Author's Note: I strongly disapprove of corporal punishment on principle. Historically speaking, however, children in the early twentieth century, especially boys, were subject to it, and this chapter does begin with references to it.

For those who have read the other stories in my "Conversations" series about Hogan's family life, this chapter fits in with them. It is not, however, necessary to have read any of those stories to understand this one, which predates the rest of the series by about twenty-five years. If you are interested in that series, my author's page lists the "Conversations" stories by title in their chronological order.

ooOoo

September 20, 1916

Rob buried his head further into his pillow at the knock on his door. He wasn't ready to see his father yet, and certainly not anyone else in the family. He heard the door open anyway and screwed his eyes shut more tightly. Go away, he thought fiercely. Footsteps moved across the room, came to a halt next to his bed. He heard a sigh heaved . . . he didn't think it was Dad.

"Budge over, Robbie," his older brother Jack said.

"Leave me alone," he answered, hoping his voice didn't quiver.

"C'mon, make room for me." Jack's voice was gentle, and Rob couldn't resist it. He shifted over slightly, tightening his lips so as not to make any noise.

He felt Jack's hand touch his back gently and begin to rub soothing circles. He relaxed slightly into the offered comfort but kept his face buried in the pillow. He didn't want Jack to see his face, still wet with tears.

Jack kept quiet for a while, just lightly rubbing his back. "I'm sorry you got in trouble," he finally offered.

Rob clenched his jaw as well as fisting his pillow, but he didn't reply for a moment. Then it burst out of him, though it was muffled by the pillow, "You know Mr. Anthony's a bully. He's not fair, and he's just awful to Hank."

"Yeah, I know you said so."

"But you think I was wrong."

"Your feelings are in the right place, Robbie. But you're going to have to learn that there are some lines you can't cross. Dad's a lawyer, and he's going to uphold the law—or the school rules. You can't openly sass a teacher that way and get away with it."

Rob started to pull away from the pillow, remembered how he looked, and stuffed his head back into it.

"It's okay to be upset after a whipping, Robbie," his brother said softly, moving his hand up to squeeze his youngest brother's shoulder. "I always cried too. Partly because it hurt, but mostly because I knew I'd disappointed Dad so much."

Rob bit his lip. In truth, he knew his father disliked corporal punishment, used it only rarely on his sons, and even then was not severe. But his brother was right: it was the feeling of disgrace and their father's deep disappointment in him that burned the worst by far. But the problem now was that his ordeal wasn't completely over.

He turned his head toward the wall, away from his brother still, but so he could speak clearly. "I'm not sorry. He's going to expect me to apologize to Mr. Anthony, but I'm not sorry. I'm not."

"Then don't say you are." Jack's hand ruffled the hair on the back of his head. "Say, 'I apologize.' That will do."

Rob lay there quietly, thinking that over. "Doesn't it mean the same thing?"

"Well, you can acknowledge having done something that Dad had to punish you for, take responsibility for an action that you knew was against the rules. You're not saying that you're completely sorry for the result."

"Won't Dad know the difference?"

"Oh yes, he'll know," Jack laughed ruefully. "But he'll take it."

Rob bit his lip, then he sat up. Jack offered him a handkerchief, which Rob took and blew his nose into. He dropped it onto the small side table by his bed.

"Bit better now?" Jack asked, and Rob nodded, wrapping his arms around himself tightly.

"I just . . . I just hate how Mr. Anthony treats Hank. He's so mean, making him recite out loud the way he does, when he knows he's so shy and it makes his stutter worse."

"Maybe Mr. Anthony thinks it will help Hank get over being shy if he practices reading out loud," Jack suggested.

Rob glared up at his older brother. "Oh right. That's what imitating Hank's stutter in front of everyone and then making fun of him is for. He whacks that stupid pointer down across his desk when Hank makes mistakes and makes Hank jump a foot every time he makes a mistake. And he calls Hank stupid in front of everyone too, but he's not! Hank's as smart as anyone. He just can't talk fast."

Jack's brows contracted. "How often does he do this?"

"Every time we have reading! So in English and geography and everything. So nearly every day. Mr. Anthony always calls on Hank first to stand up, whacks his desk with that pointer, makes us all jump and scares Hank half to death, then orders him to read out loud. He's so jangled up by then he just can't do it! Sometimes Mr. Anthony makes him read the same line over and over, saying Hank has to until he does it without a stutter! But he can't! So I don't care even if Dad thinks I was wrong," Rob said defiantly. "Mr. Anthony deserves a lot worse than just having his pointer sawed to breaking point. I wish I'd taken apart his whole desk!"

"Going after the pointer was an original idea for a prank on the teacher," Jack admitted. "Too bad you still had the saw in your school bag. That gave you away. You ignored the primary rule of pranksters, Robbie."

"What's that?"

Jack grinned broadly. "Don't get caught."

ooOoo

September 25, 1916

Rob sat in the small hard chair in the principal's office that was reserved for malefactors, trying not to look nervous as he listened to Mr. Lockwood outline the charges against him to his father. John Hogan was listening intently, clearly not at all amused at having been called from work to come to school to deal with his youngest son.

"And you can just imagine the effects of having his entire desk collapse in front of him! Mr. Anthony had to go home for the rest of the day in a nervous condition." Mr. Lockwood's voice quivered with outrage. "Not to mention the cost of the desk! We cannot put up with such destructive behavior."

"Yes, I do understand that," John Hogan answered, his own voice suggesting that he was doing his best to keep his temper in check.

"Young Robert seems to be developing into a far worse case than his oldest brother ever was!"

John's frown deepened. Rob didn't think that it was at the memory of Jack's old pranks, though. His father finally spoke.

"I have listened to all you have to say, Mr. Lockwood. I think it's time I heard Rob's side of the story." He turned to face his son. "Robert, did you unscrew all the screws in Mr. Anthony's desk, causing it to collapse?"

"No, sir." Rob's denial was quick and profound.

John studied his son. "Did you unscrew some of the screws in Mr. Anthony's desk, with help from some friends?"

"No, sir. I never touched Mr. Anthony's desk," Rob answered, looking his father directly in the eye.

John gave his son another long searching look. Rob held his gaze guilelessly. Then he turned to the principal. "You'll have to look elsewhere for your culprit, Mr. Anthony. Rob didn't do it."

Mr. Lockwood spluttered. "Of course he did it! He's lying to you."

"I know my son," John answered sharply. "He's telling the truth."

"He's just gotten better at lying to you," Lockwood rejoined with asperity.

"He doesn't lie to me," John retorted. "He told me the truth about sawing that pointer so that it would break, even though he knew I'd punish him for it." His mouth was a grim straight line across his face as he finished.

"So the boy knows now that he needs to lie to avoid being punished!"

"He's not lying. He's never been able to look me in the eye and lie."

"Mr. Hogan, I know this is difficult for you, but you need to accept that your son is a troublemaker."

"Oh, I already know that quite well," John replied drily. "But you haven't offered a shred of evidence that Rob was the one who caused this particular trouble. You're simply assuming he did it because of his one previous misdemeanor."

"Mr. Anthony said he was the ringleader of the classroom, laughing the loudest."

Rob spoke up at that in self-defense. "We all laughed—every single one of us. Of course I thought it was funny! Everyone did! And besides, no one likes Mr. Anthony, given the way he bullies Hank every day for stuttering, so when the desk fell apart so suddenly, right when he whacked it with the pointer like he does every morning to make Hank jump, everyone thought he deserved it."

Mr. Lockwood frowned. John Hogan eyed his son with disfavor at this editorializing, and Rob subsided.

"It sounds to me like there are other issues in that classroom that would bear investigation," John continued, fixing Mr. Lockwood with a severe look. "But that is your professional concern, not mine. As far as the destruction of the desk, quite frankly I don't see how Rob could have done it, physically speaking. I assume that desk was something like this one?" He touched the principal's desk lightly.

"Not as large," Lockwood answered slowly, "but from the same company, yes. The school district got a deal from them about a decade ago, to furnish all the classrooms and administrative offices."

"Well, a fifth-grade boy, even a strong one, doesn't have the wrist strength to turn all these screws to loosen them the way that would be needed. That would require muscle power that Rob just doesn't have." He paused, then added, "Plus, you said it had to have been done Friday evening, but Rob's time is accounted for that night: he was at the baseball game with his brothers. They gave a complete account of the game when they got home, and I'm sure they can summon dozens of witnesses. Rob has truthfully said he didn't do it, and the facts are that he couldn't have done it. And that, sir, concludes our business." John Hogan rose to his feet, followed by Rob. Mr. Lockwood stood also, still spluttering with outrage.

"This has to be paid for! I'm going to suspend him!"

"If you do," John Hogan replied coolly, "I'll be taking it to the school board. You don't have the evidence to convict him on this. Rob will be in class tomorrow, as usual, and I will expect him to comport himself with integrity, whether with a substitute teacher or Mr. Anthony, if he feels well enough to return to class. Now, sir, I wish you a good afternoon." He turned on his heel and left, and Rob trotted after him, not daring to look up at the seething principal.

The two of them left the elementary school and turned right when they reached the main sidewalk, heading for home six blocks away. Rob walked beside his father, silent, somewhat awed by his father's defense of him. He was very accustomed to his father's legalistic interrogations when he had misbehaved, as his father determined his guilt, but he had never seen his father acting essentially as a defense counsel before.

"Rob, you know what an accessory is?" his father abruptly asked him when they were a block from home.

"Someone who helps someone do something wrong?" Rob answered, worried abruptly about where his father's inquiry was going.

"That's right." John Hogan stopped and put his hand on his son's shoulder, looking down at him. "You said you didn't touch Mr. Anthony's desk, right?"

Rob looked up at his father. "Yes, sir, that's right."

"Did you help with disassembling it?"

"No, Dad, I didn't." Rob's voice was utterly sincere.

"Do you know who did it?"

Rob looked down and away. His father sighed.

"Who did you put up to doing it for you?"

"No one!" Rob looked back up at his father. "I didn't ask anyone to do it or suggest it to anyone, Dad. Honest."

"Oh, I'm sure you're telling the truth—but not the whole truth and nothing but the truth," his father said with another sigh. He cupped his son's chin gently. "Omission is still a kind of lying, Rob."

Rob swallowed hard in the face of his father's disapproval. "I didn't help or ask anyone to do it, Dad. Yes, I knew about it," he admitted slowly, then finished in a rush, "but I promised not to tell. And I don't care! Mr. Anthony has bullied Hank all year. He's awful. He deserved to know how he makes others feel," he said, his voice growing thick near the end.

"I don't approve of vigilante justice," his father replied sternly. "We have rules and laws to deal with problems in our society."

"But what if the people who should pay attention don't do it? Then what else is there to do? Who's supposed to stand up for the ones who can't stand up for themselves?" Rob's eyes watered, but he held back the tears, clenching his jaw to stop his lips from trembling.

His father's hand slid around from his chin to tousle his hair. "So you see yourself as a kind of Robin Hood?"

Rob shrugged, then nodded a little bit. "I think Robin Hood is a good guy."

"Hmmm. I suppose Robin Hood's heart was in the right place, even if his methods were extra-legal," his father admitted. He draped his arm across Rob's shoulder, pulling his son in close for a one-armed hug, then turned for home once again. "I suppose your mother will be pleased to have me home early, even if you're coming in late, eh?"

Arriving home, they found Jack sitting on the porch, reading a red-covered novel. He looked up at them as they approached, John Hogan's arm still across Rob's shoulders, then he stood up to greet them. "Hi, Dad; hi, Rob." He raised his left eyebrow slightly. "You're home early, Dad."

"That's what happens when I get called to the elementary school because Rob is accused of taking a teacher's desk apart," their father said, eyes on his oldest son.

Both of Jack's eyebrows went up. "That sounds like an awful big job for a little kid his age."

"Yes, that's just what I thought." John Hogan shook his head. "It seems it happened Friday night, probably during the baseball game you took him to."

"It was a great game," Rob broke in. "We saw Bill Bowen make the winning out with a double play!"

"Yes, I'm sure you did. I do wonder how much of the rest of the game you two boys saw, though. It's easy to be seen in a crowd early on and then again at the end. And the baseball field is right behind the elementary school."

Jack raised his chin slightly, but said nothing as he looked his father in the eye.

Both of them waited quietly for the other to speak.

John Hogan broke the silence first. "I'm going to go see if I can give your mother a hand getting dinner ready. It would be a good idea for the two of you to do that too. And after dinner I think I can find some extra yard work that needs doing that might be too much work for Rob by himself but that he can handle just fine with the help of an older brother."

"I'm always glad to help out with the yard, Dad," Jack answered. "You know that."

"Yes, I can see you like giving a helping hand. I'll be thinking to find some other ways for you to help out too over the next couple of weeks." John Hogan shook his head slightly, apparently amused, then climbed the stairs and went into the house, closing the door behind him.

Rob looked up at his older brother. "You were waiting out here for us. You going to tell him you did it, weren't you?"

"Only if I had to—if you were in trouble, or if he asked me straight out." Jack ruffled Rob's hair, much as their father had done earlier. "I wouldn't have let you take the blame."

"But Dad knew anyway. Why do you think he let us off?"

"We'll see if you think he's 'let us off' by the time we get through all the chores he's going to come up with for us to do."

"So does this mean that we broke the primary rule of pranksters?" Rob asked anxiously.

Jack pursed his lips judiciously. "I'd say not. We weren't really caught, only figured out, and only by Dad—he knows us too well." He looked down at his little brother. "Any idea why he just dropped the subject?"

"He started talking about Robin Hood," Rob answered, still puzzled.

"Ah," said Jack, picking up the old book with its well-worn red cover from the steps of the porch, a still-loved relic from a previous generation. "Then I suppose even a lawyer can feel some affection for an outlaw."

Fin

ooOoo

Author's Note: This chapter finishes this small series of short stories, all set on one day a hundred years ago, one for each of the three main characters of Hogan's Heroes that would have been alive and old enough to be affected by the events of 1916. Klink and Schultz were caught up as soldiers in the war, of course, whereas Hogan would have been just a boy living in a country that had not yet entered the war. I thought it would be interesting to explore how that one day might have affected the men they had become when the series started. I hope you enjoyed it, and that you have a healthy happy New Year in 2017.

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.