Hogan's Heroes: Sticks and Stones (3/4)

[jordannamorgan]

Title: Sticks and Stones (3/4)
Author: jordannamorgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: G.
Characters: Ensemble.
Summary: A Gestapo officer's strange agenda involves Colonel Hogan.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I’m just playing with them.



Hogan's time in the cooler was divided between catnapping and contemplating his predicament. He was aware of what everyone believed: that his interrogation had pushed his tolerance and nerves over the edge. In fact, it was exactly the impression he had planned during the trip back from Dusseldorf.

With every bump in the road, he felt a growing, uneasy awareness of the explosive concealed in his cast, and remembered Stiegler's warning that it could be volatile. He had decided that he wanted to place some distance between himself and his men, in case the bomb was accidentally triggered. Solitary confinement was ideal for that purpose.

Besides, after what he had just been through at German hands, walloping Klink felt very good indeed.

Almost immediately after Klink's visit, Schultz came in and locked the cell door again, murmuring something unintelligible. Hogan ignored him. However, some time after that, Schultz came back, escorting Sergeant Kinchloe.

Without stirring from his lethargic sprawl on the bunk, Hogan rolled his eyes toward Kinch. "Don't tell me you've taken my brilliant example," he remarked dryly.

"No sir." Kinch pointed to the covered plate he was carrying. "Schultz agreed to let me bring you dinner, compliments of LeBeau."

"It is wunderbar, Colonel Hogan," Schultz murmured, his mouth stuffed with a gourmet bribe. He unlocked the door and let Kinch inside the cell.

Hogan sat up, cautiously resituating his arm. Kinch set the plate down, then shot a pointed glance at Schultz, who was eyeing it hungrily. "Can we have some privacy, please?"

Schultz wavered. "I don't think—"

"Which is exactly the way it should be," Hogan interrupted impatiently. "Tell you what, Schultz. If there's any leftovers, they're all yours."

The fat German beamed at him. "Jawohl!" he replied, and swaggered away down the corridor.

Once Schultz was out of sight, Kinch leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "We've got troubles, Colonel. Major Hochstetter rolled in about half an hour ago with his goon squad."

Hogan sighed deeply and let his head drop back against the wall. "That's just great. Maybe I let on too much to Wicked Wolfie after all… and it explains why Klink changed his mind."

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Never mind." Hogan shook his head slowly. "What's Hochstetter up to?"

"Making Klink tighten security is what. And it looks like he's setting up camp for a while." Kinch frowned. "Colonel, I don't think we'll be able to take Stroheim out of here until we get rid of old Sunshine And Joy."

"I know. We'll just have to keep him downstairs for a little bit. I'll think of something…"

"There's another problem, sir. Stroheim is claustrophobic. Last night, we didn't have him in the tunnel one minute before he lost it, and we had to drug him. Since he woke up earlier today, it's been all we can do to keep him calm. I'm afraid he could blow our cover if he has another attack."

"Oh, boy." Hogan wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'll try to think fast, Kinch—but to be honest, there's a more immediate priority. Have you gotten anything back on Lieutenant Stiegler?"

"Not yet. Underground says there's some kind of reshuffling going on at Gestapo HQ in Dusseldorf. Lots of confusion, they're trying to figure out what's going on." Kinch paused. "Do you know something about it?"

Hogan chose his words with care; the men had enough on their minds without worrying over him too. "Let's just say Lieutenant Stiegler is the key to some information that could save a lot of lives." Including mine, he added silently.

Kinch gave him a doleful look. "With all due respect, Colonel, I hate it when you get mysterious."

"So do I, Kinch." Hogan shrugged. "It'll be okay. Now, maybe you'd better call my dinner partner and get back to holding down the fort. I'm counting on you, buddy."

"Right." Kinch saluted, moved over to the cell door and then paused, turning back to Hogan. "Is there anything you want, sir?"

"No… Yes." Hogan smiled wanly, wedging a finger under the edge of his cast. "Ask LeBeau if I can borrow one of his knitting needles. This thing itches like the dickens!"

A faint grin tugged at Kinch's lips as he nodded.



A prison camp Stalag Thirteen might have been, but Barracks Two was, in its own ways, almost a home. Over time, its rough wooden walls and rows of shabby bunks had taken on a peculiar kind of character. With its repertoire of tricks and secrets, it reflected a little of the personalities of the men who resided there.

But with Colonel Hogan absent, the heart and soul of the barracks felt lacking—and the arrival of the Gestapo had only added to the gloom.

Seated at the table, half-heartedly tinkering with the remains of an old alarm clock he had taken apart months before, Andrew Carter looked up as Kinch came through the door.

"I just delivered room service to the Colonel." Kinch went to the stove where LeBeau was busily cooking, and gave the small Frenchman a fond pat on the shoulder. "Thanks for fixing it for him, and by the way, he'd like to borrow a knitting needle from you."

Newkirk lithely hopped down from his bunk, sauntering over to take a seat next to Carter. "Even in the cooler, he can't be that bored. Not with the Gestapo around."

"I said one knitting needle," Kinch retorted, raising a finger. "Comes in kind of handy for getting to itches under a cast."

"That's fine with me… Ouch!" LeBeau suddenly flinched away from the stove, spitting out a string of French imprecations as he wrung his right hand.

A frown creased Carter's brow. "Louie, did you burn yourself?" The Frenchman knew his way around cooking equipment like no one else, and for him to have a mishap was unheard of.

Scowling, LeBeau poured a cup of water and thrust his singed fingers into it. "I was just thinking about the Colonel. I want to get my hands on the filthy Boche that beat him up!"

"We all do, mate," Newkirk sighed. "The Guv'nor's been through it with the Krauts plenty of times, but he's never closed up on us like this before—or whopped old Klink, no matter how much he's wanted to. When I think about what they must've done to make him that upset…"

Kinch shook his head, taking a seat at the table. "Somehow, I think he's up to one of his tricks. He seemed okay when I talked to him just now, and besides, I can't see him ever losing his cool so badly he'd punch Klink. I think he wanted to be sent to the cooler."

"Why would he do that?" Carter queried.

"Beats me, but you know the Colonel. He's got a reason for everything he does, no matter how crazy it is."

"Yeah, you said it…"

Conversation came to a halt as the door opened, and an unhappy Schultz waddled in—with Hochstetter and two Gestapo guards on his heels. "Achtung! Barracks inspection!"

A wave of protests rose up from the prisoners. Hochstetter ignored them, gesturing for his lackeys to begin the inspection. They proceeded to tear mattresses from the bunks, rifle through cabinets, and pry open lockers.

"Nice of you to wait until suppertime!" LeBeau groused, brandishing a wooden spoon defensively as one of the guards glared at him.

"Have any of you spoken to Colonel Hogan since he was brought back to camp?" Hochstetter demanded.

Kinch stepped forward and glowered down at the small German, folding his arms. "Just me."

Hochstetter gave the black man a contemptuous glare. "Did he give you anything, or discuss his questioning?"

"No."

"I'd like to give you something on the Colonel's behalf," Newkirk murmured, raising a fist. Hochstetter stepped toward him ominously.

Sensing an imminent disaster, Carter bolted up from the table and wedged himself in front of Newkirk. Kinch stepped forward at almost the same moment to place his hand on the Englishman's shoulder. Eyes narrowing, Hochstetter let a venomous gaze slide across all three of them.

"For your information, as if that were any concern of mine, I did not interrogate your beloved senior officer… yet." He folded his arms.

Glaring at Hochstetter, Newkirk pushed against his friends' restraining hands. "Why, you lousy—"

A guard's machine gun leveled on Newkirk as Kinch and Carter redoubled their efforts to calm him. "Easy, Peter! You won't help the Colonel this way," Kinch said softly.

The words were effective. Newkirk became still, then abruptly shoved the two Americans' hands away, turning to throw himself down onto his seat with a growl of frustration.

The inspection was over, and Hochstetter's glare intensified when his aides had nothing to report. He sent them out, then gazed from one end of the barracks to the other.

"You are all being very cunning, but you cannot keep secrets from the Gestapo forever. I swear to you, I will find everything you are hiding… or Hogan will die."

Turning on his heel, he started for the door. LeBeau stepped halfway in front of him, a rare fury in his dark eyes.

"Won't you stay for dinner, Major? For you, I have some lovely wienerschnitzel and rat poison."

Eyes widening, Hochstetter drew back a gloved fist. LeBeau's gaze didn't waver.

"Bah!" Hochstetter snorted, swinging his fist over LeBeau's shoulder. He struck the pot bubbling on the stove, and it clattered to the floor, bouillabaisse spilling across the wooden boards.

"Come again," Kinch remarked coolly. Hochstetter responded with another snarl, and stomped out without looking back.

A collective sigh of relief rose up when the Major was gone, but Kinch raised a hand as he realized one German remained. Schultz was staring down at the spilled pot of fish stew, looking as if he were about to cry. "Cockroach…!"

LeBeau uttered a hiss of exasperation. "Get out!" he snapped. Schultz gave him a startled look and shuffled through the door, which the little Frenchman slammed shut behind him.

He had barely turned around before he found himself caught up in a bear hug from, of all people, Newkirk. "You're a little tiger, mate!"

Leaning against the table, Kinch shook his head. "Come on, you know that was a stupid thing to do. Both of you." He frowned at LeBeau and Newkirk as they sat down. "Fighting back right now, that way, is only going to bring them down harder on us. And we don't know what the Colonel is planning, either. We've got to wait for his word, fellas."

LeBeau sighed. "D'accord."

"Well, what do you want us to do?" Carter wailed. "Hochstetter was talking like he's going to kill the Colonel! Now that's gotta be against the Geneva Conven—"

"You think the Gestapo cares about the Geneva Convention?" Newkirk pushed Carter's cap down over his eyes. "Wake up, mate! Hochstetter'll do anything to get what he wants."

"Relax, all of you," Kinch said firmly. "I'll report this to the Colonel and find out the next move he wants to make. That's all we can do. The rest of you better start putting this place back together again…" He looked around at the chaos left in the Gestapo's wake. "And good luck."



A Gestapo guard walked through the cooler every hour, on the hour. Once he had established this pattern, Hogan felt at liberty to leave his cell for a while, taking to the tunnels below for a chance to stretch his legs. He was growing more and more restless.

For once, the cool damp of the tunnels was almost comforting. Hogan moved silently in the near-dark, not wanting to arouse the attention of any of his men who might be watching over Herr Stroheim.

It was unpleasant business, he and Hochstetter each waiting for the other to make the first move. He could guess the Major was lying in wait for an attempt to transmit stolen Gestapo information to the underground or the Allies; undoubtedly they had radio detection gear upstairs, in addition to a squad of thugs alert to any strange occurrence.

Chuckling humorlessly, Hogan rubbed the cast on his arm with his fingertips. I couldn't get this information out of camp now if I wanted to, Major. It's not your move, but it's not mine yet, either.

He suddenly became aware of noises at the opposite end of the tunnel, coming from the central section beneath Barracks Two. An unfamiliar voice was raised in increasing urgency, followed by a strange cry, then a shouted command that sounded like Kinch. Feeling a tingle of apprehension, Hogan quickened his pace, moving toward the sounds.

Running footsteps became audible as he neared an intersection in the tunnel. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward to greet any form of mayhem approaching him…

And a slight but rapidly-moving weight bowled him over, collapsing on top of him as he hit the hard-packed dirt floor on his back.

The pain of the double impact—against his already aching body, no less—took second place to a sharp thrill of fear as his cast bumped against the floor. Catching his breath, Hogan twisted uncomfortably, grappling with the small but frenzied figure on top of him. Herr Stroheim, I presume!

Just when he had the small man in a firm grip, one hand clamped over his mouth, Kinchloe appeared in the half-light filtering through from a more frequently traversed section of tunnel. His eyes widened when he saw his commanding officer and Stroheim in a tangle on the floor. "Colonel! I'm sorry, I—"

"Douse that light." Hogan's command came on impulse. Kinch obeyed swiftly and without question, snuffing out the flickering illumination of the lanterns in the adjoining tunnel, and the section was plunged into pitch blackness.

Hogan shifted his weight carefully, pinning Stroheim against the floor, and leaned close to where the man's ear should have been. "Listen to me. You can't see the walls now. Close your eyes. You're safe here—remember that."

Stroheim became still, although he was trembling, and he nodded slowly under Hogan's silencing hand. Hogan relaxed his grip, and felt the little man's breathing gradually slow to an almost normal rate.

"Kinch?" Hogan asked into the darkness.

"Here, sir." Kinch sounded chagrined. "I'm sorry about that. Herr Stroheim was doing okay, until he started getting wind of our uninvited guests topside."

"I know the feeling." Hogan sat halfway up, bracing his back against the tunnel wall, and pulled Stroheim close to him. The scientist was limp in his arms.

"You want me to take him back now, sir?"

A hand anxiously squeezed Hogan's wrist, and he sighed. "No, not yet. Just leave him here to rest for a while. The Krauts won't check my cell for about another forty minutes, so I'll stay here as long as I can."

"Yes, sir." Kinch's footsteps began to recede.

Stroheim remained still for several minutes, and his trembling subsided as his tense body slowly relaxed. After what felt like ages, he finally spoke, in a small, tremulous voice that sounded loud in the confines of the tunnel.

"Colonel Hogan, I believe?"

Hogan nodded in the dark. "That's me. And you'd be Herr Friedrich Stroheim, of course."

"Yes." Stroheim hesitated. "Please forgive me, Colonel. Your wounds, your companions explained to me… I didn't mean to cause you any more pain."

"It's alright."

Stroheim shifted uncomfortably at Hogan's side. "You can't know how terrible it is, to feel trapped and suffocating in one's only safe refuge. Knowing the Gestapo is above us only makes it worse."

"Trust me, I'm not thrilled about our unwelcome houseguests either. But you're safe down here."

"Please, talk to me. It helps to calm my nerves."

"Okay." Hogan thought for a moment. "Tell me something, then. I'm a little curious how a man as obviously intelligent as you can be afraid of enclosed spaces."

The small German was silent for a moment. Then he asked quietly, "Are you aware of history, Colonel Hogan?"

The question caught Hogan off guard. "What?"

"Or our place in history, I should say. Do you never think of the future, and what will be said and thought of the things you have done?"

Hogan chuckled grimly. "Most of the time, I'm lucky if I have a chance to think five minutes ahead."

"That I understand. This life must give you very little time for contemplation… I, on the other hand, have had far too much time to myself. And perhaps that's why I'm here, now. I feel conscious of things to come. You know my work?"

"Only that you were involved in atomic research."

"Ja. I have studied the unlocking of tremendous power, infinite possibilities—both dangerous weapons under the thumb of a madman such as Hitler. As time passed, I grew desperately afraid that I or my colleagues would be remembered for unleashing the greatest horror ever known to the world. But I was forced to go on… and I felt so helpless."

He sighed. "Much of the work was done in a bunker, deep under the ground. Perhaps it's only that, when I am reminded of that place, the fear of what I have done is aroused."

The explanation bemused Hogan, and he sat silently for a moment before answering. "Your intentions were right. You don't have anything to blame yourself for."

"Is there nothing you're afraid of, Colonel?"

Hogan frowned, thinking for a moment. His answer was quiet and solemn.

"If you can call it that, I'm afraid of my men getting hurt or killed. And I'm afraid of spending the rest of my life here, never seeing my family again."

"A soldier you are, truly."

"And… sometimes… I'm afraid of losing this war."

The words were difficult, but now that Hogan had begun the confession, he felt compelled to go on. "The Germans may be losing ground, but desperation is the mother of invention—and boy, have they been inventive. We've sabotaged a lot of very creative weapons and strategies that just might have won the war—and those are only the ones they allow anywhere near Klink." He sighed. "Sometimes, I can't help but wonder what they might have come up with that we don't know about."

Stroheim drew away from him slightly. "I think I begin to understand. Colonel, have you taken the weight of this entire war upon your own shoulders?"

"There's always so much more to be done."

"But only so much that is within your reach. For the rest, you must have faith." Stroheim's hand found Hogan's shoulder in the dark, and patted it. "From what I have seen here, if the Allies have many more like yourself and your men, the Third Reich has no chance in the world."

Hogan chuckled faintly. "Do me a favor. Repeat that to the brass when you get to London."

"Gladly, sir."



"Colonel? Mon Colonel?"

I can never get any uninterrupted sleep anymore… Hogan stirred groggily, groaning a noise of protest to prove his displeasure at being roused. As he sat up, he rubbed his good hand across his face and glanced toward the cooler's tunnel entrance. Predictably, the wall block that concealed it had been pushed out, and LeBeau was leaning halfway through the opening.

"What's up?" It wasn't the phrase on Hogan's mind, but it would suffice.

"Kinch sent me to get you, sir. The underground has sent us the information you wanted."

"Finally!" Hogan stood up, glancing at his watch. It was a quarter past eight in the evening; he had forty-five minutes to roam around before the guard's next check-in. Satisfied, he followed LeBeau.

In a tunnel alcove beneath Barracks Five—Sergeant Wilson's domain—Stroheim was laying quietly on his cot. His eyes were closed to shut out the view of dark, oppressive walls, but his uneasy breathing gave away his wakefulness. He stirred slightly as Hogan passed, and the Colonel gave him a pat on the arm. Stroheim responded with a faint smile.

In the radio room, Kinch was sitting dutifully before his equipment—and with him were Newkirk and Carter. Hogan had learned not to question their almost supernal way of being around when important doings were afoot. He waved a hand in lieu of a salute, while LeBeau crossed the room to sit with them.

Hogan eased himself down onto a seat opposite Kinch, wincing; his aches and bruises were worse now than they had been the day before. "What have you got?"

Kinch frowned. "Well, I don't know if this is what you wanted to hear or not… but Lieutenant Stiegler is dead."

The Colonel's heart sank. "How?"

"Hochstetter. The Merry Major suspected him of treason—or something—and brought him in for questioning. He tried to escape, and they shot him." Kinch tilted his head. "Sir, wasn't Stiegler one of Frolich's thugs?"

"It's a long story." Hogan closed his eyes and sighed, giving in to his weariness just far enough to rest his head on his hand. "I guess the only thing I can do now is let you all in on it. To put it short and unsweet… this cast is loaded."

Four dubious faces blinked back at him.

"Listen. In his own way, Frolich was working against the Gestapo—but they were onto him. He had me picked up so I could smuggle out the information he'd collected. It's on microfilm, inside this cast somewhere."

Newkirk gave Hogan's plaster-encased arm a wondering glance. "Sir, does that mean your arm isn't really broken?"

"No, but it's sprained pretty bad. Hochstetter had a goon keeping tabs on Frolich, so he had to put on a good show." Hogan dropped his gaze to the cast. "And here's the really nasty part. Frolich's accomplice—the late Lieutenant Stiegler—has this thing tamper-proofed. In a big way."

Carter caught on the quickest as the conversation moved into his forte. "Explosives, sir?" His eyes became wide as he stared at the cast's innocuous white surface.

"So they claimed, and I have no reason to doubt them." Hogan shrugged helplessly. "Stiegler was the only one who knew how to disarm this thing—without it disarming me. He was supposed to come here and remove it, but that's obviously not going to happen now."

A moment of uncertain silence followed, and then Kinch spoke, in a steady voice. "So that's why you got yourself thrown into the cooler."

Hogan smiled wanly. "Stiegler said this thing might be a little sensitive. I didn't want you guys close to me if he turned out to be right, but it's held up so far."

"What are we going to do, sir?" Newkirk asked anxiously.

A grim shrug was the only answer Hogan could give. "I don't know. Maybe I'll ask to have a chat with Hochstetter. If I'm going to go out with a bang—"

"Mon Colonel, that isn't funny!" LeBeau interrupted. For a brief moment, he looked mildly surprised by his own reaction to the gallows humor, but he didn't lower his eyes from Hogan's. Kinch, Carter and Newkirk were likewise gazing at the Colonel with expressions of uneasy concern.

Hogan sighed and ran his hand through his thick black hair. "I know, fellas. But you have to realize something. Sooner or later, Hochstetter is going to get curious about this—and when he does, I don't want any of you around."

The men exchanged glances. Then Carter stood up, twisting his cap uneasily in his hands.

"Colonel, let me take a crack at that cast." He hesitated. "I mean, I'm almost as good at taking apart bombs as I am at making them… aren't I?"

Carter's beseeching expression, to say nothing of his intense loyalty, forced a smile to tug at Hogan's lips; but he shook his head slowly. "I can't ask you to do that, Andrew. There's too much of a risk you'd be hurt too."

Casting about with his eyes for moral support from the others, Carter took a deep breath. "Well, maybe you can't ask, sir, but—but I can volunteer. And that's exactly what I'm doing. So… so you'd just better get used to the idea!" He winced at his own facade of firmness.

Hogan frowned, gazing gravely at the younger man. "Do you understand the situation, Carter? Even if Hochstetter doesn't walk in on us, you could get hurt."

Carter squared his shoulders. "Colonel, I'm… I'm up for it, if you are."

An uncomfortable silence held until Newkirk leaned forward, thumping Carter soundly on the back. "You're a brave lad, Andrew. It was an honor knowing you—"

"Oh, knock it off," Kinch retorted.

"Steady, guys." Hogan stood up slowly, resigning himself to Carter's reckless courage. "Alright, if we're going to do this, it'll have to be in the cooler. The guards check on me every hour, and besides… if anything goes wrong…"

"It's where you can do the least damage," LeBeau finished for him morosely.

Carter shifted nervously, then got up and edged toward the tunnel passageway. "I'd better start getting my tools together, sir."

"Fine. Come up through the tunnel exactly one minute after twenty-one hundred. As for the rest of you…" Hogan paused grimly. "You know what to do if things go wrong."

He moved to follow Carter out of the radio room, but Kinch's voice stopped him. "Colonel…?"

Turning, Hogan met with three almost identical gazes from Kinch, LeBeau and Newkirk—expressions that betrayed their depths of concern.

"I know, guys." Hogan rousted a faint smile. "Count on Carter. He knows more about bombs than anybody. Besides… taking things apart is always easier than putting them together."

Newkirk's lips twisted wryly. "Good luck to you, sir. To both of you."

"Yeah…" Hogan gave a resigned shrug, then lifted his hand to salute the three men. Instinctively coming to attention, they returned the gesture.

With a grateful nod, he walked away.

---

© 2000 Jordanna Morgan


Chapters: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 ::