I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story.

Written for the Short Story Speedwriting Challenge. The first sentence comes from "Tuttle's A Series Of Highly Unfortunate Events", by Tuttle4077.

There were quite a few things in life that he knew not to do.

The ones he'd known from childhood were easy. His mother had given him a few simple rules: don't run with scissors, don't wear odd socks to church, don't keep open jars of live caterpillars in the pantry. From his bookish, eccentric stepfather he'd learned not to get between a lioness and her cubs, or cross a flooded river by a fallen log without making sure it wasn't really a crocodile; and personal experience had taught him how unwise it was to throw sticks at a hornet's nest. The basics - don't tell lies, don't steal, don't be unkind - seemed to take root somewhere in between.

He wasn't a child any more, and the rules had long ago stopped being simple.

Don't question your superiors. Don't neglect your duty. Don't fail to carry out your orders. And never, ever allow yourself to feel any pity.

The last of them had been repeating over and over in Walter's mind all day, like the refrain of some sinister chorale. The previous evening, he had been almost at the end of his shift at the reception desk at Gestapo HQ when a senior investigator from the Berlin office arrived, seeking the use of a spare office where he could question the frightened, feeble-looking little civilian he had brought with him. Fifteen hours later, Walter had been back on duty when Oberführer Miegel finally emerged from the interrogation room, looking as neat and trim as though he'd just had a meeting with the general staff instead of spending the night beating a confession out of a suspect. Now he was asking – no, demanding - to speak to the officer in charge of the Hammelburg area, while his men dragged their shattered, half-dead wreck of a prisoner down to the cells.

Barging in on his superior officer ranked high Walter's don't-do list; but he didn't think the Oberführer would accept a refusal. Nevertheless, he tried his best: "Major Hochstetter has given orders that he is not to be disturbed."

For what must have been no more than a few seconds, although it felt like a lifetime, Miegel regarded him in silence, before finally uttering one simple question: "What is your name?"

"Geisler, Herr Oberführer."

"I will be sure to remember that. Now, take me to Major Hochstetter's office."

Indirect as the threat was, Walter had no difficulty understanding it, and his stomach tightened into a cold knot of dread. He could not afford to make an enemy of a man like Miegel. Drawing himself up in an attempt to look like the soldier he was supposed to be, he snapped out a response: "Jawohl, Herr Oberführer."

He led the way to the second floor in silence, already picturing the greeting which awaited him. Major Hochstetter's rages were nothing new; hardly a day passed without an explosion of wrath echoing through the corridors. But it was never a pleasant experience for the target. Walter had plenty of experience in that role, and he had no doubt of who would get the blame for Miegel's intrusion.

Finally he stopped at the door of the room which stronger men than he feared to enter. "This is Major Hochstetter's office, Herr Oberführer," he said.

He waited for a few seconds, hoping Miegel would announce himself, and so spare Walter from coming under Hochstetter's notice. But the officer just glanced at the door, then back at Walter. There was no getting out of it. Walter braced himself, knocked on the door and without waiting for a response, flung it open.

Major Hochstetter, standing by the desk with the telephone receiver at his ear, looked up. "Geisler! What do you think you are doing? I gave strict instructions..." He broke off abruptly as he saw the heavily-built figure of the Berlin Oberführer looming in the doorway.

It seemed redundant, but Walter still barked out the required introduction: "Oberführer Miegel is here, Herr Major."

"So I see." Hochstetter's gaze rested briefly on his visitor, and after a moment's reflection, he made an abrupt end to his telephone conversation: "I will call you back."

"I regret the interruption, Major," said Miegel. "If your call was important..."

"It can wait. I trust your interrogation produced results?"

"It took some time, but he finally confessed to his involvement with a local resistance cell. He is not an important member of the gang, merely an accomplice, so his knowledge is limited, but he told us everything he could. Several times over, in fact."

"Were you able to identify any of the ringleaders?"

"You mean, did he mention the infamous Papa Bear?" A touch of malicious amusement showed on Miegel's face. "Don't look so surprised, Hochstetter. Everyone in Berlin HQ knows of your obsession with this man. Unfortunately, our friend only had contact with one member of the main group, and he does not know the man's name. It could be Papa Bear, or one of his associates, or it could be someone else entirely. We won't know until we arrest him."

As he saw Hochstetter's eyes narrowing, Walter had a sudden urge to remove himself from the line of fire, if only he could have done so without drawing attention to himself. It was not often the major had the experience of being laughed at, and the tightening of his jaw, and the rising colour in his face showed how little he cared for it. But he managed, by sheer force of will, to respond with relative calm: "You seem very confident, Herr Oberführer. But since your informant gave you no details of who his contact is, it seems an early arrest is unlikely."

"It's true, he did not identify his contact," said Miegel. "But he revealed something much more useful – an address in Hammelburg, an abandoned factory which is used by the group as a safe house and meeting place. We have the building under surveillance. Furthermore, the top man in the organisation will be there tonight. We will be there too. I will require a squad of your men to ensure that we have the gang outnumbered, and your local knowledge will be useful. If it is indeed Papa Bear, I imagine you would like to be in at the kill, even though it will be credited to me."

It took all of Walter's self-control not to flinch. But the anticipated explosion never happened. After a few seconds of nerve-snapping tension, Hochstetter straightened up, and met Miegel's sardonic gaze with grim equanimity. "You may count on my assistance in any way, Herr Oberführer."

"Very good. Now, as it has been a long night, I will return to the hotel for a few hours' rest. We will meet again this afternoon to plan our strategy. Heil Hitler!" With a brief salute, and not waiting for a response, Miegel strode out of the office.

Hochstetter glared after him, then his eyes shifted to Walter. "Geisler, why are you still here?" he snapped.

"Bitte, Herr Major," replied Walter, speaking loudly to cover his trepidation, "you did not dismiss me."

"Bah! Get back to your post." A furious swipe of the major's hand added force to the snarled order.

Walter needed no further encouragement. In fact, had he not been a tough, highly-disciplined soldier of the SS, he might just have admitted to himself that he fled like a frightened rabbit.

As he went back to his place at the reception desk, he tried to find solace in knowing he would not have to take part in the forthcoming raid. He had never been much use in active operations, and since that sorry affair in the flower shop he had been restricted to office duties. One more serious blunder on his part would probably land him on the next train to the Eastern Front; and that would put an end to any hope of achieving the purpose for which he'd joined the Gestapo in the first place.

Don't tell anyone your stepfather was Jewish. Don't admit that, when the Nazis first came to power, he was the one who insisted that, for her own safety, his wife had to divorce him and break off all contact . And above all, never let them know that the only reason you are here is to find out what happened to him.

A ridiculous plan, of course; as if it could have been that simple. Even if he'd been posted to the records office instead of ending up in Hammelburg, and even if an ordinary soldier like him could have got access to the relevant records, the likelihood of actually finding the one file he wanted amongst the thousands upon thousands was almost non-existent. His silly, boyish idea had carried him through the nightmare of training, and sustained him in his first months of service. But he wasn't a boy now. He understood exactly what kind of organisation he'd become part of, and how foolish he had been to think it would do any good. Now there was no way out of it.

It was late afternoon before Miegel returned. He went straight past the reception desk, heading towards the stairs; but abruptly he stopped, and turned to scrutinise Walter with a critical eye. "You're the same man who was at this desk yesterday. Geisler, isn't it?"

"Jawohl, Herr Oberführer," replied Walter, standing very straight and tall.

"Is this your regular post? Welcoming visitors and answering calls? It seems a waste of manpower. There are plenty of women in the Helferinnenkorps who are perfectly capable of handling such duties."

Walter could feel himself flushing. "I carry out whatever orders I am given, Herr Oberführer."

"As you should. But that doesn't answer my question. All men in this service are expected to take part in field work. You will join us on our operation tonight."

Walter's shoulders slumped as he watched Miegel walking away. He didn't have a rule to help him in this situation, but he knew one thing for sure. Somehow, Hochstetter would find a way to blame him for this, too.

Midnight had long passed, and still there was no sign of activity at the old factory.

It lay in a quiet, half-deserted industrial area at to the edge of town, and had been out of use for so long that even long-term residents of Hammelburg had trouble remembering what had been manufactured under its roof. Now it stood empty, neglected, and to all appearances, fast becoming derelict. But as Miegel had pointed out, appearances could be deceptive. The building was structurally sound, and someone had recently replaced the boarding on the windows, so that any activity within was effectively hidden from sight. Furthermore, its location, close to town but isolated, made it an excellent hideout, or so Miegel said.

But as the hours wore on without any movement within or without, his air of triumphant expectation had started fraying around the edges. Hochstetter, sensing his superior's discomfiture, had helped the process along with his frequent requests, in the blandest and most complacent tone, for Walter to tell him the time. It made for an uncomfortable atmosphere in the staff car, parked a little distance from the factory, within view of the gate but shielded from sight by the low-hanging branches of a tree.

"Perhaps the leader of the gang has overslept," said Hochstetter, some time after one o'clock.

Miegel glared at him in the darkness. "Nonsense. He has obviously been delayed. We will wait no longer. Geisler, signal to the men to begin the attack."

As he had been instructed, Walter flicked the headlights on and off three times, and from all around Hochstetter's men emerged from their hiding places and raced to the factory gate. Within moments they had burst through into the courtyard and were storming towards the building.

Miegel and Hochstetter leapt from the car; but as he tried to follow, Walter stumbled and fell flat on his face in the middle of the road.

"Geisler, this is no time for playing games," snarled Hochstetter. "On your feet! Schnell!"

Walter scrambled up, clutching his semi-automatic rifle in one hand and trying to settle his helmet with the other. Miegel was already through the gate, and from beyond the shouts of the men indicated they had gained entry to the building. By the time Walter caught up, it was all over. Obviously they had encountered no resistance; but only because there was nobody here to resist.

The huge factory hall lay in darkness, apart from the flashlight beams of the SS men. Any machinery it had once held was long gone, leaving only dark footprints on the concrete floor. There was nowhere here for anyone to hide.

"So, Herr Oberführer," said Hochstetter pleasantly, "where are your resistance members?"

Miegel sent him another death stare. "Search the building!" he snapped, and the men scattered.

Presently a shout came from the end of the hall. Walter, responding with the others, got there just behind the two officers.

"In here," said the man who had called out, as he held open the door of a small side room to let Miegel and Hochstetter in. Without thinking Walter squeezed in past them, while the other men crowded in the doorway until Miegel waved them away.

"What are you doing?" he growled. "Continue the search."

Walter would have done so, but by now Hochstetter was between him and the door; so he just kept quiet and hoped for the best.

Unlike the rest of the factory, this room was not only furnished, but well-kept, and in spite of its limited space it was perfectly organised. A desk in one corner held a typewriter and an array of what looked like official stamps, while on the wall above was fastened a set of pigeonholes neatly stacked with printed documents. Opposite was a long rack hung with a variety of garments, and pairs of shoes in a range of sizes were lined up underneath.

Miegel took up one of the stamps, and then examined the contents of the shelves above. "Identity cards," he said. "Ration books."

The man who had found this room pointed towards a curtained-off inner area. "They have a dark room, Herr Oberführer, and there is a camera over there."

"Everything they need to create fake papers." Miegel glanced at Hochstetter. "Right under your nose, Major. Your friend Papa Bear is quite an entrepreneur."

"This is not Papa Bear's work," replied Hochstetter in a low rasp. He strode forward and plucked a dress from among the clothes hanging against the wall. "After long investigation I have determined the scope of his activities. They include sabotage, spying and helping Allied airmen to leave the Third Reich. His operation is essentially military in nature. In all the time he has been operating in Hammelburg, he has never been involved in providing an escape route for civilians. So why should he need a supply of children's clothing?"

Walter caught his breath, as he realised what the little woollen frock signified; and after a few moments Miegel gave a soft laugh. "Ah. I see," he said. "It seems we have stumbled across a different kind of Underground entirely. Yet another of the small, persistent networks engaged in this kind of work. Well, we will soon root them out. Come, Hochstetter, let us see what else we can find here."

But although the search went on for an hour, it turned up nothing else.

"No doubt there will have to be further investigation," said Miegel as he and Hochstetter stepped out of the factory hall and into the open air of the courtyard. "I imagine a specialist team from Berlin will be appointed once I have made my report. In the meantime, I must go back to your office and contact my superiors at once with the information we have."

"Geisler, go and fetch the car," snapped Hochstetter, and Walter went on the word. He was keeping up a stolid front, but it wasn't easy. The realisation of what these Underground people were doing had hit him in the pit of his stomach. All this time he'd been thinking only of his stepfather, ignoring the dreadful fate which threatened so many innocent people; while in this big, empty factory, ordinary citizens were risking their lives to help as many as they could. He was ashamed, but somehow, deep in his heart, a little spark of hope had kindled. Even if only a handful of Germans were working to save those who couldn't save themselves, that was something.

As he reached the car and opened the door, he caught a movement at the edge of his field of vision. He turned to look, and froze. From a narrow alley which led off a few yards away, between the car and the factory, some people had just appeared: two women and a boy. Even in the dim light he could see how shabbily they were dressed, but apparently they hadn't noticed him, because they kept walking, with weary, plodding steps, directly towards the factory. They couldn't know they were heading straight into the arms of the Gestapo.

For a few seconds, Walter couldn't move. But an overwhelming impulse took him. He would not let this happen. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had broken into a run, intercepted the group and seized one of the women by the arm.

She stared at him, her eyes widening in pure terror; and her older friend uttered a muffled cry of alarm, and gestured to the boy to run, before she flung herself at Walter, pounding his arm with clenched hands. He tried to fend her off, and glanced over his shoulder towards the gate. If anyone heard them…

"Hush! I'm a friend," he hissed. "I'm trying to help you."

He had to repeat it three times before they finally stopped fighting him, and even then he wasn't sure they believed it. The younger woman's breathing was coming in little sobs, and with her free hand she clutched at her companion, who glared at him with fierce, suspicious belligerence. They had every reason, of course; he knew that. But at least now they were listening.

He pointed towards the factory gate. "Gestapo," he whispered. "You have to get away from here."

The older woman nodded her understanding, but there was despair in the look she sent towards the place which had been meant as a refuge and was now a trap.

"Is there somewhere you can go?" asked Walter.

There was a fractional hesitation before she answered. "Yes."

"Go quickly, before anyone sees you." Walter released his grip, and waved them away. For a few seconds, the older one regarded him warily, and the younger with wide, bewildered eyes. Then, apparently realising he meant it, they went. The boy, who had only fled as far as the corner of the alley, stood poised for further flight. But it was clear how unwilling he was to abandon his family, and Walter's heart went out to the poor kid.

"Wait," he called, and ran after them, scrabbling in his pocket. He still had almost all of his last pay, and he pressed the entire wad into the older woman's hand. "Please, take this. Maybe…maybe it will help."

Little as the gesture was, it was all he could do. She gazed at him as if wondering what kind of madness had seized him; but she took the money. "Thank you. Thank you," she mumbled, and hurried away.

Slowly, Walter went back to the car. His legs felt shaky, and he leaned against the door for a moment, trying to figure out what he had just done, and how many of his rules he had just smashed to pieces. But he wasn't sorry, he couldn't be sorry. And tomorrow…

"Geisler!"

The bellow of rage almost scared his heart right out of his chest. He spun round to find Major Hochstetter standing behind him, almost glowing with furious impatience,

"You were ordered to bring the car to the gate," the major barked. "Is that so very difficult?"

"S-sorry, Herr Major," stammered Walter. "I – I – I was just checking that everything was in order." He finished on a hiccough, as the last scrap of his self-possession met the glower in Hochstetter's eye, and evaporated.

"Your attention to detail is admirable. I am sure it will be very useful if you ever find yourself in a combat unit. Which is looking more likely with every passing day. Bring the car, at once." He turned and stalked back towards the gate.

Walter scrambled into the driver's seat, and with shaking fingers managed to get the key into the ignition. He had no doubt Hochstetter was going to give him a hard time for the next few weeks, or even longer; and he was going to have to stretch every nerve to deal with it. But he'd get through it, even if he had to break every one of his old rules to pull it off. He would tell lies, he would steal, he'd willingly stir up every hornets' nest he came across. He would even run with scissors.

He had a new rule now. He wasn't sure how he was going to set about it, or where it would lead him. Unlike all his previous rules, it wouldn't keep him out of trouble. It might even get him killed. But it was the most important resolve he had ever made, and he would do whatever he had to in pursuit of it.

If someone needs your help, no matter what it costs, give them all the help you can.

Notes:

"Helferinnenkorps" was the women's auxiliary of the SS.

Readers of my previous stories may recognise Walter Geisler, who has appeared before (notably in "Dangerous Keepsakes"). I decided it was well past time to explain what such a nice young man is doing in the SS.

This story also relates to my previous outing "The Middle Man", which may help to clarify who the "top man" in the resistance actually is.