HH02: Where the Heart Is
By VST

Summary: As they become friends, Sergeant James "Kinch" Kinchloe confides in new P.O.W. Richard Baker that he wants to go home more than anything else in the world. However, when that opportunity knocks, Kinch realizes what he really wants but can't have.

Written for the WA Special Places Challenge.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written entirely for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of Hogan's Heroes is entirely my own, and Hogan's Heroes and all of its various components remain the property of their respective owners.

Author's Note: For the fandom blind, Hogan's Heroes is a comedy/drama set in a German POW camp during WWII. Colonel Hogan and his little band of Heroes are "stationed" in the camp to do espionage and make life miserable for the Germans in hopes of shortening the war. They are unintentionally aided in this effort by the bumbling camp commandant, Colonel Klink (who they constantly have to make look good to keep him from being shipped off to the Russian front), and the head guard, Sergeant Schultz, who just wants the war to be over so he can return home to his family and his toy company.

Though fully trained and qualified, I wasn't officially supposed to be at Stalag 13 and wouldn't have been if not for a strange twist of fate that all started early one morning in the first week of May 1944.

"Baker! Fourth bird down! Radio's not working. Get down there and get it fixed."

"On my way, Chief!" I made sure all of my tools were back in the kit from the just-completed replacement and headed that way.

The birds were Boeing's B-17 "Flying Fortresses," group fighting bombers for daytime operations. Losses had been so bad that daylight bombing of Germany raids had been suspended for a while, but with newer P-51 Mustangs able to go along to provide cover, such missions had resumed a short time before. With up to a thousand bombers in the air and hundreds of fighters, the Germans and our planes and men all suffered as a result. The big planes I was walking past had been part of that; all showed various signs of repairs.

"It's the radio in this one, Sarge," said one of the privates from the maintenance crew who came out to meet me. "We didn't know it was out. The crew's radioman bought it on the mission a couple days ago from shrapnel, and nobody used the radio again until the pre-flight test a few minutes ago. It's got a little hole in it. Get it fixed, okay?"

I boarded the bomber with my repair bag in hand, trying not to look at the dark stains on the seat or deck in the radio compartment. I hoped it was oil, but suspected otherwise. Looking at the radio, it seemed that the private was right; the hole in the side of the radio-set didn't look that bad. However, I winced when the cover came off and I saw the disaster inside. Broken parts started coming out and going into my sack so we could sort through it later for anything that could be salvaged.

"Gosh, what a mess!" I said to myself. "It's going to be a long morning."

I'd started rebuilding it by the time the plane's crew chief entered the radio compartment just forward of the bomb bay. "How's it coming, Sergeant?" He didn't wait for a response before adding, "Flight crew reports in ten minutes for takeoff."

My heart practically stopped. I glanced at the parts in the tray in front of me and the work still to be done inside the set before shaking my head. "It didn't look like much damage from the outside, but the interior was another matter. For now, there's at least another 45 minutes of work to complete, Chief. Probably an hour. We normally replace them when they're in this shape, and take the carcass back to the shop for a complete rebuild."

"But you can complete it?"

"Yes, Chief, but not in time for takeoff."

He leaned down closer to where I was still trying to work. In a low voice, he said, "Listen, Sergeant—Baker, isn't it?—I don't have 45 minutes and the colonel's not going to give it to me. That means you don't have 45 minutes either." The crew chief, a master sergeant, was stressed and angry, as evidenced by several expletives liberally interspersed among his words. His fist hit the bulkhead, as if to highlight the next string of such words. When he'd calmed a bit, he asked, "Listen, can you finish the repair in the air?"

"Ah...yeah," I replied hesitantly, my heart now racing. I was stunned. Due to restrictions on where Negros could serve, I'd never flown an actual mission.

"You're fully qualified as a radio operator, right?"

"Yes, but I've never—"

He waved me off. "Shouldn't matter anyway. The captain will have to deal with it. His brand-spanking new radio op may not know it yet but he's coming down with a sudden bout of stomach flu. You keep going. You're flying today and you're going to finish this thing if it's the last thing you ever do."

I didn't like the sound of that or the extra curse words he used to stress the point, but I nodded as I replied, formally, "Yes, Chief."

"Get it fixed. I'll clear it with the captain."

Minutes later, he was back, this time carrying a bundle.

"Flight suit, bomber jacket, life jacket, parachute harness, and flight helmet. Remember, the life jacket goes under the parachute harness; not over it. Don't forget that or you won't even have to worry about drowning. If you have to get out, your parachute's here. Attach it, like...so, and the release cord clips onto the line, up here. You go out the bomb bay doors, right behind you. If it all goes to hell...well, good luck and suit up. Oh, and water the dust outside, if you need to, but be quick about it."

I quickly took his advice. I'd barely gotten into everything and started back on the radio when people started entering the ship, but I stayed hard at work until I heard breathing at the door to the radio compartment. There stood the pilot, wearing captain's bars, staring at me. He said, without an introduction or even a hello, "Get my radio fixed, mister. Pronto."

It sounded like a growl as he turned and went forward to the cockpit. I was deep in the radio-set so I didn't even look up as the rest boarded the plane and took their positions.

It wasn't long before the captain called, "Here we go, gents, to serve up to the Jerries a little of what they've been dishing out."

The engines rumbled to a start and I shoved on the headset to try to preserve a little of my hearing. There was some banter among the crewmen but I tried to tune it out since I was still busy. I buckled in and held onto my tray with my repair case between my feet as we moved to the flight line before barreling down the runway and into the air.

My first flight over Germany, with the radio repaired well before we reached the Rhine, became my last late that morning when German shells took out Engines 3 and 4 and shredded enough of our hydraulics that the pilot and copilot couldn't keep the plane trim. Unable to overcome the uneven forces, the captain gave the call to bail out as he struggled to steady the plane for as long as he could. I quickly attached my parachute to the harness like the chief had shown me, and left the plane through the bomb bay, but something slammed into my back as I exited. That left me dazed and confused, and I only regained my senses as I neared the ground. If I hadn't already connected the strap of my parachute to the jump cable to open the chute automatically, it's doubtful that I would have survived to tell this tale. I'm not sure if any of my former, unacquainted crewmates were as fortunate.

With Negros not being regulars on the flight line, the Germans who captured me just moments later didn't quite know what to do with me. I gave them my name, Richard Baker, my rank, Staff Sergeant, and my serial number, but nothing else, as I'd been taught to do. Within hours, I was in the back of a truck with four other men who may or may not have been from my plane. It had been so early in the morning when I'd been ordered into the plane for the radio repair, I didn't even catch its name or number, and we were ordered, in halting English, to be silent anyway.

Eventually we arrived at a prisoner of war camp that I was later to learn was Luft Stalag 13, near Hammelburg, and it was only a short time after my arrival that I met Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe, a fellow POW who was to become my mentor and best friend.

~HH~

I'd been in the camp for only a few days when Kinch came up to me. "Hey, Rich, come with me. Gotta show you something."

Most everyone in the camp called each other by their last names most of the time; no one wanted to get too close to anyone else since the chance that one or the other wouldn't make it out was too great. In addition, there were only a very few black POWs in the camp, each of us with a unique story as to how, despite the odds, we'd come to be there. Kinch and I, two of those, were a bit different in that we quickly adopted the use of our first names, with him even going so far as to use the shortened version of mine that I'd used throughout high school in Chicago. We'd had some good talks about our backgrounds and found that we had a lot more in common than just skin color and radios.

This time I was confused. "What's going on?" I asked as we entered his barracks. I didn't say more, though, for once inside I saw several guys sitting at the table quietly playing cards while a couple of others were in their bunks, apparently asleep.

He gave a little nod. "Carter and Newkirk. They were up a little late last night." Turning to the others, he said in a low voice, "Guys, this is Baker, Barracks 12. He got in last week. The Colonel's assigned him to assist on the box."

That was the first I'd heard of such an assignment, and to make matters worse, I didn't know what box he was talking about. I started to give him a questioning look, but didn't have time when a little man said in a French accent, "Bienvenu, Baker. I'm LeBeau." He introduced me to the other card players before looking back at the door. "Wells?"

The lookout peeked out the door toward a couple of other men stationed nearby, outspotters, before saying, "Clear."

"Let's go," said James as he did something that almost made me jump out of my boots. The bunk and a section of floor in front of him swung down, he entered, and then he waved to me to follow. A few moments later, he started telling me the truth about what really went on at Stalag 13.

~HH~

Over the next few weeks, James showed me around the operation, the tunnels (some of which were part of an old, long abandoned mine), and, most importantly, the communications room, where the box, a long-distance ham radio, and a telephone switchboard were housed.

It wasn't long before we were taking turns on duty, but we often spent time talking, since, due to the German radio detection equipment, we rarely sent messages, spending most of the time listening out for messages from London. I'd been in camp for about a month when the Allies invaded Normandy, and this started me thinking as our troops bogged down in the hedgerows in the days and weeks that followed.

Since there was silence on the airwaves on our currently assigned frequencies, I finally asked something that had been bothering me.

"James, you think we'll ever get out of here?"

"Yeah, it's coming, Rich. May not be this year, might not even be next, but it's going to happen."

"What about the battle that's going on now? What if the guys can't break out of Northern France? Could it be Dunkirk all over again?"

He shook his head. "Anything's possible, I guess, but I don't think so. We weren't here then and the French and the Brits didn't have the equipment they needed to make a go of it. I hear things are a lot different now."

"True," I granted, having seen some of that first hand a lot more recently than James. Accepting his thought, I moved on to what was really on my mind. "What do you want to do when you get out of here? Where do you want to go? Anywhere special on your mind?"

Kinch was silent for a moment as he thought, smoothing his mustache, before he turned to me and said, "I volunteered right after Pearl Harbor, but didn't know what I was getting into." He paused, probably thinking some things I've thought and grumbled about along the way, before he continued. "I've been away from home for over two and a half years now, and here for almost two. Special? Yeah, you know what they say, Rich? Home is where the heart is. That's where my heart is; I just want to go home. My mom and my sisters are there in Detroit. There's the front porch where we sit in the summer, playing music and singing together, or just listening to the radio...or to the rain as it falls." He paused as a smile slowly covered his face.

"Sometimes, the ice cream truck would come down our street and it seemed that the whole neighborhood would turn out for a little, impromptu festival, eating ice cream bars and frosty pops, while those waiting in line danced to that silly little tune playing on the speaker. Oh, those were the days." His face looked far away, as if back in Detroit, as he slowly added, "Deedra Michaels. Wow! Holly Wichelau. Oh, my! And Sara Beth Smathers. Woah! Yeah, I'd give anything to be back there now instead of in this God-forsaken place."

I laughed. "I think I know what you mean. The girls' names are different, but it sounds a lot like my part of Chicago. That's my goal, too: to get back home and away from this junk-heap."

He laughed when I agreed about the girls, but looked serious when I said the rest and then nodded. "Well, let's do our part and hopefully we'll both be back there where we want to be before too long."

~HH~

While it wasn't easy, Allied forces made progress in the east, south, and, eventually, the west as 1944 progressed. Spring turned to summer, summer to fall and then winter, and winter to hell as the Germans counterattacked in what became known as the Battle of the Bulge. It was a couple days after Christmas and I was about as low as I'd been in my months at Stalag 13. We'd received a key phrase early that day telling us that Lieutenant Lawler and his young friend had made it out safely, which made me smile for a moment before my thoughts turned to the fact that I was as far from home as ever. James had nine or ten years on me and could often put things in a different perspective than me, so, when all was clear, I made my way down to the radio room to find him working on the receiver. His look of frustration matched, and possibly exceeded, my own.

"What happened?" I asked, growing concerned.

He let out a long sigh before holding up a tube between two fingers and turning it toward the light where we could both see it. "Tube burned out and the radio went dead right while I was setting up a meeting with the German Underground. It happens, but this is one we don't have a replacement for."

He set it back down on the table before looking back into the box. "There must be something in the circuit causing the power to fluctuate at times; this is the third one to burn out in the past couple months. Take a look at it, will you? I think it may be...right there."

I looked at where he was pointing and nodded. "That's probably it. Want to give me the soldering iron?"

"Already hot for you," he replied as he held it out for me. "The Colonel's going to be hot about this, for sure. The meeting's supposed to be with a German code-named 'Michelle'. We don't know her real name but we helped her cell get rid of a Gestapo infiltrator early last year. LeBeau said she's a real looker."

We both laughed. Any young lady in a skirt or with a touch of lipstick was a candidate to be a real looker in the little Frenchman's eyes. James continued, "The Gestapo supposedly has a price on her head as a result, but they don't know her real name either so she's had to keep her head down, only doing a few critical missions. London said this was one of those."

"Aren't they all?"

Kinch laughed. "To London, yeah."

I started melting the solder and clearing it away as he positioned the light for me, allowing me to bring up my reason for coming down.

"Have you heard any news from Bastogne? The rest of the front? Have we turned the tide?"

He sighed again. "Well, as of the last I heard before the radio blew out, the BBC said Bastogne hadn't fallen, but it sounded like the rest, teetering. You know the news broadcasts. They give us bits of the truth without letting the Germans know too much."

My mood turned fouler still. "Damn, James. If we lose there...well, if the Jerries play their cards right, this war could go on forever."

"It's possible, I suppose," he said, "but do they have what they need to keep it going?"

"What do you mean?"

"Rich, one of the things I learned at the phone company back home is that everything depends on logistics, the supply chain. You can't complete an install, any install, until you have everything you need for it in hand. You can't do a repair without all the replacement parts. You can't install a new switch machine or transformer unless you have a spare switch machine or transformer. Things break and when parts are hard to come by, they don't get fixed as fast as they should. Things break a lot faster when Allied bombers and fighters are deliberately blowing them to bits every day and the Ivans are taking turns smashing them to pieces in the east. Eventually, the Jerries aren't going to be able to keep up and they'll have to surrender or sue for peace."

We'd noticed fewer German planes in the sky in recent months, and knew that they'd cut back on the number of guards assigned to Stalag 13. Thinking of it and what it must take to keep their armies and air forces going, I nodded with at least a bit of understanding. "So...assuming we finally beat these guys, you still thinking of heading back to Detroit?"

He laughed. "Every hour of every day...well, when I'm not on duty causing trouble helping us get there." He stood up. "And speaking of the supply chain, I'm going to see about borrowing one of those tubes from our 'hosts.'"

"Shouldn't you get Newkirk or one of the scroungers to get it?"

He chuckled. "What fun would that be?"

~HH~

After finishing up repairs, everything was back in spec and all that was missing to make the box sing again was the replacement tube. Kinch wasn't back though, so I headed up, giving the signal before access opened via the bunk. Most of the men were gathered at the door looking out, with only Carter hanging back to help me up and to restore everything to normal.

"Newkirk," he called rather excitedly. "Here's Baker."

The Englishman had a worried look as he asked, "Baker, where was Kinch going when he left? He didn't say anything to us."

"To get a tube for the set. Old one burned out and we were out of spares."

Newkirk gave a grimace and hung his head. "Blimey! Of all the bad luck."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Carter took over. "From what the spotters saw, it looked like Kinch turned the corner and Klink ran right into him. They found a box of something on him, probably the tube you're talking about, so they took Kinch to Klink's office."

"Colonel Hogan just went over there," said LeBeau, emerging from Hogan's quarters. Glancing at the others, he added, "Coffee's on."

Newkirk and Carter headed to the colonel's quarters, so I followed along. Inside on the desk was the coffee pot with the little speaker pulled out so we could listen in. LeBeau adjusted the dial and the volume went up so we could hear.

"But, Sir," Hogan was saying, "thirty days is cruel and unusual! It's inhumane!"

"So is possessing contraband, Hogan! Sergeant Kinchloe knew it was against the rules but he flagrantly ignored them and now must suffer the consequences."

"Colonel, I protest!" exclaimed Hogan.

"Noted!" replied Klink. "And denied and dis-missed! Sergeant Schultz, take the sergeant to the cooler."

"Jawohl, Kommandant."

Wells came running into Hogan's quarters. "Bad news!" he said, as if we didn't already know, but his next words proved him correct. "Major Hochstetter just drove up and went into—"

"Klink! What is this man doing here?" demanded a snively voice that Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau recognized as that of the Gestapo major despite the tinny sound of the speaker. All three had a look of fear for Kinch as they shook their heads.

"Hogan was just leaving, Major Hochstetter," replied Klink, with more than his usual level of grovel.

"Not Hogan, you idiot! This—oh, what is your name?"

"James Kinchloe, Staff Sergeant—"

"Shut up! Did I ask you your rank? No, I didn't," he answered before again asking Klink, "What is a non-commissioned officer doing in your office?"

"Well, Major, you see, ahem, he was apprehended in possession of a box of vacuum tubes, which is strictly verboten. They might be used by the prisoners—"

"Klink! Do you think I am stupid? I know what they are, that they are contraband, and what they might be used for! I also know that if he had them, they probably do have what he needs them for. Search the camp! Find that radio! Lieutenant, cuff this man and bring him with us."

"Major Hochstetter, I strongly protest," said Hogan. "You can't take Kinch out of a Luftwaffe POW camp. It's against regulations."

The other men and I around the tiny speaker could practically hear Hochstetter bristling as he replied. "Hogan, he waved his rights as a POW when he willingly took possession of contraband. Now, he's coming with us. Do you want to try to stop us from taking him?"

There was what sounded like scuffling in the room and we thought, at least briefly, that Colonel Hogan was actually fighting the Gestapo pipsqueak, but Wells came back moments later.

"Hochstetter's goons practically dragged Kinch out and threw him in the major's car. Looks like they're taking him away."

"Here comes Colonel Hogan," called one of the spotters from the door to the barracks. "And Schultz and some guards are right behind him!"

There was no time for us to speak with him though, since Schultz entered the barracks and started calling, "Prisoners assemble! Raus! Raus!" even as LeBeau put the coffee pot away.

Hogan gave the sign for us to hit the parade ground outside the barracks. He had a worried expression on his face, but I knew, with all he'd faced in his time dealing with the Germans, Colonel Hogan would know how to fix the mess.

~HH~

"I have no idea," replied Colonel Hogan about two hours later in response to Carter's spoken question that was on all of our minds. The Gestapo goons had ripped through the camp looking for the radio while all of us prisoners stood at attention on the parade ground. They found some carefully placed but relatively minor contraband and our decoy tunnel, which was reserved for just such emergencies. Fortunately, it was "hidden" in such a way that they couldn't blame any of it on any particular person, so Hochstetter left the camp in a huff with Kinch in tow. After we were dismissed, a group of us went into Barracks 2.

"If they follow through on what they said, they're taking Kinch to Gestapo HQ in Hammelberg, which doesn't give us much time. If they torture him, he could spill the beans on our entire operation. And if you think Hochstetter wouldn't stoop that low, I have a bridge for sale in Brooklyn that might interest you."

Carter, just coming into the room, must have just heard the end of it. "Wow," he said. "There must be a lot of bridges in Brooklyn. I've heard about others being up for sale like that."

I stared at him for a moment while Newkirk and LeBeau looked at each other questioningly.

"Can we break him out, Colonel?" I asked.

Hogan shook his head. "Not without putting up a big red arrow pointing at Stalag 13. If we break him out, where do you think the first place Hochstetter will look would be? They did enough damage looking for the radio. He'd rip this place completely apart if he thought Kinch was here."

LeBeau was nodding. "Oui, too dangerous, Colonel."

Newkirk nodded, too, before doing a one-handed card trick. "We need a sleight o' hand, to make ole' Hochstetter think some-un else 'ould 'ave a reason to break in and break some-un out."

"And break Kinch out as a byproduct of that raid," finished Hogan.

It was so uniform it was almost like we'd practiced it as we all said together, "The Underground."

~HH~

I didn't know what to expect when "Michelle" came in shortly after dark through the emergency tunnel and removed the black scarf that covered her dark hair and most of her face. I almost gasped. In the soft light in the tunnel, she was beautiful despite being quite thin. She was in her mid-to-late twenties but I suspected that the war had taken a toll on her, making her a bit older, a little thinner, and somewhat sadder than she might have been under better circumstances.

She stepped forward purposefully and hugged Colonel Hogan, giving him a kiss on the cheek like the French do before switching to his lips. It was when it lingered that I realized her initial purposefulness had probably been a show, more for herself than others.

Looking up into his eyes, she said, "Colonel, the message cut off before it was complete. I almost didn't come."

He nodded. "Sorry, radio problem. We're still working on it."

"You have a mission for my cell. What is it?"

Hogan nodded. "Sorry, the original mission is off, at least for now. We have a bigger problem. One of my men was captured and taken to Gestapo headquarters in Hammelberg."

"If he talks…" she said, leading Hogan to nod at her understanding.

"We need an excuse to break him out. Are any of your people being held there? If we make a raid, we can rescue them and our man at the same—"

The shake of her head stopped him. "We make it a point not to let our people be captured. Like the capture of your man, that could give up our entire operation, so we've made a pact not to allow ourselves to be taken alive." The darkness in her face showed her disapproval on Kinch "allowing" himself to be captured.

Hogan frowned. "It wasn't like that. They took him from here in the camp. Now, we have to get him out before they break him. We hoped we could use the rescue of one of your people as the excuse to cover up his escape." He sighed, probably already working on another plan. "Okay, we'll have to come up with something else."

"No," she said slowly. "It's a good plan, Colonel Hogan. I just said we haven't had anyone taken to Gestapo headquarters...yet."

~HH~

Four hours later, in the dead of night, we made our raid on the Gestapo headquarters in Hammelberg. A German woman had been caught with a small flashlight, a camera, and a 9mm Luger pistol outside a building less than two blocks from their headquarters just an hour before. Of course, she had no identification with her, so she was taken to the HQ for questioning. Since they didn't know who she was, they put her in a cell until morning, expecting that Major Hochstetter or one of his men would do the questioning then.

One doesn't just raid the Gestapo, at least not without a detailed plan. Unfortunately, we didn't have one, but we had a little information on the building and quite a few of Carter's toys, which he fused and used to great effect in the main street and alleys around the secret police's building. Carter looked like a kid in a candy shop as the little bombs went off, drawing out many of the sleepy Gestapo men, who then engaged in a fierce firefight with a couple of Underground guys and, primarily, the fireworks that Carter had rigged to sound like gunfire.

The "attackers" drew the Gestapo agents away from the building while we rushed in wearing black masks to conceal our identities and dealt with a few guards who'd stayed at their posts. In six minutes, our small group rescued Michelle, a very bruised and battered Kinch, and three other prisoners who we didn't know but who Hogan felt would serve as an additional distraction and cover for our intended rescuees. Those three went their separate ways when we got back outside of the building, probably as glad to get away from us as from the Gestapo.

A short distance away, we met Olsen, the operation's outside guy, who had a car waiting for us. We piled in and went a few blocks before he pulled over. Michelle said a rather intimate goodbye to Colonel Hogan.

"We can get you out," he told her in a whisper we could barely hear, but she shook her head in response.

"I'm in charge of my cell and my people need me. I knew the risk when I went in and now I'll live with it. Goodbye, Robert. Until we meet again."

I couldn't hear the colonel's reply, but she gave him another short kiss before turning and disappearing into the darkness. His eyes followed her, even after she was gone and Olsen pulled the car away.

Outside Hammelberg, Olsen drove on, headlights out, and we made it to within a couple of miles of camp before he stopped again. We all got out and, with a nod to Colonel Hogan, he drove away.

"Guys, hate to say it, but they were heavyweights and did a real number on me. I'm going to need some help making it back to camp," said Kinch as he leaned against me.

Hogan stepped forward, in front of him and put his hand on Kinch's chest.

"James, I'm sorry, but it's the end of the line for you. We've sent a number of fliers back to England over the past couple of years, but now it's your turn. You're going home."

With one eye swollen shut, Kinch shook his head as he struggled to understand. He looked straight at Hogan in the darkness and asked, "What do you mean, Colonel?"

"Just what I said. We're getting you out."

James Kinchloe was shaking his head. "But, Colonel, I have to be here; I have a duty. I've wanted to go home, more than anything in the world, and I thought that was where my heart is, but being in that Gestapo cell, I realized I was wrong. My real place is here with you guys, my family by choice, not by blood. My job is to get the job done, so we can all go home, together."

Having several apparently broken ribs, he was having trouble speaking, but he struggled on. "Here with all of you is actually the most special place in the world to me, not the front porch back home in Detroit with my mom, at least not until we can all go home to our favorite places."

Hogan nodded at the sentiment but then shook his head in reply. "Sorry, my friend, but your duty is done here. You've done your part and you've done it exceedingly well. Now, though, it's just not safe for you to come back to Stalag 13; we'd never be able to explain your presence after you got out of the Gestapo pokey, unless, of course, they were to capture you again, and then we'd be back in the same lousy situation as before. You're heading out to England and then on to home. That's an order, James."

Kinch, finally thinking more clearly for the first time since his beatings, stopped with the head shakes and slowly saluted. "Yes, sir, Colonel." Looking to the rest of us, he added, "I love all you guys, but I understand. So...how am I supposed to get out without being caught again, though, Colonel?"

Hogan seemed to ignore the question as he grasped Kinch's hand. "I'll see you after the war, James." He looked at his watch. "Guys, if you want to say goodbye, do it quick. We need lights on the field in two minutes."

Kinch briefly spoke with Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter in turn. It was dark, but I think I saw tears in his eyes as he looked next at me.

"Rich, the box falls to you, along with everything I'm leaving behind. Oh, I hid a couple of tubes on top in the wash area before they caught me, so have Newkirk get them for you and you'll be back in business. I'll see you sooner rather than later, my friend. Take care and stay safe."

"You, too, buddy."

We all grabbed flashlights and Lebeau, using a compass, gave us directions on where to stand. It was less than two minutes later when we heard a low whine in the distance and Hogan said for us to light them up.

A small plane landed on our impromptu airfield. Hogan helped Kinch, breathing laboriously, inside and then latched the hatch. He gave two knocks on the side of the plane and the pilot nodded and started moving away. After turning the plane, he was off and we were on our way before he even made it into the air.

We got back to camp a little before sunup, going in the emergency tunnel and coming out in Barracks 2.

"But Colonel," I said, "I'm supposed to be in Barracks 12. They'll give me a hard time about that come roll call."

"Maybe, but I've reassigned you to Barracks 2, to Kinch's old bunk. Schultz may not remember, but LeBeau's getting him some chocolate memory enhancers. Now, get in there and get what sleep you can, while you can. Roll call comes sooner rather than later."

I gladly took him up on it and was sound asleep in seconds.

~HH~

It was two days later when we learned over the by-then repaired radio that the siege of Bastogne had been lifted and the tide of the Battle of the Bulge was starting to turn back in our favor. We had to celebrate in silence for a while lest Klink realize that we really did have a radio, but Hogan outfoxed the commandant again and got him to reveal part of it, allowing us to smile and hold our heads up high.

In early-to-mid January, I was listening when a different voice, a familiar voice, came on the broadcast on our frequency at our assigned time for mission assignments.

"This is Goldilocks Detroit calling Papa Bear. Goldilocks Detroit calling Papa Bear. Come in Papa Bear. I've recuperated to return to duty so it turns out Mom, sisters, Sara Beth, and the others will have to wait cause the bosses say I can help from here. Now, on to business..."

The End

Closing Note:

When Ivan Dixon, who played Staff Sergeant James "Kinch" Kinchloe, left "Hogan's Heroes" at the end of the show's fifth season, his departure and the arrival of Staff Sergeant Richard Baker, played by Kenneth Washington, was left unmentioned and unexplained. This story is my idea on how this might have occurred.

In 1943, the Allies had no fighter cover past the Rhine River due to fuel issues. The fighters from the German Luftwaffe waited until Allied fighters turned back at the river; they were inflicting so much damage on Allied formations that daytime raids deep into Germany were suspended in October 1943. When enough drop-tanked P-51 Mustangs (with enough fuel for the whole trip) became available, daylight raids deep into Germany resumed in February of '44.

All of the radios in common use during WWII used tubes since transistors weren't invented until 1947 and didn't become widely available until the mid 1950s.

"Michelle," played by Claudine Longet, appeared in the first season episode "It Takes a Thief...Sometimes." As a member of the German Underground, it might have been logical for her, like Tiger and Marya, to make a return appearance, but, for some reason, that never happened. Perhaps it was because Ms. Longet, with young children at home, was guest-starring on a number of TV series during the period as well as making frequent appearances on her husband Andy Williams' TV shows and specials.

The 4th Armored Division pushed into Bastogne from the south on December 27, 1944, relieving the entrapped elements of the 101st Airborne Division, allowing the Screaming Eagles to fight on. The Battle of the Bulge would continue for about three more weeks, but the Allies would continue to push the Germans back at an ever increasing pace. With the Allies advancing in the West and the Soviets continuing their advance in the east, the war in Europe would end less than four months after the Bulge was gone.

Finally, restrictions on service by minorities in the U.S. military began to be lifted in July 1948 when President Harry S Truman issued Executive Order 9981. It stated, in part, that:

"It is hereby declared to be the policy of the President that there shall be equality of treatment and opportunity for all persons in the armed services without regard to race, color, religion or national origin. This policy shall be put into effect as rapidly as possible, having due regard to the time required to effectuate changes without impairing efficiency or morale."

For more information on the history, see "Diversity, Inclusion, and Equal Opportunity in the Armed Services: Background and Issues for Congress," starting on page 12 of the document:

Fas dot org/sgp/crs/natsec/R44321 dot pdf