13Chapter Three
…And Presents on the Tree
With his men safe in the tunnel and Klaussen their prisoner, Hogan breathed a sigh of relief. They'd managed to capture the head of a Nazi spy ring, one with worldwide reach. After the events of tonight, it was a victory that the Colonel savoured.
Newkirk was still trying to rouse Carter from his hypnotic state.
"How's he doing?"
"I think 'e's coming out of it, sir." The RAF Corporal gently slapped the Sergeant's face. "Isn't that right, Andrew?"
Carter started to come around. "Uh, Newkirk. Weihnachtsmann…we've got to—" He paused as he took in their surroundings. "How did we get back here?" he asked.
"You're going to be fine, mon ami."
Seated in a chair, with his arms and legs bound by Kinch, Klaussen was surprised when he saw Hogan and his men begin to change back into their POW uniforms. "It would seem I underestimated both you and Papa Bear," he said calmly. "That you've managed to fool so many—including myself—is a testament to your cunning and resourcefulness. You would have made for an excellent agent."
Hogan was putting on his crush cap when he paused, and turned on his prisoner. "That you could even consider I'd betray my country or my men…" His face flushed in anger. "You'll have a long time to think about it when you get to England."
"It would seem your network may be as vast as my own, mijn kolonel."
This time Klaussen's voice was tinged with respect for his nemesis. "Your fealty has spared you—more than you will ever know."
"Yeah, I'll bet you say that to all your captors." Hogan smirked. "Now, what did you use on Carter?"
"A conjurer's trick; nothing more. Your Sergeant will be quite all right, I assure you."
"Shall I gag him, sir?"
Hogan nodded to Kinch.
Before the gag was placed in his mouth, Klaussen whispered so only Hogan could hear, "We shall not meet again, Kolonel. I wish you and your men, veel geluk."
"Right. I'll just bet you do."
*.*.*.*.*
"We were getting worried, Colonel," said Garlotti, as he watched Hogan and the other four men climb up the tunnel ladder.
"Everything under control?"
"Yes, sir."
"You just made it back in time for evening roll call," said Olsen. "I was afraid we were going to have to cover for you."
After the last of the men came up from the tunnel, the entrance was closed so that to all outward appearances it was merely another bunk. They had just made it by the skin of their teeth, as Sgt. Schultz burst through the door to call the men for roll call.
"Klink must be nuts. It's a flippin' blizzard out there."
"Look at it this way, Newkirk. The Kommandant isn't going to want to be out there any longer than we are," said Kinch.
"Old blood-and-guts will want to make merry for Christmas," said Hogan, "and he can't do that if he keeps us out too long."
The men filed past the Sergeant of the Guard to line up outside in formation. Surprisingly, the storm had briefly subsided, and a warm breeze, almost balmy for that time of year, had begun to blow.
Klink was bundled from head to toe, prepared for the worst of the storm, and was as surprised as the men at the abrupt change in the weather.
"Report!" he bellowed.
"All present and accounted for, sir." replied Schultz.
"Good. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and in the spirit of the holidays, there will be an extra ration of white bread and butter for all the men in the camp."
"Your munificence is overwhelming us, sir." said Hogan, biting back as much of the sarcasm as he felt concerning Klink's generosity.
"Hogan," began Klink, "you and your men should be grateful for the generosity that the Ministry of Propaganda offered." He absentmindedly brushed away at that troublesome firefly.
"Oh, we are, sir. We are."
"Dismissed," said Klink in a huff, as he turned back to his own quarters.
As the men dispersed, they fell into groups muttering about the supposed generosity to which they were being treated. "Lousy slice of white bread…I'd like to tell 'em where to stick their generosity…Another gift from the grand and glorious Ratzis…"
They slowly headed back to their barracks.
*.*.*.*.*
Opening the door to the barracks, the men's senses were assaulted—not by the usual smell of cabbage soup and sweaty long-johns—instead, the air was alive with the scents of the season: cinnamon, clove, ginger, nutmeg and pine.
On the communal table stood a small evergreen, decorated simply but beautifully for the holiday, as well as an assortment of sausage, nuts, cheeses, gingerbread and seasonal cookies. Upon every bunk in the great room sat a present, wrapped in the same simple style in which the tree had been dressed.
"What the hell?" said Hogan, amidst the gasps of awe from the others. "Kinch, the tunnel!"
The Sergeant was already ahead of his Colonel's order, and had opened the tunnel entrance. Hogan practically slid down the ladder to the tunnel, with Kinch and the rest of his men following behind.
Where there should have been a prisoner, was an empty chair: the ropes neatly wrapped in bows about it.
"Newkirk, LeBeau check the tunnels. He can't have got far."
"Tell the Colonel to get up here on the double," shouted Olsen's voice from above.
Hogan bolted up the ladder. "What is it?"
"Listen, sir."
There was an audible clatter from the roof that stopped suddenly.
Hogan and his men ran to the door and opened it. Their hearts were in their throats: in the distance just barely discernable in the cloud-covered night sky was something that wasn't a plane or helicopter.
"Sir, that looks like—"
"Don't say it, Carter," interrupted the Colonel in astonishment, pushing his crush cap further back on his head. "Besides, reindeer can't fly."
~ Finis ~
© 2016 Dash O'Pepper
Disclaimers: Hogan's Heroes is a registered trademark of Bing Crosby Productions and Viacom/Paramount. "I'll Be Home for Christmas" © 27 September 1943 by Walter Kent (music) and James "Kim" Gannon (words). All rights reserved. This work of fanfiction is not meant in any way to infringe on copyrights already held by these companies, their subsidiaries, and/or their estates. The original characters and plot of this fanfiction are the property of its author.