Disclaimer: Hogan and his heroes as well as Sam and his friends all have one thing in common: none of them belong to me. And, as that is the case, I make no money from this publication. Thank you.
Chapter 3: The World's A Stage and the Players are Strange
"But, Kommandant -"
Klink waived his hand and his expression was uncharacteristically no nonsense. "It'll have to wait."
While it was strange to see Klink put his foot down, Hogan was more interested in the fact that the Kommandant hadn't been looking at him when he'd said this. Hogan realized, as Klink shut the office door behind him, that the man had actually been looking somewhere over Hogan's shoulder.
What the Kommandant might have been looking at wasn't obvious as Hogan turned to where he thought Klink had been looking. And that wasn't the only strange thing: Klink had come out of the office, without his monocle, said that he had work to do and went back in. It made Hogan wonder why Klink had left in the first place. Also, Klink had been wearing his coat so it was plain that he'd planned to go out - why hadn't he? He hadn't had any files, so he hadn't wanted to drop off paperwork. And, if he'd wanted something from Hilda, Klink would not have let Hogan's presence stop him.
It was certainly worth looking into and Hogan knew that he would not be finding his answers standing here. After blowing Hilda a parting kiss, Hogan walked out of the office and snuck around under Klink's office window which was open just enough for him to hear what was happening inside.
"Not one? That's amazing!" A pause and then: "Anything else?" It sounded like Klink was on the telephone. Nothing too strange about needing to make a phone call . . .
Hogan frowned. But why was the Kommandant speaking in English? On an impulse, he chanced glancing inside the office. The glance turned into a stare as he realized that Klink wasn't holding a phone in his hand.
"What am I supposed to do here, Al? I don't know how to act like a Nazi and I don't think it'd be too safe to make people suspicious this time."
Hogan felt his mouth drop open. What the hell was going on here? Was this some kind of a joke? Never mind the craziness coming out of Klink's mouth - which was pretty damn strange all on its own - there wasn't anyone there. And there wasn't any sign of a receiver or a radio set. Had the man finally gone around the bend?
And suddenly, it got worse. "What kind of man is this Klink person, anyway?"
While Hogan couldn't be certain just what was happening, he was almost positive that this was all bad news as far as he and the operations at Stalag 13 were concerned. He also knew that he could not stay where he was much longer - a guard was coming his way and he was in no condition to think up a probable reason for him to be loitering under the Kommandant's window.
As quickly as he could without looking guilty and with a sense of nonchalance that he didn't feel, Hogan made his way back to Barracks 2. Once he'd arrived, he found his men hard at work. Well, working hard to win cigarettes off each other. But there was no time to waste.
"Kinch, I need you on the coffee pot now." Maybe there would be a chance to hear more of that strange conversation that Klink was having with himself. And maybe there would be a chance for someone else to hear it too. The whole thing was crazy and it would be nice to have a little corroborating evidence on his side.
Kinch nodded, putting down his cards. The rest of the men abandoned their cards as well and, while the questions were in their eyes, no one asked them aloud. Hogan was only grateful that they were able to contain themselves because he was sure his answers wouldn't be of much help.
Kinch turned on the receiver in the coffee pot as the men crowded into Hogan's room. The sound quality was not the best (a few days ago, someone had attempted to brew coffee), but they could all hear Klink's voice. " . . .u bet I will, Al . . ." Then there was silence.
After a long moment, Hogan nodded to Kinch. "That's enough." Turning to the rest of his men, he relayed to them what he had heard and seen earlier underneath the Kommandant's window.
"I think we can all agree that there is something very wrong in
"But for who, sir?" Kinch asked, looking troubled. "And why do it when no one should be able to see or hear him?"
Hogan nodded. "It doesn't seem quite right to me either. Another possibility is that he's taken leave of himself or -"
"Yeah," Newkirk quipped in a stage whisper, "'e's 'taken leave' all the way to the loony bin."
Everyone thought that was pretty amusing except for Hogan who was slightly miffed at being cut off in the middle of a sentence. "If I can continue?" Satisfied that he had the floor again, he went on, "Or maybe he might just like talking to himself, maybe he has an imaginary friend or something."
Carter raised his hand as though he was in grade school. Hogan resisted the temptation to sigh with difficulty. "Yes, Carter."
"But, if he liked to talk to himself like that, well, wouldn't we have heard about it before now, sir?"
Hogan shrugged. "Which is why I'm inclined to dismiss it, but I think it's good to have all our cards on the table before making any decisions. The last idea I have," and the one that made the most sense to him, "is that this person, whoever he is, isn't Klink at all."
LeBeau gasped. "Sacre Blu! That is incredible." Then he frowned in distaste. "But who would want to pretend to be Klink?"
"And how did this imposter manage to look and sound so much like him?" Kinch asked reasonably. "And when did this switch happen? Today? Yesterday? A month ago? From what you said, sir, it sounds like this guy doesn't have his part down yet - if he'd been here for a while, we would have noticed something amiss a lot sooner than now."
"I know that too." Hogan put his hands into his jacket pockets and sighed. "I don't know what's going on, but I think we all should stay alert and keep an eye on things."
His men nodded solemnly before exiting his office. Hogan stayed behind for a
moment, thinking. He was just as mystified as everyone else and he had heard it
all first hand. Forget
Until then, he would watch and wait and hope that maybe, just maybe, this
problem would be simple to solve.
***
Following Al's departure, Sam took a moment to collect himself. He finally had a full name and he knew exactly where and when he was. What he didn't know was why he was here and how it was possible. 1943. It looked like the String Theory would be taking a beating on this leap!
But, as there was nothing he could do about that, at least, not just now, he pushed the matter to the back of his mind and tried to think about more immediate concerns. God-Time-Whatever usually sent him to places where people needed his help. Ergo, since he was here, someone needed help.
Being 1943, Sam could think of thousands of someones that could use help but he knew that he probably wasn't here for them. What could one man do against such horrors? Granted, he had preformed some amazing feats in his life, but that would be too much to expect from anyone - even a time traveler.
Besides, the changes he made usually didn't have much of an affect on the larger picture of history. He usually helped individuals: saving an odd life here, helping someone get out of a bad situation there. Certainly a big deal to those he helped but nothing as far as history was concerned.
And this time he had leaped into a Nazi who ran a little POW camp; what changes could he make that wouldn't be undone by his host when he leapt out?
Sam closed his eyes, feeling tired. There really was no point in trying to figure out what his mission was until Ziggy had her data together. All he could do was wait until Al returned . . . Of course, who could say when he'd turn up again? Al was always a welcome sight - being one of Sam's strongest ties to his own time - but it seemed like he was never there when Sam wanted him or, if he was, he usually didn't have anything useful to say.
That's not fair, his conscience protested, Al's always there when you really need him.
Conceding the point, Sam shook his head. The problem wasn't really Al: Sam was just beginning to feel bored and restless. He briefly considered cleaning up the mess he'd made in his search for more information at the start of the leap but he disregarded the notion quickly. For one thing, he didn't know how to organize the papers and for another . . . he jut didn't want to do it.
What he did want to do was investigate; look around the camp; find out what, if anything, was happening. Maybe there was some secret to unearth or some dirty dealings to put a stop to and he was just the man for the job!
Sam frowned slightly. He had the uneasy feeling that, perhaps, he was getting too used to being the universal good Samaritan. When all of this leaping had started, as far as he could remember, all he had wanted to do was avoid conflict. He hadn't wanted to fight anyone. Lately, it seemed as though there was this part of him that craved the conflicts: the battles of will and fists.
And he wasn't sure that he liked the change.
All of which had no bearing on the fact that Sam was getting ready to ignore Al's advice about keeping a low profile. There was work to be done and he was more than reasonably certain that none of that work could be done sitting in this office.
But before Sam had a chance to implement his new plan of action, again there was a snag. This time, it was a knock on the door. Seeing nothing else that he could do, he said, "Come in."
The door opened and in stepped a tall, plump man wearing a Sergeant's uniform. The man was puffing and sweating and he didn't appear prepared to say anything.
After a few moments of silence, Sam snapped, "Well, what do you want, Shultz? Do you plan on standing there all day?" As he spoke the words, Sam had to resist the impulse to look down at his mouth and see if he was actually the one saying them. This was not a good sign: it was one thing to know these people's names; it was another to be saying things he hadn't planned on saying!
Shultz didn't seem to notice Sam's distress. "No, sir," he said at last with a salute. "It's Colonel Hogan, he says that it's important that he sees you, Herr Kommandant."
Remembering the list that the man had had earlier, Sam doubted this very much. He also doubted that telling Shultz that he didn't want to see Colonel Hogan would make the man leave him alone. What was better: being pestered for the rest of the day or sitting through some long list of demands that he probably wouldn't know how to deal with?
Well, when he put it that way . . . "Show him in."
The Sergeant clicked his heels and saluted again. "Yes, Kommandant!"
He left and, a few seconds later, Colonel Hogan entered. His expression
reminiscent of the cat who had not only eaten the canary, but the goldfish and
the cream as well. Very self satisfied and very confident. A strange sort of
expression for a prisoner to wear.
Hogan saluted sloppily. "Kommandant."
Sam saluted back. "Colonel. What do you want?"
The man smiled and pulled out his list once again. "Just wanted to go over these requests."
Sam eyed the list without pleasure and wondered if his host would have actually listened to them all. While Sam wasn't sure what he could do about these requests, he was a little interested in hearing what they were. Maybe it would give him some insight into just what kind of place he'd leapt into. "And they would be?"
As the Colonel started into his list, Sam sat back and listened with growing disbelief at the things he was requesting. Parties? Women? A tennis court? What kind of madhouse was this place?
It was surreal and, at length, Sam couldn't take any more. "Stop, Colonel. Just stop."
Hogan appeared a little taken a back. "But sir, I haven't even gotten down to the important stuff."
"The important stuff?" Sam asked weakly.
The man nodded, seeming to regain his equilibrium. "Yes. The Escape Committee wants some wallpaper."
"The Escape Committee?" Sam wondered when exactly he had become a parrot.
"Yes, they say the place is starting to feel like a POW camp."
Sam closed his eyes. "And they want wallpaper."
"Nothing fancy, just some floral prints, you know, to make the place look more homey."
In a flash, Sam realized what this was about. Hogan had said all that crazy stuff to make this request, probably his only real request, seem reasonable and normal by comparison. But wallpaper? All that trouble for some wallpaper? It hardly seemed worth while. Then again, he supposed if he was a POW, he'd want some comforts of home, even if it was just wallpaper. He opened his eyes.
Hogan was looking at him. "We would be willing to do some work around here in trade. Maybe we could detail some of the camp cars."
Since Sam wasn't sure whether or not this was something his host would agree to or where he would find this wallpaper if it was, he decided to stall. "I'll have to look into it before I can decide on this."
Hogan's disappointment was evident "All right, sir. When will you know?"
Sam shrugged. "Tomorrow, maybe?"
There was an ever so slight narrowing of Hogan's eyes and Sam wondered if he had done something out of character. "I guess I'll try again then, Kommandant."
"Probably wise." The conversation seemed to be over and Sam turned his attention to the day planner on his desk, intending to look busy until he heard Colonel Hogan leave. Minutes passed and Sam could sense eyes on him. He looked up to see Hogan standing there, uncomfortable and annoyed "Why are you still here?"
Hogan cocked his head. "You have to dismiss me, sir."
Sam smiled in an attempt to cover his embarrassment. "Of course, Colonel Hogan, you can go."
Confusion ripped over Hogan's features and he frowned as he turned towards the door. Before the door closed behind him, Sam could see him shaking his head. Clearly, Sam had done something out of character for his host.
But Sam wasn't very worried. There was no possible way that Colonel Hogan could guess the truth and he doubted that the words of a POW would be believed if he did suspect something wasn't right with the Kommandant. He just hoped that he was out of here before someone in power noticed that he wasn't acting right.
However, before he could leap, he had to know what he was here to do. And the only way to know that was for Al to come back and tell him. He wondered, as he picked up the bottle on the corner of the desk and opened it - intending to pour still full glass back in, when that would be.