Kinch. "I can't believe they're letting LeBeau run this scam. This is my dodge."

"Trust the process, Newkirk," Kinch said.

Newkirk simply sighed and returned his focus to keeping watch. After a few minutes he noticed Schultz wandering dangerously close to Barracks 4, where Carter and LeBeau had assembled the "merchandise." Thinking fast, Newkirk intercepted Schultz just as he approached the door.

"Schultz, mate! Fancy a chat?"

Schultz looked confused. "I was just going to check Barracks 4—"

"No need, Schultz! Nothing to see in there. How about a nice walk instead?"

As Schultz prepared to barge in, Newkirk jumped ahead of him, tripping over a crate of prop wine bottles that Carter had left right inside the door. He lost his balance and let out a loud, uncharacteristic scream.

"Aaaahhh!"

The noise from the commotion reached LeBeau, who was en route to the Kommandantur. He let out a loud "Mon Dieu!" and dropped one of the prop bottles he was delivering to tempt Klink.

Klink, bewildered, shot up from his chair. "What is going on out there?"

At that, Kinch let out another scream—this one calculated to draw attention from the back fence, where Carter was preparing to dash into the woods for a quick rendezvous with an underground contact. Kinch fell to the ground, clutching his knee.

"Oh, my bum knee! It's seizing up!" Kinch screamed.

Back in the doorway to Barracks 4, Schultz heard all the chaos and spun like a top. "What's going on, Newkirk? More monkey business?"

Newkirk quickly got to his feet and pulled the door shut behind him. "You don't want to see what's in there, Schultz. Trust me." He leaned in closer. "T'isn't decent. That's why I was so shocked meself."

That alarmingly vague observation was enough to make Schultz back away.

Hogan stepped in to save the day. "Scram!" he snapped out as he hauled Kinch to his feet and hobbled him back to Barracks 2.

The team scattered just before Klink arrived. All was quiet, and Schultz scratched his head. "I see nothing, Herr Kommandant."

Klink frowned. "This camp is full of lunatics."

ooo

Later, back in the barracks, Newkirk fumed. "Seriously? LeBeau and Kinch both screamed like little girls, and I'm the one who got sidelined?"

Kinch grinned. "You screamed first, Newkirk. And Carter got the intel out of camp."

LeBeau smirked. "At least we didn't blow our cover, and we'll have some pâté and champagne to look forward to."

"Next time we steal something, why can't it be tea and beans on toast?" Newkirk grumbled.

"Or chocolate chip cookies?" Carter put in. Newkirk whapped him with his cap.

Hogan chuckled. "Despite the chaos, we pulled it off. Klink's got his luxury goods, and Carter passed on the intelligence."

Newkirk huffed. "Next time, leave the scamming to the professionals."