No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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"Colonel Hogan, I must insist that you exercise better control over your men. Their behavior this morning was disgraceful."

Colonel Robert Hogan, US Army Air Corps, stood before the Kommandant of the prisoner of war camp in Germany where he was senior officer, and shrugged. "I'm sorry, Colonel Klink, but you just looked so dapper standing there in your dress coat! Was that real fur, sir?"

"Yes, it was real fur," Klink began smugly. "I got it for an absolutely marvelous price when I— Hogannn," Klink cut himself off, realizing he had been caught in his own self-interest and had allowed himself to be dragged off the subject, "catcalls are not required from the prisoners on any occasion." Wilhelm Klink shook his head. "And I don't want to know where Corporal Newkirk learned to make that sound."

Hogan grinned, then tried to look serious. "I understand, Kommandant. I'll have a talk with them after morning calisthenics. By the way, the men want to know if you can get some new footballs from the Red Cross."

"The prisoners already have footballs, Colonel."

"Yeah, but the ol' pigskin is looking more like pig than skin, sir. And we wanted to hold an Army-Navy game in two weeks. Although with us," he added, chuckling, "it'll be more like an Air Corps-Air Corps game."

Klink shook his head. "You Americans and your foolish games. When will you realize that this gridiron will never catch on?"

"Well, we need to find something to occupy ourselves. And what better way to get out our aggressions than to tackle someone? I tell the men to pretend they're facing the Germans; that usually helps toughen up the games up bit. Of course," Hogan added, starting to laugh gently, "whoever's playing the Nazis always loses—" He stopped as he noticed Klink starting to cook under his collar. "Sorry, sir. Poor taste. Do you play sports, Kommandant? I know you always carry your riding crop—did you do competition riding?"

"No, I was a stable boy," Klink answered through gritted teeth, looking away. Then, recovering, he said, "I'll have you know, Hogan, that my main interest when I was younger was cars. German manufacturers came up with some of the most brilliant cars of their day. I ran an Opel Doktorwagen," Klink said, starting to warm to his subject full of memories. "Oh, it was expensive, but I had saved my money and I was determined. Two seats, retractable bonnet, one of the finest automobiles of its time, Hogan."

Hogan nodded vaguely. "Uh huh," he said, only half-hearing the Kommandant. His eye was attracted to a small piece of pottery on Klink's desk. "What's this?" he said, picking it up and fingering it with interest.

Klink stood up and snatched the chipped piece of work away from the American. "That is a piece of German history, Hogan." Hogan raised his eyebrows. "It is a vase made during the Iron Age and was found right here in this country."

"So how did you get it?"

"I have a friend in the antique business," Klink crowed, stroking the piece proudly. "He gave it to me as a gesture of friendship."

Hogan frowned. "That isn't an antique; it's an artifact!" Hogan protested. "It should be in a museum."

Klink waved his hand dismissively. "No, Hogan, it is mine. Look at the fine work, the attention to detail! And the beautiful terra sigalatta slip," he said authoritatively.

Hogan shook his head. "What does that mean?" he asked.

Klink abruptly deflated. "I have no idea," he answered. "Now get out, Hogan; I have things to do. Just make sure your men confine themselves to more dignified ways of showing me their admiration!"

Hogan nodded and headed for the door. "Right, sir. I'll make sure they keep it down to a dull roar and an occasional whistle." He offered Klink an off-handed salute and disappeared.

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Hogan was handed a clipboard as he entered Barracks Two, where he shared his living space with fourteen other men. "Message from the Underground, Colonel."

Hogan sighed as he accepted the offering from Sergeant James Kinchloe. Kinch was Hogan's "radio man," the one who always picked up information from Allied High Command back in London, or details from the local Resistance. As head of a sabotage and intelligence unit working from right within the Stalag 13 prison camp, Hogan counted on a small group of men to help him keep the Nazis on their toes. He knew the familiar words Kinch uttered now meant he was doing his job well. And that they were about to get busy.

Hogan read the note to himself, then turned to the others. "Two escaped prisoners from Stalag 7 are coming into camp tomorrow night in the dog truck."

"Gee, Colonel, we're supposed to be going out to collect anyone who bails out from tonight's bombing raid." Sergeant Andrew Carter, probably the most amenable person Hogan had ever met, spoke up in mild protest. "It's going to get really crowded in the tunnel."

"Not to mention the poor chap who's already down there now, waiting for his chance to get out," piped up RAF Corporal Peter Newkirk.

"Well, if they can take it, we can," Hogan answered. "We'll just have to make sure we keep the Krauts out of the picture for as long as possible." He turned to the little Frenchman who had been listening with interest. "Think Chez Louis can handle the extra load, Le Beau?"

Le Beau nodded agreeably. "Oui, Colonel. It won't be a problem. I just had Schultz go to the green grocer's for me yesterday. We have a lot of fresh food at the moment. But if he starts to wonder why I am out so soon, I will count on all of you to act like you are very, very full!"

Hogan grinned. "I'm sure we can manage, Louis. You can make a gourmet feast out of an omelet and a can of Spam."

Le Beau shuddered. "Do not say that word to me—Spam is not food. It is an insult to the palette."

Hogan's eyes took on a new light. He loved Le Beau's passion for food; it often matched his passion for women! "And it keeps thousands of men alive across Germany."

"They might exist, but if they are eating only Spam they are not truly alive."

Hogan nodded, accepting his defeat gracefully. "Okay," he said, turning back to the work at hand. "We'll have to keep careful track of the Krauts. We're going to have a full house here and we can't afford any slipups."

"Kraut car, Colonel," Carter suddenly said from the door.

Hogan straightened as a frown passed over his face. "Are we expecting anyone?" he asked, coming beside Carter to peer outside.

Kinch shook his head. "No one on the itinerary that we know of, Colonel."

Carter squinted to see clear across the compound as the car came to a halt. "It's Burkhalter."

"Has the problem with the bug in Klink's office been taken care of?" Hogan asked. A visit to the camp by General Albert Burkhalter was bound to have ramifications for Hogan and his men, usually because of some impact it would have on Klink.

"Sure has, Colonel; it was just a loose wire," Kinch said.

"Then there's no reason not to listen in. I love a good soap opera." Hogan led the way into his quarters and pulled out the coffee pot they stored under his desk. He pulled the top off the contraption as Kinch plugged it in, and a red light on the pot came on. Soon Klink's voice came all-too-clearly through the filter speaker. Hogan's men gathered around him as the Colonel sat on the stool at the desk, listening intently.

"Ah, General Burkhalter, what an unexpected pleasure, sir!" Klink was groveling.

Hogan shook his head. No matter how many times he heard it, Klink's bowing and scraping never ceased to amaze him.

"It wasn't unexpected, Klink. I told you I was coming today."

"Oh, of course you are right, General."

"Or are you suggesting, perhaps, that you were not expecting to be pleased to see me?"

Hogan let a smile lift the corners of his lips. Somehow he couldn't help but enjoy when Burkhalter teased Klink. The General had to know what kind of tizzy his taunting would send Klink into as he scrambled to recover.

"No, no, of course not, General," Klink stammered. "I am always expecting to see you—I mean pleased to see you. I mean—" Klink cut himself off. "Would you care for a cigar, General?"

Hogan mentally gave Klink credit for realizing he was sounding like an idiot and actually doing something about it.

He changed his mind at Burkhalter's sardonic reply. "Thank you. But I already have one."

Burkhalter sat in front of Klink's desk as the Kommandant sank into his chair. "Klink, two officers are coming to Stalag 13 with a visitor the day after tomorrow on very critical business."

"Critical business—yes, Herr General. What is it they need to discuss with me?"

"They don't need you at all, Klink. They will be coming to this camp because it is considered a secure area, while still being close to all the… amenities… of the nearby town."

Hogan snorted. "Amenities. He means women."

Newkirk shook his head. "Poor frauleins at the Hoffbrau won't know what hit 'em."

"After encountering some of the Germans, even you'll seem as safe to them as nuns in a convent, Newkirk."

As the Germans continued talking, Hogan and his men lapsed back into concentrated silence. "The comfort of the guest these men will have with them is of the utmost importance. This meeting is top secret, and security is a priority. I will expect you to have extra guards on duty, and the Gestapo will be here tomorrow to secure the area and make sure that everything runs smoothly," Burkhalter declared.

"Of course, General Burkhalter. I will cancel all passes. There will be no problems."

Hogan slammed a hand down on the desk. "No problems for you," he said, though the Germans couldn't answer him. "But we've got a doozy."

"Colonel, how are we gonna get past extra guards plus the Gestapo?" asked Newkirk.

Hogan raised a hand to get the men quiet again as Klink asked, "May I ask, General, what this meeting is about?"

"Yeah, what's it about?" Hogan put in from his quarters.

"A British scientist named Desmond Smallwood has contacted us, Klink, with a proposal of possibly immense benefit to us. It seems the Allies have developed a logic calculator designed to break German code. If we can convince him to share that information, it would mean we can lead the Allies a merry chase with whatever information we decide to give them, while we do something else!"

"So the Germans could feed the Allies false information, and while we're chasing rainbows, they're out doing whatever they wanted to in the first place—with us completely unprepared!" Hogan declared.

"He must be handled delicately. We already know that it would not be wise to try to force the information from him. That often backfires, and in this case I have been assured that it would be fruitless."

When Burkhalter left, Hogan grimly closed up the coffee pot and put it back under the desk. "How do you like that?" he declared, disgusted.

"Wow," Carter said, understated for once.

"Colonel, that could cause some real trouble. Our fellas wouldn't know what hit them if the Krauts get details about a code-breaker," Newkirk said.

"Yeah, they could tell us anything, and we wouldn't know whether to believe it!" Kinch added.

"We can't let that happen. We've gotta find a way to get this man before he spills the beans. We're gonna have to take him," Hogan said. "Kinch, radio London. Tell them about Desmond Smallwood, and see what they can tell us about this code-breaking machine."

"Right Colonel." Kinch disappeared.

"But Colonel, Burkhalter said there will be Gestapo, and extra guards from the camp," Le Beau reminded him.

Hogan nodded grimly. "That'll just add to the challenge."

"Colonel, how're we going to get those fellas in from the dog truck tomorrow?" Carter asked.

"Oui, and what about the men we are supposed to collect tonight?" Le Beau added.

Hogan looked at his loyal men, knowing that as easy as the statement he was to make sounded, that it really meant they would be putting their lives at risk, again, in ways that most people could only imagine. "Everything goes on as scheduled. We'll just have to be careful."