Chapter 15: Barracks 2

The men of Barracks 2 were not happy.

LeBeau and Newkirk were nursing dog bites. Kinch and Carter were grumbling loudly over bee stings. Colonel Hogan was rubbing the bridge of his nose, hoping to soothe the headache throbbing behind his eyes. As well-trained soldiers in the midst of a battle, all the other inhabitants of the barracks were laying low in their bunks; some were even using their blankets as cover. Wilson, who had been summoned by tunnel to tend to the injured, was the lone exception.

"That is the last time I trust you to know what you're doing with dogs," Newkirk snarled at LeBeau.

"The German Shepherds in camp always listen to me," LeBeau growled defensively. "How was I to know that Little Boy Blue's Pomeranian wouldn't?"

"Maybe because the bloody little mutt wasn't trained by Schnitzer to like POWs? Don't tell me you have 'a special touch with dogs' ever again!" Newkirk shot back.

"Fine, I will bring my special dog biscuits as standard equipment on all future missions," LeBeau snapped in response.

"I toldja I shoulda gone wit' you," Carter mumbled, his speech muffled both by a swollen upper lip and Wilson's attempts to remove the stinger left behind by the bee. "I been there before. Hey Doc, when will I know if I'm allergic to bee stings? I've never been stung before."

"If you were allergic, you'd have gone into anaphylactic shock long before this," Wilson answered testily. "Now stop talking and hold still. I've still got five stingers to get out of Kinch once I'm done with you."

"That's right, so shut up already, Andrew." Kinch was holding onto his leg, and his temper, with both hands by this point. His grip on the former was tight; his grip on the latter was precarious.

"You just wanted to see that stupid pony," Newkirk accused Carter in withering tones.

"Better than wanting to drool over a fifteen-year-old girl," Carter replied tartly. "OW! Watch it, Doc! That burns like heck!"

"I'm sure it does. If it was a month ago, I'd get you a handful of snow to put on the sting, but at this season you'll have to settle for just a cold wet compress."

"If it was a month ago, it would still have been winter and there wouldn't have been any bees," Kinch noted, still tight lipped. He glanced over at Newkirk and LeBeau. "I suppose the Pomeranian would still have been a danger, whether it was winter or spring," he added sarcastically.

"Here," Wilson interrupted him, handing a cool wet towel to Carter. "Keep this on the sting for the next half hour at least."

"My papa always used crushed garlic," Garlotti advised from the safety of his bunk.

"Don't even think about using my garlic cloves," LeBeau warned.

"Well, my mother always used lavender oil," Pike suggested.

"Oh, we have lots of that lying around in a camp full of hundreds of men," Wilson said, rolling his eyes.

"Though my uncle believed in applying freshly chewed tobacco to the sting," Pike added. "Plenty of tobacco around here," he noted mischievously.

"Yech!" Carter looked appalled.

"Rhubarb juice," was Barnes's contribution. "You split open the stem and squeeze the juice on the sting."

"Nope, meat tenderizer," Greenberg overrode him. "You make a paste of it with water."

"A paste, yes, but of baking soda with a dab of vinegar and water," Davis chimed in.

"No, a copper penny held on with a bandage. Works every time," Chapman asserted.

"My brother swore by using urine on it, said the ammonia would neutralize the acid of the venom," Olsen said.

All heads swiveled to look at him.

"You are not trying that on me!" Carter insisted.

"Me either!" Kinch added grimly, glaring at Olsen, who just shrugged and grinned lazily.

"Just being helpful," he drawled.

"Not a medically recommended procedure," Wilson interjected dryly. "Carter, keep the compress on. Kinchole, let's take a look at that leg of yours."

"So neither pair of you managed to finish tonight's missions?" Hogan asked, shifting the topic onto his major concern, now that it was apparent that the injuries, while uncomfortable, weren't serious. Given his tone, most of the other men retreated back under their blankets again.

If it was possible to skulk while sitting in the middle of the barracks with a dozen pairs of eyes on them, LeBeau, Newkirk, Carter, and Kinchloe all managed it.

"Ah, well you see, sir, we had some difficulties," Newkirk began. He didn't seem to be able to find a following sentence after that introduction, though.

Hogan's eyebrows went up interrogatively as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm waiting, gentlemen. Newkirk, LeBeau, you were supposed to pick up intelligence on the change of train schedules from Little Boy Blue. Carter, Kinch, you had a simple scouting mission: examine the bridge at Niederfeld to assess how we could mine it. So just how did both pairs of you manage to bungle your assignments in a single evening?"

Newkirk looked at Kinch and Carter for help, but Kinch's attention was fully occupied by Wilson hunting for the bees' stingers to pull out from his leg, and Carter had slunk behind the bunk post as much as he could, leaving Newkirk and LeBeau to their fate.

"I'm waiting," Hogan reminded them testily again. "Given that I couldn't go because I was trapped spending the evening with Klink, and that he played his violin for me for over an hour, you four—" his eyes swept over the four of them, not excluding Kinchloe despite the sergeant's grimace of pain as Wilson grunted in satisfaction over successfully removing a stinger "—had better have a good reason for not accomplishing either mission objective simply because I wasn't along to supervise you."

"We ran into the bee hive a mile short of the bridge," Kinch answered for himself and Carter with a sigh since Wilson had just finished extracting the last stinger. "Carter managed to bump right smack into the nest, the bees all streamed out of it and attacked us, and we ran like hell away from it. Turned out we were running back the way we came, but by the time we'd shaken them we weren't in any shape to do much besides limp back here."

"I thought bees were diurnal, and you can't get stung at night," Hogan remarked skeptically.

"I guess they don't care what time of day or night it is if you run smack into their nest," Kinch said acidly, glaring over at Carter, who was still trying to hide behind the bunk post. "I'd suggest a different route of approach when we reconnoiter next time. That path is better guarded by the bees than most others are by the Germans."

"Well, what about you two?" Hogan asked, apparently accepting Kinch's explanation for failing to get the bridge specifications and shifting his attention back to Newkirk and LeBeau.

The two of them both looked at each other silently, neither apparently desiring to explain.

Hogan didn't ask again: he just kept watching them steadily.

Newkirk cracked first. "We forgot the code, and Little Boy Blue wouldn't give us the information without it," he mumbled, eyes on the floor.

Hogan unfolded his arms. "Come again?" he asked, not quite believing what he'd heard.

"We forgot the code!" Newkirk sounded defensive, as well he might. "Well, not so much forgot it as didn't remember it," he went on, voice lowered again. "I thought LeBeau had memorized it."

"And I thought Newkirk knew it, so I only looked it over a couple of times," LeBeau said contritely. "So we said it a little wrong, and Little Boy Blue became suspicious and raised his pitchfork, and then the dog attacked, and neither of us could remember it right after that."

"And you two gave me a hard time about remembering the code when I first made contact with him on my birthday," Carter grumbled. "You shoulda let me go to the farm, Colonel. At least Little Boy Blue knows me."

"You're the munitions man. I needed your assessment of the bridge," Hogan reminded him. "For that matter, I still need it, but it looks like it'll be a couple of days before I get it." He turned back to Newkirk and LeBeau. "So the two of you couldn't remember the code because a Pomeranian nipped you." The Colonel's voice dripped acid irony with each word.

"More like having half a dozen darning needles driven deep into my leg!" Newkirk snapped back, less respectfully than was wise for a man in his CO's doghouse.

Hogan turned to Wilson, who was now applying a set of cold poultices, this time to Kinch's leg. "Just how bad are those bites?" he asked, still obviously skeptical.

Wilson shrugged. "Deeper than I'd like, but not dangerous. Fortunately, they're both up on their tetanus shots." He paused. "Newkirk's bite marks go well into the epidermis. I think LeBeau's may have broken very slightly into the muscle beneath. Both bled well, which is a good sign; that cleans them out."

"Bled well?" Hogan looked at LeBeau, another reason for the fiasco dawning on him. "Don't tell me: you fainted, right?"

LeBeau flushed red in embarrassment. "I may have passed out from the pain. I certainly did not faint." He glared balefully at Newkirk, who held up his hands.

"Nice distinction, that is. Don't look at me like that, mate. I didn't tell him."

"As you certainly well should have!" Hogan snapped. He stared at the two of them for a long moment, as they simultaneously hung their heads. "So what happened at that point?" Hogan finally asked Newkirk. The tone of his voice suggested he was still withholding final judgment.

"LeBeau keeled over and just laid there. Little Boy Blue collared the dog and took him off to his barn. He didn't say anything except that the dog had had its shots; I think he was afraid to in case we were Gestapo or something."

"Somehow I don't think anyone would have thought at that point that you two jokers were Gestapo," Kinch said from his bunk.

Newkirk glowered at him. "From where you're sitting, it don't look to me like you've got much room to criticize."

Hogan made an impatient circular motion with his hand. "Finish it up, Newkirk."

The Englishman nodded and went on obediently. "LeBeau came to, I got him on his feet, and we both started to hike back here. It took long enough with both of us limping. That's about it, sir." He paused. "I'm sorry, Colonel. It won't happen again." Everyone could hear the genuine contrition in his voice.

"Oui, moi aussi," LeBeau added, equally apologetic. Everyone knew if he was using French, he was serious about his promise.

"No, it certainly won't. In the future, you'll both repeat all code phrases to both me and Kinch, separately, for any mission that involves them, before leaving camp." Hogan fixed them with a level stare that got both of them nodding in obedience without a word of complaint.

"Okay," Hogan went on, "it has certainly been a night of disasters. We've been lucky most of the time; I guess all the bad luck caught up to us tonight, from Klink's insistence I spend the evening listening to his new violin piece to your misadventures." He shook his head, but his voice had more resignation than anger in it, and everyone relaxed. A few of the men even pulled back their blankets and ventured to sit up on their bunks.

"You feel lucky being in Stalag 13, Colonel?" Olsen asked, daringly.

Hogan turned to regard him. "I'd say we're all lucky. We're alive and here. There are other camps a lot worse. And we've had the chance to build an operation here that probably couldn't exist anywhere else."

Davis, never one to see the bright side of anything, said, "Okay, there are worse places. That doesn't make daily life in this one great."

"Ah, there are good things about Stalag 13," Barnes said optimistically.

"Oh, name one," Davis challenged.

Barnes paused to think.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Davis shrugged.

"Klink's roses," Barnes answered.

The others stared at him.

"They're pretty," Barnes said with a shrug. "And Schultz has been letting me care for them since last summer. That's one good thing about Stalag 13. I bet you can think of some others. Davis, there has to be something you like."

"I like it when Red Cross packages show up," Davis admitted grudgingly.

"And mail days are good. I bet my sister Mavis won't send me all her knitting once I get home like she does now," Newkirk contributed.

"There's lots of snow," Chapman offered, only to have his suggestion repelled with groans from the others. "C'mon, you all enjoyed those snowball fights. And just a few minutes ago you were regretting the lack of snow for your bee stings and dog bites."

"Even so, I'm still glad it's spring, not winter," Kinch said, shifting position to see if it would ease his leg.

"I get challenged in cooking here far more than I would at home," LeBeau added thoughtfully.

"And you have a great sous-chef," Greenberg teased.

"Thank the lord," Garlotti muttered.

"Oui, so I do," LeBeau beamed at Greenberg. "Though finding a challenge here does not mean I'm not looking forward to cooking in a properly equipped kitchen!"

"Where you can make tea that doesn't taste like coffee," Newkirk replied drily.

"I shall use a proper copper kettle for your tea whenever you come visit me after the war," LeBeau answered affectionately, and got a return grin from Newkirk.

"What about you, Colonel? What do you like about Stalag 13?" Kinch asked.

Hogan looked around the barracks and smiled. "Well, I'd have to say my favorite thing about Stalag 13 is you fellas. The operation here wouldn't work without all of you. That's thanks to all your efforts, not just those of you who go outside the wire. Maybe I don't remember to say so enough, but I'm always grateful. I know there's a lot of things we all miss about home, but I appreciate you making the best of this place. Maybe we're grounded, but we're not out of the war, and that's thanks to all of you."

Suddenly, each man found himself with a smile on his face.

"All right, that's enough soap," Hogan said, stretching. "It's time for all good little prisoners to get to bed. Tomorrow night I'll go see Little Boy Blue, and we'll survey that bridge soon. We'll be back on track. Olsen, will you see Wilson back to his quarters?"

"Sure thing, Colonel." Olsen dropped down from his bunk as Wilson finished packing his medical kit. They headed down the ladder into the tunnel.

"Good night, fellas," Hogan said, turning toward his quarters as the bunk dropped with its usual clatter down into place.

"Good night, Colonel," chorused the men of Barracks 2, as they all settled down to a well-earned rest. No doubt many would dream of their favorite things that night.

The End

ooOoo

Author's Note: 1) "Niederfeld" is a made-up name, not a real place. Don't go looking for it on a map of Germany. 2) Most bees are diurnal, though apparently there are a few nocturnal ones. Bees are sensitive to temperature, so they generally prefer warmer daylight hours. There's a myth that bees don't sting at night, but mostly they're just not active then. Most bees are gentle, not looking to sting you, but they will attack if they feel their hive is threatened. If a bee is up at night it can sting you (especially if you step on or bump into its nest or hive). All the bee sting remedies mentioned are genuine folk remedies, but do let me be clear that I am not recommending any of them!

Thanks for reading, and my appreciation goes to all those who have commented on the story. For those of you who did perhaps miss it: there's a game going in the final lines of all the chapters, allusions to a well-known song from a much loved movie that provided the kernel of inspiration for each one. The allusions are in the same order as the lyrics of the song. Several clever reviewers figured out which one it was, so you can look for their reviews if you want more than that clue to figure it out for yourself. For readers wishing it had gone further: by this chapter I was out of lyrics to allude to, thus the story couldn't go on. I was tempted early on to have chapters for Klink and Schultz, but I decided the story held together better if it was consistently about the prisoners' experiences (and Schultz does make a lot of appearances, while the embedded story from Klink in chapter 12 was intended from very early on in the writing process).

I have loved Hogan's Heroes since the 1970s, but none of its characters are mine; they were created by Bernard Fein and Albert S. Ruddy. I acknowledge their ownership and that of Bing Crosby Productions and intend no copyright infringement. At no point will I or others profit monetarily on this story.