Hogan's Heroes belongs to others. No copyright infringement is intended.

For Konarciq's speed writing contest.

THE LAST HERO

"It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." The quote from an old Dickens novel surfaced in his mind as Peter Newkirk, one-time POW, retired MI5 agent, walked down the row of identical white markers gracing the lawns of Arlington.. His eyes searched out one in particular. His footsteps slowed, then stopped as he picked it out among the many that marked the graves of brave men and women who had served their country with honor.

The elderly man pushed his glasses up on his nose and slowly read the inscription:

Robert E. Hogan

Medal of Honor

General

U.S. Air Force

World War II

Korea

Vietnam

His eyes misted over with tears. He couldn't read the dates listing the beginning and ending of a remarkable life. Such a small memorial for such an extraordinary man. No different from the oh-so-many-others here at Arlington. And yet so different when he considered the life lived, savored between those dates, the friendships, adventures, struggles, worries, fears - yes, real, deep down gut-wrenching fears - excitement, joys that made up this life. A life he and a few others had been privileged to share.

o-o-o-o-o

"It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." World War II. He'd remembered the bombings in London, the fear he'd felt for his family, his Mum and his sister Mavis. He'd been so angry at Hitler and the Krauts that he'd done what a few years earlier he'd had considered impossible: he'd joined the military, the RAF. Newkirk smiled as he remembered basic training and some of the stunts he and the other recruits had pulled: late night poker games, breaking into the officers' pantry (They never did find out who stole those frozen strawberries!), a bit of pick pocketing now and then. He was lucky he'd never been caught! He'd probably have spent the war cleaning latrines. Then that unbelievable chance: assignment to a flight crew! Five breath-stopping bombing runs. Then, disaster: shot down, captured, interned in a Luftstalag, Stalag 13.

He'd been branded a troublemaker by the camp's Kommandant, one Wilhelm Klink. Ol' man Klink! Now there was a piece of work! Surprising how they'd become friends later. Thought he'd have me spending the war in solitary. Until Colonel Hogan came along . . . Hogan had seen beyond Newkirk's questionable talents, beyond the petty thief, pickpocket, safe cracker, expert forger. The Guv'nor had seen something in him he hadn't seen in himself: resourcefulness, talent, courage, the willingness to risk his life for the sake of the team and the mission. He'd been challenged to use those talents to help end the war sooner. And he'd responded. He'd been trusted and it made all the difference to Hogan and the team.

The team! Hogan's Heroes! Did we ever deserve that nickname! The best friends he'd ever had: the Colonel, Kinch, Carter, LeBeau. He smiled as he remember the risks they'd shared, the fun they'd had. Who'd ever think you could have fun as a POW? But they did, outsmarting Klink, easier than one might expect, cajoling old Schultz to look the other way, to always know nothing, N-O-T-H-I-N-G, foiling Hochstetter's plans. Sometimes the Colonel made it seem so easy; other times they just hung on and prayed to make it out alive. If it hadn't been for the guys…

The guys! Carter, his best friend! He smiled at the memories. Andrew, so young, such an innocent, yet sometimes so wise beyond his years. Little Deer Who Runs Swift and Sure Through Forest. What a name for the technical sergeant who'd trip over his own feet, forget to put film in the camera, get lost in the woods. And what a talent he had for building bombs! Anything they needed, Carter could make-and describe it in exacting and enthusiastic detail.

Then he'd found that cockatoo, Toby. How Andrew loved that big, mischievous white bird. He'd brought his pet back home after the war. Newkirk couldn't help but laugh at some of the stories Carter had recounted. You'd think that bird was a feathered sabotage crew all by himself! That bird, elderly and fragile but still prone to mischief, lived with him now. Carter rested in the family graveyard back in Bullfrog, North Dakota, beloved grandfather to a family of his own. Newkirk felt a tear drift down his cheek. He let it fall to the sacred ground at his feet.

Then there was Kinch! Quiet, strong, Hogan's second-in-command. There was one creative bloke! Never saw anybody before or since work a radio like he could! We'd never have made it through some of those missions if he hadn't been backing us up in the tunnels. There were days he was practically glued to that radio!

Newkirk shook his head in wonder as he considered some of Kinch's other talents. How often had they relied on a timely phone call from "General Kinchmeyer" to get them out of a sticky wicket. And what a mechanic! He could hot wire a staff car in a flash, rig an auxiliary radio almost in his sleep, bug any office. He'd have bugged Berchtesgaden if he'd had the chance!

He remembered that visit to Kinch a couple of years ago. Who knew it would be the last time he'd see his friend? He could barely choke his way through the epitaph at the funeral. Good-bye, Mate. I miss you.

Finally, LeBeau, chef extraordinaire. That little cockroach - How did he ever get that nickname? - could work miracles with just a saucepan, onions, stringy beef, potatoes, a few herbs and spices stolen from Klink's kitchen. And that strudel! No wonder Schultz was always hanging around the barracks. They ate better in Barracks 2 than the portly guard did in the Sergeant's Mess.

It was so easy for the Krauts to take the little Frenchman for granted. If only they knew how often his talents got us out of a jam! He was much more than the chef Klink called upon when he hosted a dinner for the brass. He was one of the most loyal men Newkirk had ever met. Yes, I teased him about his fish stew, but we wouldn't have survived some of those missions without him! Home remedies, sauce béarnaise plasters, gowns by Yvette. How often had LeBeau come to their rescue? More times than I can count!

His little Mate had gone on to open some of the finest restaurants in Paris, Marseilles, and Hawaii. His children ran them now, keeping up the traditions given them by their heroic father.

You'd be so proud of them. I miss you, mon ami." Another tear fell unnoticed.

o-o-o-o-o

"It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." They'd gone their own ways after the war: Carter to Pharmacy School; LeBeau back to Paris and his family. Hogan and Kinch had stayed in the military. He'd returned to England. He stayed in the RAF for a while, but missed the adventure. When MI 5 offered him a position, he'd jumped at the chance. Oh, they'd see each other once in a while, but they were too busy with their own lives to keep in touch as much as they'd like.

Then, Korea. A secret mission pulled them back together—a daring rescue operation. Somehow, they pulled it off. It was good to work as a team again. We found ways to keep in contact, passing intelligence to the Guv'nor and Kinch, reunions for weddings, baptisms, dinner at LeBeau's. We were still a team, but our mission changed. We were fighting another kind of war, a cold one to keep what fragile peace we could. And we had allies I never expected. Steve, Danny, Chin Ho, Kono. Friends.

He looked again at the marker. We sure had some adventures, didn't we? You and me and Carter and Kinch and LeBeau. And now I'm the last hero. I miss you, all of you. He knelt for a moment and placed his hand on the stone. He knew his own journey was nearing its end. See you soon on the other side.

As he turned to leave, he noticed a younger man in army green, a colonel's eagles pinned to his collar. Newkirk didn't mean to overhear, as the officer said softly. "Hi Dad. I love you. I miss you." The colonel placed flowers at the marker - Newkirk couldn't help notice that it also recounted service in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam – stood in silence for a moment and then saluted.

The old man watched as the younger officer moved to leave. He smiled, then said quietly, "Looks like we both know a hero. Would you tell me his story? And allow me to tell you mine?"

The two men, two generations, walked slowly back to their cars, their stories bringing remarkable men back to life once more.

Memorial Day

In memory of my father and all who served and still serve their country.

Note: The theft of the frozen strawberries is borrowed from The Caine Mutiny by Herman Wouk.

There are hints to some of my other stories scattered through this reflection!