The following story is a Christmas present to their favorite librarian, Catherine aka "Peanut Butter" and was written by RowdyClara with the collaboration of her younger sister, RedSkyTonighht. We kept some of the original words of Scrooge and the spirits.

A Hogan's Heroes Christmas Carol

Written by Dewey, Cheatum & "Boy" Howie Duitt

Dear Reader,

This story is our adaptation of "A Christmas Carol" by Mr. Charles Dickens. We have created for your enjoyment another version of that timeless classic. A Hogan's Heroes Christmas Carol. If you have ever seen the popular television series of the 60's, "Hogan's Heroes", then you should remember most of our beloved characters. If you haven't, then go watch it. Guaranteed not to disappoint! (Okay, enough with the sales pitch.)

As we open the story, we find the senior POW officer, Colonel Hogan, standing before Colonel Klink's desk. The date is Christmas Eve, 1944. The sky is dark and a fair amount of snow is falling outside. The guard dogs are out in their kennels having Christmas dinner. Sgt. Schultz is watching the dogs having their Christmas dinner. The other stalag guards are amusing themselves by writing "Klink is bucking for rat-fink" in the snow. The temperature is 32 degrees outside. The-

Colonel Hogan: Hey, can we get on with the story now?!

A-hem! So without further ado and with our apologies to Mr. Dickens we shall begin…Lights, music, curtain!

CHAPTER 1

"But, Kommandant! We-as prisoners of war-have the right to celebrate our national holidays and Christmas happens to be one of them," Colonel Robert E. Hogan demanded. He was standing in Kommandant Klink's office. The drab green walls seemed to match the commandant's mood this evening.

Wilhelm Klink sat at his desk busily scribbling away at some forms set before him on his desk. He looked up momentarily and waved his hand. "Col. Hogan, may I remind you that we at Stalag 13 are very busy and do not have time for such foolishness."

Col. Hogan decided to try another tactic, playing on the good Kommandant's ego. "But, sir, the men have been planning this for months; they had a show all planned and everything. They even wanted me to ask you to play your violin for the opening ceremony."

Klink slammed down his pencil, breaking it in the process, and glared at Hogan through squinted eyes. "The answer is no, Colonel Hogan! And that is final. Stupid pencil…"

"Aw, Kommandant, don't be too hard on the pencil. You shouldn't push it so hard." Klink slowly looked, again squinting his eyes.

"Col. Hogan, are you implying the I am a pencil pusher?"

Col. Hogan shrugged, leaving the unanswered question hanging.

The Kommandant pouted, and grabbed another pencil.

"Sooo…no?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"No!"

"No?"

"Yes!-No-Aaaauugh! Colonel Hogan, what are you doing to me?!"

"Why nothing, sir. You just seem to have a hard time making up your mind."

"Your men will NOT have their Christmas 'party'. I'm expecting an important visitor tomorrow and I would appreciate very much for everyone to be in their barracks in the morning," he took off his monocle and shook his finger at Hogan. "I'm onto your little game, Hogan. I know what you're planning."

"Planning, sir?" Hogan asked innocently.

"Yes! You're planning an escape; not a Christmas party! As soon as your festivities are over, there'll be one or more prisoners missing!"

Hogan put on a look of hurt and removed his hat, placing it over his heart. "Kommandant, you cut me!"

"I'd like to," Klink muttered.

"We wouldn't think of ruining your fine record!" Hogan countered.

"The answer is a firm NO! N-O, no."

"But, Kommandant-" Hogan was interrupted by a large, and rather heavy, sergeant coming into the office.

"Yes, Schultz, what is it?" Klink asked in an exasperated tone, then he turned back to Hogan. "Hogan, you're dismissed."

"But, Kommandant-"

"Dis-missed!"

Hogan turned to go. Schultz leaned toward and whispered, "Bad mood?"

"No, he's friendlier today," Hogan answered wryly.

A few minutes later in Barracks 4, there was a heated argument taking place as Hogan walked in from the chilly night air. Snow swirled about him as he shut the door behind him. The men stopped arguing when they saw Hogan enter. They crowded around him, all of them talking at once.

"Wait a minute! Hold it down, fellas!" Hogan yelled to be heard over the din.

"Well, what'd he say, guv?" Cpl. Peter Newkirk asked, his cockney accent brimming with impatience.

Hogan sat down at the table and sighed. "He said no." The answer was met by choruses of complaints and protests of the injustice they had been served.

"What a bum rap!" Carter griped.

"The dirty Boche," muttered the Frenchman LeBeau.

"Yeah, can he do that, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Hogan shrugged. "He's the kommandant." He got up from his seat abruptly and threw his hat down on the table. "Of all the dirty, rotten breaks!"

"Take it easy, Colonel. We can make do with what we 'ave right 'ere." Newkirk tried to reassure them.

Hogan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, fellas. I know how much you were looking forward to a party." Hogan quietly left to his room in the barracks, shutting the door behind him.

The men all sat down at the table, each lost his in his own thoughts. It was Carter who finally broke the silence. "Isn't this a big howdy do. Well I'm not gonna let Klink spoil my Christmas." He got up and stalked over to his foot locker.

"What are you doin' there, Carter?" Kinch asked.

"I'm lookin' for…Ah! Here they are." He shut his locker and came back to the table carrying a small box.

"What is that junk?" LeBeau questioned.

Carter didn't seem to notice LeBeau's sarcasm. "It's paper and stuff I've been savin'. You know, those posters and notices and stuff the krauts post on the bulletin board. I've been keepin' the colored ones that they take down."

"Well, what are they for, mate?" Newkirk asked, confused.

"We can make paper chains! You know, sorta spruce the place up a bit." Carter dug deeper into the box and brought out several wrinkled posters. "Look, see? Here's some red and green."

"Hey, Louis?" Kinch called to LeBeau who was now reading some of the posters.

"Oui?"

"How bout you makin' up a Christmas dinner? We've got enough stuff stashed away to cook up something, don't we?"

LeBeau's face brightened at the thought of cooking something special. He nodded, "Oui, I will get started right away." He paused. "What do you think of escargot as an appetizer?"

Klink pulled open the drawer to his desk and shoved several sheets of paper inside. He sighed and got up from his chair. He hoped General Burkhalter would be pleased at how well-kept his office was when he arrived tomorrow.

He left the office building of Stalag 13 and met Schultz on the way out. "Herr Kommandant!"

"What is it, Schultz? I'm tired and I'm in a hurry, so spit it out."

"Herr Kommandant, I was wondering, could I have the night off from guard duty? Just for tonight? I would like to spend Christmas with my nephew, Wolfie. He has been sick."

"Whaaaat!"

"Herr Kommandant, I just thought, it being Christmas Eve and all, that-"

"You thought wrong! We are running a Stalag here not a summer camp!"

"But Herr Komman-"

"Diiiis-Miiiiised!" He saluted Sgt. Schultz, and stomped off to his quarters. Schultz still stood in the same position, with his finger up.

"-dant." He finished.

The thickening layer of snow beneath Klink's boots crunched as he walked to his quarters. He held his riding crop tucked under his right arm as he pulled his coat closer around him. Prisoners having parties…Bah!, he thought irritably. When he reached the door of his quarters he found that the door was locked. I don't remember locking my door… He fumbled in his coat pocket for the key. Digging it out, he reached forward to stick into the keyhole. He gasped and jumped back at the sight of the doorknob. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Did I just see that?

He chuckled nervously to himself. "Eh he he…No, no. It's impossible. Hogan's getting to me so bad, I thought I saw his face on the doorknob…blowing a raspberry at me." Shaking his head, he sucked in a breath and opened the door. "I need a vacation," he muttered to himself.

Klink entered his residence and shut the door behind him. After making his way to his bedroom and having slipped into his nightclothes and smoking jacket, he came back to the living room and sat down on the cushioned armchair. He sighed in comfort as he propped up his feet on the coffee table. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and proceeded to look for his lighter.

A hand around from behind him and offered a lit match. "Light?"

"Oh why, thank you," Klink answered as his cigar lit. Suddenly his eyes widened as the realization hit him that he was not alone. He froze as a new sound came to his ears. Clank, clank, clank. Chains! Klink gulped.

"It's been a long time, Kommandant." A hollow, icy voice said.

"Who is it? Who's there?" Klink demanded in a shaken voice.

Right before Klink's very eyes, a ghostly, nearly-transparent apparition came to stand before him. The ghost's face was thin and his cheeks hollow. His accent belonged to that of English descent. The ghost wore an airman's uniform; his white silk scarf tattered and flying about as if there were a small wind picking it up. Klink recognized the uniform as an British lieutenant's of the last World War. In his thin hands, the ghost held a chain from which he produced the rattling sound.

"Who are you?" Klink asked again. This must be a bad dream. It has to be!

"Ask me who I was."

"Who were you then?"

"Don't you remember me?" The ghost asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

Klink shook his head.

"In life, I was your prisoner, sir."

A look of confusion came to Klink's face. "My prisoner? I don't recall you."

"Allow me to refresh your memory-" the ghost paused and looked at the seat across from Klink's. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Can you - can you sit down?" Klink asked, dubiously. He didn't know whether ghosts - or whatever this stranger was - had the ability to sit down.

"Quite."

"Then do it."

The ghost took the seat and another small smile came to him. "You don't believe in me."

"I'm not sure…I mean, of course not! After all, I did eat sauerkraut and pancakes for breakfast. You could be the consequence of an upset stomach."

For a moment, the ghost looked rather offended. "Hmmm…let us see how well your memory is, shall we, Kommandant? It was the year 1916. I was one of your prisoners."

"But I wasn't here-"

"Silence!" The ghost boomed. "I am not finished. Perhaps you remember my name. I am Lieutenant Thomas Reed." No recognition showed on Klink's countenance. "You don't remember?" Nothing. "Nevertheless, the fact remains that you were, and most probably still are, a very cruel and wicked kommandant Therefore, you are being offered a second chance to correct your evil ways before it is too late. Do you understand?"

Klink shook his head.

The ghost let out an exasperated sigh. "You're dumber than I recall," he muttered. Reed's ghost rose and floated away from the chair, making his way toward the window. "Come here to the window."

Reluctantly, Klink went to the window and stood beside the ghost.

"Look outside," the ghost commanded.

What Klink saw outside his window almost made him faint dead away. He steadied himself by gripping the windowsill. Outside - moaning about in the stalag - were more spirits. The ghosts of German officers moaning piteously and being made to march on by the ghosts of Allied soldiers. Klink noted that most of them wore old, tattered uniforms from World War I.

"What happened to them?" Klink asked in a small, frightened voice, inquiring about the German soldiers.

"Those men you see there were men just like yourself. Most of them Kommandants such as yourself. You'll most likely end up just like them. The Allied soldiers were their prisoners."

"Why do you carry a chain then?"

The ghost shrugged. "Special effects. I get better results."

Klink bit his nails and quickly turned away from the window to face Reed's ghost. "But I'm a good Kommandant!"

"Of course. Of course you are. But what do the prisoners think of you, hm?" He didn't wait for an answer as he continued. "As I said, I'm here to let you know that you are being given a second chance."

"Oh thank you! What shall I do?" Klink asked, eager not to be in the same position as his predecessors.

"Tonight, you will be visited" - for no apparent reason there was a thunderclap and a flash of lightning - "by three Spirits."

Klink's face fell. "Is that the only way?"

"It is, sir."

"I - I think I'd just as soon not."

"Without their visits, you will be doomed. You will expect the first tomorrow when the clock strikes one."

"Couldn't I take them all at once and have it all over and done with?" Klink pleaded.

The ghost of Lt. Thomas Reed ignored Klink's plea. "The second will come the next night at the same hour, and the third the next night when the last-" The ghost stopped in mid-sentence and pulled a paper out of his pocket. Klink had trouble reading the title in the dim light, but before the ghost put it away he made out the name "Charles Dickens". After reading it briefly and then looking as if he were trying to memorize something, the ghost spoke once more, "-when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. "

And with that, the ghost backed away and left by the window. "Goodbye, Kommandant Mueller! Your goose bumps can relax now. I wish you luck."

Kommandant Mueller? My goodness, he's mistaken me for the previous kommandant of Stalag 13!, Klink thought with horror.

Curiosity overtaking his fear, Klink hurried to look out the window. Klink watched as the ghost of Thomas Reed fell in place with his fellow soldiers; and as Klink was watching them, the ghosts began marching until it seemed as thought they simply vanished - faded, rather - into the night. Quite suddenly, all was quiet. Shivers crawled up Klink's spine as he quickly shut the window and locked it. "Stuff and nonsense!" He said to himself. Before heading to his room, though, he barred the front door.

In his bedroom, Kommandant Klink stood in front of a small mounted mirror, perfecting the position of his nightcap on his bald head, humming and trying to settle his nerves. After making a couple of faces in the mirror, and playing with the pom-pom on the end of his nightcap, he laid his monocle on the night stand, and went to bed. Klink finally drifted into a restless sleep.