I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story.

"Does anyone else feel like things have been way too quiet round here just lately?" said Colonel Hogan.

He was standing outside Barracks 2, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his leather jacket and a slight furrow disturbing his brow as he meditated on the unaccustomed air of tranquillity which hung over Stalag 13.

Apparently, none of the other prisoners relaxing in the morning sunshine shared his concern. They went on with whatever they were doing: writing letters, darning socks, or just drowsing.

"Don't jinx it, Colonel" said Kinch, without looking up from the book he was reading. "It's the first break we've had in months. Let's enjoy it while it lasts."

"Anyhow, it's not like we haven't had anything on," added Carter. "Addison went to Hammelburg, remember?"

"Oh, I remember, all right," said Hogan. "When one of my men goes into town to meet up with a girl from the Underground, and comes back with a fever of a hundred and two, and all he's prepared to say about it is that, no matter what the squirrel might have told us, it's all lies...well, that's a debriefing I'm not likely to forget."

Addison went red, and hung his head, while Newkirk, who was leaning against the barracks wall with his hands in his pockets, fixed him with a solemn, disapproving gaze. "It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?"

"Not always, Newkirk. Most of the time it's you," said Kinch. "Someone else gets a chance to play around with a Fräulein, that's a big deal." He closed his book, keeping his place with a finger between the pages. "Colonel, I don't see what's bugging you. So things are a little slow. It won't last long. Our next assignment is probably already on its way. And even if it isn't, something else is bound to come along. It always does."

"Sure it will," burbled Carter. "Any minute now, Klink'll get a visit from some Nazi bigwig with a briefcase full of confidential papers, or a truck will turn up with a brand new secret weapon for us to blow up. Or maybe the Gestapo, or Colonel Crittendon, or..."

Newkirk cut him off with a wave of his hand. "It won't be Crittendon, anyway. It's only a month since his last foolproof escape plan went pear-shaped. It'll take him at least another couple of weeks to cock up another one."

"Don't you mean, cook up?" said Carter.

"I know what I mean," replied Newkirk, his eyes gleaming between half-closed lids.

Hogan tipped back his cap, and folded his arms. "Carter may just have made my point for me. Okay, it's nice to be able to relax for a few days. But sooner or later, the war's going to kick off again, and if experience is anything to go by, the longer we wait for it, the worse it'll be when it comes."

"Well, we already ruled out Colonel Crittendon," snickered Carter, "so how bad can it be?"

"Looks like we're about to find out," said Kinch.

Hogan glanced at him, then followed the line of his gaze towards the main gate, which the guards had just opened to admit a large open-topped staff car. An army officer sat up front next to the driver; in the back seat was a man dressed in civilian clothes and sporting a ridiculous little green Tyrolean hat with a feather. But none of the prisoners looked twice at him; they only had eyes for his companion, who sat forward as if she were about to spring to her feet without waiting for the car to stop. A brilliant smile illuminated her face, and she flung out her arm in a theatrical gesture which had a definite air of ownership about it.

Her voice, like the cry of some exotic bird, carried clearly across the compound: "You see, Dodo, darling. What did I tell you? Is it not simply perfect?"

The gloomy, fatalistic silence which had descended on the prisoners was broken by a weary, resigned comment from Newkirk: "One thing you have to say for Marya. She really knows how to make an entrance."

"So did Attila the Hun," said Hogan grimly.

Newkirk ignored the interjection, following his own unhappy thoughts. "I don't suppose we could keep LeBeau from finding out she's here?" he suggested. "You know how he gets whenever she turns up. I'm not sure how much of it I can take. So why don't we all just pop indoors and keep him busy till after she's gone?"

Even as he spoke, the white Russian's voice rang out again. Having descended from the car, she scarcely waited for the civilian to follow before she flung herself on him. "Darling, look around you. It's beautiful, no?"

He gazed around the camp with large, mournful eyes. "It is possibly the most squalid and miserable place I have ever seen."

"I knew you would like it," crowed Marya, snuggling closer.

Hogan uttered a grunt. "Unless LeBeau's gone deaf in the last ten minutes, I don't think we're going to be able to keep him from hearing that."

As if on cue, the door of the hut crashed open and a diminutive figure in a white apron and toque blanche came flying out, with no regard for anyone who might be standing in the way. A triumphant cry broke from him: "I knew it! I knew she would come back to me!"

"Oh, she's come back all right. But I'd lay a fiver she's not here for you, LeBeau," growled Newkirk. "I don't suppose anyone knows who our other happy little day-trippers might be?"

"No idea about the civilian," replied Hogan. "But the officer's face rings a bell. I can't put my finger on it, but I'm sure I've seen him before."

"Here comes Klink," said Kinch. "Maybe now we'll find out what she's up to."

LeBeau's chin went up. "Whatever it is, it's entirely innocent."

The Kommandant, emerging from his office to greet the visitors, came to an abrupt halt at sight of the Russian woman in her showy leopard-skin coat. Before he could retreat, however, the officer stepped forward, saluted and said a few words, not quite loudly enough to be heard. Klink peered at him briefly, then enlightenment dawned; and his response was perfectly audible: "Oh, yes, of course I remember you, Colonel Sitzer. Well, fancy seeing you here again. I thought, after your last visit.." He broke off abruptly, and turned to the others, his face contorting into something resembling a smile. "Fräulein Marya - always a pleasure to welcome you to our little Stalag."

Hogan had no trouble interpreting: "I think what he's actually trying to say is, Get out of my camp, and never come back. Fat chance of that happening."

Klink had already turned his attention to the man in the Tyrolean hat. "Sir, I don't believe we have met, but I'm sure any friend of..."

The greeting broke off, as Marya reached out her hand and laid one suede-gloved finger on his lips. "Enough with the small talk, Klink. We have much to discuss, and much to arrange. We need to talk, in your office, in private. Come, Dodo."

She swept past the Kommandant with the unresisting Dodo. Colonel Sitzer followed, leaving Klink to bring up the rear.

"What kind of a name is Dodo, anyway?" asked Carter.

"For that bloke, it's just about right," replied Newkirk. "Any man who gets tangled up with her is headed straight for extinction."

Hogan straightened up. "We'd better listen in. Is the coffee pot in order, Kinch?"

"Should be. But won't they send for you anyway, Colonel? That's usually the first thing that happens whenever Marya comes to camp."

"Maybe. But before it happens, I'd like to get some idea of what I'm in for," replied Hogan, pausing halfway through the barracks door. "I don't like her turning up with an unknown civilian..."

"Who means nothing to her," put in LeBeau.

"...and I'd be a lot happier going in there remembering who Sitzer is..."

"She doesn't care about him, either."

"LeBeau..."

"Oui, mon Colonel?"

"Put a sock in it."

The reprimand went straight over the little Frenchman's head. As the others went into the barracks, he loitered outside, watching Marya until she vanished from sight; then he scampered inside to join his friends gathered around the desk in Hogan's private quarters. He squeezed himself in between Carter and Newkirk, while Kinch plugged in the speaker installed in the coffee pot, just in time to hear the Kommandant speaking.

"...so, Colonel Sitzer, how have things been with you since you were last here?"

"Why? What have you heard?" Sitzer sounded decidedly snappish. There was something in the clipped, irritable voice which struck a chord in Hogan's memory, and unconsciously he leaned closer to the coffee pot, frowning as he tried to remember.

"Nothing, sir, nothing at all," squeaked Klink. "Uh...so you're still in the same department?"

"Not exactly. Of course, no blame was assigned to me in relation to the deplorable incident which occurred on my last visit to Hammelburg, which is why my superiors offered me the opportunity to redirect my talent and expertise into other projects within the Propaganda Ministry."

Hogan snapped his fingers. "Got it. He's the guy who was here with Leslie Smythe-Beddoes, when Klink got that award and we did the radio broadcast. Considering how that ended up, no wonder he's touchy about it."

Klink was already speaking again, his discomposure manifesting in an attempt to turn the conversation. "So, Colonel, if it's not too personal a question, how is it that you are acquainted with Fräulein..."

"Just Marya, Klink. Old friends shouldn't be so formal. And we are old friends." Marya had modulated into the low, sultry tone which made stronger men than Klink start to sweat.

"Old friends. Yes," muttered Klink. "And you are...uh...friends with Colonel Sitzer, too?"

Sitzer uttered a contemptuous snort, and Marya a shriek of unrestrained mirth. "Darling, we can't stand each other," she protested. "If it wasn't for Dodo, neither of us would be here."

"I see," said Klink. "You are both here because of ...Dodo?"

"Dodo is a very special person, Klink."

The soft, deep chuckle with which Marya ended her reply was suggestive enough to cause a ripple of discomfort even amongst the listeners in the barracks. It certainly seemed to have some kind of effect on Dodo, although it was possible the man always spoke with a kind of strangulated vibrato: "Thank you, my darling. Nobody understands me the way you do. How did I ever live before we found each other?"

"Blimey, and I thought she had LeBeau by the short hairs," snickered Newkirk.

LeBeau scowled. "She's faking it."

At the look Hogan gave him, Newkirk bit back the emphatic rebuttal trembling on his lips. It was just as well, since Sitzer was speaking: "Kommandant, allow me to present Herr Theodore Hase. I'm sure you will be familiar his work."

"Oh, yes, of course," replied Klink, after a pause which was just too long. "How could you think otherwise? He's very famous for... I mean, everyone knows all about his... I was only thinking the other day, why don't we hear much about Theodore Hase these days?"

"He has no idea who I am." Theodore Hase's voice descended into the depths of tragedy. "Just as I expected. Fame is but fleeting, and the common herd quickly forget how they once hung on my every printed word."

"Herr Hase is one of Germany's greatest living writers," said Sitzer. "Author of This Side Of Pfarrkirchen, and A Scandal In Bavaria, among others. The Führer is a great admirer of his work."

"Anyone ever heard of this guy?" asked Hogan

"Yeah, Langenscheidt's been reading some of his books lately," said Kinch. "They looked kind of hokey to me. I don't get it, Colonel. Why is Marya hanging around with a writer? And why bring him here?"

Hogan gave a soft, dissatisfied grunt. "I'm sure we're about to find out. At least, as much as she wants us to."

Sitzer was still talking: "...he is extremely popular with the general public, even though he has not published anything for years."

"Writer's block." The great author was quick to his own defence. "How I have suffered! If it were not for Marya - my angel, my muse! - I might never have found the inspiration for my latest masterpiece."

"Naturally, the Ministry of Propaganda takes a keen interest in the prospect of a new work from a literary artist of Herr Hase's stature," Sitzer went on. "I can assure you, Kommandant, this may well be the great German novel of the war - a stirring tale, highlighting the courage and initiative of the brave and loyal German soldier. We have given Herr Hase our full support, and undertaken to ensure he has the co-operation of every branch of the service while he completes the necessary research."

"Which is what brings us here, Klink," said Marya.

Klink cleared his throat, in an affectation of humility. "Oh, I see. Your friend wants to gain an insight into the mind of a man for whom heroism and self-sacrifice is second nature. Well, I am honoured, and flattered, and I'll be delighted to help out in any way I can."

"Good. So, if you will send for Colonel Hogan..."

"Hogan?" The Kommandant's conscious self-effacement vanished in a squeak of affronted dignity.

Theodore Hase took over, his tone deepening to pompous condescension. "Allow me to explain, Kommandant. The setting of my novel will be a prisoner of war camp in England. Obviously, to make sure it is authentic, I wanted to observe how such places work. I can hardly travel to England to do so, but, as my darling Marya pointed out, an English camp cannot be very different to our own Stalags. She assured me that Stalag 13 would make a perfect backdrop for the story I have planned, and that your senior prisoner of war officer would be an excellent model for the lead character."

"You want to put Hogan in your book?" faltered Klink. "Forgive me for asking, but what kind of story is this?"

"That's exactly what I want to know," growled Hogan, his eyes starting to smoulder.

Apparently Dodo was only too happy to oblige. "I will tell you. Imagine, if you will, an ordinary prisoner of war camp, just like this one, with ordinary prisoners, just like yours. Only these men are not content to sit out the war as non-combatants. From within the very heart of the enemy's homeland, they set out to go on fighting the war, by whatever means they can find. Sabotage, espionage, helping other prisoners to escape - consider what a tale that would be!"

A petrified silence had fallen across the listeners in the barracks. Kinch was the first to regain the power of speech: "Did I just hear what I just heard?"

"I don't believe it!" exploded Newkirk.

"Believe it," said Hogan tersely. "She's done it again. And this time, she's really done it. The great German novel of the war is going to be all about us."

Notes:

Colonel Sitzer appeared in "Who Stole My Copy Of Mein Kampf?" (Season 4)