Sweet Dreams

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater.

Chapter One: Rude Awakening

Colonel Robert E. Hogan turned over in his bunk and tried to figure out what was wrong. Yes, he was still in Stalag 13 – no one would dream about this place unless it was a nightmare – and it was still the dead of winter, which meant the air trapped inside his private room was ice cold. He looked around his room, seeing nothing out of place – and, being the fastidious person he was, he would have noticed if anything had been moved. He didn't even remember going to sleep last night, and he realized, with some annoyance, that he hadn't changed out of his clothes before he did.

The only sound was that of snoring outside of his door.

But something was wrong. He knew it, felt it deep inside of him. Picking up his watch, he glanced at the time – and shot bolt upright in bed. It was ten o'clock in the morning! What in the world had happened to roll call, and how had he – and his men – come to oversleep so much?

He rose, still feeling the cobwebs of oversleep befuddle his brain. Pulling on his leather bomber jacket from chair where he had placed it the night before, he walked into the room where his men lay, sleeping the sleep of the dead.

The sleep of the dead – not funny, Rob, he told himself. What was the matter with him this morning?

"Guys," he croaked, feeling his throat was tight and parched. He coughed to clear it and tried again. "Hey, wake up!"

One by one, his men blinked awake, sitting up in their bunks, tousle-headed and bleary eyed. "Hey, Colonel, what's the matter?" Sergeant Andrew Carter asked. "I mean, was I ever asleep, boy – I mean, sir."

"I don't know, Andrew, but something's wrong. Maybe it's just my watch. What time do you have, Kinch?"

The sergeant, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, reached for his own watch. His eyes opened wide. "Ten oh-five, Colonel. What the hell?"

Corporal Peter Newkirk yawned and stretched, contorting his entire body as he did so. "Hey, the Krauts gave us a nice lie-in for once, guv'ner. I feel like I've been asleep for days!"

"Yeah, I'm still groggy, Colonel – and my throat's all scratchy," Kinch said.

"Blimey, Colonel, I don't even remember going to sleep last night – and I'm still dressed here!" Newkirk grumbled, stifling another yawn.

A snore made them all look over at the bunk where the small Frenchman, Louis LeBeau, still lay sleeping, a dried line of spittle decorating his cheek. Taking two steps, Hogan walked over and shook him. "Louis – Louis, wake up!" he urged.

But the Frenchman merely muttered in his sleep, turned over, and snored again.

"Something's wrong," Hogan said, moving away and picking up a coffee cup and smelling the contents. "Peter, get over there and wake Louis up. Kinch, do you feel a little…"

"…sick to my stomach? Sure do, Colonel. What do you think – tranquilizers?"

"Ya mean the Krauts slipped us a mickey, Colonel?" Carter asked, indignantly.

"Colonel, Louis won't wake up!" Newkirk cried out, in a slow kind of panic.

Hogan shook his head to try and clear it of the feeling of fog that was still troubling him, and stepped back to the bunk. "Hold him upright, Newkirk," he said. Newkirk half shoved the small man into a sitting position, cradling him in his arms to keep him from slipping back down. With a swift motion, Hogan slapped first one cheek and then the other. Le Beau's eyes flew open, but threatened to close again. Hogan slapped him one more time, and Le Beau pushed back against Newkirk's restraining hands, sputtering.

"Mon Dieu, whazzup wid… stop id…" he slurred.

"Sorry, Louis – but I think it's better if you wake up. Listen, all of you get to the other bunks, get everyone who's in bed out of bed. Everyone needs to be up and walking around. If you need to, take pails of cold water with you. Something's really wrong here – I don't know what the goons are up to, but if they put the whole camp under, it can't be anything good. I'm not even sure what day this is. I'm going to Klink's office to find out what's going on. Louis – you awake now?"

"Umm – uh – oui, I am. I'll start some coffee going. Mon Dieu, what a sleep I had!"

"What a sleep we all had… but why and for how long is the real question!" Hogan slung his crush cap onto his head, and opened the door wide. The cold January air stung his cheeks, but he welcomed the stimulant of the cold, for he still felt slightly sick and light-headed. Determinedly, he walked across the deserted compound to Klink's office.