Robin Hood's Christmas Party

December 1944

Western Europe stood at the verge of one of its coldest winters in the 20th century. And despite Allied predictions on the occasion of D-day last June, the war was nowhere near its end. Parts of the continent had indeed been liberated from the nazi occupation, but so far the broad river Rhine had proved to be an insuperable obstacle for the Allies. And thus the northern half of Holland and the broken-spirited German citizens were headed for what would go down into history as the winter of starvation.

The continuous fighting and the moving fronts had since long put a halt to all trade with other areas, which meant the German people were completely dependent on what their own farmers could produce.

But there weren't all that many farmers left. Any male fit enough to hold a rifle had been packed off to the front. And in order for them to fight for the lost cause of Germany's last bit of pride, the country's women were drafted to work in the only industry left: the war-industry.

The long days in the factory left them with little time to devote to growing crops and taking care of what was left of their cattle. And of the food they did produce, the best went of course to the brass in Berlin, while most of the rest was confiscated for 'our boys at the front'.

You'll understand that for ordinary citizens like you and me, food – and everything else – was severely rationed. To the point that it was not enough to live on, but still too much to starve on.

And it is in this setting that our story takes place. And it all starts with the well-stuffed General Burkhalter, planning his copious Christmas party.

"Klink! You will be responsible for organizing this party."

Colonel Klink, the Kommandant of Stalag 13, nearly toppled over with pride. "It will be my pleasure, Herr General. Rest assured: I will make it a splendid party! You know you can always rely on me, sir!"

General Burkhalter looked his subordinate over from top to toe, as if he were suspecting him to be some strange sort of alien. "No, I can't," he then said coolly. "But I have no one else that has the time on their hands, so you'll have to make do."

"Of course, Herr General," Klink fawned. "I'll have to make..." He bit his lip as he realized just in time that the words of his superior weren't exactly a compliment on his behalf. So he quickly changed the subject to get past the awkward moment: "I suppose the General will host his party at the Hauserhof Hotel as usual?"

"No," came the nasal reply.

Klink laughed nervously. "Well then, what did the General have in mind?"

"Klink." Burkhalter turned a bit in his chair, or at least as far as his corpulent body allowed him to. "There is far too much bombing in this area. And an industrial town like Hamelburg has proven to be too attractive a target for Allied bombings. No, I've taken a house, a large estate, but three kilometers from here. It is nestled nice and cosy against the slope of a hill. Very secluded. And it has a huge barn. That is where we shall have the party."

Another nervous twitter from Klink. "A barn?! You want to host your annual Christmas party in a barn!? Allow me to say so, sir, but..."

"You may not!" Burkhalter lashed out to him. "You will organize this party according to my wishes, or else you'll find yourself on the next train to the Russian front! With a one-way ticket only! It isn't too late yet, you know!"

Klink shrank back. "Yes, Herr General. Of course, Herr General. Right away, Herr General."

"Good. Now about this party. I have invited all the higher officers in the area. Together with their wives, their numbers should be up around a hundred and fifty."

Klink bounced back. "A hundred and fifty people?!"

"Mm, give or take a little." The General was totally unconcerned by Klink's apparent shock.

"B-b-but Herr General...!"

Burkhalter continued as if he hadn't heard him. And perhaps he hadn't. "Now I want the food to be in plentiful abundance, as befits the season. And, well, to boost morale of course. Pheasant, goose, turkey, venison, steak – everything of the finest quality. And many appropriate side-dishes of course. Your little French chef will be assigned to cook for us. And naturally there will be a grand dessert, with lots of ice-cream and chocolate sauce and whipped cream... " He nearly drooled at the mere thought. "And of course champagne to the overflow. And the best wines. And we'll have caviar and smoked salmon on toast for appetizers. And of course..." He smiled to himself. "Plenty of Gemütlichkeit."

Klink merely blinked. "Herr General," he stammered bleakly, "Where am I to get hold of such luxurious food? There is not a store in all of the Third Reich these days that can provide but a quarter of all your wishes!"

General Burkhalter regarded him with the look of an exasperated father. "Klink, use your brain for once, will you? You know as well as I do where to get hold of these things."

Klink's face instantly flushed. "B-b-but Herr General, doing business at the black market is verboten by law!"

"So? As long as it's not been eradicated, why not put it to good use?"

"But Herr General, they ask the most extortionate prices there! Surely you don't expect me to...?"

"It's exactly what I expect you to do! You can send the bill to Berlin." With some trouble he struggled out of his chair. "And remember, Klink: only the very best is good enough for my friends. And that goes both for the food and," he added, "for the decoration of the barn. No one is to realize that General Burkhalter hosts his parties in a barn. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Herr General," came it from a defeated Klink.

"Good." General Burkhalter reached for the doorhandle. "Oh, and before I forget to mention it, Klink: the party is scheduled for Christmas Eve. That is tomorrow a week. I suggest you get started."

An angry fist slammed down on the wobbly desk in the office of barracks 2. "That Schweinekerl!" Hogan pulled the plug out of the coffeepot with such force, that Kinch felt compelled to immediately check the receiver of their listening device in Klink's office.

"That Schweinekerl!" Hogan repeated heartfelt. "The people are starving on his doorstep, and yet he has the guts to invite his posh officer-friends to an all abundant Christmas party!"

"Makes me sick," Kinch agreed with quiet aversion as he put down the apparently unharmed coffeepot.

"I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a good juicy steak either," Carter put in with an obvious longing in his voice.

"Well, at least you still get to eat," LeBeau reprimanded him with a glare. "I cannot say that I care much for the menu here, but we get to fill our stomach."

"And we still have our Red Cross packages to supplement," Baker pointed out. "But what I hear from the people in town, they are slowly, very slowly being starved to death. And with the winter approaching..."

"Hey, I know that!" Carter defended himself. "Heck, I was in town myself last week, remember? The people were queuing outside the shops for miles! Yet the shop-windows were totally bare. There simply is no food."

"Except at the black market," Newkirk said darkly.

"But you heard what Klink said: they ask astronomical prices there!" Carter reciprocated. "No one except the German brass can afford to buy anything there, I'm sure. And..."

"And that's why we are going to see to it that this Christmas feast will end up in the stomachs of those who need it the most," Hogan suddenly declared.

The men looked at their commanding officer in wonder. But then, slowly, a tiny smile began to creep along their lips.

"Good on you, sir," Kinch complimented him.

"I'm with you, sir," Newkirk declared with a glint in his eye.

"Me too," the others announced, and Carter's face split open in a wide grin. "It'll be just like playing Robin Hood! I love Robin Hood! You know: rob the rich and give it to the poor...!"

Hogan winked at him. "You're hitting the nail on the head, Carter, that's exactly what we're going to do. But it's going to take quite some organization, so we'll need some extra men. Kinch, see if you can get in touch with Little Red Ridinghood. I want to talk to Oskar Danzig, as soon as possible!"

But before the meeting with the great leader of the underground took place, Hogan had to make a stooge of Klink first.

"Afternoon, Kommandant," he greeted the man cheerily as he walked into the office – as usual: without knocking.

"Go away, Hogan," Klink mumbled in his drooping position. "Can't you see that I'm ruined?"

Hogan shrugged. "So what else is new."

Klink sighed heavily. "Colonel Hogan, I'm not in the mood for your witty conversation today. Nor for your perpetual complaints. So please go away."

Hogan feigned his interest perking up: "Why, what's the matter?"

"I'm ruined."

"Yes, you already told me that. So what's ruining you?"

"General Burkhalter's Christmas party," came the hopeless answer.

Hogan stopped mid-move from scrounging one of Klink's cigars. "A party?! You're letting a party get the better of you?! Kommandant, I'm shocked!"

Klink shook his head. "You don't understand, Hogan. This is not just any party; it's General Burkhalter's annual Christmas party! A hundred and fifty guests or more. And only the very best food will do! And it's next week already! Oh Hogan, what am I to do?" Another sad shake of the head. "I might as well start packing for the Russian front. There's no way I can pull this off." A deep sigh. "Well, that was it, I suppose. The end of a brilliant career..."

Hogan threw his cap on top of the spiked helmet on the desk, but Klink was far too engrossed in his own misery to take notice.

"Oh, come on, Kommandant," Hogan tried to cheer him up. "You haven't even tried, have you?"

"No. But it's impossible anyway. I mean, doesn't this man realize there's a war on? Pheasant! And steaks! And turkey! And champagne, and caviar! Where am I to get hold of such luxuries? Everyone knows how meager the food-rations are these days!"

"You know where to get hold of it," Hogan pointed out. "And I bet you General Burkhalter knows, too."

"But the black market...!" Klink groaned in agony. "It's receiving! Usury! You know what prices they ask there?!"

"No. But I can imagine."

"And you want me to...?"

Hogan shrugged. "If that's what saves you from the Russian front..."

Klink shivered with anticipatory cold.

"Besides," Hogan lighted the cigar he had scrounged by now, "if you do get caught, you can always say you're just following orders. That's what you Germans are good at, aren't you? Befehl ist Befehl! So blame it all on Burkhalter!"

Klink looked up. Cautiously. "Do you think I could do that?"

"Sure. Why not. It's the brass who's ordered those starvation rations, isn't it? So it's Burkhalter's own fault that there's no legal way for you to get the food he's ordered."

"But..."

"And I'll help."

Klink looked up in astonishment. "You?! You want to help me?!"

"Well, for a price, of course."

"Hm. You know, Hogan, you would make for a good black marketeer yourself. Always bargaining and blackmailing me..."

Hogan merely grinned. "We have a deal then?"

"No!" But then, realizing the predicament he still found himself in, Klink backed down a little and inquired: "What kind of help do you have to offer?"

"Well, for starters I could lend you my man LeBeau to cook the dinner."

Klink just kept a steady gaze on him, trying the utmost not to show his eagerness to hear the rest.

"And I could assign a work detail to help you decorate the place. And another to serve at the tables the night of the party."

"Mm-hm. And what would be your price?"

Hogan straightened. "An extra ration of white bread for a whole week; more wood for the stove; an extra shower at Christmas; and electricity in the barracks until midnight at Christmas Eve. And all of that for the entire camp."

Klink let out an exasperated sigh. "Hogan, are you out of your mind?! The shower, the electricity: okay. The wood: fine, assign a work detail and discuss it with Sergeant Schultz. But white bread? Colonel Hogan, there's not a crumb of white bread to be gotten in all of Germany!"

"Not even at the black market?" Hogan inquired innocently.

"No! Yes! I mean..." Klink sighed. "Yes, I suppose they still have white bread at the black market. But my funds to run this camp are not such that I can afford to buy anything there. For more than a thousand prisoners no less."

Hogan looked puzzled. "Then how are you going to pay for the groceries for Burkhalter's party?"

"General Burkhalter said to send the bills to Berlin."

"Well, there you go then. You just buy the bread in his name, and send the bill to Burkhalter."

"Colonel Hogan!" Klink sounded exasperated now. "How am I ever going to explain the purchase of so much bread to General Burkhalter?! Do you have any idea just how much bread that is: a week's ration for twelve hundred men?"

"Hm." Hogan thought for a moment. "How about I make it up to you: you let us take the leftovers from the party back to camp, to have our own Christmas party here. How's that?"

Klink nodded. "At least that sounds reasonable."

"Fine. It's a deal then?"

Klink sighed. "Deal."

"I was expecting to see someone with high heels and a tight girdle."

At the startling sound of an English phrase uttered in the deserted woods west of Hamelburg, the thin little man with his dapper goatee whisked around, dropping all the firewood he'd been gathering.

"E... Entsch... schuldigung?" he stammered.

The blue eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses were clearly frightened, and instead of picking up the branches he'd dropped, he raised his arms tentatively. "Nicht schießen," he pleaded in his old, trembling voice. "Bitte, mein Herr! P-please, nicht schießen!"

Hogan hesitated. This was the place and the time where he was supposed to meet Oskar Danzig, wasn't it?

But clearly, this was not Danzig. So he held out his empty hands to the shaking clerky type, saying soothingly: "No worries, sir, I won't shoot you. I just came here to meet a girl. A Fräulein, you know?" He made the universal gesture indicating a well-shaped young lady, and the elderly man let out a relieved little cackle of a laugh.

"Ach ja, die Liebe..."

Hogan sniggered with him. "Precisely: die Liebe."

The little clerk slowly lowered his arms and inquired with a hint of unexpected mischief in his crackly voice: "Ist sie schön, die junge Dame? High heels? Tight girdle?"

Hogan froze. What...? How...?

The grin that now appeared on the little man's face was totally inappropriate for this little old Jack-in-Office. "One does not wan..." He closed his mouth, took a good breath and started afresh: "One does not wear one's disguises wan... when they are no longer disguises."

Hogan felt his eyes grow wide. "Danzig?!"

A chuckle. "Got you." Then a sigh. "But can't we change that blasted recognition code? I break my tongue on that phrase!"

For Danzig's sake, Hogan changed to German, too – he knew by experience that the mastermind of the Hamelburg underground was far from fluent when it came to speaking English.

"Fine with me. You come up with something better then. But right now I'd like to discuss something else with you."

Danzig nodded, and gestured to a nearby fallen log. "We might as well get comfortable."

The two men sat down, and a now serious Danzig inquired: "What's the problem?"

Quietly, Hogan disclosed General Burkhalter's plans for his Christmas party. And even though he didn't go into any lengthy descriptions of the proposed menu, he saw Danzig's face darken with every new line he uttered.

"The inconsiderate beast," the German underground leader muttered at last. "Doesn't he realize that half the town is living on a starvation diet?! And then he'll throw a party like that, right under their hungry noses!?"

"My feelings exactly," Hogan agreed. "So we want to try and divert all that food to the people of Hamelburg instead. Ever heard of Robin Hood?"

"Robin Hood?!" Danzig looked thoroughly puzzled, but just as Hogan was about to give him a crash course on this British hero's antics, a sudden gleam lit up Danzig's eyes. "You want to steal the food from right under their noses, and give it to the poor?"

"Well, not quite. Here's the plan."

Hogan talked for many minutes, and the youngish grin that slowly spread over the elderly clerk's face made Hogan – not for the first time – wonder what this man really looked like. As far as he knew, he'd only ever met him in disguise. Many different disguises. Totally different personalities. The guy was truly an amazing actor.

"It sounds like a good plan," the truly amazing actor commented in the meantime. "And my people won't have much trouble gathering the poorest people in town and send them off to Burkhalter's estate."

"Do you know where it is?" Hogan asked.

Danzig answered in the affirmative. "Halfway up one of the first hills of that small range south of Stalag 13. It can't be more than what... half an hour for you to get there. Through the woods, that is." A heavy sigh. "One of the leading families of Hamelburg used to live there. But they've been taken away by the Gestapo." He swallowed something. "They were hiding Jews. Nobody has ever heard from them again."

Hogan remained silent; it was no use pointing out what the obvious fate of that family had been; Danzig knew that as well as he did.

It was Danzig who broke the silence again: "But to get back to the party: would it be okay if we bring the children from the orphanage, too? There's about thirty or forty of them, and children's rations are really deplorable nowadays. Heaven knows these kids could do with a good meal."

"Sure." Hogan nodded his approval. "We'll just have to convince Klink that not everyone likes alcohol, so he'll have to get some juice or something as well."

Danzig nodded. "But still I would like the plan even better if at the same time we could dispose of all those generals somehow," he pleaded stubbornly. "It's not every day that we get an opportunity like this."

Hogan shook his head. "Too risky. That would attract far too much attention."

Danzig shrugged. "It would create a nice confusion in the army though," he stated. "That could be of vital advantage to the Allies. And we can't trust Hitler to kill all his own generals."

Hogan's head snapped up; he was dead sure he had heard that last line before. From a woman's mouth! Danzig? But who had said that to him before!? Who?!

But the man next to him continued casually: "I myself am not too keen on blind killing either. But can't we just pack them off to England?"

Hogan shook his head to clear it; that strange coincidence was a puzzle to ponder over in privacy, later, back at camp. "I'm afraid we can't," he answered. "Most of the escape route is out of business, you know that."

"Oh, I might come up with a solution for that," came it confidently from Danzig.

Hogan sighed. "Now don't make this too complicated, will you!"

Danzig merely grinned, and looked a lot less like an old clerk all of a sudden. "Don't worry, I won't. I'll let you know what I come up with. Still, I already have a nice little plan to scare the wits out of those generals. But I'll need to borrow some of your men. That is, are there any black men in the camp? You know, Negroids? Who are not too shy to act out a part?"

Hogan gave him a frown. "What are you thinking?"

"Are there?" Danzig insisted. "About six or seven should do."

"Yeah, I think so." Hogan heaved a sigh. "But what...?"

"Good. Then these seven men and I will take care of those generals and their wives."

Hogan stared at him with his mouth wide open. "Danzig, that's madness! Eight men against a hundred and fifty people?! Generals and all?"

Danzig ignored his protests. "Let them report to me at K12, the night of the party, at 1800 hours. They should be dressed all in black, and carry a gun each, if you can manage it. Recognition code..." He paused for a moment, to stress the importance of what was to come. "'Some secrets are best kept a secret.' Answer: 'At least until the war is over.'" He winked. "Gutenabend, Colonel Hogan. Und schlafen Sie gut."

"Hey!" Hogan called out after the suddenly disappearing figure. He hadn't noticed how dark it had gotten by now; what time was it?

"Keine Sorgen, Papa Bear," came it suddenly from another direction, making Hogan jump. "The generals are my responsibility; you take care of the party."

And no matter how Hogan strained his ears, no matter how hard he peered into the quickly falling night, that was the last sign of life he got from his mysterious ally that evening.

"The guy's gone nuts," Hogan muttered once he'd reported back to his men about the meeting. "Keeping a hundred and fifty people in check – generals no less! – with only eight men?! It's crazy!"

"Um... if I may say so, sir," Kinch quietly spoke up, "You'll have to admit the same has often been said about you and your plans. And yet they usually work out fine."

"Hm." For a moment Hogan was thrown off balance, for he had to admit that Kinch had a point. How often had his men not openly questioned his sanity whenever he presented them with yet another hare-brained scheme? And yet they were still in business, weren't they?

He frowned as another worry popped up in his mind. "But why do these men have to be blacks? I don't like it. It's not that I don't trust Danzig, but..."

"I like it," Baker piped up. "No offence, sir, but it happens far too often that Kinch and I have to stay behind in camp because the mere presence of a black man would endanger your entire mission. So if Danzig has come up with a plan that calls for black men, then I'll be more than glad to volunteer!"

"Me too," Kinch agreed.

Hogan eyed his two radiomen warily. "Are you sure? You don't even know what he wants you to do. I don't want to see you guys ridiculed. Or hurt."

Kinch shook his head. "From what we've seen from Danzig, I don't think we need to worry about that, sir."

"Blimey, Colonel, this is Danzig we're talking about!" Newkirk cut in. "What has he ever done to make you so suspicious?"

"He's right, sir," Baker agreed. "You're not doing the man justice. Danzig has never given me the impression that he regarded me and Kinch as mere trained monkeys."

"And believe me, Colonel..." Kinch sighed. "We blacks have developed a sixth sense for such things."

Hogan regarded the two of them pensively, and Carter announced: "Gee, I wouldn't mind working with Oskar Danzig myself! Colonel, if I'd make my face all black, do you think he'd let me come along, too?"

Hogan turned to his young sergeant with a small, wistful smile. "Danzig asked for Negroids specifically, Carter. And I'm afraid that description doesn't quite fit you – even if you did make your face all black. But I'll keep it in mind in case we don't find enough volunteers."

Unfortunately for Carter, Hogan didn't have to worry about that: within half an hour Kinch had rallied five more men rearing to go, all excited because they finally got to do something tangible in this war again. Something that'd earn them some respect back home after the war – as opposed to tailoring and counterfeiting and tunnel digging, all without ever even trying to escape.

In the meantime, Hogan had sought out Schultz.

"Hi Schultz. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Schultz straightened himself and glanced up to heaven. "Colonel Hogan, I'd rather you did not. Every time you talk to me, something funny happens. Something I should report to the Kommandant immediately, if it wasn't for you talking me out of it again. So you see: I'd much rather know nothing."

"Not even when you could give a bunch of poor little children the best Christmas in years?"

Schultz jerked his head back to face the enemy Colonel: "What?! What what what... What children?"

"The children of Hamelburg! Didn't the Kommandant tell you?"

"No. He doesn't tell me anything, you know. I mean everything. I mean... What children?"

"Children from Hamelburg. Klink mentioned that General Burkhalter has invited a bunch of kids to his Christmas party, too. You know, to brush up his image."

Schultz's face lit up with a happy smile. "That is nice of him. Perhaps General Burkhalter is not such a bad man after all."

"And wouldn't it be even nicer if these kids could meet Santa there as well?"

"You mean..." Schultz looked slightly panicked. "You mean you want me to play Father Christmas at the party?!"

"Yes, that's the idea. I know you have a Santa-suit somewhere, and with your size, no one will doubt that you're the real one."

Schultz's face softened. "I used to play Father Christmas at the factory, too. The day before Christmas we'd finish at four, and then the families of the workers all came to the factory. And then we'd have a party. And I'd have a huge gunny sack full of candy and little presents für die Kinder..." He heaved a wistful sigh. "Ach ja, those were the days, Colonel Hogan..."

Hogan nodded solemnly. "It's about time we revive those days, wouldn't you say, Schultz?" He paused a moment. "And you can play a major part in that, by dressing up as Father Christmas at the party."

"But but but but... But what is Kommandant Klink going to say? I have to guard you and your men at the party!"

"Well, what's the difference? You can just as well guard us dressed as Father Christmas, can't you?"

"But..." Schultz started to protest again.

But Hogan silenced him. "Don't worry, Schultz. We'll provide you with a gunny sack full of candy."

"But how? No." Schultz held out his hands in defense. "Don't tell me; I do not want to know."

"So you'll do it?" Two candybars suddenly waved temptingly under Schultz's nose.

Schultz drooled like a dog seeing a cookie. "I'll do it." And he swiftly snatched the candybars out of Hogan's hand.

Hogan grinned. "Thanks, Schultz."

The week that followed was pretty busy. Klink spent an entire morning consulting LeBeau about the menu, and together they wrote Klink's shopping list for the black market.

The following day Klink and Schultz ventured into town, conspicuously inconspicuously dressed in civilian suits, for the controversary visit to the downstairs department of the local market.

The official upstairs department was nearly empty. As Carter had said: there simply was no food. But after sneaking down the stairs, Klink and Schultz found themselves engulfed in a hustle and bustle they would not have thought possible in a country reigned by acute overall shortages.

Down there, one could really buy anything. There was food of all kind in absolute abundance, from milk to caviar. Liquor of all sorts, cigars from all over the world, fresh fruit, vegetables, meat, potatoes, chocolate, and most curious of all: large supplies of Red Cross packages.

For a few moments, Klink and his sergeant stood petrified, gawking at the sight of such riches. Then Klink, barely concealing his anger and shock, slightly leaned over to Schultz and whispered in the general rackass: "This is truly disgusting, Schultz. Our people are starving in the streets. But this market alone could keep all of Hamelburg fed for at least a week. And instead, the rich keep everything to themselves and their friends. It's disgusting; that's what it is."

Schultz finally closed his gaping mouth. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. I would say that is very true." He hesitated. "And now we are part of it, too."

Klink whimpered. "Remember: only on General Burkhalter's orders!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

Klink made a gesture to shut him up, and with Schultz in his wake he began to wander among the many stalls. And soon they discovered that although literally everything in their beloved Germany was severely rationed these days, for those who had money to spend, there was not a thing on this earth that was out of reach. Even in wartorn Germany. It was... well, simply disgusting.

"I feel like a criminal, Schultz," Klink admitted quietly when they finally emerged from the downstairs equivalent of Sodom again, after having secured everything they needed; transport to Burkhalter's estate included.

Schultz sighed with him. "Me too, Herr Kommandant." He looked hauntedly about. "Herr Kommandant?"

"Yes, Schultz?"

"Herr Kommandant, I... I would wish none of those generals would show up. So we could invite the poor people of Hamelburg to the party instead."

Klink looked away. "Me too, Schultz." Another sigh. "Me too..."

"Something itching you, sir?"

A startled Hogan looked up in the placid face of his sergeant. "What? No... No, I'm alright."

Kinch gave his CO an amused look. "Then why, may I ask, is your forehead creased by such a deep frown? And why all this restless pacing?"

Hogan scowled. He didn't like being caught, not even at little things.

"You're not still worrying about Danzig's plan, are you?"

Hogan sighed. "A little, yes. But... Kinch, can I ask you something? In confidence?"

"Sure." Kinch looked mildly surprised.

"Do you recall a lady – a young woman – saying, 'We cannot trust Hitler to kill all his own generals'?" He mimicked the intonation as best as he could.

Kinch's face closed for a moment as he searched his memory. But he shook his head. "Sorry, Colonel, can't say that I do." He cocked his head. "Why?"

Hogan averted his eyes for a moment before explaining: "Danzig said that to me when we met last week. And the moment I heard him say it, I knew I had heard that line before, in exactly the same intonation. But from a woman's mouth."

Kinch chuckled. "And now you're wondering if perhaps it was one of those women you've taken into your arms after one of our successful missions."

Kinch would never have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his very own eyes, but Hogan actually blushed. "Yeah... I mean, it's okay for him, I guess. I mean, he's an actor, a female impersonator even. It's his job. But for me!?"

Kinch thought this over, and then he said: "Colonel, if I were you, I'd put it to one side. I'm sure Danzig had a good laugh when he fooled you as a woman. Don't give him the satisfaction of rising to the bait twice."

Hogan let out a sigh. "Yeah. You're probably right, Kinch." A sudden diabolical grin brightened his face. "Just wait until the war is over, Kinch. Then I'll get back at him, I promise!"

"Get back at whom?"

Schultz's voice startled them both.

"Back at Burkhalter," Hogan said quickly. "It's shameful, throwing a party for his rich friends while the people in his country are starving in the streets!"

Schultz hurriedly spied about. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Colonel Hogan. I heard that Kommandant Klink promised you the leftovers from General Burkhalter's party. But those poor people of Hamelburg..."

Kinch gave Hogan a barely visible wink. "What about them, Schultz?"

Schultz gave him a pleading look. "The people are hungry, Kinchloe. There is no food. Only at the black market, but you need a lot of money to buy there." He gulped. "Colonel Hogan, please, could you ask LeBeau to make the food very rich and filling? So that there will be a lot of leftovers? And then perhaps..." He leaned a bit closer. "I know the Kommandant promised them to you, but be a nice fellow and share them with the hungry people of Hamelburg?"

A hurt expression crossed Hogan's face. "Schultz, he promised those to us! As a reward for helping out with the party! And now you want us to share with the enemy?!"

Now Schultz looked hurt, too. "Colonel Hogan, the people of Hamelburg are not the enemy. They don't like the war any more than you do. Or I. All they want is to live in peace and have some food on the table."

"Ah, come on, Colonel," Kinch pleaded. "After all, it is Christmas. Surely we can miss a few scraps?"

"Oh, alright," Hogan gave in. "But on one condition, Schultz: that Klink will go back to the black market to get more food!"

"What!?" Schultz was flabbergasted. "Colonel Hogan, you don't mean that! Do you know what things cost there?!"

"No. But it only seems fair that when we're sharing our hard earned leftovers with at least twice as many people, then there should be more food to share among us. Isn't that fair, Kinch?"

Kinch quenched a grin. "I say I have to agree with that, Colonel."

Schultz looked panicky from one to the other. "But how is the Kommandant going to pay for all that?"

"Easy, Schultz." Hogan put his arm around Schultz's bulky shoulders. "Didn't Burkhalter say to send the bill to Berlin?"

The preparations for the party went smoothly. Incredibly smoothly, Klink thought. He had expected some or other monkey business when the work detail had cleaned out the barn. But there had been none.

He had expected monkey business during the decorating days. But the space had been happily – and neatly! – decorated, and there had been no sign of monkey business.

He had expected monkey business when the truck had delivered the necessary tables, chairs and glassware from the Hauserhof Hotel. But the prisoners had been very helpful in setting things up, and again: no monkey business.

"Perhaps this getting ready for Christmas makes them feel like home," Klink mused by himself as he stood overseeing the setting of the tables. "And isn't it rather stupid that we should engage in such a nasty war, when both sides find much greater joy in celebrating a mutual holiday?"

At that moment, one of LeBeau's helpers came rushing into the party-hall. "Kommandant! Kommandant Klink!"

"Yes?" Slightly annoyed to have his reverie interrupted, Klink turned to the French private.

"Kommandant Klink, there is a telephone call for you. In the house!"

"For me?!"

"Oui, mon Kommandant. It's General Burkhalter."

"General Burkha... Yes, I'm coming. Lead the way."

The young private brought him through the kitchen – where the most tantalizing aromas filled the air – to the hall, where a telephone lay waiting for him on a side-table.

"Thank you," Klink mumbled as he waved away the private and ceremoniously picked up the receiver. And launched into his usual happy opening discourse: "General Burkhalter? How very nice to hear from you, General! You'll be happy to know that everything is working out fine. Corporal LeBeau, the little French chef, is slaving in the kitchen, and the barn has been completely transformed and I'm sure that your guests will..."

"Klink!" Burkhalter's nasty voice echoed against his eardrums, and for a moment he held the receiver a few inches away from his ear.

"Yes, General Burkhalter?"

"Klink, just shut up and listen."

"Yes sir, shut up and listen."

"Klink, I am being detained in Berlin. We are planning a counter-offensive against Russia, and the Führer needs my expertise." A little self-possessed laugh. "So I will not be able to host my Christmas party tonight."

Klink's jaw dropped. "But Herr General, we've been preparing your party for a whole week! The food is practically ready to be served! And...!"

"Klink!"

"Yes, Herr General?"

"I wasn't finished yet. So shut up again and listen."

"Yes sir. Shut up again and listen."

"Good. Now I do not wish to deprive my friends of a good party, so you will be my acting-host."

"Me, Herr General? Oh, I..."

"Yes, you," the nasal voice confirmed. "You will receive my honoured guests with courtesy – or at least with all the courtesy you can muster. They are my guests, Klink, and it's your job to see to it that they do not want for anything. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Herr General. Understood."

"Good. Then get on with your preparations, and I hereby order you to propose a toast tonight. A toast to our all-victorious troops at the Russian front!"

"Yes, Herr General." Klink felt a sudden temptation to cry. Those poor men at the Russian front... Being sent into yet another pointless battle... And at this time of year...

"Frohe Weihnachten then. Und Heil Hitler!"

"Heil Hitler," Klink mumbled insipidly. He just couldn't bring himself to return the General's Christmas greeting. For here he was, Wilhelm Klink, forced to host an over-generous Christmas party to a bunch of people who could get hold of anything their heart desired anyway. The people whose fault it was that out there, thousands and thousands of people were starving. The people whose fault it was that the country's young men were freezing to death in faraway Russia. Or simply being killed in battle. And for what?

He suddenly loathed of himself. And wondered if – perhaps – he could convince LeBeau to serve a very scanty meal to all those fat generals, and save all the good stuff for the people of Hamelburg instead.

Back down in the tunnel, Kinch pulled out the connection from their switchboard and grinned up at Colonel Hogan. "It sure feels good to bully Klink around every now and then," he said.

"Some secrets are best kept a secret."

From the dark interior of the old barn came the clear reply: "At least until the war is over."

They waited, but nothing happened. So carefully, Kinch pushed the door open himself.

"What the heck...!" Armstrong muttered behind him.

Kinch stepped aside, so they could all see.

Inside the barn, in full pontificals, stood a stately bishop.

"Welcome. Kommen Sie herein." The man's voice was warm and old, but held the decisive tone of authority of those accustomed to being listened to.

"Jawohl, monseigneur." Kinch barely held back a chuckle, and wondered if Danzig expected them to kneel and kiss the ring on his finger.

"Close the door."

Garth reached behind him and pulled it shut, leaving the large room in the flickering light of a single candle.

Then Bishop Danzig spoke again. "Seven men. Seven black men. Seven black devils to terrorize the generals. This is good."

Baker gulped a bit. "Black devils?"

"Yes. Devils." Bishop Danzig let his eyes wander over the seven men lined up in front of him. "Do you know Sankt Nikolaus?"

The men shuffled a little. "Um... that's Santa Claus, right?" Dixon offered.

"Not quite." Bishop Danzig shook his head. "They are related, yes, but we will have to compare details some other time. No, Sankt Nikolaus is a real bishop in the Roman-Catholic church. And he knows all the good and the bad things that you have done. He comes to visit every German home on the eve of his nameday, together with his helper, Krampus. Krampus is a black devil, with two horns and a long tail. And he carries a chain."

O'Bama chuckled. "So that's what we are going to be?"

"Yes. Now Sankt Nikolaus does not simply give presents to everyone. If you have been good, you get a present. And candy. But if you have been bad, you get a birch. Not to have you whipped, but to hang on the wall. To remind you. For if you don't better yourself..." A suspenseful pause. "Then next year Krampus will take care of you. And I say that is exactly what those generals deserve."

"With a chain?" Huxtable asked – expectation evident in his voice.

The men snickered a bit.

"But with horns and a tail?!" Baker frowned. "Do you have any?"

"On the table." Bishop Danzig gestured to a rickety table to the side of the room. "A Schwanz – I mean a tail for each of you to pin on your sweater, two hairpins with a horn for in your hair, and a nice little chain for each of you."

The men scrambled over and started putting on their props. Armstrong picked up one of the chains and shook it experimentally. It was made of some sort of metal, and it rattled promisingly, but it didn't seem very strong.

But Bishop Danzig followed them in the vague light. "You. And you." Gently, he pulled Baker and O'Bama aside. "You are not dark enough. Your face must be so black that they cannot see it. Here. Take this greasepaint and make your face and your neck all black."

The two men did as they were told, though Baker whispered to O'Bama: "Never thought I'd see the day that someone told me I wasn't black enough!"

Some fifteen minutes (and some help from the others) later, even Baker and O'Bama were ready to go. Bishop Danzig looked them over and was obviously satisfied with what he saw.

"So what's the plan?" Kinch wanted to know. "I do hope you do not readily expect those generals to tremble at the sight of a childhood's nightmare, do you?"

"No," was the calm reply. "But as superstitious as all the brass are – by Herr Hitler's orders or course – we will at least have an extra advantage this way. So listen..."

Not far from there, in the festively decorated barn of the Burkhalter estate, Kommandant Klink was nervously pacing the premises. "It's nearly time for them to arrive. And what am I going to say when they discover that General Burkhalter isn't even here?"

"I wouldn't worry about it, Kommandant." Hogan leaned carelessly against the doorpost. "After all, from what you told me he has a perfectly good reason not to be here."

"Yes, but... Schultz! What are you doing in that ridiculous outfit?"

Schultz cast a pleading glance at Colonel Hogan.

"Oh, he's Father Christmas," Hogan quickly explained. "You know, to add some Christmas flavour to the party. Here, try some." He grabbled in Schultz's bulging gunny sack and got out a handful of chocolate bars. "Let's see, what would you like? Raisins? Nuts? Almonds? Or plain dark chocolate?"

Klink snatched all four bars out of his hand. "Colonel Hogan! Something fishy is going on here! I'm sure those chocolate bars have been poisoned or something! So you eat them!"

"Well, if you insist..." Hogan wanted to take the bar with the nuts, but Klink held the bars out of his reach.

"I'll pick one, if you don't mind!" And after some deliberation he handed him the almond one.

"Kommandant, would you like me to test one, too?" Schultz offered hopefully.

"No. Let Hogan suffer his own consequences." Klink watched with gloating expectation how Hogan calmly unwrapped the chocolate bar and took a bite. And another one. And another. He ate the whole chocolate bar, and yet nothing happened.

"See?" Hogan said triumphantly as he handed Klink the empty wrap.

Klink shook his head. "Very nice, Colonel Hogan. But I'm not convinced. Here, try this one." The dark chocolate one.

Schultz drooled as Hogan unwrapped his second candybar. "Kommandant, I am a German soldier. A brave German soldier. It is my duty to risk my life! So please let me test a chocolate bar, too!"

Klink scowled. "Oh, alright." He threw the raisins-bar at his sergeant. And although Schultz deftly caught it, he simply put it back in his gunny sack.

"I prefer whole nuts," he told his superior.

Klink fumed, and pulled the entire gunny sack out of Schultz's hands. "Let me see that." He opened the sack. And nearly lost himself at the sight of so much chocolate. "Schultz...!" he panted weakly. "Where did you find such a chocolate treasure?!"

Schultz whimpered softly. "I know nothing, Herr Kommandant."

"Don't be ridiculous. Where did they come from!"

Schultz cast a quick glance at Hogan, who was calmly savouring his second chocolate bar. "Kommandant... Colonel Hogan gave them to me."

"Colonel Hogan gave them to..." Klink whisked around to his senior POW. "Colonel Hogan?!"

"Yes, Kommandant?" Hogan put the last piece of chocolate in his mouth and hooked his thumbs in his pockets.

"Colonel Hogan, where did you get so much chocolate?"

Hogan shrugged. "From our Red Cross packages of course. So when Schultz told us that the General had invited a bunch of kids to his party; you know, to brush up his image a bit, we thought..."

"I did not tell you that! You told me!" Schultz protested in alarm.

Hogan put on a thoroughly aggrieved expression. "I did no such thing! I'm sure you're the one who told me! Besides, I have no way of finding out such information, have I?"

Schultz scowled. "That is not true, Herr Kommandant. He is the one who told me that the..."

Klink waved him away. "Whatever. Hogan, what were you going to say?"

"When?"

"Before."

"What? Oh! Yes. Well, we thought we might surprise those kids with a little present. You know, in the true spirit of Christmas. And it was especially good for all our boys here who have kids waiting for them back home. Even if it wasn't the right kid, at least they got to make a kid happy, just like they'd do with their own back home."

"So you went around the camp collecting chocolate bars. Uh-huh." Klink nodded in mock understanding. "Colonel Hogan, you have been sadly misled. This party is for German top officers and their wives only. There won't be any..."

He whisked around as a sudden knock resounded behind him. A knock on the barndoor. The first guests? He quickly waved Hogan and Father Christmas Schultz away, plastered a smile on his scared face, and opened the festively decorated door.

His jaw dropped. Outside stood the local priest, smiling friendly. And he was surrounded by at least forty kids...

Just past one of the sharpest turns in the winding road leading up to his estate, General Burkhalter's driver suddenly had to hit the brakes. A roadblock was set up there, with two Luftwaffe men. One of them – a captain – made a stopsign and briskly came up to the car.

"Captain Lukas Bolz reporting, sir." A crisp salute. "Heil Hitler."

"Aber was ist denn hier los!" Burkhalter growled.

"Security, Herr General," the captain answered promptly. "Kommandant Klink has received no less than three threatening phonecalls on your behalf today. All from the same person. Apparently some people aren't too happy with the way you wine and dine yourself and your friends in the face of the starving German people. So they are threatening to blow up the place tonight."

Frau Burkhalter started shrieking, and even the General himself turned pallid (though we'll probably never know whether that was due to the bad news or to his wife's unbearable volume).

"What are we waiting for? Driver, turn the car around and get back to Hamelburg at once!" the General ordered.

"Oh, that will not be necessary, Herr General," the captain rushed out quickly. "Kommandant Klink had the entire area mined. Those assassins won't have a chance to get near the house. So the party can go on as scheduled."

Burkhalter's eyes bulged. "As scheduled?! You nincompoop! If the entire area is mined, how do we get to the house? And our guests?"

Captain Bolz blinked. "That's why we are here, Herr General. If you would just drive down this track to the left, and park the car in the field yonder, my colleague will be waiting there to take you to the party. Along a safe route."

"Hmpf." Burkhalter scowled. "Very well then. Driver, you heard what he said: follow that track to your left."

And as the car turned and disappeared out of sight between the clumps of trees, Captain Bolz quickly wiped his brow.

His comrade, an elderly corporal, gave him a cheering wink. "He bought it. Well done, Udo."

Udo – or Captain Bolz – merely smirked. "Yeah. Now the rest..."

The staff-car happily jolted over the many bumps and potholes in the rarely used track. Its occupants were jumping to and fro, but fortunately, after no more than some twohundred meters, they saw two other Luftwaffe soldiers, gesturing to the open gate to a sloping pasture.

The soldiers waited for them at the entrance to the field. "Gutenabend, General Burkhalter, Frau Burkhalter." A salute, even to the driver. "Please let me take you to the party. But I must warn you not to set a foot outside the path. The entire area is heavily mined!"

"We know." Burkhalter snorted. "That fool Klink... Now get going. I don't want to be late for my own party."

"Yes, Herr General."

One of the soldiers led them along a narrow trail, with lots of thistles and overhanging branches, and apart from the occasional snapping of wood and the rustle of dead leaves, all you heard was Frau Burkhalter's continuous complaining.

"Oh, my shoes...! They're going to be all muddy! They'll be ruined! And my nylons just keep getting caught; I'm sure they're full of ladders by now. And... Albert, was that a spider's web I brushed my head against?! Oh, my hair! Goodness, my dress will be a disgrace! How much further, Albert? I'm hungry! I told you we should have brought sandwiches! Oh, my hair...!"

But finally they reached the dark silhouette of a barn. "Here we are, Herr General," their guide announced as he opened the barndoor.

"But..." Burkhalter looked quite bewildered. "This is not my estate!"

Their guide nodded. "You are right, sir, it is not. Kommandant Klink thought it safer to move the entire party. For security reasons, you see; we wouldn't want to see you all blown up. So please, go in."

Burkhalter fumed. "I will. And I'm going to give that Klink a good piece of my mind. Who does he think he is, to move my party to a lowly stable!" He stepped inside the friendly light of the barn in a huff, followed by his wife and – although somewhat baffled by the guide's invitation – even by his driver. And as the door behind them was quietly closed, they heard the authoritative voice of a wise, old man: "Well, well, well... If it isn't our little Albert Burkhalter..."

"Kommandant Klink! How nice to see you!" Father Geisler took off his hat and shook Klink's hand vigorously. Then he looked around. "Where is General Burkhalter? I would like to thank him for inviting the children to his party. They are so excited! And they could do with a good meal, too."

Klink's jaw dropped even further before he managed to gather himself sufficiently in order to stammer: "Gen... General B-B-Burkhalter invited you?! I thought... was led to believe... that..."

"Oh yes, he did," Father Geisler assured him. "Here's the invitation, see?"

"Told you," Hogan whispered over his shoulder as a flabbergasted Klink studied the handwritten invitation. It was indeed signed by General Burkhalter himself. Well, then...

An abrupt smile suddenly brightened his features, and to tell the truth, when looking into those eager young faces, all of a sudden he felt a whole lot better about this party. "Of course, of course! Why don't you all come in? We've had the stove going for a couple of hours, so it's nice and warm in here. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you all here!"

And as the children all hustled inside, once more Father Geisler inquired after General Burkhalter's whereabouts.

"The General can't be here, to his deepest regret," Klink informed him. "He's been detained in Berlin. Some important business with the Führer."

Cries of joy interrupted them as the children discovered Father Christmas Schultz with his bulging gunny sack.

"This is going to be a real Christmas!" one boy exclaimed. "Food, and presents, and everything!" He suddenly quieted. "If only my Mum could see this..."

Schultz bent over to him and winked heavily. "I'm sure she'd enjoy seeing you so happy, wherever she is now. So let's not disappoint her, shall we?"

A tearful grin found its way to the boy's cheeks, and he happily followed the other children into the hall.

"What is going on here?" a fiery Burkhalter spat. And he shivered sharply. For it was not exactly comfortable, sitting on the cold concrete floor, with his hands tied behind his back, and dressed in nothing but his (fortunately long) underwear.

"I see you really have changed, Albert. And not for the better," the venerable bishop observed quietly. "Of course – like every human being – even when you were young you had your share of bad traits. But you used to be a nice boy. Helpful and friendly to others. And honest." A pause. "What happened?"

Burkhalter tried to give the old man one of his glares, but somehow he found himself oddly humbled and impressed by this phoney saint. 'Of course he's a phoney,' he chided himself. 'Sankt Nikolaus is nothing but a myth to keep children in line. Everyone knows it's just next door's neighbour playing dress-up.' Still, he found he couldn't quite bring himself to lie to the phoney bishop. Nor to snort and dismiss him. Or ignore him. Let alone tell him the truth...

If only he'd have his hands free! Then he'd jump at the guy and tear off that hokey mitre and that long beard and...

One of the Krampus devils ominously rattled his chain right next to his ear. And Burkhalter winced. Could these guys read his mind?! Oh well, if only...

Suddenly there was some commotion at the door. Burkhalter distended his eyes: it was Von Kattenhorn! And his wife! He wanted to call out a warning, but the sudden feeling of a pistol in his back made him change his mind immediately. Better be careful: apparently these modern Krampuses were not to be trifled with.

And all he could do was watch his colleague undergo the same treatment he had suffered just a while ago: he was quickly stripped of his uniform, his weapons and boots, and before the poor man realized what was going on, his hands were tied behind his back and he and his wife (only without shoes) were led over to where Burkhalter and his party were seated.

"Burkhalter, what is going on here?" the old man demanded.

But Burkhalter smirked. "Join the party..."

Klink's smile grew with every time he answered the door. "Welcome! Welcome everyone! Come on in! This is going to be a marvellous party!"

And after having checked everyone's invitation and having answered their standard inquiries about General Burkhalter, he confided to Hogan: "I don't understand it, Colonel Hogan. Why would General Burkhalter tell me that he has invited only top officers and their wives, and in practice he's invited poor people from town?"

Hogan shrugged. "Perhaps to make sure that you would only get the very best food and wine? Be honest, Kommandant: would Burkhalter really trust you to buy the best if you knew it wouldn't be spent on the brass, but on ordinary citizens?"

"Of course he would," Klink assured him, only to add: "He could. But I'm not so sure he'd want to."

"There you go then. It even fits in with him not showing up. Burkhalter is far too modest to show himself off as a good-hearted Samaritan."

Another knock interrupted their conversation. Klink opened the door, and saw a dozen or so aged people standing there. Shivering, but with the same eager expectation he had seen in everybody else's eyes.

"Gutenabend," a fragile old woman said. "Is this General Burkhalter's place?"

Klink beamed. "Absolutely! Kommen Sie herein, bitte. So good to see you all!" He offered the lady his arm and led the group inside.

"Ach, wie schön es hier ist," a crook-backed old man sighed. He even had to dash away a tear. "Just like we used to celebrate at home when I was a little boy."

"Und where is the kind General?" the fragile old lady asked Klink as he led her into the hall.

Klink bent over to her to make himself heard in the happy noise around them. "General Burkhalter has unfortunately been detained in Berlin. But he told me to go on with the party nonetheless."

The lady nodded. "Das ist very kind of him. Please give him my regards when you see him again?"

"I will, gnädige Frau. I will." He led her over to the far end of the last table, where some seats still were vacant.

Suddenly he was addressed from behind. "Kommandant Klink, what time does the party end?"

Klink turned around and saw an elderly man standing there. "I suppose it'll end when it's finished. Why?"

The man cleared his throat. "Well, it would be nice to have some indication of when to come and pick up the elderly to take them back to town."

"My good man." Klink slapped him jovially on the shoulder. "Why don't you stay for the party yourself then?"

But the man shook his head. "Nein, danke vielmals, Kommandant. I only brought some people here, but I'm not all that poor myself. I'm a privileged man: a farmer, with two cows in the barn and a coop full of chickens. But too old to be hauled off to the front. I'll make it through the winter, don't worry. But these people here, they need every bite they can get."

Klink nodded in understanding. "I see. Well, don't worry, sir, we will take them back to town ourselves."

The man smiled. "Danke, Herr Kommandant. I..." He hesitated. "I'm beginning to believe that you're actually a better man than they say you are." On that note he parted, and left a smiling Klink to organize the rest of the party.

Apparently General Burkhalter wasn't very good at estimating, Klink mused as he oversaw the hall. He was sure there were quite a few more than a hundred and fifty people in the barn. Twohundred at least, if not more. The prisoners had already quickly solved the impending problem by placing planks over the chairs. So the children were sitting pretty close, and had to share their plate here and there. But they were all far too happy and far too excited to bother about that. The air was brimful with the sound of happy voices and clattering of the cutlery and the china.

And with eager anticipation.

And Wilhelm Klink smiled. It promised to be a very good Christmas this year.

Danzig's plan worked so flawlessly, Garth mused as he pulled yet another set of papers – nr. 53 – from the left inside pocket of a general's uniform. And all these generals were so predictable; they even carried their papers all in the same pocket!

It was his job to compile a list of all the generals and other brass they had kidnapped – at least according to their papers. First and last name, year of birth and division was what he had to write down on each of them. The papers were then put in a box, the uniform thrown to the side, and he was ready for the next.

It was not the most exciting job, that was true. Kinch and O'Bama got to keep their captives in line, silently threatening them with both their gun and their chain. Silently indeed, for Danzig had strictly forbidden his Krampuses to talk: apart from the obvious risk of revealing their American accent, he reckoned that silence would have far more impact than spoken threats.

The others – Huxtable, Baker, Armstrong and Dixon – were taking care of the new parties arriving, sometimes even using some real force – a hit on the head – if it happened to be a real feisty one.

But it was his list Danzig needed in a moment to play his Sankt Nikolaus act to the full. And that was something Garth wouldn't miss for the world!

The door opened again. Everyone looked up; it had been quiet for the past fifteen or so minutes.

But it was only one of the guiding Luftwaffe soldiers.

Many of the angry, shivering generals glared at him, but he blissfully ignored them. Instead, he walked straight up to the mock holy bishop, knelt down respectfully and kissed the ring on the outstretched white-gloved hand.

"Rise, mein Junge." Sankt Nikolaus's voice was soft and warm. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Jawohl, Your Honour."

For just a split second, Kinch saw Danzig's mouth twitch with humor, before he calmly inquired if the soldier had completed his task.

The soldier looked up. "Jawohl, Your Honour. We think we got them all."

"Good." Sankt Nikolaus smiled and glanced at Garth. "Wieviel?"

Mindful of Danzig's prohibition to talk, Garth showed him the number on his fingers: seventy-eight.

Sankt Nikolaus nodded stately in approval. "Danke, Krampus. Now you," he turned back to the soldier, "you and your friends know what to do, nicht wahr?"

"Jawohl, Your Honour: the roadblock out of the way, change, and come back here."

"Ausgezeichnet. Now run along and do what you have to."

"Jawohl, Your Honour."

The soldier had barely closed the barn-door behind him as Sankt Nikolaus's clearing his throat caught everyone's attention. The old bishop had stepped onto a low platform, forcing everybody in the room to physically look up to him.

"Krampus, come and join me here," the old melodious voice commanded – though from his mouth it sounded far more like a friendly request.

The seven black devils came forward and formed a half circle behind him, still glowering menacingly at the fuming and confused generals and their huffed wives. Sankt Nikolaus, too, didn't take his eyes off them as he pulled himself up to his full height:

"Wehe Euch!" he suddenly thundered so that everyone jumped. "Has the Lord not given you a brain to use it?! To allow you to choose between right and wrong?" He looked at his audience with his eyes flashing. "Then why do you allow this Adolf Hitler" – he practically spat out that hateful name – "to determine what is right and what is wrong? After all, he's just a mortal human being like yourself!"

Some of the generals just glared at him, despite their sorry appearance, but others suddenly refused to meet the saint's eyes.

"Since you've grown so used to letting others do the thinking for you, let me spell it out for you." The phoney bishop's voice was much more quiet all of a sudden. "Herr Adolf Hitler is not the world's Saviour. The Saviour will reign with one tool only: the tool of love.

"And what are the tools your extolled Herr Hitler uses? Fear! Tyranny! Hate! And... murder. Hundreds, thousands – perhaps even millions have been killed for what he calls the glory of the Fatherland. Yet when examined closely, it's nothing but a preposterous idea about one man being worth more than another. It's truly one of the most stupid ideas ever in the history of mankind: giving you the right to murder anyone this blasted Führer of yours considers of less value than himself: men, women, children and elderly alike."

He shook his head. "But that is not what your real Boss wants you to do. Don't you recall from your Sunday school classes that He says explicitly that you are not to kill your fellow men? If you had used your brain properly – as you should have – you would never have obeyed such orders. And I, too, was astounded when I learned just how you boys have turned out."

He kept silence for a long moment, locking eyes with some of the defiant, angry and ashamed men before him. "I see that I, too, have made mistakes. Because deep down, even a holy saint is still a human being. I see now that I should have taught you more about thinking for yourself. About the courage to stand for what you believe in, no matter what nonsense other fools impose upon you. It might have saved this world a lot of grief.

"But! It is not too late yet! So let's see if Krampus here can still teach you the lesson I withheld from you so many years ago."

Some of the generals exchanged worried glances. What was this guy up to?!

"Krampus." Sankt Nikolaus beckoned for his two strongest helpers to come forward. "Help young Albert Burkhalter to his feet, bitte."

Kinch and Huxtable did as they were asked: they hauled the big man to his feet and brought him to stand in front of the bishop.

Sankt Nikolaus looked him over from top to toe. "So. Albert Burkhalter. It's been a long time, hasn't it. I see you have been living in abundance, despite all the national shortages."

The disapproving glance at what once was his waistline flushed Burkhalter's cheeks. "Don't you talk to me like that, you extinct fool! I am General Burkhalter, and I'm entitled to...!"

"Perhaps you are," Sankt Nikolaus interrupted him. "But what are you without your magnificent uniform and your impressive row of medals? Right now, dressed in nothing but your underwear, people can plainly see that you're just an ordinary human being. The only thing that sets you apart from the man in the street is your weight."

Burkhalter cringed. "I've been trying a lot of diets. But somehow I always end up gaining weight instead of losing any."

"If these were black market diets, I'm not surprised," Sankt Nikolaus commented wryly.

Burkhalter's eyes bulged. "I've never set foot at the black market, I swear!"

"Perhaps not," the bishop said calmly. "Instead, you engage someone else to do your shopping there, don't you. How else would you have gathered such plentiful food for your party?"

"I... I..." Burkhalter stammered, at a loss for words to defend his actions.

But with an authoritative gesture Sankt Nikolaus shut him up. "Don't exhaust yourself with petty excuses, Albert. You know as well as I do that it is the shameful truth. Therefore..." He looked around at the other generals. "Therefore, you shall now receive the warning punishment I withheld from you when you were a boy. In the hope that you will finally learn its lesson."

On that cue, Baker sat down on a heavy crate, and Huxtable and Kinch forced General Burkhalter to lie across his lap, with his buttocks in the air. The other Krampuses took down the birches that were hanging on the wall, and they all gathered around the angrily yammering Burkhalter.

But suddenly, an anguished cry came from the ladies' department. "You cannot do that to my Albert! He's a general of the Third Reich!"

Sankt Nikolaus raised an eyebrow. "Frau Burkhalter, I presume? Well, then perhaps you would like to take your husband's punishment for him? Perhaps that might teach him some humility."

The fat woman in red quickly sat down. "Nein... nein, das nicht."

"Fine. Krampus, do your job."

And as the birches relentlessly came down on Burkhalter's defenseless buttocks, the other generals sat paralyzed with shock. Surely this could only be a bad dream!?

But when a yelping Burkhalter was led back to his place among them, barely able to sit; when Sankt Nikolaus consulted a list one of the Krampus-devils showed him, and called their comrade Georg von Kattenhorn up front; when Von Kattenhorn was forced to undergo the same humiliating treatment as his predecessor, as did the next, and the next, and the next... By then, little more than scared little rabbits was all that was left of the usually so puffed up generals of Hitler's glorious Third Reich.

But what could they do?

Not fivehundred meters from that barn of terrors, there was another barn, where the general mood was quite the opposite. Happy laughter and chatting, and even occasional singing was what filled the air of that other barn.

"Everyone can eat as much as they want to!" had been the final words of Klink's welcoming speech. And now the Kommandant wandered back and forth between the tables, positively beaming.

Every now and then, someone stopped him to express their thanks: "It is truly a wonderful party, Kommandant Klink. Thank you so much!" So that Klink felt himself grow yet another centimeter at the least. Surely the General would be pleased when he heard that things had gone so well!

Colonel Hogan however did not move around. He had chosen a corner from where he could oversee the entire hall, and from his strategic spot he took in all the happy faces. It felt oddly good for a change, to commit sabotage that made others than himself and the impersonal voice from London happy. Probably because it was constructive sabotage: they were giving something, instead of destroying.

While keeping an eye out for possible trouble from outside, he watched his men serving at the tables. The twenty odd prisoners who volunteered for the job were to see to it that no bowl or plate was ever empty. In between, they joked with the children, chatted with the grown-ups, and in the true Christmas spirit, animosity was totally absent.

"This is the best Christmas I've had in years, Colonel," Newkirk observed as he rushed by with glittering eyes and a tray full of roasted chicken breasts.

"Yeah! Boy, it's even better than blowing up an ammo dump!" a radiant Carter agreed with his arms full of fresh fruit.

Hogan nodded, and watched Father Christmas Schultz as he went around and had a little chat with each and every kid in the hall. But suddenly his voice rose over the noise of the entire room: "Is it really your birthday today? But then we must sing for you! Come and stand on your chair! And how old are you today?"

"Six," answered the girl with the long plaits as she climbed up on the chair.

"And what was your name again: Rosa, Rosie?"

"Rosemarie," the girl corrected him.

"Rosemarie," Schultz repeated. "So let's all sing for Rosemarie. Everybody: eins, zwei, drei...!"

Focusing on the happy goings-on inside the barn, with Schultz lifting up the birthday-girl high above his head at every hurray, unfortunately Colonel Hogan did not pay enough attention to what was going on outside the barn. The slamming of a cardoor was easily drowned out by the cheering inside. And by the time Hogan checked the surroundings again, the dark shadow that had emerged from the car had long melted into the shadows around the house. Peeking, prying, listening... until it finally found a decent crack where it could look inside.

For a few moments, the dark eye peering through the crack just wandered disdainfully over the happy festivities in the barn. But then, suddenly, the mouth tightened, and a deep growl welled up from its throat:

"What is zat man doing here?"

Four more generals to go.

Kinch hid a sigh. To tell the truth: it was getting monotonous. True, some of their captives put up a real struggle, but even spanking bad guys gets boring if you have to do seventy-eight in a row.

Finally however, even those last four returned moaning and groaning to their mates, and the other group: the general's wives and a dozen or so drivers, already started fidgeting uneasily, afraid that it would be their turn next. And they shuddered with premature fear when this cruel Sankt Nikolaus turned to them indeed.

"You have witnessed what becomes those who let others do the thinking; those who just follow orders without questioning. 'Befehl ist Befehl' is their derisive and only excuse. But as you see, they will be severely punished for their refusal to use their own brain. But you I will give one last chance. I suggest you make the right choice.

"As for you," he turned back to the sorry group of generals in their underwear. "If you've learned your lesson today, that means you'll be of no use anymore to your glorious Führer. If instead you haven't learned your lesson, then this world that is finally moving towards peace will not have use for you. Either way, you'd better get out of here."

Immediately an uproar broke out among the group of generals. "Was? Get out of here? Defect? You can't do that! You don't mean that! That's treason! We'd be shot on the spot!" Lots of shocked and angry cries welled up, but the phoney saint held enough authority to merely need raise his hand and the group grew quiet.

"You will go where I send you. And my friends from the Gestapo" – he nodded towards the five recently arrived black clad men with their semi-automatic guns in a ready to fire position – "will make sure you get there." And with that he turned, and stately strode through a door in the back Kinch hadn't noticed before.

Baffled glances of worry were exchanged among the generals. Was all this some kind of frame-up from the Gestapo?! Everybody knew – though nobody would ever dare voice the thought – that the Führer was going paranoid about treacherous dangers in his staff. But surely he would not wipe out the entire western wing of his army staff!?

Kinch chuckled inwardly at the sight of their worried glances. About time these guys discovered what they themselves had been putting others through for years!

But while Danzig had disappeared to change into a Gestapoman himself – Kinch really wondered how fast that could be accomplished – the seven Krampuses and the Gestapomen knew what to do: they were to keep their captives on their toes. Figuratively speaking of course; they were all still sitting on the cold barn floor.

But as he went around there, menacingly circling the generals and rattling his chain ominously, suddenly another thought struck him: 'You know what you've got, but you don't know what you'll get.' Getting those generals out of the way was all very well, but what would the Colonel say about Burkhalter being replaced?! Chances of getting an equally 'patient' boss for Klink were practically non-existent, and before they'd know it, they might be waving Klink goodbye on his way to Stalingrad! And that would mean trouble. Big trouble. He'd better go and see Danzig right away, or else...

He moved away from the others towards the dark corner where Danzig had disappeared. Muffled voices could be heard behind the wooden partition, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. A woman?

He raised his hand to knock on the door, but hesitated again. What if he'd catch Danzig in the middle of changing disguises, and see his real face? Sure, he was as curious about Danzig as everyone else, but what you didn't know you couldn't spill.

He knocked anyway. Danzig could always tell him to wait.

But he didn't: "Herein."

Slowly, Kinch pushed open the door. And the first thing he saw by the soft light of two candles was a rogue Gestapo officer of the perfect fair Aryan type. If it wasn't for the deep, ugly scar that marred his left cheek, the guy would have been poster material for the Nazi propaganda machine. And behind him, Kinch noticed a young lady standing.

"Problems?" the Gestapo major inquired in a calm tone as he skilfully applied a few lines of make-up to his face, making him all of a sudden look ten years older at least.

Kinch blinked. It had to be Danzig, the master of disguises – who else could it be? But the transformation was so complete, so... so real, that he really had to struggle to make himself trust the man before him.

Danzig – if indeed it was him – turned to face him. "Was ist los?"

Kinch took a good breath. "Sorry. The way you've totally changed in what... ten minutes? It threw me off a bit."

A grin from Danzig. "Lots of practice and experience. So what's the problem?"

In a few short lines Kinch explained the problem that might arise for Klink – and for them – if Burkhalter were to be replaced as Klink's boss. And Danzig was quick to understand: "You're right; I hadn't thought of that. Too eager to get rid of them, I suppose." He chuckled. "We'll keep Burkhalter here then. He can go with you guys, okay?"

"Okay," Kinch agreed. He cocked his head. He couldn't help it: he was curious about this enigma of a man. Especially since... "You know, there really is something familiar about you."

"That's possible." Danzig smiled and turned back to his little mirror to continue with his make-up kit. "After all, we've met quite a few times over the past few years."

"As a woman, too?" Kinch ventured, recalling the Colonel's agony last week.

The lady in the corner chuckled. "Of course. Oskar takes special pleasure in measuring wits with that lady-killer Colonel of yours. Just to keep him on his toes whenever he's getting too confident. So far, Colonel Hogan has not caught onto him yet. At least as far as we know."

Danzig sent her a dark frown, but Kinch whistled appreciatively. "I dare say you're right. But if I'm not mistaken, I know you, too. You're Little Red Ridinghood, aren't you?"

A smile was his only answer, and Danzig said: "Come on, we have to get going." He quickly packed up his make-up kit together with the Sankt Nikolaus outfit, and Little Red Ridinghood helped him zip up the bag.

"Just wondering," Kinch ventured as they got up. "How are you going to get all those men to England?"

Danzig smirked. "By sub of course. How else? They'll be waiting for us at the beach early tomorrow morning."

Kinch frowned. "I didn't know your radio could reach London?"

"It can't," came the wry answer. "That's why I used yours."

Kinch's jaw dropped. "You what...?!" He shook his head as he contemplated Danzig's sneaking into their tunnel system and using their radio equipment without anyone noticing, but he dropped the topic when he saw a grave Little Red Ridinghood place her hands on Danzig's shoulders and tenderly kiss him on the scarless cheek. "Be careful, will you?"

"I will."

Slightly embarrassed but privately amused, Kinch turned away. For he suddenly recalled a certain young campguard from their caroling adventure last year who was quite smitten with this lady as well. Apparently the poor guy had some stiff competition from one of the masterminds of the underground. Though for the love of her, he couldn't imagine what it would be like for a girl to have a female impersonator for a lover...

By then, the scene had already passed and Little Red Ridinghood was heading out the back door with the bulging bag full of Sankt Nikolaus's regalia. And Danzig himself pocketed his gun, blew out the two candles and said: "Let's go."

The next thing Kinch knew, he was in the company of a sneering, impatient, and terribly arrogant Gestapo major.

Hogan saw him the moment he threw open the barn door. "Hey Kommandant, what is this man doing here?"

Hochstetter nearly exploded. "Hogan, you're under arrest! Zat is my line!"

"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to upset you." Hogan shot him his most disarming grin. "So who invited you here?"

"No one invited me," Hochstetter snarled. "No one ever invites me to parties. I don't even like parties. But I do like to keep an eye on zings. So: Klink, what is zis man doing here? Zis is supposed to be General Burkhalter's party!"

Klink cowered away in a corner. "How did you know that?"

Hochstetter looked him over from head to toe. "I know everyzing, Klink. Everyzing!"

"Betcha don't know how my old man used to celebrate Christmas!"

Hochstetter whisked around. "Klink! Who is zis man!"

Hogan grinned. "There, major, at least you got to say your second favourite line."

"Keep out of zis, Hogan! Klink! Who is zis man!"

"Corporal Newkirk, at your service, major." Newkirk wiped off his hand on his apron and offered it to the major.

"Paah!" A seething Hochstetter turned on his heels, but Newkirk continued: "I sure hope you didn't come here to be a party-pooper, major. If you wait here a moment, I know just the thing that will get you in the right mood."

"Zere is nozzing wrong wiz my mood!" Hochstetter spat angrily, and began to march towards the festivity hall, glowering at everything and everyone he passed.

Hogan raised an eyebrow at Newkirk – he really had no idea what his corporal was up to. But Newkirk just winked back and quickly disappeared.

Meanwhile, the hall had grown awfully quiet under Hochstetter's glare. No one dared to talk – or even take a bite with the Gestapo watching their every move. Scared faces searched for Kommandant Klink. Was this to be the nightmarish end of their delightful Christmas eve?

Suddenly, Hochstetter paced back to the entrance where Hogan and Klink still stood. "Klink! Where is General Burkhalter? Zis is supposed to be his party!"

Klink was trembling so badly that Hogan decided to answer for him: "General Burkhalter has been detained in Berlin, major. And he asked the Kommandant to host the party for him, so that it could go on as scheduled. Isn't that so, Kommandant?"

Klink's head bobbed anxiously up and down, but: "Zat is a lie!" Hochstetter spat out. "General Burkhalter was seen taking zis road earlier zis evening. And so were his guests: all generals and top officers, togezzer wiz zeir wives. So: where are zey?"

Klink shook his head in utter puzzlement. "I really wouldn't know, major. I thought these people here were the ones the General had invited. They all brought the invitation as proof." He frowned. "Are you sure you saw the General in town this evening?"

"Of course I'm sure. I'm always sure." He glared suspiciously around. "Somezing strange is going on here, Klink. And until I get to ze bottom of zis, I place everybody in zis barn under arrest."

You could hear a pin drop.

And Hogan glanced impatiently toward the back door. Should he try some other diversion, or...? What on earth was keeping Newkirk?!

"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fe-helloooooooow... which nobody can deny! Yahoo!"

Newkirk, Carter and LeBeau came skipping through the hall. "Hiya, major!" Carter greeted him. "Merry Christmas to you!"

"Paah!"

"Come on, major. Let's celebrate." LeBeau took the Gestapoman by one arm, Carter grabbed the other, and Newkirk produced a large bottle of whiskey.

"Have a drink with us, major Hochstetter! It's Christmas, you know; time to forget our many differences for a while. Here, in the meantime Colonel Hogan can hold on to your precious property." He quickly filched Hochstetter's gun and handed it to Hogan.

Hochstetter wrestled ferociously to get free. As ferociously as he dared to, that is, for the combined restriction of two men holding him and his own gun prodding him in the chest did dampen his efforts a fair bit.

Trembling, Klink watched from the sideline. "Newkirk, what are you doing?" It was marvellous to see the behated major Hochstetter being bullied for a change, but he couldn't help but fear the man's wrath afterwards.

"We're going to have a toast!" Newkirk cheerily announced.

"I don't drink," Hochstetter growled at him. "I am a loyal follower of the Führer, so I do not drink alcohol."

"Oh yes, you will." LeBeau sounded ominously. "Tonight you will."

And with that, Newkirk unexpectedly drew back Hochstetter's head, held the man's nose and turned the bottle of whiskey upside down over his gaping mouth.

Hochstetter didn't want to. He really didn't want to. But unless he preferred to choke, he hastily had to swallow the fiery liquid in huge, uncomfortable gulps. It burnt his throat and all the way down, and the worst thing was: his archenemy kept just within sight, grinning madly from ear to ear...

"Good one, Newkirk. That'll keep him off balance for the night."

"And he won't remember a thing once he's gotten over a hangover as bad as this," Newkirk grinned. "But this bottle is nearly empty. I think he could do with another one. Andrew, go fetch him one, will you? And if you, Governor, can hold the man for a few minutes?"

After he got over a fierce coughing fit, it appeared that Hochstetter already had a rather glazed look over him, and wasn't quite steady anymore either. Still, that didn't stop him from spluttering threats in thick German: "Zhie zhind allyen fferhafftet. Ja, fferhafftet! – hic! – Meine Rache ffird zhüß zhein: Bllyut ffill ich zhehen! Ein Meer ffon – hic! – Bllyut! Ssoffiel Bllyut dazz ich mich darin baden kann! Zhie fferden ihre – hic! – Sshtrafe nicht entgehen: ich, major – hic! – -shtetter fferde zhie allyen tsherffazhern... ja, tsherffazhern – hic!"

Klink paled visibly, but there was Carter back with another large bottle. "Merry Christmas, major!" he cheered.

"Ja... hic! Merry Chrisshtmazh!"

And the unbelievable happened: major Hochstetter, the true follower of his teetotallist Führer, brought the bottle to his mouth and drank nearly half of its strong alcoholic contents without being prompted.

Newkirk chuckled. "He's tight alright. Now all we have to do is keep him happy with as much liquor as he wishes. Which I don't expect to be much more; he'll probably conk right out within ten minutes or so."

"Good job, Newkirk." Hogan let go of the Gestapo major, but the poor guy nearly toppled over right away: "Oopsh!"

A vacant grin came over Hochstetter's face as he grabbed his enemy's elbow for support. "Tellll me, Colllonelll Hogan: are you wealllly – hic! – Papa Bear?"

"Well, what would you do if I said yes?"

Klink flinched. But a carefree Hochstetter revealed: "I ffould – hic! – tear you to pieshess untillll I ffould hafe gotten effery ssht... sshc – hic! – sshcllap offf inf'mation out offf you. Hic!"

"And what would you do if I said no?"

"I ffould tear you – hic! – to pieshess untillll you ffinalllly sshaid – hic! – yessh."

Hogan chuckled. "In that case, I'd better not say anything. Right, major?"

"Right!" Another half liter of alcohol disappeared down Hochstetter's throat, and Hogan motioned for the others to go on with the party. "Don't worry, I'll take care of this piece of garbage."

Newkirk grinned back. "I'm sure you will, sir."

"Und a mellly – hic! – Chllisshtmass zu uzz allll!"

"Schnell! On your feet! Line up!"

Suddenly, every shivering captive in the room realized that perhaps Sankt Nikolaus's torture hadn't been so bad after all. At least the man was supposed to be a saint, so no stranger to mercy. Yet one look at this guy, and you couldn't help but shrink back for the sheer evil that radiated from his every pore.

"Schnell, I said! What's there to dawdle!"

The Krampuses, too, instinctively backed off towards the nearest wall, and even the Gestapomen tensed visibly, and clasped their semi-automatic guns just that little bit tighter at the sight of their commanding officer.

The cold blue eyes of the major roamed over the sorry group of prisoners in utter disdain. Awkwardly, the men began to struggle to get up. Not nearly fast enough for the major's taste apparently: he stepped in and roughly hauled the one closest to him to his feet. "Need some help, grandpa?"

Boldened by their leader's crude behaviour, the other Gestapomen followed his lead, and soon all seventy-eight generals huddled together, scared as little mice.

The major strode over to the other group. "You. And you. Get dressed. You're coming with us."

Too frightened to even acknowledge the order, the two young drivers scurried over to the heap of uniforms in the corner and started rummaging around in the pile to retrieve their own. An impatient jerk of the head, and a barked "Schmidt. Felten", and two of the Gestapomen quickly strode over to help them. Within seconds they had pulled out two pairs of pants, two pairs of boots and two helmets and thrusted them at the two frightened young men. Two coats without a general's adornments were a little harder to locate, but even those were found, and under the threat of two Lugers pointed at them, the two drivers quickly dressed in the not always so well-fitting uniforms.

"You two are the lucky ones. You're coming with us," the major drawled. "Whereas the ladies here will be left at the unpredictable mercy of Krampus, at least you have some idea what's going to happen to you. Don't you?" Scaring the life out of the two, the major suddenly jumped at them and brought his face within an inch of theirs. "You do as you're told, and maybe – just maybe we might take pity on you. Otherwise it's..."

An all-implying gesture made the two boys gulp painfully. "Yes sir," they whispered in a barely audible chorus.

"Good choice. Now move it!"

Meanwhile, the other Gestapomen had pushed the shivering generals into two lines, and motioned for Kinch and Armstrong to tie them together on two long ropes.

And all the time, that horrible Gestapo major kept parading back and forth, right in front of them, casually playing with his gun and straightening his uniform. As if to rub it in a little harder yet just how undressed and defenseless they all were.

But suddenly the man turned. "Who of you is Burkhalter?"

Burkhalter's eyes bulged instantly, and he quickly tried to hide in the crowd.

But at a time like this, one really learns to discern friends and enemies: he was deftly shoved forward by his neighbouring colleagues until he stood all alone in front of the ranks.

There was no chance for angry glares back at his so-called comrades, for the major sneered: "So, you're Burkhalter?"

"J... jawohl, Major..." At that moment, Burkhalter's only wish was for the floor to open and swallow him right there, so puny he felt under the derisive glare of this overbearing Gestapo shark. And dressed in nothing but his long underwear as well!

A vile laugh reached his ears. If it really was a laugh. The sound alone was a fatal attack on everyone's eardrums.

"Good," the man drawled, and pulled out his gun. "For you, we have a special treat in stock today."

Burkhalter eyed the gun warily, and swallowed hard.

"The worst punishment of all," the major continued. "You're going to have to stay here – with your wife!"

Burkhalter couldn't quite decide whether he should sigh with relief or groan with agony. Fortunately, the major didn't await his decision anyway: unceremoniously, Burkhalter was propelled in the midst of the ladies, threatening to flatten each and every one of them that happened to come under his massive shape.

Again that evil laugh. "That's right: coward with the cowards. Now, are you tortoises done tying up yet?"

"Nearly there, Major."

"Hurry it up then. The sooner I can dispose of these rats, the better."

"D...d...dispose?" one of the elderly generals piped up.

"Yeah, dispose." The tall major haughtily towered over the spokesman and stared him down with such disgust that you'd expect him to be watching some kind of yucky vermin crawling out of his sallad. "Like in 'get rid of', understand?"

The man dared not even nod, but then the other Gestapoman announced that the prisoners were all tied together.

"Finally." The major took out his gun again and slowly, very visibly unlocked it. "I could of course save us all some trouble and shoot you all here and now. Any volunteers?"

The barn remained deadly quiet.

"Hm. Pity. Then we'll have to stick with our little hike. So: quick... march! Eins zwei, eins zwei, eins zwei!"

Dragged along by some of the Gestapomen, the shivering group marched as martially as they still could muster towards the door and outside. Some cried out, and once again the major let out that horrid laugh of his. But before he left, he turned to address the ladies: "I hope for your sake, ladies, that these Krampuses have something decent in mind for you. But considering that they're devils..." He left the rest of the sentence doomingly hanging over them, and with a mock salute he followed the others outside.

Everybody – even the seven Krampuses included – felt they could finally let go of their breath again. Now that this frightening Gestapo major had left, and the yammering of the generals began to fade...

Yes, yammering. No matter how martial they tried to pretend to be in their underwear, no one – not even the very best military training – had ever prepared them for marching barefoot through woodland in a moonless night. So they kept stumbling, cutting, hitting and hurting themselves by stepping on snapping branches, as well as acorns, chestnuts, beech-nuts, thistles, stinging nettles and blackberry bushes.

But forward they were forced to go, relentlessly, humiliated to the bone, and clad in nothing but their underwear.

And barefoot.

"What's going to happen to them?" someone ventured.

"And what's going to happen to us?!" General Burkhalter insisted.

However, the Krampuses still refused to speak. Instead, the only answer the prisoners got was the fateful rattling of O'Bama's chain.

The minutes passed but slowly. The Krampuses had gone back to silently circling their prey, and no matter what some or other high-pitched voice asked, they never got more than an threatening stare back. They were like giant black spiders, with an awful lot of goodies in their web.

Until they all heard it: the distant sound of trucks starting.

Suddenly the Krampuses began to prod their captives to get up.

"Where are we going?" one of the ladies inquired anxiously.

No reply; the Krampuses were too busy getting everyone on their feet. Which sounds quite a bit easier than it actually was; after all, they all still had their hands tied behind their back, and several of the ladies were simply too corpulent to get up from the floor by themselves without the use of their hands.

"Where are we going?" came the repeated question.

Still no spoken reply.

But this time, at least they got some sort of an answer: Baker walked to the door, motioning everyone to follow him.

"What?! We have to go outside!? In our bare stockings?!?"

"In the truck. Macht schnell!"

None of the undressed generals dared to voice even a grumbled protest. For even though the guy was a mere major, he was Gestapo as well. Prototype Gestapo, you could say. That wasn't the kind of authority anyone would want to meddle with.

And so, one by one, they climbed clumsily into the two waiting Luftwaffe trucks. They were all seated – still all tied together on the long ropes – on the rough planks that made for the side benches of the truck.

"Schmidt, Fenstermacher: this truck. Pfaff, Felten: the other. Let's go."

So two Gestapo guards climbed into the back of each truck as guards, while the major and his aide guided the two young Luftwaffe soldiers to the driver's seats. And under the guard of a Luger prodding uncomfortably in their side the young men started the trucks and drove off towards the town.

Major Hochstetter had well passed out by then. Loud snoring he lay on the floor by the entrance of the barn, with the third emptied bottle still clutched in his fist.

Hogan had long left him to his fate. Now that the major was no longer a threat, he had resumed his place at the sideline of the party.

It was definitely winding down. The people were stuffed, and he saw many of the fresh oranges that were meant for dessert disappear into people's pockets.

Not that it mattered. It had been good, and that was what counted. Happy faces on well-fed bodies. This would be one wartime Christmas to remember with nostalgia.

There was however someone who was truly fascinated by the snoring Hochstetter. First from a safe distance, but gradually from more up close, Kommandant Klink felt his eyes glued to the sleeping Gestapo major. Oh, what a chance to get even with that detestable man! He could spit on him and kick him and punch him and pull his hair...! And the guy would never know who did it, so it was completely safe!

Gloating to the fullest, Klink hovered over his eternal tormentor. What should he do, what could he do to put the creep in his place?

He hesitated. After all, he was an officer. A gentleman. And gentlemen don't go around kicking and pinching and spitting on sleeping people. Not even their worst enemies – unfortunately.

Furtively, Klink glanced around. No one there? No one looking?

He bent down and: "Screw you, Hochstetter!"

And with that, he stuck out his tongue as far as he could.

In the meantime, the young soldier driving with Danzig's Gestapo major was sweating water and blood. The Luger was still planted painfully in his side, and he didn't dare to move any muscle that was not related to driving the car. Let alone open his mouth to ask that bully of a major to ease on the pressure a bit, because the man had him cowed more than well enough to have him do anything he said anyway.

Presently though, it looked like it was only going to get worse: ahead of them, a light flashed and a stopsign was given.

With the gun prodding just that little bit firmer, the young driver brought the truck to a halt with a gasp. A quick flash with the flashlight, and one of the elderly Wehrmacht guards moved to the passenger's side of the truck.

"Ausweis, bitte."

Condescendingly, the major pulled out his papers from the inside pocket of his uniform coat and handed them to the guard with a sneer – all the while keeping the young driver at gunpoint without the guard noticing.

The man was too busy squinting at the papers anyway. But in the end: "In Ordnung, major. You may proceed." He offered a rigid salute, but all he got back in return was a derisive, "I am glad it meets with your approval," and a silent Heil Hitler greeting.

That put the guard out a bit. After all, Gestapo or not, he had been posted here with a job to do, too! A job that, too, would perhaps lead to the greater glory of the German Reich one day, just as much as that Gestapo major's mission! So he stuck out his chin and demanded: "What about that second truck?"

The major glared down at him. "Same mission. Go ask my aide, Sergeant Jürgens, if you don't trust me."

But the burning glare accompanying those words was more than enough for the poor brave guard to back off and motion for his colleague to lift the barrier.

"Wise choice, grandpa." The major showed such an evil grin that the guard stumbled back in shock.

And with that, the two trucks moved on through the night, over the badly damaged Autobahn to Bremen.

"Where are we going?" Burkhalter demanded for the fifth time. Only to painfully suck in his breath as he just then stepped on a sharp beech-nut, hitting exactly the same spot as where he had stepped on a sharp stone a few minutes before.

He was getting more and more impatient with these irritating black "devils" who refused to answer any of his many questions. Those two up front just kept walking stoically, no matter what threats or flattery he flung at the back of their black heads.

He tried to keep track of where they were going. They couldn't be far from his estate, he reckoned, but the night was too dark to really make out anything, except that they were clearly going up hill.

Behind him, he heard the soft yammering of the ladies. Rumbling, complaining, moaning, bickering, twaddling, crying out in sudden pain, shivering, shuddering... Why on earth had they made him stay back with the ladies?! And worst of all: with his bore of a wife! While all of his colleagues were being taken away to goodness knows where?

But hey, as long as the Gestapo's choices were favourable to him, he wasn't one to question orders. Surely his wife was a little bit – well, a tiny little bit – better than an intensive Gestapo course. Or a firing squad.

He trod carefully on what seemed to be hardly more than a fox's trail. The tree roots and everything lying in his way made it a sheer torture to go, but he refused to cry out and yelp as the ladies did. A general of the glorious Third Reich was above complaining about such minor inconveniences, was his opinion. It was all a matter of give and take. And now that he was on the receiving end for a change, he had no intention of losing his dignity over something as trivial as stepping on the sharp end of a stupid acorn.

No.

Jaws firmly set, he followed his annoyingly silent captors. And nothing was going to get General Burkhalter to yelp out like...

"Ahiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!"

Except perhaps the prickly wrapping of a wild chestnut of course.

Young Baker right in front of him jumped nearly a foot high at the startling shriek behind him. But immediately, Kinch's calming hand was on his arm. And he pointed.

Baker saw it, too. There was light ahead. Soft, warm light. And that in this gloomy, moonless Christmas night!

Only some thirty more meters to the clearing, and there it was, just as Danzig had described: in the hole created by the roots of a fallen tree stood five flickering little wax-lights, illuminating a simple but beautiful Nativity scene.

As such things go, all the ladies tried to get past Burkhalter to get a good look at the light everybody had glimpsed. And in doing so, soon they were all standing in the clearing.

It was then that Kinch unexpectedly stepped forward and spoke up. His voice was quiet, but filled with such emotion that you couldn't help but listen to him.

"This, meine Damen und Herren, is what Christmas is all about."

That was all. For the next moment he jumped out of the circle of light and into the utter darkness that the trees around provided.

Under shocked cries of the ladies did his fellow Krampuses follow suit, and by the time General Burkhalter had finally calmed down the cackling mob, the seven Krampuses were well out of ear-shot on their way back to the barn.

"So: what are we going to do now?" one lady's voice spoke up in dismay.

"Pull over," the major barked.

Trembling with tension, the young Luftwaffe driver did as he was told, and pulled into the military gas station by the wayside. The second truck followed his example, and within seconds a young boy came running out from the small barrack to the side to serve them. He was only a teenager, Danzig noted with abhorrence. Good heavens, how low had this country sunk, that they were drafting fifteen-, sixteen-year-olds to die for the bloody Fatherland!?

But he couldn't afford to break his faҫade for an instant; he had to go on. "You there. Fill it up," he snarled, pushing away the pain in his heart.

"Yes sir!" With the eager eyes of a puppy the boy saluted him.

And froze on the spot. The sight of so evil a man clearly paralyzed him stiff, and for a split second, all Danzig wanted was to reach out to him in compassion. To reassure him that he wouldn't dream of harming him.

But Oskar Danzig had no say in the matter. Nor had the man underneath all these layers of disguise. Right now, he was the nasty, arrogant Major Becker, a man who had rather sadistic views on how to treat a fellow human being.

"Are you deaf, boy?" He reached out to tap the boy on the forehead. "Hello there! I said fill it up! Both of them." He grumbled under his breath. "No wonder people begin to lose faith in our glorious Third Reich. Who could ever succeed in anything, with such worthless little good-for-nothings hovering on our side..." He let out a cruel snort that chilled the driver and jerked the young pump attendant into action.

"Yes sir. Right away, sir." A hesitation, then: "Heil Hitler!"

Major Becker only just deigned to return that greeting in silence, and the boy started hurrying about to fill up the gastanks of the two trucks. And within a few minutes, they were on their way to the coast again. With one more passenger.

"Get in the truck," Major Becker had ordered coldly when the young man had finished attending them.

A look of dread came over the boy's face. "What? Why?!"

"Get in the truck, I said! You're coming with us where I can keep an eye on you. You've seen too much, boy. So get in the back and make it quick."

"But...!"

Yet one more nasty look from the major was enough to make him hastily obey. "Yes sir. As you wish, sir."

And so they were on the road again. Major Becker kept his face in a placid evil state, but inwardly Oskar Danzig hid a hurting little smile.

He had no idea if he did the right thing by taking that kid away from his family. Come to think of it: did anyone ever really know if their actions and choices were for the better or for the worse?

But at this young age, the boy might still be impressionable enough to change his mind about Hitler's mad philosophies. And the only way to accomplish that for now was to get him out of Germany, away from those who had brainwashed him so thoroughly.

And away from that military gas station that was bound to be bombed out by the Allies one day soon.

"Danke vielmals for the wonderful party, Kommandant Klink."

Klink beamed with pleasure. All these happy faces, with the sparkling eyes and the rosy cheeks were such a joy to see. Perhaps he had missed his calling: perhaps he was meant to be a party-host, instead of a prison-camp kommandant in a war for a cause he didn't really believe in. Not anymore, that is.

Or perhaps he had simply forgotten what happy people look like. Forgotten what joy a sincere smile can bring. And how good the atmosphere can be at a real party, with people who are simply together to have a good time. Without political games and intolerable war-boast to tense the air.

He let out a sigh. Yet another thing to blame on this blasted war.

But for now, he was too busy acting the gracious host, shaking hands with everybody and wishing them all Frohe Weihnachten.

Behind him, the prisoners had already begun to clean up. And when most of the guests had filed out of the barn, Hogan suddenly addressed him. "Kommandant, how about you and I go and take those old codgers home in the truck? And drop off Hochstetter at the same time? The men here will be busy for quite a while. And Schultz can watch over them."

Klink nodded. "Yes, those old people that came here on the farmer's wagon; I had nearly forgotten about them. But... Hogan, why do you want to come? I am very well capable of handling a group of old people, you know!"

"I believe you. But how are you doing when it comes to our lovable major Hochstetter?"

Klink shuddered. And Hogan prodded just a little bit deeper: "What if he wakes up?"

"You're right, you better come with me," Klink quickly decided. "But I want your promise as an officer and a gentleman that there will be no escape!"

"No escape. You have my word."

So the two of them helped the elderly into the camp-truck, and Hochstetter was unceremoniously shoved in as well. They dropped off each of the elderly at their home, and in the end, Klink inquired: "So what are we going to do with major Hochstetter?"

Hogan had an evil grin. "I know just the thing. How do we get to the church?"

"The church?" Klink's eyebrows shot up. "You want to leave him at the church?!"

Hogan chuckled. "Sort of. Which way?"

Unable to keep up with Hogan's eternal schemes, Klink leaned back in his seat. "Alright then. Back to the Hauptstraße first."

Hogan followed his instructions, although he could have found his way around town blindfolded. But that was something Klink wasn't supposed to know of course.

When they arrived at the church, Hogan jumped out of the car and looked around. "There. On that bench," he decided.

He and Klink carried their mutual archenemy over to the bench, and Hogan rearranged his position a bit, in order to have the whiskey bottle the man was still clutching show a little more. Then he stepped back to survey his work. "Perfect."

Klink regarded him in puzzlement. "Perfect? What's so perfect about it?"

Hogan grinned. "Kommandant, it may be very quiet here now, but in – he checked his watch – about an hour or so there's lots of people coming to pass here. Going to the traditional midnight Christmas mass, you see? Think about the humiliation of the whole town having seen him in this state!"

Klink's face brightened and he rubbed his hands in anticipatory gloat. "Colonel Hogan, you're a devious man. But I like it, I really do!"

Hogan smirked. "Glad to hear that."

"So what are we going to do now?"

Burkhalter looked around at the congregation before him. They were a sorry sight: all those ladies in their finest smudged dresses, with ruffled coiffures, and with bleeding feet in badly torn nylons. And a few drivers in nothing but their long underwear, and he himself...

He gulped. He didn't want to think about just how vulnerable he looked at the moment.

"Let's get our hands free first. Everybody find a partner and untie their hands." He himself gave the example and started tugging at the rope around one of the drivers' hands. It took some stumbling and swearing, but once the first hands were free it went fast.

"I think we should go back and pick up our shoes," one of the ladies suggested.

"What?" another exclaimed. "Go back, on our stockings? Over that wretched little bush path? My feet are already killing me! I'm sure I'm going to have scars!"

"But shoes are hard to get hold of nowadays. Even at the black market," the first lady insisted. "And besides, they're my favourite pair. You know how much I paid for them?"

Suddenly, all the ladies started talking about just how much the shoes had cost that were presently waiting for them in the barn, and Burkhalter had the hardest time raising his voice over the cackling.

"Fine. Back to the barn we go then. At least we'll have some light on the way this time." Burkhalter bent over to pick up one of the wax-lights, but as soon as he took hold of one, he yelped out in pain: "Ouch!!" Furiously, he blew at his fingers, and then put the burnt little sausages in his mouth for relief.

"Yeah, those things are hot," one of the drivers observed. He tried to pick one up himself with the sleeve of his long underwear pulled over his hand for protection, but the tin holder was still too hot to hold. And since no one else volunteered to sacrifice his or her fingers, all they could do was stumble back as they had come: in the pitchblack dark of night.

Burkhalter led the way, and the few drivers and all the ladies followed him down the narrow path they had come.

At least they hoped it was the right one, for what if they were to get lost on top of everything?

But did all the ladies come?

No. Not all the ladies.

Frau Lindner, the wife of fieldmarshall Lindner, just couldn't take her eyes off the peaceful Nativity scene. It drew her in like a magnet, and without paying attention to her expensive dress and her (already badly torn) new stockings, she sat down on her knees and gently stroked the moss that covered the stable's roof. And the wooden sheep out in the fields. The shepherds and the three kings. The ox and the donkey. Joseph and Mary, bent down over the hay-filled wooden crib. And in that crib, the little Jewish baby Jesus.

"That man was right, you know," she whispered on the brink of tears. "This is the most important thing of Christmas. You are the most important! Oh Lord..." She buried her face in her hands as tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "Oh Lord, can you ever forgive me?"

"Some secrets are best kept a secret."

"At least until the war is over," came the whispered reply.

Out of the shadows of the barn stepped Little Red Ridinghood, accompanied by two other ladies.

"How did it go?" she inquired.

"Very well," was Kinch's answer.

"Good. Now let's pick up those clothes and shoes and get out of here. Before they find their way back."

They went inside, and by the light of a small torch they sorted out the clothes and shoes. The men took as many uniforms and army boots as they could carry – they would certainly come in handy. And Little Red Ridinghood and her companions stuffed all the ladies' shoes in the bags they brought. There wouldn't be much use for those at Stalag 13 anyway, and they were planning to dole them out to the women of Hamelburg as soon as the heat about this massive disappearance would be off. And they took the rest of the uniforms as well; they, too, could easily be made into civilian clothes for the poor.

Hardly a syllable was exchanged in the process; they all knew what to do. But once they were about to part, suddenly Little Red Ridinghood placed her hand on Kinch's arm. "You guessed who I am, and my guess is that you are Papa Bear's main radioman. Is that right? I believe I recognize your voice."

Kinch nodded and waited for her to continue. Her English was far superior to Danzig's, but apart from that he found something really special about this lady. She was slightly too old to be one of those beautiful flings that his CO and his comrades usually went after, and yet he found her oddly attractive. Perhaps it was her calm and collected demeanor that so much matched his own?

Meanwhile, Little Red Ridinghood asked: "If you do hear from London – and you definitely will once the mission has been accomplished – can you please relay it to me right away?"

He nodded. "Sure." And as he saw her tense smile of gratitude, he suddenly realized that she was probably worried sick about Danzig. And hey, who wouldn't be if their boy-friend – or who knows: perhaps even husband? – put themselves in such danger? With every chance of having him end up in front of tomorrow morning's firing squad?

He gave her his most encouraging smile. "Don't you worry, ma'am. If anyone can pull off a stunt like this, it's that Oskar Danzig of yours. Or..." He chuckled. "Or Papa Bear himself."

The vague shimmer of a late December dusk was beginning to outline the flat eastern horizon as five Gestapomen impatiently waited for their mate to return from the sub for the last time.

The British subs had parked as close to the coast as they possibly could, and all seventy-eight generals and other top officers had been brought on board. And so had the two drivers and the young pump attendant. On their way to England they were now, either to stay out of trouble, or to not cause any more trouble for the Allies.

Peering out over the water, with little baby-waves lapping at the sandy beach, they all listened intently for the quiet splash of oars over the soft murmuring of the low surf. Wasn't it taking much longer than before?!

Finally however, the rowing boat came in sight, and happily, they all reached out to help their comrade pull it out of the water. They felt like shouting and dancing, celebrating that the whole plan had come off without a hitch.

But they knew all too well that they weren't safe. Not yet. They were still supposed to be cold and heartless Gestapomen, but that didn't stop them from feeling jubilant about dealing the detestable Third Reich such a bad blow. All their leaders from the western part of the country – gone! If that wouldn't create confusion, nothing would!

But while they took half a minute to whisper congratulations and happily thump on each other's shoulders, Oskar Danzig stepped out of the cheerful circle and silently squatted down by himself. He folded his hands behind his head, and so, staring at the sandgrains beneath him, he tried to let go of the worst of the tension.

The worst of the responsibility was over, though chances of them being caught were still very real. But at least they had managed so far: those generals and Co were out of the way, and on their way to some English prison camp. Now he still had to get his friends back to Hamelburg safe and sound. And they'd be lucky if they'd make it back home before nightfall tonight.

He heaved a quavering sigh. At least he could let go of that nasty Major Becker charade now. And be an "ordinary" Gestapo officer.

True, he was an actor to the backbone. But to act a part so totally in conflict with your own character, with your own conscience – that does take a heavy toll on even the best of actors. Especially when it's not meant to entertain an audience, but a matter of life and death. For real.

And then in combination with the responsibility he held for the lives of his friends, and the tension of the danger he brought them in with a risky mission like this... It was enough to leave him totally drained as soon as it was over. If it would have been possible, he'd have very much preferred to just lie down here and now for a twelve hour nap. But as it was...

A hand on his shoulder. "Oskar, are you alright?"

Slowly he raised his head. "Yeah, I'm fine." He got up. After all, exhausted or not, he was still their leader. He had to get them home. So: "Let's go. We don't want the real Gestapo to find us here."

But back at the trucks, when he wanted to climb into the driver's seat, the eldest of his comrades suddenly spoke up. "Oskar, you're dead beat. Why don't you ride in the back and get some rest? We can handle the way back."

Danzig shook his head. "No. It's my responsibility to get you all back home. I can sleep for hours once all this is over."

"But you're definitely not fit enough to drive. Not alert enough," Udo quickly corrected as he saw Danzig frown at him. "Don't worry, mate, we can manage. Even the checkpoints. We all got good papers. And we know the way."

Danzig sighed. "I know that. But..." Another sigh as he realized that his friends had a point. "Alright then. You can drive, but I'm still responsible. So I do want to ride up front, just in case. I can get some rest there, too. Besides, a Gestapo officer doesn't sleep on duty."

Grudgingly, his men went along with his decision, and Udo got in the driver's seat next to Danzig.

"Give me a prod when there's something up ahead, okay?" Danzig ordered.

Udo nodded. "Will do. As long as you try and get some rest in the meantime."

Danzig had but a vague smile, rested his head against the canvas behind him and closed his eyes.

Udo regarded their leader for a moment. Now that his face was more relaxed and so very tired, the nasty Major Becker seemed but a nightmare from hell, even though the make-up for the Gestapo monster was still intact.

Admitted: he had the greatest admiration for Danzig's fabulous ability to swap personalities. But he couldn't help but wonder who the real man underneath was. They were all aware that "Oskar Danzig" was the man's stagename from his successful career as a female impersonator. But was the underground leader Oskar Danzig anything like the real, unknown man underneath? Or was this yet another one of his perfect character acts? Oh, how he longed to get to know the man he so much wished to regard as a friend!

Danzig opened one eye. "What are you waiting for?"

Udo chuckled. "For you to finally tell me who you are."

It was an old private joke of his team, so Danzig merely grinned in reply and closed his eyes again.

He didn't mind them being curious about him. He knew they were, and he figured that was only natural. But they all knew how vital it was that he'd remain a mystery. No matter how hard it was sometimes, even on himself, to lead so many double lives. Never being able to put all the pieces together into one single life that he could live 24/7.

But it was definitely safer this way. Safer for him, and safer for them as well. And for a whole lot of other people.

Well, at least until the war was over. Then he would be more than happy to share his true self with his friends.

He let out a shallow sigh of longing.

And finally marry his Little Red Ridinghood as well...

Kinch jumped over the bedframe with his usual litheness. "Message from London, Colonel."

Hogan took the little blue note and his face brightened. "So Danzig actually pulled it off! But..." He frowned. "Kinch, didn't you say you guys had seventy-eight generals? It says here they picked up eighty packages."

Kinch nodded. "That puzzled me, too, at first. But I reckon he sent those two drivers along as well. Though that still leaves one man unaccounted for, since General Burkhalter stayed behind."

"Maybe Danzig himself went with them," Carter offered.

Kinch shook his head. "Not very likely."

"Or perhaps he picked up some annoying Kraut patrol on the way," was Newkirk's suggestion.

Hogan crumpled the piece of paper and threw it into the stove. "Whatever. The important thing is that they're out of the way. Though we may have to lay low for a little while, for I can't see the Gestapo taking this very lightly."

Suddenly the door barged open, letting in Schultz and a gust of cold air. "Colonel Hogan, have you heard the news?!"

Hogan smirked. "No, Schultz. What?"

"Let me guess: Klink has lost his monocle?" Newkirk sneered.

"No, no, Newkirk. Much better than that: major Hochstetter has been arrested! For public intoxication!"

The whole barracks burst out laughing, and Hogan mused in mock innocence: "My, my, I wonder how that happened."

Schultz was only too eager to tell: "He was found snoring on a bench outside the church last night. With the empty bottle still in his hand. Apparently someone called the Gestapo, and then they arrested him and took him away." He simply beamed with gloat. "And that's not all of it. Did you know that a whole group of generals was supposed to attend General Burkhalter's party as well? But they were kidnapped, all of them! And since major Hochstetter had been investigating suspicions in that direction, they now say it's his fault that the kidnappers succeeded. Because he was too drunk to stop them! And they say he is responsible now for finding those generals." His radiating smile faltered to a look of apprehension. "Colonel Hogan, you wouldn't know anything about those missing generals, would you? Please, Colonel Hogan...!"

"Generals?" Hogan cocked his head. "I haven't seen any generals lately. Honest, Schultz. Besides, how could I kidnap a bunch of generals last night? We were under your constant guard at the party."

Schultz let out a sigh of relief. "That is true. Thank you, Colonel Hogan. Although..." Another sigh. "I doubt whether major Hochstetter will see it that way."

"Car coming, Colonel."

Garth stepped away from his look-out post at the door to let Hogan have a look.

"It's Burkhalter," Hogan reported. "And a hopping mad Burkhalter by the looks of it. I'd better go and bail out Klink before he bumbles himself to the Russian front."

He quickly crossed the compound, and entered the outer office under the thunderous sound of Burkhalter's rant. Apparently, things were already steaming in there.

He popped his head in. "Kommandant, can I ask you someth...? Oh, hello, General. Come to wish us a merry Christmas, have you?"

General Burkhalter scowled over his shoulder. "This is not a merry Christmas. Stay out of this, Colonel Hogan. Dismissed."

Klink was cowering in the corner, Hogan saw. It looked like the fool could do with some help. So instead of leaving, he came in. "I just wanted to ask the Kommandant if we could borrow some of those extension cords we used at your party yesterday, to help decorate the mess hall." Puzzled, he looked from the trembling Klink to the seething Burkhalter. "Something wrong here?"

Burkhalter turned to him with the smile of a cat smelling a mouse. "Yes, Colonel Hogan, something is wrong here. Tell me: where were you last night?"

"At your party, keeping an eye on my men serving there." He smiled broadly. "And a great party it was, sir! A real pity you couldn't make it. All those happy and grateful faces... It reminded me of Christmas back home, with my mother..."

"That's just the point, Colonel Hogan. I could have easily made it, had I not been kidnapped on my way there. And so were all my guests."

Hogan's jaw dropped. "No....!"

"Oh yes. Of course, with my innate ingenuity I managed to escape. But all of the top brass I had invited to the party has disappeared by the hand of the kidnappers. And that is your fault, Klink!" he turned back to his prime suspect.

Klink shrank back even further. "But Herr General, I told you, I had nothing to do with it!"

"Oh yeah? Then tell me: who put those Luftwaffe-men there to divert the cars off the road with the excuse that the road was heavily mined?"

Klink gave him an apoplectic look. "The road was mined? I didn't realize that..."

"And who gave you permission to give all that delicious food to the populace of Hamelburg?"

Now Klink looked positively hurt. "You did, sir. When you called me to say you were being detained in Berlin, you said I should get on with the party as scheduled. So I did."

Burkhalter nearly exploded. "I did not call you yesterday!"

"Yes, you did," Hogan calmly intervened. "I was there; I heard it."

That wasn't quite true, but Klink was quick to second that statement: "Yes, he was. He was there. He heard everything, didn't you, Hogan?"

"Yes sir. Every word of it."

"And exactly what did you hear?" Burkhalter demanded.

"Well, of course I could only really hear what Kommandant Klink said. But it seemed quite obvious that he was talking to you. And I gathered from his side of the conversation that you couldn't make it in time for the party, but that you ordered the Kommandant to act as host in your place."

Klink's head bobbed up and down. "Exactly."

"And when he put down the phone, he related to me that you were detained in Berlin, but that you didn't want to disappoint your guests, so we should get on with the party as planned."

"Exactly." Klink's head bobbed up and down once more.

"Klink." General Burkhalter now talked as if he were addressing an exasperating child. "Klink, did it ever occur to you that you might have been talking to an impostor?"

Klink's mouth fell open. "An impostor?! But General Burkhalter, I'd recognize your voice anywhere! Such a distinct sound; how could anyone be mistaken for you? And besides, they said they were you! Doesn't that prove something?"

Burkhalter snorted. "Hardly. And it still doesn't acquit you of feeding my good food to those paupers. I told you I had only invited the highest brass. So what do you have to say for yourself on that matter?"

"But Herr General, they all brought the invitation you sent them!"

"I didn't send out any invitations; I invited my friends over the phone!"

"But they did have invitations," Hogan pointed out. "With the date and the time and the place and everything. And signed by you. I saw them with my own eyes."

Klink's head bobbed again. "Yes, Herr General. Me too. I saw them, too. With my own eyes."

Burkhalter sighed. Defeated, but far from satisfied. "Alright, Klink, I believe you. Though if you'd have used that bird-brain of yours properly, you would have realized right away that there was something fishy about this."

Klink breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, Herr General."

"So since you acted in good faith, I will postpone your trip to the Russian front for now. But you do owe me twelve thousand, threehundred and twenty-two marks and six pfennig for all the food you wasted."

With that, Burkhalter cautiously trod out of the office, his face twitching in pain with every step he took.

And Klink, he sank down onto the floor in despair. "Twelve thousand, threehundred and twenty-two marks..."

"Don't forget the six pfennig," Hogan helpfully reminded him.

But the Kommandant buried his face in his hands. "I think I prefer the Russian front..."

As the time for their own left-over Christmas drew near, they discovered that some difficult decisions had to be made.

"So who's going to man the radio?" Hogan inquired.

No one volunteered; instead, everyone studiously looked the other way.

"Come on, guys," Hogan tried to persuade them. "I know it's Christmas, but we can take turns. One hour shifts or something. You all know how vital it is that we monitor the radio at all times."

Assent was grunted to that, but the men still kept looking at one another in the vain hope that someone else would do the honours tonight. After all, a Christmas party with rich black market food is quite an extraordinary occasion in the life of a long-term prisoner of war.

Hogan heaved a sigh. "It's not that I don't want to do my share, but you all know that my absence would be noted immediately. But if no one speaks up, I'm afraid I'm going to have to appoint a few volunteers."

A moment of uneasy silence followed, in which finally Zanowski spoke up. "I wouldn't mind. But you'll have to show me how to work the radio; I've never done that before."

Hogan gave their usual quiet barrack's mate an appreciative nod. "Thank you, Zanowski. Now who's going to relieve him later on?"

"No, really, Colonel," Zanowski spoke again. "I don't mind missing out on the party. After all..." He hesitated. "It is a bit awkward for a Jew to celebrate Christmas. Though I wouldn't turn down a good meal."

"You can always fill a plate and take it down to the radioroom." Kinch's eyes glittered at the prospect of being relieved from radio duty to go to a party. "Come on, I'll show you the ropes."

And so, with Zanowski settled in the radioroom with a good book, a well-filled plate and a half bottle of wine, the prisoner's Christmas party could start.

LeBeau and his helpers had really outdone themselves with the still abundant left-overs from yesterday's party. There was a wide variety of meat dishes, as well as roast potatoes, rice, a choice selection of sauces and gravy, and fresh fruit and vegetables to top it all off. And for dessert there was pie with custard and real cream.

The men filled and emptied their plates under cheerful chat, and even Schultz – under the pretense of guarding the whole event – helped himself to generous helpings of anything he could lay his hands on.

"This is the best Christmas I've had in years!" he munched as he filched a chicken leg off Carter's plate.

"Mine, too, Schultz!" Carter's eyes shone with delight. "Boy, we weren't what I'd call 'poor' at home, but I don't think I've ever had a feast like this before!"

Across from him, Hogan chuckled as he cut off a piece of his steak. "Well, we've had a busy year. So I think we deserve it."

Schultz forgot to close his mouth as he gaped from Hogan to Carter and back. "What what what what... Deserve what, Colonel Hogan? What busy year? You haven't been up to any monkey business again, have you?"

Hogan regarded him with amusement. "Of course we have, Schultz. What else is there to do around here?"

Schultz swallowed hard. "No, no, no! You cannot do that, Colonel Hogan! You are a prisoner! Next thing I know you tell me that you were involved in kidnapping those generals yesterday!"

Hogan sniggered. "And what if I was?"

Schultz's eyes bulged, and he started whimpering. "Colonel Hogan, please! You cannot do such things! I am a married man, with five children, and if you get into trouble, I get in trouble, too! And you know what that means..."

But as Schultz sadly rambled on about his chances of being sent to the Russian front, Zanowski suddenly showed up behind his CO.

"Colonel Hogan?"

"Yes?"

"There is a call over the radio. From Little Red Ridinghood. She says it's urgent."

Hogan and Kinch exchanged a glance, and hurriedly got up.

"What what what... Colonel Hogan, Kinchloe, where are you going? You haven't finished your dinner!"

"You finish it, Schultz. We've got some monkey business to attend to." Hogan pushed Zanowski back towards the door, and the three of them quickly hurried back to barracks 2 and down to the radioroom.

Kinch put on the headset and took the mike. "Papa Bear here. Go ahead, Ridinghood." He scribbled down the decoded message as he listened. "Hold on, Ridinghood."

He looked up. Gravely. "Danzig and one of his men have been picked up by the Gestapo."

Perhaps they were simply tired. Perhaps getting so close to home had made them a little careless. Or perhaps, with their way back from the coast having been so uneventful, subconsciously they didn't quite expect any trouble for the last few kilometers either.

In any case, both Danzig and Udo were caught totally off-guard when their truck came round a sharp bend in the Hamelburg Road and suddenly found itself brightly illuminated by a very strong spotlight.

"Stop!" Danzig cried, but Udo had already hit the brakes: he couldn't see a thing with that piercing light blinding him.

The second truck stopped right behind them, and out of the painfully blinding light came a few figures, approaching the first truck. To their dismay, the two men in the truck recognized major Hochstetter, with in his wake half a dozen grim Gestapo soldiers carrying a machinegun each.

Danzig quickly gathered his Major Becker act: he jumped angrily out of the truck and walked up to the threatening little group with large, determined strides. "You fool! Are you out of your mind?! If my driver hadn't reacted so quickly, we would have ended up in the ditch!" He stopped only inches from Hochstetter, to make it clear that he towered a full head over this little pseudo colleague.

A bit off colour or not, Hochstetter was not one to be easily intimidated. He stuck out his chest and his chin, and announced defiantly: "I am investigating a matter of the utmost importance to the Third Reich. And I intend to use any means necessary to get to the bottom of it. Now show me your papers or you won't live long enough to regret ever having met me."

"Patience wearing thin tonight, is it?" Major Becker pulled out his papers and thrust them disdainfully in Hochstetter's face.

Hochstetter glared at him, and Becker glared back with his most icy stare as the little man unfolded and checked his papers.

But the mean little smile that suddenly curled Hochstetter's lips surely could bode nothing but trouble: "Major Becker, huh? Major Ludwig Becker, from Gestapo headquarters in Berlin." And the next thing Danzig knew he was doubling over from a fierce blow right in the stomach, followed by a forceful punch on the jaw that knocked him straight to the ground.

"Hey, what are you doing!" Udo jumped out of the driver's seat, but before he had come anywhere near the moaning Danzig he was grabbed by two of Hochstetter's men and securely cuffed.

Hochstetter grinned at him with satisfaction. "If you're an associate of this Schweinhund, you better start thinking how to explain yourself out of this mess." He spit on 'Major Becker'. "The Dummkopf. Who'd be so stupid as to walk around carrying his own papers when he's wanted for high treason." The vicious kick in the ribs following this stunning piece of information left Danzig gasping.

"But...!" Udo wrestled to get free, but the point of a machinegun prodding between his ribs quickly made an end to that.

Suddenly the motor of the second truck roared to life, and in a kamikaze action it rounded the first truck, nearly ran over one of Hochstetter's men, only just dodged the blinding spotlight and raced off down the road towards Hamelburg.

"Get him!!" Hochstetter yelled at the top of his lungs.

Immediately, some of the soldiers went down on one knee to send their deadly salvos after the disappearing vehicle. But this time, their blinding lamp was working against them, and whether they did accidentally hit the fleeing truck or not, they definitely did not cause enough damage to force it to a halt.

Hochstetter stomped his foot in rage. "You useless worms! Can't you even hit a target that big?! At least search that other truck. Und schnell!"

Before he could stop himself, Udo's eyes went worriedly to the back of their truck. And of course Hochstetter noted the movement. "Something in the back of that truck that I should not see, huh?"

Udo gulped. And Hochstetter continued: "Ja, now I see you cowering. Nobody trifles with the Gestapo!"

Udo lowered his eyes, to avoid giving away anything else. He could only hope that the two men who had been riding in the back had gotten away in the confusion. In the other truck for example. Otherwise... But to his relief the thorough search produced nothing but a long rope and a smelly old bottle.

Meanwhile, Udo had kept a wary eye on the moaning Danzig as well. The man was still gasping for breath after that last kick, and it didn't sound too good. Though with someone like Oskar Danzig, you could never be sure. This could very well be an act, and the next thing you'd know he'd jump right up and use the surprise to disappear in the woods. He'd seen him pull stunts like that before.

Although, the fact remained that Hochstetter's abuse had definitely not been an act, and it had come so totally out of the blue that somewhere inside, Udo feared that Oskar Danzig had indeed been injured.

"Get up," Hochstetter ordered his mistaken prize catch.

Udo saw Danzig squeeze his eyes shut and strain his muscles. "This is it: he's going to jump away!" his mind whispered with a sudden new hope.

But Danzig didn't. He couldn't. Instead, Hochstetter quickly tired of his cautious attempts to roll onto his knees, and he roughly jerked the fallen underground leader to his feet.

The unstoppable cry of pain that escaped from Danzig's lips in the process, and even more the tears that sprung into the man's eyes when his arms were jerked behind his back to be cuffed tight, told Udo that something was wrong with Danzig indeed. Seriously wrong.

And that in the face of a Gestapo interrogation session...!?

"Take them away. Back to headquarters," Hochstetter ordered.

And Danzig and Udo were each hauled into a Gestapo staff-car, and taken away at gunpoint, much as they themselves had been keeping their Luftwaffe drivers under control the night before.

As the truck drove off as well, with one of Hochstetter's men in the driver's seat, the small shape of a head rose up from the ditch beside the road. Watching the truck disappear around the bend, 'Corporal Ulrich Pfaff' (who usually went by the name of Franz Ehrmann) let out a quavering sigh.

He knew what to do. The others would ditch the truck and get to safety. But he...

A quick look around. Was the coast really clear? Yes. Then...

He jumped to his feet and tore off through the woods, straight to Hamelburg. To get help.

Before it was too late...

"Some secrets are best kept a secret," Kinch recited softly as he made out the two human shapes hovering by the old boundary-post in the woods.

"At least until the war is over," came the equally soft reply.

Kinch came closer.

"Can you please help us rescue our men?" With fear evident in her voice, Ridinghood plunged straight to the heart of the problem.

Kinch shook his head. "I'm sorry; I'm not the one to promise you anything. You better talk to Papa Bear himself. He's the man you need."

Little Red Ridinghood and her companion followed him back to the treestump in silence. Dodging the sweeping searchlights from the guard-towers, he helped them down into the tunnel, and led them to their underground radioroom.

"Go get the Colonel," Kinch told Zanowski who was still monitoring the radio.

As they waited, he poured the two underground people a cup of coffee. Little Red Ridinghood's mind seemed far too occupied to really take in her surroundings, but her companion looked around in astonishment. "This is amazing!" he exclaimed softly.

"We do our best." There was Hogan jumping off the ladder, followed by Carter, LeBeau and Newkirk.

"Ridinghood, what's the story," Hogan demanded.

She told him what she knew, her voice calm, but not quite steady.

"And you were there?" Hogan turned to the man next to her.

"Yes, sir. I jumped out of the truck and hid in the ditch by the wayside. I could hear every word that was said. And see most of what was going on."

"Good. Now tell me everything you could gather about this mix-up. That may be our only opening."

Franz took a deep breath. "Hochstetter knew that a Major Ludwig Becker from Gestapo headquarters in Berlin was wanted for high treason. But he didn't go into any details about why he was accused of treason. So when he saw Danzig's papers with exactly the same information, naturally he thought he'd caught the real Ludwig Becker."

"Does Danzig know the real Ludwig Becker?"

Franz merely shrugged, but Little Red Ridinghood shook her head. "As far as I know, he just makes up the names he uses. I don't think he'd have picked the combination Ludwig Becker if he had known there was a real one. And Gestapo, too."

Hogan nodded. "Chance of one out of a million, I'd say, to pick such details at random and then have them match a real life counterpart. And then get caught on it, too! But I suppose even so small a chance can hit the bad luck jackpot sometimes." He started pacing. "And this other guy, what's the name he used?"

"Jürgens. Sergeant Horst Jürgens. Hochstetter never asked for his papers out there; I believe he was just arrested as a suspected associate."

"And they're at Gestapo headquarters in Hamelburg?"

Franz nodded. "I suppose so, yes. Hochstetter said to take them back to headquarters, and they drove off in the direction of Hamelburg."

Hogan nodded grimly. "And knowing Hochstetter, he'll want to have a go at them himself first. Before turning them over to Berlin."

Little Red Ridinghood paled visibly. "Please, Colonel Hogan, do something! Help us!" she begged. "Without Danzig, our team is like a body without its head! If we'd go in there by ourselves to rescue them, chances are that we'd only make things worse. And we'd all end up in the hands of the Gestapo. We need your help! And if Danzig is hurt..." She swallowed with difficulty. "There's no telling how long he can hold out. And he knows so much about the underground around here, that..." She faltered, on the brink of tears.

"That the entire underground in the area would have to close up shop," Newkirk finished for her. "But don't you worry, luv: the Governor will sort it out."

He edged closer to her, with the evident intention of putting a more than just comforting arm around her. But she ignored his advances completely as she took a deep breath to steady herself and added: "Colonel Hogan, we need to get Danzig out of there. And quick! As soon as they start on him, they'll discover that he has painted his face to look completely different. And once they've noticed that, it will be but a little step for them to suspect that he's the Oskar Danzig who has been eluding them for years. And there's no telling what they will do to him then! Please, Colonel Hogan...!"

Hogan nodded; he didn't need to see a Little Red Ridinghood close to tears to understand the urgency of getting at least Danzig out of there before his identity was revealed.

Again, Newkirk tried to draw the lady into his comforting arms, but suddenly Kinch lashed out. "Newkirk, back off. Now!" he barked with a dark undertone. "She's not for you. So leave her alone."

Many eyes went back and forth between the two of them in surprise. But both he and Hogan noticed the silent hint of gratitude in Ridinghood's eyes as the not quite understanding Newkirk indeed drew back.

Hogan quickly talked away the awkward intermezzo. "Alright, we'll go tonight. We'll have to play it a bit by ear, but we'll use that Becker mix-up for starters. Kinch: call Gestapo headquarters in Berlin and find out the names of Becker's superiors. And we'll need some papers, stating that I – as one of his superiors – have orders to arrest Becker for high treason and take him back to Berlin to stand trial. As well as anyone connected with him.

"Newkirk, we'll need Gestapo uniforms. LeBeau, a crucial task for you: find me some strong smelling fish dish. But don't make it too messy. Carter: find me two sets of Berlin license plates and get two staff cars from the motorpool. And get some small tools together that we can use to put the Gestapo fleet out of action. But without explosions s.v.p.!"

"You got it, boy! Eh... I mean, sir."

Hogan was too busy planning to acknowledge him. He turned back to their guests and said: "And we'll need one of your men to come with us, in case we need to identify Danzig and this other guy ourselves."

"I can do that," Franz said quickly.

Hogan held his eyes for a long moment. "Are you sure? You do realize that this might turn into a suicide mission? Going into Gestapo headquarters always implies a huge risk. A possibly fatal risk."

"I know." Franz's voice was calm. Calm but insistent. "But I'll come with you."

"Good. Newkirk, then we'll need a uniform for him, too."

It was less than two hours later that the two staff cars with Berlin license plates pulled up at the curb outside Gestapo headquarters. They had dropped off Kinch and Little Red Ridinghood a few blocks back around the corner, and now they swarmed up the steps with the natural confidence of people who know they have the gods and justice on their side.

Little Red Ridinghood had done miracles with the mere basic attributes of disguise they had available in the tunnel. And disguise they would need, seeing that they'd probably have to deal with none other than major Hochstetter. But under Ridinghood's proficient hands, especially Hogan had gotten a completely different look.

LeBeau was staying with the cars, ready to take off as soon as they returned, and the others marched into the building with clicking boots and confident strides.

They came to a halt in front of the reception desk, where a perfect Aryan looked up from his paperwork. "Gutenabend, gentlemen. Heil Hitler."

The greeting was deftly returned.

"What can I do for you?" His face twitched a bit as a curious smell reached his nostrils.

Hogan pulled out his papers. "Colonel Schramm, Gestapo headquarters Berlin."

The Gestapo clerk glanced at the papers, while Hogan pulled out his 'orders'. "I am here by orders of General Bessermann, to track down and arrest a Major Ludwig Becker, Gestapo. I have been told that he's been arrested by your people. Is that correct?"

The clerk smiled. "Yes indeed, Colonel. Our people have been questioning him all night!"

Hogan tried to push away the tension he suddenly felt. Poor Danzig... "There will be no questioning here," he barked. "This is an internal matter that only concerns the Gestapo in Berlin. I demand custody of this man immediately, so that I may take him to Berlin to stand trial and be shot."

Apparently even the Gestapo could be put out of countenance. The clerk – trying very hard not to wrinkle his nose – replied startled: "Of course, Herr Colonel. But you will have to discuss that with my superior, major Hochstetter."

"Fine. Where can I find this Hochstetter?"

"I believe he is in consultation right now. But I can go and see if he's finished. Would you mind waiting here, while I go and...?"

Hogan smashed his hand flat on the desk, nearly making the clerk jump. "I will not wait! Patience is the virtue I killed off first when I decided to join the glorious Gestapo. Now take me to this Hochstetter of yours, or I promise you: heads will roll!"

The clerk gulped. "Jawohl, Herr Colonel. Follow me, please."

Still sniffing curiously, he led the way to the back of the building and knocked on a sturdy wooden door.

"Herein," came Hochstetter's impatient reply. Clearly, his 'consultation' was over.

Instead of politely waiting till the clerk would open the door for him, Hogan gave it the Gestapo touch: he pushed the guy aside and threw open the door himself. "You are major Hochstetter, the man who captured Becker?"

"Ja?" Hochstetter eyed him suspiciously. In the light of his desk-lamp, his face was of an interesting mintgreen shade.

"Good work, major! Congratulations!" Hogan exclaimed with convincing sincerity, and they were all surprised to see something that vaguely resembled a pleasant smile brighten up Hochstetter's face.

"Danke, Herr Colonel. It was my pleasure."

"I'm sure it was. However, since this concerns an internal matter of the Gestapo in Berlin, I am here to take custody of the little rat."

Hochstetter scowled as Hogan handed him his orders. "But Herr Colonel, really..." He sniffed suspiciously.

Hogan slapped the desk with his leather gloves. "Do you dare to question the orders of General Bessermann?!"

"No. No, of course not. It's just that I've been making good progress with the man" – Hogan felt his blood chill – "and since I am the one who captured him, I should say that entitles me to..."

"Gratitude! And that's what I just expressed!" Hogan interrupted. "Don't worry, major, I'll mention your name in my report. You might even get a promotion for this! Or a medal at the very least. But I'm the one who was hot on his trail, so even if you had a lucky break in catching him, he is still my prisoner according to my orders. And you are hereby required to turn him over to me right away."

"That's not fair; I caught him!" Hochstetter argued. "You can have him when I'm done!" Again he sniffed the air, and as he gulped forcefully, the shade of his cheeks turned to a slight pastel blue. "What is that smell!"

"Smell?" Newkirk made a show of sniffing the air. "I don't smell anything peculiar. You guys?"

"No, me neither," the others agreed.

"Oh yes, there is. Something strange." Hochstetter came from behind his desk and approached them with wary eyes, sniffing all the way.

Hogan fixed him with a glare. "Smell or no smell, I demand that this prisoner will be turned over to me right now." He practically yelled those last words in Hochstetter's ears, and felt smugly satisfied when he saw the man wince and fight down the urge to take his head in his hands. Good guess that he was indeed still suffering from last night's hangover. The queer colour of his face, too, was promising.

Hochstetter turned back to him, his cheeks now hovering between soft lila and a sick yellow. "And I say no! Becker is my prisoner!"

Hogan glared down at him. "You dare to countermand the orders of a Gestapo general? Something fishy is going on here, Hochstetter! What games are you playing?"

Hochstetter gulped, and his voice cracked a bit when he protested: "No, nothing 'fishy' is... fishy..." Suddenly his eyes bulged, and he retched forcefully. And then hurriedly pushed his way through the little group at his door to make it to the bathroom in time.

A jerk of Hogan's head, and Carter dashed after him.

"Come on. Quick." Hogan led Newkirk and Franz to the stairs leading down to the dungeons. An armed guard was standing at the top of the stairs, but before he could order them to a halt, Hogan brought the Heil Hitler salute and pushed his orders under the guy's nose. "Gestapo Berlin. We're here to pick up two prisoners that were arrested earlier tonight: a Major Ludwig Becker and his aide Sergeant Horst Jürgens."

The guard quickly scanned the paper. "Does major Hochstetter know about this?"

"Of course he does."

"Then why isn't he accompanying you?"

Hogan smirked. "Seems the major isn't feeling too well, so he dashed off to the toilet, to empty his stomach the wrong way up no doubt."

The guard chuckled. "That sounds about right." He looked around for listening ears, and as he saw none, he whispered: "Did you know he was arrested for public intoxication last night?"

Hogan raised his eyebrows. "You don't say? My, my, what is becoming of our glorious Gestapo these days?"

The guard sadly shook his head. "Better not go into that, sir. But go ahead, get your prisoners." He opened the heavy metal door for them, and down into the stinking dungeons they descended.

Another guard was walking a post in the corridor. "Who's there?"

"Colonel Benno Schramm, Gestapo headquarters Berlin." Another crisp Hitler salute, and once more General Bessermann's orders were shown.

The guard studied them by the light of his torch. "Alright. Follow me."

They went way to the back of the underground department, where the guard first looked through the peephole before opening one of the heavy steel doors.

The three men braced themselves for what they were about to see when the guard stepped inside to unlock the prisoner from the wall and cuff him again. But the man – stripped of the 'sacred' Gestapo uniform he had been wearing – looked indeed shaken, but pretty much unscathed.

"This is Sergeant Jürgens," the guard informed them as he handed him over to Newkirk. "The other one is in here." He opened the next celldoor, and inside they could discern a human figure in long johns, who – by the sound of it – had difficulty breathing.

The guard bent down to unlock the prisoner's wrists from the wall. But before he could cuff him again, Newkirk hit him expertly in the neck, and the man went down to the ground without a sound.

Slowly, painfully, Danzig raised his head and peered at his new captors in the semi darkness. Hogan knelt down next to him. "Don't worry, it's us: Papa Bear and Co."

Danzig closed his eyes in relief.

"Can you stand? Walk?" Hogan urged him.

He nodded slowly. "Think so. If you help me up."

Immediately, Franz was at his other side, and together they lifted Danzig as carefully as they could to his feet. But no matter how careful they were, Danzig still couldn't stop a soft cry of pain.

"Are you alright?" Udo asked worriedly. "They've tortured you, haven't they. The beasts...!"

Danzig took a cautious breath, and closed his eyes in pain. "No. Just beaten me up." Well, that was evident in the light of the guard's torch that Newkirk had picked up.

Slowly, Danzig raised his hand and wiped some blood from under his nose. "How do I look?"

Newkirk nearly burst out laughing. "Sure, that's the first thing to worry about when you get out of a Gestapo cell!"

Franz ignored him. "You got some smears here and there. Especially where you had the scar. But it could easily be mistaken for dried up blood. Your eyes look worse. But I think you have to look up close to realize that it's make-up."

A shallow, painful sigh of relief. "Thank God..." Then he explained: "He never turned on the light. Perhaps he hasn't noticed at all." Another painful intake of breath as his eyes went to Udo. "You okay?"

Udo gulped. "Yeah. They never touched me."

"Good. Let's go then."

Slowly, with Danzig leaning heavily on Hogan and Franz, they walked back down the corridor to the stairway. Danzig groaned when he realized he had to climb all the way up.

"We'll carry you up," Hogan quickly decided. "But up there, we're going to have to be a bit rougher on you, I'm afraid. To keep up appearances."

"Fine. Just get me out of here," was Danzig's soft reply.

Once they were up the stairs, Newkirk planted his gun between "Sergeant Jürgens's" shoulderblades, and Franz and Hogan lowered Danzig to his feet again and took him by the upper arms.

The guard at the door let them pass without comment, and at the door of Hochstetter's office they were joined again by a grinning Carter.

"I put that herring in the inside pocket of Hochstetter's overcoat," he informed his CO, beaming with the ingenuity of his find.

Hogan rolled his eyes. "And what did you do with Hochstetter himself?"

"Locked him in the bathroom. He was so busy throwing up, that he never noticed how I wedged a coat-rack between the door and the opposite wall. He'll never get that open! Unless someone else needs to go of course."

They marched on through the building towards the entrance. Danzig was gasping, and they were dragging him more than he could keep up with their tempo by himself.

But suddenly a door opened and some other Gestapo officer came out. Hogan was already on the way of drawing his gun when the guy stepped aside with a curt nod, to let his 'colleagues' pass with their prisoners.

"That's what I call military courtesy," Newkirk muttered under his breath.

And there was the entrance. Finally. A last nod to the clerk at his desk, and they were outside.

"Jürgens, the second car," Newkirk hissed as they quickly descended the steps past the last guards.

And: "Keep it up, we're nearly there," Hogan whispered to the painfully gasping Danzig. And finally, finally he could shove the underground leader into the back of the car, and quickly climb in behind him. "Go!" he ordered, and LeBeau took off instantly.

Next to Hogan, Little Red Ridinghood pulled Danzig in her arms. He moaned with pain in the middle of trying to catch his shallow breath. "It's okay. You're out," she murmured as she carefully cradled him against her chest and stroked his thick blond hair.

"Did you manage to put those cars out of order?" Hogan inquired with Kinch.

In reply, Kinch held up a handful of cables. "Those cars won't start so easily," he chuckled. "But how is Danzig?"

"In need of some medical attention, I'd say."

But Little Red Ridinghood shook her head. "No. Not yet. Not like this. I'll have to remove the make-up first. The doctor will have to treat the real him; we can't have him discover Oskar Danzig's true identity."

Hogan eyed her with astonished curiosity. "Do you mean that you know who he is?"

But Little Red Ridinghood was engrossed in comforting Danzig and made no reply.

However, from the front seat came Kinch's soft chuckle. "Of course she does, Colonel: she's his girl-friend."

Newkirk, Carter, Franz and Udo went straight back to camp. They parked the car in the usual spot for the sergeant of the motorpool to pick up, changed back the license plates and disappeared into the tunnel.

There had been no sign of pursuit – if they had realized at all yet at Gestapo headquarters that something was amiss.

While Newkirk outfitted their friends from town with civilian clothes, Carter sneaked over to the mess hall to fetch them some hearty left-overs from the left-over Christmas party. And they ate ravenously.

"You can sleep down here in the tunnel tonight. We'll see if we can get you back to town tomorrow," Newkirk informed them.

The men nodded gratefully, and shortly afterwards even Hogan, Kinch and LeBeau entered through the emergency tunnel.

"How did it go?" Carter asked.

"No problem at all." Hogan tore off his Gestapo hat. "Danzig is over at Ridinghood's place, and she's going to clean him up a bit and call a doctor first thing tomorrow morning."

Carter looked dumbfounded. "Clean him up?"

"His make-up, silly." Newkirk suddenly blushed with guilt, and turned to Franz. "Which reminds me: could you please pass on my apologies to Danzig for what I said back there? It just sounded so bloody funny under the circumstances: 'How do I look?' But of course he was worried that people'd be able to see through his disguise."

Franz nodded. "Sure. I will."

Kinch yawned. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm heading off to bed."

"Yeah. Me too," the others grunted.

Carter showed Franz and Udo the way to their guestroom, and the others quickly changed their clothes and headed upstairs.

Except Colonel Hogan.

"Aren't you coming, sir?" Carter asked as he saw Hogan dawdling by the radio.

"Yeah. In a moment. I still have some unfinished business to attend to."

"Alright. Good night then!"

"Night, Carter."

And indeed: as soon as Carter had disappeared out of sight, Hogan quickly walked over to their printing room. He was in there for less than a minute; then he came back to the main area with a bundle of crispy papers in his hand. And headed off down the tunnel leading further into camp.

Yes, he still had some business to attend to. A special little mission of his own.

"So what's wrong?" Maryse inquired apprehensively. She wiped the sweat off her battered boy-friend's forehead; he was still gasping for breath from the doctor's gentle but firm examination.

Dr. Bauer looked up. "Don't worry, it looks worse than it is. Those bruises are mostly superficial; they should fade within a week or so. The only more serious injury he's got are two cracked ribs. Maybe broken, that's hard to tell. And that's what's causing him such pain. And the difficulty breathing."

"But he'll be alright?"

Dr. Bauer gave her a reassuring smile. "If he heeds the doctor's advice: yes." He took out a small ampoule and injected some of it into the patient's shoulder.

Within a few minutes the young man's face began to relax, and his quick shallow breathing calmed down. But the first thing he did was give the doctor a dirty look and mutter: "Couldn't you have given me that stuff before you started prodding me?"

The doctor merely chuckled. "See? He's already getting above himself again. Sorry lad, can't do."

The patient scowled. And the doctor pulled over a chair for Maryse and motioned her to come and sit down, too. "Okay, we need to talk. Broken or cracked ribs usually heal without complications; all they need is rest. And plenty of it. Bedrest isn't required, but you'll have to try and move around as little as possible. Sit down with a book on your lap is probably the best prescription I can give you."

The patient grinned. "That doesn't sound too bad for doctor's orders."

"Indeed it doesn't," the doctor agreed. "Problem is however, that cracked ribs are a painful condition, as you've already discovered. Even if you don't move around, it hurts like hell, because every breath you take is forcing those injured ribs to move. And under the present circumstances, I'm afraid I don't have enough painkillers in stock to keep you comfortable in the upcoming weeks."

His patient closed his eyes in resignation, and the doctor continued: "I can give you enough to mask the sharp edges of the pain, but that's about it. Which simply means you're going to be in a lot of pain the upcoming weeks, and that you're going to need help with everything for a while. And since you don't have anyone to look after you at your place..." Dr. Bauer looked at Maryse. "He's going to need full time care for at least two weeks. I would gladly take him in for the time-being, but I'm not around enough to give him that kind of constant care. Would it be possible for him to stay here, with you looking after him?"

Maryse looked doubtful, but her boy-friend was very clear in his answer: "No." He took a deep breath, and marvelled at the sensation that it barely hurt. "We can't have people finding out what's happened to me. Too dangerous. We'll have to come up with some cover-story anyway, and that's easier to keep up at my place. That's quite secluded; easier to avoid nosy neighbours."

The doctor nodded. "Fine. Is that okay with you?"

Maryse nodded hesitantly. "Though I'm afraid it would cause a lot of talk... I mean: me staying over at his house, and with no chaperone?"

Her boy-friend chuckled. "Sounds like it's going to be a good couple of weeks!"

Whether she wanted to or not, Maryse just had to laugh. If only out of relief that he was able to tease her again. And she wagged a warning finger at him. "Don't get any ideas, you!"

And Dr. Bauer added in mock stern: "Or she has my personal permission to prod you in the ribs. That should keep you in enough pain to drive any thoughts of mischief out of your mind!" But then he sobered. "Yes, I see what you mean. I can drop by regularly and serve a bit as a chaperone if you like. And if I appoint you as his nurse, then the whole thing should be in the clear. After all, someone has to look after him. And since you're a good friend of his..."

Maryse smiled in a sigh. That was the point: she was more than just a good friend of his. And had the doctor realized the truth, he might not even have suggested her taking on the job of nursing him. Who knows what might happen if they were to be alone for a couple of weeks in that cosy little cottage in the woods?! But on the other hand: she would love to spend a few calm and undisturbed weeks in his company. With the real him. Take care of him, talk with him, keep house for him, cook for him... As she should have been doing for years already, had it not been for that blasted war. So: "Alright then." She ruffled her boy-friend's thick golden brown hair. "But you better be good!"

She went to pack up a few things, and Dr. Bauer drove them over to the little cottage in the woods south of Hamelburg. The invalid was made comfortable in an easy chair by the fire, and in the kitchen Dr. Bauer gave Maryse the painkillers and some final instructions on how to treat her patient.

Even the cover-story was all in place: there had been a few cases of the dreaded scarlet fever in nearby Flenzheim. So why couldn't he have contracted it, too? It meant they'd have to be isolated for three weeks. And Dr. Bauer would put up the well-known warning sign at the gate, keeping even the nosiest nazi at bay.

When the good doctor had left, Maryse pulled out a low stool and sat down beside her patient. "Tired?"

"Mm. Haven't slept a wink for two nights."

"How is the pain?" She took his slender hand in hers.

"Bearable. Though I believe that painkiller is beginning to wear off. That was really strong stuff." He frowned. "Maryse, I've been thinking and thinking and I really don't get it. Why did Hochstetter grab me in the first place? He never even mentioned those generals!"

She shook her head. "That had nothing to do with it. It was just a mix-up. Apparently there is a real Major Ludwig Becker in the Gestapo, who happens to be wanted for high treason. Hochstetter just thought you were him."

He moaned. "Good gracious, I can't check out every department in the country to see if the name I use happens to be the name of some wanted person!"

She chuckled. "I don't think it would happen that often. Colonel Hogan figured it was a chance of one out of a million."

He sighed cautiously. "Yeah... Colonel Hogan. I probably owe my life to him, don't I?"

She nodded. "I don't dare to think about the state you'd be in now if he hadn't gotten you out of there. And to be honest: I'm only too happy that you've been ordered to stay out of trouble for a couple of weeks."

He had but a vague grin in reply. And it wasn't until after a considerable silence that he said quietly: "You know, Maryse, I think it would only be fair if I don't let Marya cross paths with the Colonel again. I believe I owe him at least that much."

Not far from there sat a totally flabbergasted Kommandant Klink in his bedroom. In one hand he held an old army-sock full of holes that he had found hanging from the foot of his bed. In the other he had a handful of bankpaper and a little note, saying 'Keep the change. Love, Santa'.

He had counted the money. Once. Twice. Three times, four, five. But it was all there: twelve thousand, three hundred and twenty-three marks.

He had shaken his head in disbelief. And counted again. And again. But it was really there: exactly sufficient to pay off his debt to General Burkhalter.

He had shaken his head again, and in the end he had slid off his bed and onto his knees.

And with his hands clasped together and his eyes fixed on heaven, he murmured full of relieved gratitude: "There is a Santa, and he loves me..."

Kinch found his CO on the rickety bench outside the barracks, attempting to enjoy the bleak midwinter sun.

"Mind if I join you?"

"No, sure, sit down." Hogan closed his eyes again and tried to bask himself in the meager sunrays. But the wind was too chilly to be able to pretend that he was in Florida.

"What's up?" he therefore asked, looking for a distraction of some kind.

Kinch looked up. "I just talked to Little Red Ridinghood. Danzig's team will be out of business for a couple of weeks, but he's going to be okay. A couple of cracked ribs."

Hogan sucked in a sharp breath. "Ouch, that hurts. Had it myself once." He took a deep, conscious breath as he recalled how mere breathing had hurt at the time. "Well, at least he'll be okay. That's always good news."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Hogan observed: "You've got something else on your mind, too."

Kinch started. "Nothing. I mean, I've just been thinking..." He paused hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Well, about what Little Red Ridinghood said in the barn the other night. About Danzig having fooled you as a woman. And more than once."

Hogan felt his back stiffen. "So he has indeed, has he? That little..." He swallowed the actual abusive term, but Kinch was quite sure it wouldn't have been very flattering.

"Apparently, yes," he therefore continued with caution. "But what struck me the most was that she said he did it whenever you were getting too confident. To keep you on your toes."

Hogan gave him a look of disbelief and terror. "You don't mean...?!"

Kinch nodded. "That description reminded me of someone. And I see the same goes for you, sir."

Hogan groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Oh... my... goodness... That was him!? That pain in the neck, that kamikaze fool drawing me into her top-crazy plans, that...?" Another groan came from between his fingers. "Oh boy, do I feel stupid... It's plain embarrassing. And you're right, Kinch: now that you mention it, that familiar line Danzig said to me last week, about Hitler killing off his own generals... You're right, that was Marya who said that to me. Right after that horrifying rocket fuel depot disaster." Another moan. "How could I have missed that? I'm supposed to be a ladies' man; how could I not notice that she was no woman at all?!"

Kinch planted his elbows on his knees and studied the ground. "I wouldn't be so hard on myself, Colonel. After all, she fooled all of us. I mean he – he fooled us all. And don't forget that he's a professional female impersonator. It's his job to fool people. Especially men, I suppose."

The barracks door opened, and LeBeau joined them outside. He looked at the white grey sky. "The wind is cold today. We might get snow later on."

Suddenly, Kinch remembered something. He leaned over to the Colonel and whispered: "Sir, whatever you do: don't tell LeBeau!"

Hogan nodded with quick understanding, but unfortunately there was nothing wrong with the little Frenchman's hearing. "Don't tell LeBeau what?"

Kinch kept his face placid. "They're serving black pudding in the mess hall today."

LeBeau's eyes grew wide, and Hogan could only just refrain himself from chuckling as their little chef first nearly toppled over with faintness, and then stomped off, muttering something unintelligible about bloodthirsty cannibals.

There was little chance to discuss the embarrassing Marya subject any further, for Schultz came waddling over with his rifle dragging behind him. "Colonel Hogan, I'm desperate!"

"Come and sit down, Schultz." Kinch got up to make room for their favourite Kraut. "What's up?"

Schultz first had to catch his breath before he could continue his lament. "Colonel Hogan, half the guard corps is missing! How can I ever guard you and your men properly now?" He held up his fingers. "Mittendorfer's wife has had a baby, so he's on special leave for a week. One of Schmidt's children has got scarlet fever, so he has to stay quaranteened, too, and Langenscheidt has got it, too, so he'll be out for several weeks as well. Then there is Kraus; his mother died yesterday. Neumann and Kohn and Fischer have come down with the flu, Schuster has sprained his ankle, old Taft is suffering from gout, Rummenigge has had such a bad fight with his girl-friend that he's volunteered for the Russian front, and then there are six more who simply haven't shown up! How am I ever going to guard you properly?" He shook his head. "Before you know it there will be an escape, and you know what that means for poor old Sergeant Schultz, don't you? A one-way trip to the Russian front!"

"Don't worry, Schultz." Hogan patted Schultz's bulky shoulder. "It's too cold to escape anyway. It's better to escape in the summer. Every prisoner knows that."

Schultz looked doubtful. "Really?"

"Of course. So don't you worry about the number of guards. As long as you are here at Stalag 13 to guard us, we'll all live here happily ever after. Won't we, Kinch?"

"Absolutely."

Schultz had a broad smile. "Danke, Colonel Hogan. That is nice of you to say. You always manage to restore my faith in mankind." He got up to continue his rounds, with his rifle still dragging through the mud.

But he had barely rounded the corner of the barracks before he came scurrying back. "But Colonel Hogan, what if I get sick?"

Hogan had a devious smile, but before he could open his mouth for an answer, Schultz backed off and held out his hands in defence. "No. Don't tell me. I want to know nothing!"

The End

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