A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love.

Saint Petersburg (not Leningrad), 31 December 1991

Hogan darling,

I know I have not written to you for many days. It is not that I have forgotten you, my old friend; it is only that momentous changes have been taking place in my homeland (as I am sure you are aware), and it takes all my remaining energy just to contemplate them.

But your darling Lily has written to me to let me know that you have not been well, and that I should contact you before it is too late.

I, too, have not been well, although until a few weeks ago one would never have suspected that I am an old lady of ninety. Ha! That surprises you, no? I will confess—at last—that I am your senior by four years. Admit it, darling: you would never have guessed!

Even so, I am very sure that I shall not see my ninety-first birthday, so I am writing to you this one last time.

But what shall I write, to the man with whom I shared so many exciting adventures? I am thinking perhaps I should tell you all my secrets, now that the Soviet Union is no more. I have just told you one of my most closely hidden; now I shall tell you another.

Marya is not my real name.

That does not surprise you? Ah, well! I could never deceive you for long, darling, even though I know I was a puzzle to you. When we first met, I was known to be a White Russian émigré, an exile in Paris. You were suspicious of me from the beginning, fearing that I, like so many White Russians in exile, hated Stalin so much that I had joined forces with the Nazis.

It was a dangerous path that I walked, Hogan darling. To be Russian, and in close contact with officials of Nazi Germany...of course I had to play the part of a White Russian, an anti-Bolshevik. But my activities in spying on the Third Reich were those of the reddest of the Red, as you must have realized.

In truth, I was both.

But I must make it clear, darling, that I did not support Joseph Stalin nor condone his activities. And I, more than anyone, had good reason to hate the Bolsheviks. But I was also aware of the threat Hitler posed to the people of Russia: he had murdered millions and enslaved millions more. To rid my Russia—and the rest of the world—of Hitler, Stalin was a necessary, if temporary, evil.

At some point Stalin would have to go, that was certain. (And he did, eventually. It took me longer than I anticipated to charm my way into his inner circle, but once I did...well, you can imagine the rest. A little something was added to his wine one evening, and shortly afterward he appeared to have had a stroke. Within days he was dead. But I digress, darling; that was long after the war ended.)

First we had to rid the world of Hitler. So I did what I could, as you will see.

After I escaped Russia in 1918, I was taken in by a wealthy and titled family of émigrés in Paris. The twenties and thirties were a time of feverish pleasure-seeking for the circles in which my foster-family moved, and I was caught up as much as anyone. Being blessed with social connections, beauty, intelligence and charm, I attended many balls and state dinners, but do not imagine for a moment that pleasure-seeking was my only goal!

For I had discovered international intrigue: ah, the secrets that ambassadors thought they were keeping! I amused myself by learning as much as I could, but in time the knowledge I gained was no longer amusing; I could not forget my home, and the responsibility I felt toward my people. I was alarmed when Stalin took over from Lenin, and I wept when the people of Ukraine starved, and I could not help them.

That was bad enough. But when it became clear to me that Hitler had his greedy eyes on Russia, with the intent of exploiting her resources and enslaving her people, it was time to act.

I contrived a way to contact a member of the Soviet spy network operating within Germany, and by the time I met you, Hogan darling, I had been working with them for several years.

When you first approached me in Paris, I was amused. I could tell that you were a few years younger than me, but that had never stopped me in my pursuit of an attractive man. And I admit that I toyed with you at first, for I had cultivated a reputation for being enigmatic. Mysterious, even, and an expert in the occult. (This, even more than my celebrated charm, had enabled me to influence high-ranking officers of the Third Reich.)

But I soon realized that assisting you to rescue darling Marie-Louise would benefit my own aims. And so it began: I would help you, and at the same time, I would help the Soviet Union. Together we were battling the evil Hitler, no?

Ah, Hogan darling! So many times you did not trust me. And I fear the last time we met, nearly forty years ago, you were angry because I called you a capitalist pig. But, darling! That unpleasant McCarthy person would have ruined your career had he thought our association was anything but antagonistic!

Since then we have conversed only through letters. But always I have thought of you, and I have done my best to improve relations between our two countries. Behind the scenes, of course; a helpless woman such as myself knows nothing of the dark machinery of political power.

And when my little frog, my Nika, was about to make a tragic mistake, I was able to soothe his agitation enough so he did not launch those missiles from Cuba after all. (You can thank me later, darling.)

Then there was Leonid. Ah, Leo was a dull lump, and I could do nothing with him. But perhaps you remember glasnost, and perestroika? And, of course, détente? Believe me, Misha would never have dreamed up those ideas without a little nudge from me. Perhaps the fact that I had known his father well—very well—inspired him to listen to my advice.

And when the Berlin Wall came down, I rejoiced as much as anyone. It certainly took much hard work on my part to convince Misha, and at my age, too!

Alas, my Misha has had his troubles since then. And now that Bobo has taken over, where will it end? How will my Russia fare in this brave new world? But I am afraid Bobo and Russia will have to do without me now. I am tired, and I long to see Mama and Papa and my sisters and little brother again.

You may wonder, darling, why I went to all this trouble to ingratiate myself with persons I despised, on behalf of a people who do not know that I exist. Yes, I had more cause than anyone to hate the Bolsheviks, after they murdered my family and left me for dead.

But the Bolsheviks are gone now, and in any case they did not represent the Russian people...my people. I had a responsibility to my land and my people, and I have done my best for them. My father would have wished this, for despite his many mistakes he loved Russia, although many could not or would not realize it.

It is late, and I am so very tired, but I am happy, too. There will be difficult times ahead, but my people will survive as they have always done. And I hope and pray that the specter of totalitarianism will never return to my native land.

I think it is time to close now, and to you, Hogan darling, I reveal my last secret. Because of the dangers we once faced as we fought for a common cause, for you alone I sign my true name.

Fondly yours,

Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova