The TV show "Hogan's Heroes" belongs to Bing Crosby Productions. No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred, and no infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Norbert first appeared in "Close Every Door to Me", written in 2006. You may wish to read it ahead of time; however it is not necessary to follow this story.

The fictional characters will be interacting with characters representing real people from World War II. Having not known them personally, I take full responsibility if they are not true-to-life. Some points in history have been slightly changed allow the Hogan's Heroes characters to fit into the known timeline.

Execution (ěk'sĭ-kyōō'shən): n.

1. The act of executing something.

2. The manner, style, or result of performance: The plan was sound; its execution, faulty.

3. The act or an instance of putting to death or being put to death as a lawful penalty.

4. Archaic Effective, punitive, or destructive action.

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition

March 31, 1945

The lone black car sat in silence of the dark forest near Hammelburg, waiting on the side of the dirt track of a road that wound between the tall pines. Inside, a small man dressed in a black trench coat and fedora tilted down low across his face, rubbed his gloved hands together against the cold. It was the end of March in southern Germany, and while the days were getting warmer with a hint of spring in the air, the nights were still frigid and snow remained in the ditches, forests, and shaded parts of the land. His breath crystallized in white puffs and fogged up the windows of the car, helping to disguise his features to anyone who would pass by. Not that anyone would happen by on chance at this time of night in this remote location.

As he awaited his contact, the man contemplated his orders. The man he was waiting for was to be captured at all costs and dealt with in a specific manner. No harm was to come to him; gain his co-operation if possible through whatever means necessary. A ridiculous order that he would have ignored under other circumstances. But the consequences of disobeying this direct order had been made painfully clear to him – whatever befell his contact would be reciprocated on himself twofold. Orders were orders, no matter what foul taste they left in ones mouth.

The man peeled back the cuff of his glove and angled his arm to catch the moon's reflection on his watch face. A quiet "Bah!" escaped under his breath over the fact that there was still 5 minutes to go before his contact was due. Patience was not his forte. He was starting to get cold…or was that a shiver of anticipation for the upcoming meeting? It certainly could not be nerves, not after the years he had been waiting for this day to happen. The man returned his glove to shut out the whisper of cold air that had breathed over his wrist. Would his contact be late? How long past the rendezvous time should he wait? Would his contact be suspicious if he remained? The minutes ticked on…

Colonel Robert E. Hogan, former US Army Air Corps pilot and commander of the 504th Bomber Group, lately Senior POW of Luftstalag 13, paused against a tree in the forest and caught his breath, large clouds billowing around his head diminishing quickly as his breathing slowed.

At 19:00, Baker had received a call from London requesting an emergency meeting at 23:00 with one of their Underground agents who had acquired top secret information that London needed right away. Hogan usually preferred to cover these types of meets alone, so by 22:00, Hogan had been dressed completely in black and mounting the ladder to exit the camp through their tunnel system. He was frantically called back by his team when Colonel Wilhelm Klink, Kommandant of said POW camp, called an impromptu roll call. This resulted in Colonel Hogan running back through the tunnels, stripping off gloves and black jacket to be replaced with his bomber jacket and crush cap. Fortunately, it was dark or else Klink might have noticed Hogan reporting to roll call in black pants instead of his standard uniform brown ones. Not known for being very observant, Klink also didn't spot the slight bulge of his shoulder holster and gun under the bomber jacket, which was zipped up tight, not just against the cold, but to hide the black turtleneck underneath. After roll call had been completed, the Colonel had once again descended into the tunnels under Stalag 13 and changed attire for the second time. Back to being clad head-to-toe in black, he had made a mad dash through the woods to make up lost time and was now practically late for the meeting. The rendezvous was only a few miles from camp, but Hogan had planned on leaving a good half hour earlier than when he did.

Nearing the meeting place, Hogan slowed his movements to take a brief surveillance of the area. He could see the outline of the car through the trees. Good, his contact hadn't left yet. Nothing was moving, even the trees were still with no wind to disturb their silent sentry. Confident that there were no patrols lurking in the shadows, Hogan drew his gun and quietly approached the car, years of habit keeping him in the tree line to avoid detection from unwanted eyes.

He approached the passenger side of the car, and doing one more scan of the area, swiftly opened the door and climbed inside, startling its sole occupant who had been unaware of Hogan's stealthy approach.

The man quickly recovered and gruffly stated, "Fine weather we've been having…if you're a penguin."

"Penguins prefer it warmer I've been told." replied Hogan.

"Unlike pink flamingos in France," completed the man.

On hearing the completion of the proper recognition codes, Hogan returned his gun to its shoulder holster inside his jacket. "Little Jack Horner?" he asked, extending his hand.

"Ja, otherwise known as Herbert Kuntz," came the reply while the handshake was completed. "And have I finally met the distinguished Papa Bear?"

"Robert Hogan," he replied, settling back against the car seat, turned slightly towards the driver, relaxed yet alert. Hogan preferred not to use his rank when on an initial meet. It was a small precaution to delay his name being easily traced back to the POW camp. "I understand you stuck in your thumb and pulled out some top secret troop movements," he added with a slight smile as he looked out the window, rubbing away the condensation and keeping an eye out for any movement that might indicate passing patrols.

"Ja. I have maps indicating where several key Panzer divisions plan on reinforcing the front lines both in France and in Italy over the next week. I was assured you had a way to get them to London quickly and securely," Kuntz replied.

"That won't be a problem. I can get the gist of the information to them tonight by radio and have the maps there within 2 days. You bring them with you?"

A chuckle came from underneath the fedora. "I have everything you could possibly need right here…" responded Kuntz. "…Colonel."

At the use of his rank, Hogan's head snapped around to face the driver. The man raised his hand and removed his hat, placing it on the dash. The moonlight then revealed his harsh, rounded face under thinning hair, and reflected off of white teeth bared in a feral grin beneath a small trim moustache.

Surprise made him sluggish as Hogan realized the true identity of the man posing as his Underground contact. His hand automatically started to reach for his gun but stopped when the barrel of the other man's gun appeared at the end of his nose. Ice water replaced the blood in his veins as Hogan felt a chill as cold as death wrap around him. Fear and adrenaline made his heart trip-hammer at quadruple its normal rate and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Hochstetter" he breathed, his voice catching in his throat. Denial washed through him, unable to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. But the familiar snarl on the features of the man before him could not be refuted. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. At that moment, he knew that everything he had at Stalag 13 was forfeit…

"This time, Hogan, I know exactly what you are doing here. Your gun…slowly take it out with two fingers and pass it over."

Hogan's mind was reeling, shock reducing his normally fast-thinking brain to mush. How had this happened? The meet had been set up through proper channels. Nothing raised even a hair of suspicion that this was a trap. Hochstetter even had the correct recognition codes! Working mostly on auto-pilot, he slowly drew his gun out by the handle and passed it over to the Gestapo Major, who quickly pocketed it in his trench coat.

"Guess this is the final nail in your coffin, so to speak, eh Colonel? The proof that you are the most dangerous man in all Germany, along with your lackeys back at Stalag 13."

The mention of his men caused Hogan's mouth at least to kick into gear, while his brain slowly caught up. Determination coloured his voice.

"Spare them. You've got me dead to rights, so to speak. But they're innocent…"

"Bah! Don't patronize me Hogan! I am a whole lot smarter than you give me credit for. After all, I've been saying for years now that you have been responsible for the acts of sabotage in the area. You could never have carried off half those jobs alone. Those men of yours are about as innocent as I am French! But please, Colonel, beg me to spare them. I would love to hear you grovel…"

"That'll be the day, Hochstetter!" growled Hogan, anger at his impotence and stupidity growing rapidly. Shoving the mental berating to the back of his mind, Hogan tried to analyze the situation and figure out how he was going to get out of this one. He was quickly coming to the conclusion that he only had one choice: to kill Hochstetter here and escape back to camp. The next best option was to get Hochstetter to kill him before he could be tortured for information, but that still wouldn't prevent the Major from going after his men. Hopefully, they'd get some advanced notice and be able to flee to London before Hochstetter descended on the camp.

With the boldness of the desperate, Hogan launched himself across the seat at the Gestapo man, both hands grabbing at Hochstetter's gun hand to try to wrest the weapon away. His adversary was anticipating his move, however. The gun shifted up and went off, firing a hole into the car's roof and deafening the combatants in the vehicle. Hochstetter still had one hand free, which he used to deliver an upper cut to Hogan's cheek, snapping the Colonel's head back and making him see stars. Hogan quickly shifted his grip to capture both of Hochstetter's wrists, the men struggling futilely in the cramped space of the car's front seat.

Hogan was pressing the advantage, leaning up and over the smaller man, repeatedly smashing the gun hand against the seat back, and trying to get the Major to drop the weapon. Just as the gun fell to the seat, Hochstetter managed to get his leg up from under the steering wheel. He delivered a kick to Hogan's belly, forcing the Colonel back against the door, his head smacking against the passenger-side window. Hochstetter regained his grip on the gun once more and levelled it at Hogan. Hogan rubbed the back of his head with one hand and wrapped his other arm around his gut, panting from the struggle. Blood welled on his cheek where Hochstetter's ring had opened a scrape with his punch. Hogan glared with open hostility at the Major.

"Pointless, Hogan, totally pointless. I should shoot you for even trying, but I am feeling generous today. Must be the euphoria from being right all this time," Hochstetter gloated. "We both know that only one of us was destined to survive this war since we first met two years ago. It has always been a game of smoke and mirrors between us – what you have convinced others to accept as truth through deception and slight of hand versus what I knew to be fact. But the power has swung to my side, Hogan, and not even Klink or Burkhalter can save your miserable hide now." Hochstetter paused with a triumphant grin on his face for a moment. Then his expression changed, as if he suddenly remembered something distasteful but very important. Leaning slightly forward, he continued in a low voice, "I am prepared, however, to make you a deal…"

"Don't do me any favours, Hochstetter. Just shoot me and get it over with," Hogan replied, meeting the Major's eyes defiantly, suppressing a frantic battle for self-preservation waging inside him.

"Tsk, tsk. Where's the sport in that? Are you not the least bit interested in what I have to offer?" asked Hochstetter, leaning back with a smug grin on his face.

"Then spit it out. I'm tired of your games…"

"Bah! My deal is simple enough for even you to understand, Hogan: if you agree to come quietly with me and not fight this, I will spare the rest of your men even after your execution."

"That's just a little too easy, too tempting. What's the catch?" Hogan couldn't help the glint of hope that seeped into his eyes.

"No catch. Just a full signed confession that you are responsible for all the sabotage in the area, followed swiftly by your execution."

It sounded too good to be true. Hochstetter was holding all the cards, why would he give him this break? His gut was telling him that something else had to be going on, but he didn't have enough information to piece it together.

"How do I know I can trust you to uphold your end of the deal? You could do anything you want to me or my men and I'd be powerless to stop you. And what's to protect them after I'm gone?"

"You're powerless now, my dear Hogan, so I really don't see what the issue is," the Major purred. The urge to 'just shoot Hogan and get it over with' was becoming stronger, like the Lorelei on the Rhine calling sailors to their doom. The man was insufferable. Even given this easy out, which was turning Hochstetter's stomach to have to offer despite his orders, Hogan still would not submit without exploring every angle. He wanted to throttle the truth out of him, torture him into admitting every single act of sabotage he had ever committed and maybe some he hadn't, to squash Hogan's cocky spark of life and see it die in hopeless despair…

"My point exactly. What are you gaining here?" Hogan snapped back, eyes narrowing, trying to read Hochstetter's game in his face but the Major's expression was a closed mask.

"Your full co-operation. That means you come quietly to Gestapo Headquarters and confess to being Papa Bear in writing. Then I'll return you to Stalag 13 where you will stay in solitary confinement in the cooler while I arrange your execution. Finally, you will take your place willingly in front of a firing squad. You will have no interaction with your men and I will not involve them now or in the future. It is your word against mine that you provided the correct recognition codes that identified you as a contact with the Underground since there are no witnesses here. But then again, I need the guaranteed proof of my crazy theories about you that will set the record straight in Berlin. It's either that, or we can do things the hard way…"

"The hard way?"

"Ja. I arrest you and your men, followed by weeks of torture, eventual forced confessions, and executions all round." The bored expression on Hochstetter's face as he rhymed off Gestapo standard procedure became more animated as a new idea formed. "Then perhaps I'll need to shoot at least half the remaining men in camp because of the 'riot' your executions caused." He paused to gauge Hogan's reaction to his words. "At least that's the way my report shall read." Again, the predatory smile graced his lips. If he couldn't physically torture Hogan, he might as well cause him some mental and emotional anguish. "What's your decision?"

Hogan turned his head and peered out the window, looking for non-existent answers in the condensation once again gathering on the inside. Realistically, there was no decision to make. Hochstetter had him red-handed and yet the Major was willing to forgo persecuting his team if he agreed to co-operate with his own death sentence. He was practically forcing Hogan to take the deal, even threatening to kill half the camp if he didn't. Something was off here, but Hogan couldn't fathom what it could be. Still, if he could do anything at all to prevent harm from coming to his men, he'd protect them at whatever cost to himself. Was Hochstetter bluffing? Should he take the chance with his men's lives that he wasn't? The silence in the car stretched as Hogan's mind flipped over the situation.

"This is a limited-time offer Hogan," baited Hochstetter after several minutes. "Last chance…"

Tension mounted. Finally Hogan's heart and mind settled on the only decision he could live with. Turning back towards the Major, Hogan stuck out his chin defiantly and met Hochstetter's eyes. Grinding out the word, Hogan sealed his fate:

"Deal."