Murphy’s Law

Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong...

"Colonel Hogan! Colonel Hogan, wake up!"

Startled out of his sleep, Hogan abruptly sat up. A little too abruptly according to his bed apparently, for the next thing he knew the slatted base of the top bunk gave way under him, and with a thunderous crash he fell through his bed. Right onto the bottom bunk, that wasn't designed to be used with such force either, and therefore promptly collapsed, too, leaving Hogan with his bum on the floor.

Schultz stared at the tousled head and the arms and legs sticking up from among the blanket and the woodsplinters. "Colonel Hogan, ach du lieber!"

Hogan shook his head to clear it. "Gee, and a good morning to you, too, Schultz."

With some help from Schultz he clambered out of his straitened circumstances, and then they surveyed the wreckage together.

Hogan shook his head. "Beyond repair, those bases. But I suppose we'll have to make do, won't we? Do we have a good carpenter in camp, Schultz?"

Schultz jerked into motion. "No. That was what I was coming to tell you: the entire barracks has come down with the measles. What do I say – the entire barracks? The entire camp! All the prisoners are in the infirmary."

That certainly set off Hogan's alarm bells. "All the prisoners?"

"Yes. It's probably the dreaded German measles. We Germans are immune to it, but oh, when a foreigner catches it...!" His brow contracted in a frown. "Colonel Hogan, how come you haven't come down with it then? Don't tell me you are...?"

Hogan winced. "Of course not. It's probably because I'm the only one with the luxury of my own room. Those German germs run rampant far more easily in crowded rooms where fifteen or twenty men eat, live and sleep together."

"Ah. Yes, of course. Anyway, young Carter was really adamant in his fever that I should ask you to take good care of Hasenpfeffer while he was sick."

Hogan grimaced. "It will be my first priority."

"Oh, and there will be no roll call today. You're the only one fit enough to attend it, and I can see that you're here. But the Kommandant wants to see you right after breakfast."

"Right. Then I better get ready. Or wait..." He went out in the common room and pulled out the old gonculator. "I'd better feed that rabbit before I forget and Carter will have my head."

As he searched around the bunk and in Carter's locker for the jar of seeds Carter kept saving for his pet, Schultz opened up the top of the gonculator. Hasenpfeffer, always happy to get attention, immediately put his front paws up on the rim and sniffed at Schultz's hand.

Schultz smiled. "Nice bunny, eh? You're a nice, nice bunny."

Maybe Hasenpfeffer considered this as encouragement, for suddenly he jumped out of the gonculator and before Schultz could grab him he had disappeared under a neighbouring bunk.

"Schultz, what are you doing?" Hogan chided. "Now we'll have to go and catch that rabbit!"

"Verzeihung, Colonel Hogan. I will help you catch it, ja?"

"You'd better." Hogan knelt next to the bunk where Hasenpfeffer had disappeared. "Hasi – come!" He reached under the bunk, but Hasenpfeffer deftly stayed out of his reach.

"Schultz, you try and get him from the other side."

Moaning and groaning, Schultz lowered himself onto his knees. But when he, too, reached under the bunk to try and take hold of the runaway rabbit, Hasenpfeffer swiftly took off across the room to go into hiding under another bunkbed.

"Come on, Schultz! Over there!"

But no matter what they tried, little Hasenpfeffer was quick as water and always managed to evade their groping hands.

"I'm telling you," a dishevelled Hogan said after an hour or so. "That beast is toying with us."

"Poor little bunny. He probably thinks it's a game." Moaning, Schultz got to his feet. "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he hasn't eaten yet, has he? So if you leave the gonculator open – with food inside – surely he'll go in there out of his own free will when he gets hungry, and then..."

"Boom – and he's locked up. Good thinking, Schultz."

Things were arranged as discussed, and Schultz sat down at the table to slam the gonculator shut the moment Hasenpfeffer set foot in it, and Hogan finally got a chance to get dressed and shave.

Schultz happily prattled away as Hogan covered his neck and jaw in shaving cream. But Hasenpfeffer seemed to have little inclination for food this morning – instead he was celebrating his freedom by racing and binkying around the barracks. He even startled Hogan by running across his feet. Unfortunately, Hogan was just in the middle of his first shaving stroke, and, "Ouch! Stupid rabbit!"

He dabbed at the cut. It hurt, and bled profusely.

But Schultz chuckled when he saw it. "Colonel Hogan, you're going to have a fencing scar, just like General Burkhalter!"

Hogan glared at him, and quickly finished his shaving so he could put a bandaid on the cut. Schultz was right – it really looked similar to Burkhalter's scar. Which makes one wonder...?

He sighed, and put on his jacket. "Alright, Schultz, let's go and have some breakfast."

"Oh! I forgot to tell you." Schultz looked apologetic. "The mess hall isn't serving today. With you being the only one to eat, the Kommandant figured you could make your own, and gave the entire kitchen staff a three day pass."

Hogan scowled. "Alright, let's see what LeBeau has left in stock." He opened the food locker, with Schultz drooling over his shoulder. "We're nearly out of stock, but we've got a few eggs left."

"Eggs – yummy!" Schultz's face lit up. "You could make a delicious omelet, or a meringue, or eggnog, or a sweet brioche, or..."

"Schultz." Hogan picked up the last three eggs in the basket. "My name is Robert Hogan, not Louis LeBeau. I can cook an egg, and I can fry an egg – that's about it." He kicked the locker door more or less shut and got out a frying pan and a little fat. And soon three big yellow eyes were looking up from a round pale face in the pan.

"Mmm, that smells good!" Schultz jubilated with his nose over the frying pan.

"Yeah, I'm sure it does." Hogan got himself a plate. "But you've already had breakfast, I'm sure."

"That is true. But if you are as big as I am, you need a lot of food to fill up all that space inside you." He gave Hogan a puppy-dog look. "Please, Colonel Hogan, can I have a bite, too? Just a little one?"

Hogan sighed. "Alright then. Just because you're our favourite Kraut." He deftly slid the eggs onto the plate and placed it on the table. "Let me just rinse off this pan first, okay?"

"Okay," Schultz said, and he eagerly sat himself on the stool next to the tantalizing plate.

But when Hogan sat down a minute later... "Schultz, where are my eggs?"

Schultz looked uncomfortable. "Colonel Hogan, will you believe that the rabbit ate them?"

Hogan glared at him. "No, I won't. Rabbits don't eat eggs."

Schultz's expression changed to unhappy. "In that case, I think I ate them."

Hogan sighed. "Schultz, I said you could have a bite – not all of it!"

"I know. But when food is involved, I just can't help myself, Colonel Hogan. I just... ate it."

Another sigh. "I better have the last chocolate bar then."

Schultz's face immediately lit up again. "Chocolate, yummy!"

"Forget it, Schultz. This one's for me. You ate my eggs!" He got up and walked over to the food locker.

And froze.

In the hustle and bustle of the cooking he had forgotten all about Hasenpfeffer. But there he sat, in front of the food locker that clearly hadn't been closed properly – munching on the last chocolate bar!

"You little vermin!" Hogan hissed, and he grabbed for the animal. But Hasenpfeffer scattered away just in time, and took a hasty refuge in the office.

"Ha! Now we've got him!" And Hogan quickly shut the door. "Alright, that's that. He can stay in there for now. Let's go see the Kommandant first."

As they crossed the compound together towards the Kommandantur, the ever nervous Langenscheidt came scurrying towards them. "Sergeant! Sergeant Schultz!" he peeped.

Schultz and Hogan stopped. "Was ist los?" Schultz inquired as Langenscheidt caught up with them.

Heavily breathing and wheezing, Langenscheidt saluted his superior, clumsily dropping his rifle in the process, right on Hogan's toe.

"Ouch! Watch it, Corporal, will you?"

"Jawohl! Verzeihung, Herr Kommanda... I mean, Colonel Hogan." Utterly flustered, Langenscheidt picked up his rifle and saluted even the enemy officer – again dropping his rifle, this time on Hogan's other toe.

"Oh, Verzeihung, Colonel Hogan – Verzeihung vielmals!" Then he turned to Schultz. "Sergeant, I think you had better come with me. There is a big fight on the other side of the camp."

Hogan's eyebrows shot up. "The prisoners are fighting? I thought you said they were all in bed with the German measles?"

"They are, Colonel Hogan." Another nervous salute, and once more the rifle dropped on Hogan's toe, making Hogan snap, "And stop the bloody saluting, will you! I'd like to hang on to my toes a little longer!"

"Jawohl, Colonel Hogan. Right away, Colonel Hogan. And Verzeihung, Colonel Hogan – Verzeihung! But what I wanted to say was – it's the guards who are fighting."

It was time for Schultz's eyebrows to shoot up. "The guards are fighting? Why? No, wait, I'll come with you right away. Colonel Hogan, you'll have to face the Kommandant by yourself."

Hogan shrugged as Schultz and Langenscheidt hurried off together, and then he continued towards the Kommandantur with quite a limp.

"Clumsy corporal with his gun," he muttered.

But he refound his usual swagger the moment he entered the outer office. "Hello sweetheart."

Hilda looked up from her typewriter. "Colonel Hogan," she murmured.

A lingering kiss on her radiant blond hair. "Mm... what's this – Exotic Paradise? No..."

She smiled. "It's called Spring Meadow. Do you like it?"

Hogan took a good breath close to her head. "It's a bit softer than the other one, but the fragrance is quite tempting, yes. I can see a meadow covered in flowers, and there we are, you and me, rolling around between the daisies and the bluebottles..."

Hilda purred. "Hold on to that dream, Colonel Hogan. But you better go and see the Kommandant first."

Hogan smirked. "You're right of course. Business before pleasure." Another tempting little kiss, and then he waltzed into the Kommandant's office without knocking as usual. "Kommandant, what is..."

"Hogan darling! Throw yourself at my bosom and kiss me!"

Hogan did a double take. "Marya? !"

"Of course? You don't have trouble remembering me, do you? And aren't we going to have fun together!" With her arms wide like a ballerina's, she wound her way from behind the desk to the petrified Hogan in the doorway and threw herself in his arms. In a reflex he reciprocated the semi-close hug – too late he realized he could (and perhaps should) have remained as rigid as a salt pillar. Or better still: refuse to catch her in his arms and let her drop down at his feet.

Annoyed with her and with the whole world, he untangled himself from her. "What are you doing here? And where is Kommandant Klink?"

A careless wave of a carefully manicured hand. "In Russia somewhere."

"In Russia?" The alarm bells suddenly rang at a deafening volume. "Did he get sent to the Russian front? When? Why?"

Another careless wave. "Details..." She immediately perked up. "But guess what, Hogan darling – who's the new Kommandant of Stalag 13?"

Hogan glared at her triumphant mien. "I wouldn't have a clue," he grumbled, and quickly made his wave outside under her joyous laughter. And not even the pleasant sight of the pretty Hilda at her desk could mollify him now.

Marya for Kommandant! They could as well fold the operation right now! Manipulating Klink was one thing – but Marya invariably managed to manipulate him into doing exactly what she wanted! That was the wrong way around...

In a super sour mood he crossed the deserted compound. It was oddly eerie, to be the only prisoner. All the guards focused their full attention on him, simply because there was no one else for them to pay attention to.

Better check in with London first. There was nothing major coming up at the moment – he'd rather keep it that way until his men had recovered.

He entered the barracks and walked straight over to the bunk concealing the tunnel entrance. A fierce knock on the lever and...

"Ouch!" Tears stung behind his eyes as he put his thumb in his mouth to numb the pain. That was stupid of course – leaving his fingers in the way of the rising bunkbed...

He shook his hand a few times, flexed his thumb... At least it didn't seem to be broken. Oh well, he would live. And quickly he descended into the dark hole.

Dark indeed. Apparently the oil lamp had burnt out. There were candles and matches around here somewhere, too, just for an emergency like this. In the pitchblack of darkness he let his hands roam over the uneven walls. Yes, there was the niche. By touch he took out a candle and a box of... Darn it! He bent down to pick it up – but where was it? Not in his immediate vicinity. So he went down on all fours and crawled around in the sand until his hands got hold of the little box again.

"Good." He got up and... "Ouch!" He rubbed the back of his head. If that wasn't going to be a bump the size of an ostrich egg...!

Carefully groping about, he realized he was half under a table. The radio equipment no doubt. Carefully he sat back, got up – and realized he had dropped the candle when he hit his head!

He groaned. Oh well, there was nothing else to do but to find... No, wait. With his hands out in front of him, much like a sleepwalker, he groped his way back to the wall. Yes, there was the niche. "We can just light another candle to go and find the first, right?"

He fumbled about a bit with the matches in the dark, but managed to strike one to light the candle, burning his fingers in the process. "Ouch! What's wrong with me today?"

But misfortunes or not, at least he could find the oil to refill the lamp now, and then finally get onto the radio. Raising the antenna, and... Wait. This looked different than the set-up he was used to. That's right – Kinch had mentioned something about modifications. Alright, let's try it.

He put on the headphones, took the mike and... looked blankly at the buttons in front of him. Now which button was 'send' and which one 'receive'? He tried the left one, and got a nasty static shock. No, that can't be the right one. The other one then.

Yes, that sounded better. The recognition code first, then... "Papa Bear calling Goldilocks – come in, Goldilocks."

A little static, and then the sound of a well-known voice resounded through the tunnel. "Hello old boy, this is Goldilocks speaking. How are things in your cosy little camp?"

"Crittendon!" The day's displeasure just increased five fold.

"Yes! How did you know?"

Hogan grumbled. "Lucky guess, I suppose. Anyway, I'd like to speak to the real Goldilocks, if you don't mind."

"My dear chap, I am Goldilocks."

Another groan, but Crittendon prattled happily on. "I'm not getting any younger, you know, and all that gallivanting about as a commando was beginning to get the better of my nerves. So I retrained as a radio operator for Intelligence. Today is my first day on the job. Good show, isn't it, old boy? I specifically requested to be your contact, since we've worked together so well in the past."

Another groan. "Alright, Crittendon, let's get on with it."

"Beg your pardon? Oh, yes, of course. Well then, I have a nice little mission for you. This afternoon, shortly after 2 p.m., a munitions train will be passing Hamelburg. Headquarters would really appreciate it if you could blow it up."

A sigh. "I'm sorry, Crittendon, but I can't. I'm severely short-handed here – all my men are in the infirmary with the measles."

"So? We can't hold up the war because of some measly measles, can we? Be imaginative, Hogan: use your second string! Surely you have one? For you know what they say, old boy: the show must go on."

"I don't have a second string at the moment nor a third or a fourth or a fifth. Crittendon, I'm the only one of the prisoners who's still on his feet. Tell headquarters I'm sorry, but it can't be done."

"Oh, come on now, old chap. Don't let a small case of the measles bear you down. And besides, what's one little munitions train? Surely you can blow that up by yourself."

"With all the guards having nothing better to do than to watch me? Not a chance!"

"Colonel Hogan." Crittendon's voice now turned to ice. "May I remind you that measles or not, you are still under orders? And that I outrank you? So if I order you to blow up that train, I expect you to blow up that train whether you like it or not!"

Hogan heaved a sigh. "Alright, I'll do my best – but under protest."

"Good. Now the train will leave Düsseldorf at around 2 p.m., and is expected to pass Hamelburg around a quarter past two."

"Okay. Anything else?" Hogan couldn't quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but – as was the usual with Crittendon – it went straight over the man's head.

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is. There is going to be a geranium drop at Y14 in... exactly twenty-six minutes. Can you pick them up and bring them into camp?"

"A geranium drop? What do we need geraniums for?"

"To plant along the barbed wire. It's the latest policy from headquarters regarding prisoners-of-war. They're supposed to remind the men of home, thus increasing their determination to escape, escape, escape. Isn't it brilliant?"

Hogan closed his eyes and shuddered.

"I expect you to be at Y14 in... twenty-five minutes from now to pick up those geraniums. And treat them with care, will you – they are very delicate flowers. Understood, Hogan?"

"Understood. Over and out." He didn't dare to ask if there was anything else...

Twenty-five minutes. The whole idea was insane of course, but if he'd disobey he'd get into serious trouble with headquarters. So he quickly changed into his black outfit, and snuck out the emergency tunnel.

Y14 wasn't that far, and once he reached the designated coordinates he crouched down half under a leafy bush to stay out of sight of possible patrols.

Not the cleverest move he ever made.

It began with some itching around his ankles. Annoying, but seasoned commando as he was, he ignored it. But then it started crawling up his trousers – not merely itching now, but also pricking and pinching. He desperately wanted to scratch now, but... At last he couldn't stand it anymore. He jumped up and danced around, shaking out his legs in every direction. The ants went flying everywhere.

Now if only he had flailed his legs about, the disaster would probably have ended then and there. Unfortunately, as one does when flailing one's legs about, involuntarily the arms join in the movement – and hit a beehive dangling from a nearby branch.

Disturbed in their ever busy activities, the little busybodies immediately swarmed out to investigate the source of their hivequake. And found the still dancing culprit right away.

They were upon him before he knew what hit him. Buzzing around his head, sticking him here and there and everywhere... There was only one thing left to do: run!

Zigzagging between the trees, Hogan ran for his life. Maybe literally: he sure hoped he wasn't allergic to beestings, but with the day he was having, chances sure didn't look good. So he ran and ran, stumbled and added a bump to his head, ran on again – and there, above the beebuzzing – he could make out the rumbling of a plane overhead!

He quickly backtracked to Y14, ineffectively trying to swat away the multitude of angry bees. But there was the field. The signal, and... what was that? Hundreds of little parachutes came floating down! How was he ever to carry such an amount of geraniums back to camp all by himself?

The first ones already hit the ground, and running around to gather them up as a good excuse to try and get away from those bees again as well. As a matter of fact... ouch!

He shook his head to clear it. Clearly, one of the geraniums had just caused bump number three.

But as he was thinking, the attack of the bees seemed to have been deflected by the arrival of the geraniums. In fact, every one of the bright red flowers was covered with bees searching for nectar!

Good. Let them have the stupid geraniums then. He could always report the drop had fallen into enemy hands – and boy, how true that was! After all, the whole geranium plan was utterly silly in the first place. So he'd better get back to camp and prepare for that job on the munitions train.

If luck had returned to him to save him from the bees, it certainly had left him again by the time he reached the camp. Out of nowhere two of the fiercest guard dogs spotted him outside the wire. Immediately they started not only a barking concert, but they set off after him as well.

Hogan didn't wait to try and calm them down with his badly accented French. He simply made a beeline (no pun intended) for the treestump. But just when he thought he'd made it...

WROOF!

With an awful sound of tearing cloth one of the dogs set his teeth in his behind. Hogan yelped – more from surprise than from pain – and hastily climbed down to be able to close the hatch on the dogs' noses.

Downstairs in the tunnel he inspected the damage. A large bite had been taken out of the seat of his black pants, as well as out of his underwear. He sighed. Better go and change first. And he needed to pick up the codebook from his room as well, in order to coordinate with the local underground about the job on the munitions train this afternoon.

He quickly ascended the trapdoor – extra cautious not to get his fingers caught again – and crossed the room to his office.

His office?

The moment he opened the door he remembered he had left someone else in charge of his office this morning. Someone who now looked up to him with a big bunny-smile, his whole demeanor expressing the excited air of saying, "Look what fun I'm having!"

"Hasenpfeffer, you monster!" Hogan kicked the door shut behind him to prevent the destructive little animal from running off again. He picked up the rabbit from his desk and surveyed the mess around the room.

His mattress – still half on the floor since this morning – was nibbled open and the straw was spread all around the room. All his pencils were scattered over the desk and the floor – but those were by far the least of his worries. For not only was the vital, much used map of the Hamelburg area covered in smelly bunny-pee, the little rodent had also chewed up the wire of the coffeepot into at least a dozen pieces. And on top of that he had torn half the pages of the codebook to shreds!

With Hasenpfeffer under his arm he went back to the common room. "You are one bad little rabbit, you know that? And as soon as LeBeau is fit to cook again, you're finally going to turn into what you should have become when we first met you: Hasenpfeffer!"

With that, he dumped the rabbit in the gonculator, closed the top and shoved it under Carter's bunk. "No food for you today!"

Alright, back to damage control.

The coffeepot was beyond repair – Kinch would have to fix it up with a new wire. The codebook – or what was left of it – was utterly useless, unless of course you only needed stuff that was on the remaining pages. The snippets were thrown in the stove to be burnt, and as for the map... He tried to dab up the pee with his handkerchief, but there was simply not enough cloth to get it all. Instead, it smeared it out even further. Was he supposed to be working with such a smelly map for the duration?

Anyway, better get changed first and get things ready for that job on the munitions train. The pencils and the straw could wait.

A few minutes later he was down below again, and after he coordinated with a suspiciously cool underground agent to meet at half past one by the railroad signpost, he entered Carter's bomb lab. "Alright, let's see what we have in stock."

The shelves were frighteningly empty though. A few bottles filled with coloured liquid, and a greyblue patch of plastic explosive in the shape of a rabbit.

Hogan groaned. "Not another rabbit...!"

Well, if there was nothing really at hand... For he couldn't take Binky, could he – the way Carter regarded that explosive bunny as a good luck charm... On a day like today, it really wouldn't do to blow up anything that could bring him good luck...

Unfortunately, he had so much faith in Carter's bomb producing abilities that he had never inquired into exactly how to go about it. It couldn't be as easy as just mixing chemicals until they exploded, or...?

Hoping for the best he took out a beaker and a few of the bottles. Now weren't bleach and ammonia the ones to do the trick? He sort of remembered Carter mentioning that...

He poured some bleach in the beaker, then picked up the ammonia – but knocked over the bleach bottle, spilling it all over his pants.

"Great – now I've got the pants of a cow."

But it did mean that this first experiment had to be a success – for there was no more bleach available.

Cautiously he added a little ammonia to the bleach in the beaker.

But nothing happened.

A little more then.

The bleach began to sizzle a little. Good – at least that was a beginning. Some more ammonia then and... KABOOM! ! !

Hogan shook his head to clear it, but his ears kept ringing with the blast. And in front of him... no more beaker. No more bleach. And no more ammonia. He was probably lucky he was alive at all.

A sigh. Well, that left only one option open: Binky would have to be sacrificed.

He went to change into civilian dress (his partly bleached uniform had been blown to shreds in the blast, and although inconvenient, it would save him the humiliation of facing his men dressed as a spotted cow), and put Binky in his pocket. But not before he had squeezed the hateful rabbit shape into something non-descript! A detonator and wire in a bag, and off he went to meet his contact Rosa.

It wasn't particularly far to the railroad, but of course he got caught in the barbed wire lining the tracks, tearing his jacket.

Rosa was already there. "Did you bring the explosive?"

Hogan showed her the blab of plastic explosive.

"Is that enough to blow up a whole train?" she chided.

Hogan shrugged. "It'll have to do. We had run out out of stock – it's the last piece," he defended himself against her accusations. "Besides, it's a munitions train. When one wagon goes, they all go."

"Alright, let's hope for the best then."

Rosa kept a look-out, while Hogan placed the ex-Binky on the track and connected it to the detonator. Rolling off the wire, he went back to Rosa, and together they huddled down in the bushes a bit away.

Hogan glanced at his watch. At least twenty minutes to go before that train was due. That meant this was the perfect time and situation for some much needed romance.

He studied the girl's profile appraisingly. Dark eyebrows, sweet little nose, stern cherry coloured mouth, firm chin, the fragile neck of a swan...

He placed his strong arm around those slender shoulders, but immediately she turned to him and... slapped him right in the face!

"Hey! What do you think you're doing, lady!"

"What do you think you have been doing, you cad!"

"Cad? Now listen..."

"No, you listen to me! Remember Gesche, the girl who was your main contact before me?"

Hogan frowned. "Gesche? Blond hair, brown eyes, a figure like an hourglass? Yes, I think I do, but it's been ages since I last..."

"You want to know why? Because she gave birth yesterday – to triplets! And she is absolutely certain that you are the only possible father!"

Hogan started back. "A father... Triplets? Me?"

"Yes, you! It's well known in town that you go around making out with every pretty girl in the underground you come across. And not just making out, but... Who knows how many little Hogans are running around in town right now? How many more are still to come? So you're nothing but a cad – there!"

She turned her back to him, leaving him to stew in his own juice.

And Hogan's mind was a maelstrom indeed. Holy smoke... Me a father? Of triplets nonetheless? Of course, going around the town the way I do, such accidents are always possible to happen. Seems my luck has really run out now. Of course I should marry the girl as soon as may be – no doubt about that. But I can't compromise the operation, so how am I going to arrange that, short of ending the war with my bare hands here and now? Oh my goodness – triplets! Mom's going to have a flip! How many dirty diapers a day does that amount to? Help! I'm not ready to be a father!

Just as panic threatened to take over, Rosa turned back to him. "Are you sure about that time table? It's going on three o'clock by now, and no sign of that train yet."

Hogan visibly had to compose himself. "That's what they told me. The train is probably just delayed. You know how it goes."

A cool nod, and they waited again in silence.

Three thirty. Four p.m. Four thirty. Five o'clock... Still no train.

"I'm going to have to return to camp," Hogan muttered. "Can't stay away too long, or they'll notice for sure. Especially now." A sigh. "Stupid Crittendon. He probably got the days mixed up or something."

"And I've promised Gesche to come and help her with the babies." Rosa wrinkled her nose. "I'll tell her you said 'hi'."

With that, she disappeared in the woods, and in utter frustration, Hogan slammed his hand down – right on the detonator.

KABOOM! ! !

Once he'd picked himself up, he sighed at the sight of a few meters of destroyed railway track. This was going to be of a whole lot of use indeed...

He untied the detonator box and began to trudge back to camp. But just as he was edging his way through the barbed wire along the railroad, the gates of heaven opened and unloaded on him the worst rainstorm he had ever experienced.

Totally soaked he arrived at the treestump. Or... was it not this one? He looked around. Yes – that one over there, and the tree here, and the bushes off to the right. It had to be the right one. Then why wouldn't it open up?

He put down the detonator box and pulled at the top of the treestump with all his might. And thump – he sat on his backside, with the hatch of the treestump slapping shut again.

One more try then. It still wasn't easy (the wood must have expanded due to the humidity, he figured), but at least this time he could get in.

But what was that? Voices!

He quickly climbed down. Were some of his men all better already? That'd be a relief indeed!

But as he approached the sound, he realized the voices were speaking German. And unless the guards were eunuchs, they were too high-pitched to belong to grown-ups. Children in the tunnel?

He quickly made his way to where the sound came from. It seemed to come from the printing room.

And there they were indeed: three street urchins running around, throwing fake banknotes in the air.

"You three – get the hell out of here!" Hogan thundered, his patience really wearing thin by now.

The boys instantly cowered away, and quickly snuck off through the emergency tunnel.

"And don't you ever show your faces around here again, or I'm going to have to turn you into the Gestapo!" he called after them.

He watched them scramble up the ladder, and shaking his head he went back to the printing room to clean things up.

But there was an alarming amount of sand on their equipment and on the recently strewn about banknotes. Hogan looked about – it wouldn't do to have the roof collapsing. And indeed, one of the support beams was seriously dislodged, to the point of almost falling over. He put his weight against it to lodge it back into place – when suddenly the roof did cave in and something really heavy landed on top of him.

"Atchoo! Atchoo!" the big bulk went.

Hogan moaned. "Schultz – could you please get off me? You're flattening me into a pancake."

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz rolled to his side and with difficulty got himself to his feet in the sandy mess. "This goes too far, Colonel Hogan. I'm prepared to see nothing, hear nothing and know nothing at any time. But when I suddenly fall through the ground, then it becomes rather impossible to continue seeing, hearing and knowing nothing. I'm going to have to throw you in the cooler now, pending the Kommandant's decision on what to do with you."

Hogan groaned, and began to dig himself out from under the sand. "It'd be my pleasure, Schultz. With the day I'm having...! At least in the cooler I can't get into any more trouble." He spat out a mouthful of sand.

Once he was out, they climbed out of the hole right in the middle of the compound. Dejectedly, Hogan followed Schultz to the cooler and let himself be locked in a cell without argument.

"I will go and report this to the Kommandant," Schultz huffed, and disappeared out of sight.

And Hogan sagged down on the plankbed. Peace and quiet – at last. No more disasters, no more catastrophes.

He tried to brush the sand off his face and his clothes. But because he had been so thoroughly drenched just before, it stuck as if it were glued on. Oh well...

He sighed... but looked up when he heard the cooler's outside door opening again. Was that the Kommandant? Oh no, Marya...

But it was Hilda, smiling ever so sweetly. "Hello Colonel Hogan."

He was at the bars in a flash. "Hilda! What are you doing here?"

A feline smile. "Schultz told me what happened. So I decided I'd come and see you."

He returned the smile. "That's really nice of you. Thanks."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" She tilted her head. "But then again, I am a really nice person. You have no idea just how nice." And suddenly she pulled at the top of her head and... her hair came off, leaving a bald little figure standing there!

Hogan's jaw dropped. "Hilda!"

She shook her head. "The name is Nimrod." And before his eyes, she ripped off the fake eyelashes, brushed away the rouge and the lipstick, and left was a bald guy of Hogan's own age.

Hogan gulped. "You are Nimrod? And you're a man, too? Why didn't you tell me?"

The smile turned snaky. "Because Nimrod is also a counterspy for the Nazis. And I have everything you've done here documented in the files in Klink's office. All I have to do now is go and call major Hochstetter."

"But... Hilda! I mean Nimrod, I..."

"Don't bother, Colonel Hogan," the retreating voice sang. "Right now you're in the biggest possible trouble you can possibly be. I suggest you start thinking about one of your magic plans to wriggle your way out of it!"

Hogan sank back on his cot. This was really too much. Hilda was Nimrod – a male! – and Nimrod was actually a counterspy for the Germans?

Trying to oversee the complications this caused, he was but vaguely aware of a rumbling sound in the distance. Rumbling... and whistling. And suddenly, before he knew what was happening, he discovered he was buried deep under the debris of what a moment ago had been the cooler.

"Colonel Hogan! Colonel Hogan, wake up!"

Startled out of his sleep, Hogan abruptly sat up. A little too abruptly according to his bed apparently, for the next thing he knew the slatted base of the top bunk gave way under him, and with a thunderous crash he fell through his bed. Right onto the bottom bunk, that wasn't designed to be used with such force either, and therefore promptly collapsed, too, leaving Hogan with his bum on the floor.

Schultz stared at the tousled head and the arms and legs sticking up from among the blanket and the woodsplinters. "Colonel Hogan, ach du lieber!"

Hogan shook his head to clear it. "Forget it, Schultz. I'm not taking any risks – I'm staying in bed today." He looked at the mess around him. "Any bed will do!"

The End

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I don´t own Hogan´s Heroes; I just like to play with them.

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