Hogan's Heroes: Opportunity Cost (2/4)
Aug. 5th, 2010 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
what_we_dreamSeries: Hogan's Heroes
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In order to stop a chemical scientist, the Heroes must rescue his daughters from the Gestapo. Things get more complicated when they turn out not to be as seemed.
Newkirk lay on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling above. The cheap wood, not sanded or planed, was rough with splinters and knots. He’d long since come to know every sliver and grain in the three planks directly above his eyes; he sometimes thought he’d still see the wood in his dreams when – if – he ever got back to London.
The Colonel had ordered them all to get some rest; with another night of activity ahead of him they didn’t need anyone slowed by sleep deprivation. Carter was twisting and turning in the bunk below his, sleeping fitfully as ever. It was typical of the chemist that he managed to cause trouble even in his sleep, although in truth Newkirk had gotten used to the slight rocking in the bunk long ago. And if he sometimes dreamt of the sea, and his childhood expeditions on the Thames with an uncle who owned a coal barge, he probably had the American to thank for it.
He would have slept easier if he’d had more faith in the plan. The goal, he supported wholeheartedly. Rescuing two women was something he would always be happy to lend a hand to – and receiving thanks if and when they bestowed it. Rescuing two women – two people – from the Gestapo was something he would never refuse, regardless of thanks. In theory.
In practice, breaking into the Gestapo headquarters and smuggling anyone out, never mind two people, was more than dangerous. It was recklessly stupid.
They all knew it, Hogan included. It was a bad risk, one that was unlikely to pay off. One that could blow the entire operation here. But if the colonel ordered it, with two innocent lives on the line, no one would refuse to back him up. They had to trust the colonel to know whether to give the order or not. Newkirk trusted the man with his life, and when the word came he would jump. He just wasn’t entirely sure, after two years of wildly improbable successes, that he could trust the colonel to know when something was impossible.
Night came too soon, but they had all grown used to going out on missions with the knowledge that they would have to improvise, grown used to spending hours with their hearts in their throats. At least, as Kinch had once said, the blood got to their brains quicker. As soon as evening roll call broke up they were down in the tunnel, Newkirk quicker to get into his boots this time, although his tunic had upgraded from a private’s to a lieutenant’s. Beside him Carter was straightening his captain’s insignia, while LeBeau stood by in plain street clothes, holding the radio. At the entrance to the tunnel system the Colonel stood by Kinch, arms crossed and eyes dark.
“Right. Now you’ve all got the plan.”
“Such as it is,” said Newkirk, checking his pistol in its holster and knowing that if things went bad he probably wouldn’t even have the chance to draw it.
“You get into the building with LeBeau as your cover, find the girls, and smuggle them out,” continued Hogan, ignoring the interruption.
“What if they won’t let LeBeau out again, sir?” asked Carter, finishing fidgeting with his collar.
“He’s your prisoner, you’ve got the papers for him. You shouldn’t have any trouble there.”
Newkirk bit back another comment; two was pushing it. Besides, no one in the alcove felt any differently.
“Look, I know this is open-ended, even as our plans go. We don’t have a lot of choice but to leave it to your ingenuity – I believe you guys can pull it off. But I’m not going to force you to. If you want to step down, fine. We’ll cancel the mission.”
Newkirk glanced at Carter and LeBeau, and saw the agreement he knew was reflected in his own face. Hogan had pulled the punch, but then he didn’t have to throw it; they all knew what was at stake.
He sighed. “We’ll do it, Colonel. For all it’s a bloody bad plan.”
Hogan smiled grimly. “Good. Remember, if you don’t get in radio back immediately. If you do, you’ll have to pick up Kirche from behind the chemist’s store at 2300 hours.”
“Will the chemist really be open at eleven o’clock, colonel?” asked LeBeau.
“Kirche called down on Klink’s phone today and told him to in Klink’s name, and the guy agreed.”
“Shows how much he knows Klink,” added Kinch from beside him. Newkirk nodded.
“Alright,” said Hogan, checking his watch. “Better get going. The car should be waiting at the usual spot. Good luck.”
Newkirk watched Carter scramble up the ladder, long coat tails flapping about his legs, and glanced Heavenward. “We’re going to need it.”
He drove again, with Carter and LeBeau in the back seat this time. Yesterday their chances of success had been good and they’d gone in silence. Today success was unlikely while dangerous failure loomed large on the horizon, and they bantered light-heartedly all the way.
“Elise and Lucrezia. They sound like brunettes to me, not too tall, with beautiful smiles,” said LeBeau, gesturing descriptively to Carter. Newkirk, glancing in the mirror, caught the expression of careful concentration on Carter’s face and rolled his eyes.
“I don’t know,” said the American after a moment, “They could be blonde, y’know. That doctor, his hair was pretty light.”
“He was greying, mon ami. It is not at all the same thing. I am telling you, they will be brunette with wonderful smiles and legs up to here.”
“It’s been a while since I met a redhead,” put in Newkirk speculatively.
“Who would name a redhead Lucrezia,” dismissed LeBeau.
“Maybe she was born blonde, and it changed!”
“That could happen; my kid sisters, they had real pale blonde hair and then around when they turned eight –”
Newkirk cut the man off. “Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Never mind.”
It was a clear night, the clouds from the day before having dissipated, leaving the sky clear and the stars shining in the dark strips of sky above the narrow streets. Beautiful, and dangerous in case of pursuit.
Their conversation died out as they drew closer to the Gestapo headquarters, Newkirk’s mouth drying along with his interest in bantering. In the back seat Carter pulled out his revolver – the first chamber empty in case of accident – and sat with it in his lamp, as close to still as he ever came when not actively playing a part. LeBeau shrank down into himself, large coat creeping up towards his jaw and giving him a turtle-like appearance in the mirror. Newkirk gritted his teeth and tightened his hands on the wheel.
They pulled up in front of the ancient residence in silence, Newkirk taking a deep breath before he killed the engine. “Good luck, chaps,” he muttered, and opened the door. There was no going back now.
He slid fluidly into character, a proud lieutenant with a hard taskmaster riding him, and hurried to open the door for Carter and LeBeau. The Frenchman came out first, shoved by Carter holding the gun in his back. Newkirk grabbed LeBeau by the arm, pulling him sharply to heel when the man tried to yank away, and began escorting him up the path to the building. Carter closed the door and followed along behind, footsteps even on the flagstones.
The guards saluted as they drew close, Newkirk returning the gesture with a nod, hands full with the struggling LeBeau. The smaller man played his part to perfection, fighting enough to be convincing without actually managing to escape, and cursing the whole while in bitter French.
The man on the right opened the door for him and he dragged LeBeau into the foyer, taking in the desk, the hallway and the guards in one quick look. Carter stepped around him while he fought to keep LeBeau in one place, and marched up to the desk.
“Good evening,” he began, in a harsh tone nearing that of his Hitler voice. He continued without waiting for the lieutenant – a tall thin man with an eye-patch – to answer. “I am Captain Grossman, from Dusseldorf. My lieutenant and I caught this –” he gestured at LeBeau with a tilt of his head, “this evening, returning from a meeting in Wurzburg. I believe he may have information of immediate interest to my colleagues. May I have the use of one of your cells for a few hours? I do not wish to lose any time in transporting him back to Dusseldorf.”
Newkirk had to hand it to Carter, he had mastered the art of making a request for himself sound like a benefit to the other man, his tone clearly indicating that the loss of his time was something neither of them wanted.
The lieutenant looked to the other man behind the desk, a corporal, who answered in a timorously. “Herr Captain, I would be pleased to accommodate you, but our facilities are small and we are currently overstretched…” he faded out into silence, watching Carter with apprehension.
Carter leaned forward to hiss over the counter. “You do not have one free cell for an hour or two? How deeply have you been combing the gutters of Hammelburg, to turn out all these men?”
Newkirk gave LeBeau a good shake as a signal, and spoke up. “Captain, if I may?”
Carter turned to him, face twisted into a harsh mask. “Very well.” He raised his gun and pointed it straight at LeBeau’s heart, the Frenchman freezing and looking up with fear in his eyes. Newkirk let him go and walked by Carter to lean over the desk.
“The Captain, he can be a bit abrupt,” Newkirk whispered, addressing himself in a sympathetic tone to the corporal, who was looking slightly shell-shocked. “Very good when it comes to interrogation, but sometimes not so able at requests. As his aide, I can assure you that, if he gets the information he is looking for, he will not be behind in writing to praise your cooperation.” He raised his eyebrows conspiratorially. “Can you really not find us a small space? It will be to your benefit.”
The corporal visibly considered it, and then nodded. “I think that we may just have a cell free – an unexpected departure this afternoon. Lieutenant, may I escort these men downstairs?”
The lieutenant nodded as well, once, curtly. “Very well. But do not be too long.”
“Yes, sir. If you will follow me…” the corporal slipped out from behind the desk and glanced at Carter, who had his back to them watching LeBeau.
“Sir, they have found us some space,” said Newkirk in his most formal tone. Carter turned, gesturing LeBeau towards the hall with his revolver. LeBeau, eyes on the weapon, stumbled in that direction. Newkirk grabbed him by the shoulder and followed the corporal.
They took the corridor left and followed it all the way down and around a corner. They passed several wooden doors and came at last to a heavy metal one with two more men standing guard. These men straightened to attention as the officers came into sight, but Newkirk could tell the difference between them and the gargoyles out front; these men weren’t here for appearance. They were here to slam doors and knock down protesting prisoners and shoot escapees, and they looked like they wouldn’t flinch at any of it.
The door, when opened, let onto a sharp stone staircase descending into a dark basement. The corporal went first, Newkirk following with LeBeau beside him and Carter bringing up the rear.
The rumours were right. There were cells here, rows of them stretching back into the putrid darkness of the dungeon. It was lit only by infrequent naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling, the wiring running along the dirty stones like some sort of primitive spinal cord. The air was thick with smells that made Newkirk’s stomach clench; dirty, uncomplicated scents that meant pain and torture and death. He twisted his face into a cold expressionless mask, and pulled LeBeau closer to his side. The shorter man was shaking, although whether with fear or anger Newkirk couldn’t tell. Behind him, Carter was silent.
They were standing at a corner of the building, and at the foot of the stairs there were two corridors to choose from at right angles to each other. One ran straight back the way they had come down the hallway upstairs, the other parallel to the front hall. The corporal paused, apparently thinking, and then headed straight. The cells had thick stone walls closed with metal doors, each door with a hole cut into it at eye level. The corporal took them to the last cell and threw it open. Newkirk stopped in the hallway, not wanting to enter, not wanting to see whatever mementos remained of the men who had been in it previously. He glanced in quickly, and was surprised to see by the light the corporal turned on that the man was in a store room, although the tools hung on the walls and the one metal shelving unit set his teeth and turned his stomach.
The corporal reappeared with a clipboard, and glanced through its pages rapidly. “Yes, here. 4D is free.” He retreated, and then came back again without the keyboard but with a key, and led them back down the way they had came. They stopped two cells down and, after glancing in the hole, he turned the key and pushed the door open.
Newkirk felt LeBeau tense beside him, and squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. They had all been questioned by the Gestapo before, but none of them as extreme hostiles. None of them to the extent of being thrown in cells like these and having the tools hanging on the office walls over dark stains used on them. Newkirk stared into the rank darkness, wondering what ghosts it held.
Behind him, Carter scuffed his feet, probably trying not to stumble backwards from the horrible blackness.
The sound, tiny as it was, was enough to knock Newkirk out of his shock and back to the present. They still didn’t know where the girls were, were all an inch from spooking entirely and blowing the whole mission sky high. He swallowed, and tried to loosen his tight throat.
“You must have many difficult prisoners,” he said, voice sounding ridiculously false in his ears. LeBeau gave a little jump, snapping back as well.
“Oh, nothing we cannot handle,” returned the corporal, stepping back to the threshold of the cell.
“In terms of techniques, certainly. I meant more difficulties of nature. Take this … thing, for example,” said Newkirk, harsher insults strangling in his throat in the face of the cell. “He does not speak German, only babbles on in French. Surely you must have problems of a similar nature.”
On cue LeBeau tried to break away, muttering in his own tongue and staring into the darkness beyond the corporal. Carter stepped in out of nowhere and in one swift movement pinned the Frenchman against the wall with his forearm, LeBeau ceasing to struggle and staring at him in shock. Newkirk tried to ignore it, and noticed the corporal staring at Carter in impressed amazement.
“Language is an issue sometimes, of course,” confided the corporal. “But we have translators to deal with that. No, the biggest problems we face are Colonel Veheim’s guests.”
“He expects you to deal with them down here?” fished Newkirk.
“Oh, no. They are guests, they are seen to above. The soldiers here are forbidden to enter their rooms, but he brings along his own staff and gives them free run of all our facilities despite the possible security concerns, and worse orders us to hire day labour to see to his guests. You know Colonel Veheim, of course?” The corporal had clearly taken Newkirk’s hints, and assumed the man to be a friend.
“I’ve heard of him – who hasn’t? But the Gestapo is full of men with reputations – my captain has one of his own.” Newkirk indicated Carter, still pinning LeBeau against the wall without apparent effort, the Frenchman struggling without any success.
The corporal smiled bitterly. “Your captain may keep his reputation, with all respect. He will never come near Veheim.” The corporal seemed about to say more, but then glanced around and thought the better of it, shrinking away nervously. “Anyway. You may have this cell as long as you need it. When you are finished, lock up and leave the key in the lock; I will see to it later. Make sure to check in with me at the desk when you leave.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“No problem.” The corporal hurried away, giving Carter a quick look as he passed, and then disappearing into the darkness. His footsteps continued to click after he had disappeared from sight, rattling on the stone like teeth clattering in a skull.
Carter dropped LeBeau as soon as they heard the metal door slam, the smaller man pushing his arm away with a snarl and a stream of angry French.
“I know,” murmured Newkirk, looking into the cell. “But now’s not the time to think about it. We’ve got to find those girls and get out of ‘ere.”
“How?” asked Carter, eyes flitting to Newkirk, face pale. “We don’t know where they are.”
“Weren’t you listening? The Colonel keeps his ‘guests’ upstairs. That must be them. We’ve got to get upstairs and find them.”
LeBeau gave a short, harsh laugh. “Past the door demons? Bon chance. If we go up now, they will know something is wrong.”
“Maybe there’s another door. Come on.” Newkirk closed the door, turning the key in the lock with a rusty rattle and pocketing it. Beside him LeBeau muttered, but followed his lead. Carter, as ever, trailed along behind.
They walked all the way back to the corner, stepping as quietly as possible and trying to ignore the metal doors set into the cells. If the corporal’s words were true, all of them were full. Newkirk wondered if even one of the men in the basement were guilty of anything deserving this. Wondered whether you could be. They walked in silence.
There were no other exits before the other door, and they turned the corner and proceeded down the second corridor. It split off halfway along, one passage running left parallel to the one their cell had been on, the other continuing on. Even in the dim light, it was fairly clear that there were no other exits in the direction they were going. They turned the corridor and hurried along, now bordered by cells on both sides.
As they passed, occasionally the sharp report of their heels on the stones drew moans from the cells. They winced, and moved faster on the balls of their feet.
At the end of this corridor was a set of stone stairs, half the width of the ones they had come down, and running parallel to the wall rather than up into it. Newkirk nearly ran up them, scrambling for the handle in the poor light and finally finding it. It was locked. He paused, and then rapped sharply on it. No answer. He sighed.
“What now?” hissed Carter, behind him.
“I’ve got me picks.” He fumbled to slip a shivering hand in through his overcoat and jacket, and finally found the right pocket. The small black case slid out smooth as an eel, and he quickly pulled the right tools from it and bent to his task.
The lock was old and heavy; the age made it simple, the weight adding only a little challenge. He had it open in under twenty seconds, pocketing his tools again and pushing it open in under thirty.
The room it opened onto was dark, and smelled of must. Newkirk crept forwards into it, feeling stone under his boots. LeBeau and Carter followed him, Carter shutting the door quietly behind them. “Anyone have a flashlight?” asked the American. No one answered.
They stumbled along to the left, more out of random agreement than any logical choice. Newkirk tripped over an uneven stone, and Carter barked his shin on something and let out a yelp.
It was LeBeau who found the staircase leading upstairs, hissing to attract the attention of the other two. Newkirk shuffled over and, looking around, spotted the pricks of light the Frenchman too had spotted; light streaming through cracks in a door up a set of stairs.
“Alright. LeBeau, you keep behind us; if anyone comes, get out of sight fast.”
“No worries there,” answered the Frenchman in a none-too-even voice. Carter didn’t say anything, but bumped up against Newkirk’s shoulder in the darkness.
Newkirk rolled his eyes and began climbing the stairs, one hand spread flat against the wall. The stones were cold and dusty under his palm, the action making a noise like a snake slithering and sending a shiver down his spine.
He paused at the top, bracing himself for Carter to run into him – he did. When they had all stopped, he reached out and opened the door slowly, peering out through the crack.
They had reached another long hallway, this one with a rich wine-coloured carpet and cheerful yellow-painted walls. Newkirk slipped out into it and looked quickly in the other direction; the hallway was empty. They had clearly come up some sort of servant’s stair into what had – and possibly still was – the living quarters.
LeBeau was last to come up, and looking down the halls, sighed. “Magnifique. How are we supposed to find them in this maze? There is another floor still, as well. And probably there are guards everywhere.”
“We could split up,” suggested Carter.
“And tell them what when they caught us?” demanded LeBeau. “Just stretching our legs?”
“What’ll we tell them if they catch us all together?” countered the American. “Boy, this is some mission alright.”
Somewhere in the building, a door slammed shut. All three of them started; Carter yanked the door open and they shot down into the darkness like rabbits into a hole. After a while, Newkirk heard footsteps pass by, then diminish again into silence.
“Alright, look,” he hissed. “We don’t ‘ave time to be running around this place. If you were keeping someone temporarily, where would you do it?”
“…Upstairs,” said LeBeau at last. “They would take the lower floors for themselves first; less walking. And if there were bedrooms, they would not have them below the offices.”
“Makes sense,” added Carter.
Newkirk stifled a comment and nodded, although none of them could see it. “Alright. We find the stairs, we get up, and then we search. Quick and quiet. We run into anyone, we’ll tell ‘em we’re looking for Veheim.”
“Veheim,” hissed LeBeau, furious. “What if they find him for us?”
“D’you ‘ave a better suggestion?”
A long string of French, which Newkirk took for no. “Then let’s get this over with.” He straightened, opened the door, and hurried out into the bright hallway again.
The stairs leading up proved to be only two yards from those leading down, and they hurriedly scrambled into the narrow staircase, this one framed by the same cheery yellow walls. Its narrowness, however, and the unevenness in the steps suggested that it too was the servants’ stairs.
Newkirk paused at the mouth of the stairs, heart pounding, and listened for a good several seconds. Hearing nothing, he ventured out into the hallway. Like the one below, it was long and bright and empty. “Okay. Carter, you work your way left. LeBeau, stay here, we can’t have anyone spotting you.”
The Frenchman made no protest, simply slipped back down into the relative safety of the staircase. Newkirk stepped out into the hall and opened the first door he came to, hand reaching for the gun he couldn’t use, heart in his throat.
Empty. He sighed, and moved to the next.
He had worked his way almost to the end of the hall when Carter gave a quiet breathy whistle, some bird call that Newkirk, mostly only familiar with pigeons, didn’t know. He turned and jogged down, LeBeau emerging from the stairwell to join him.
Carter was standing in front of the last doorway but one; in front of him the door was still closed. Newkirk raised his eyebrows.
“It’s locked,” explained the sergeant. Newkirk sighed, but pulled out his picks. Really, it was surprising they hadn’t come across a locked room before now. But then all the ones he had opened had been uninhabited, dust sheets and the smell of mothballs pervasive.
The lock, old and without the weight of the dungeon door, snapped open in under ten seconds, Newkirk returning his picks to a more readily accessible pocket in preparation for future use. Carter turned the knob and pushed it open; it slid inwards silently on recently-greased hinges.
The inside of the room was dark, but the poor light slanting in from the thick windows opposite the door was enough to illuminate a large bed directly beneath the glass. And, shining like pale gold in the starlight, two heads of fair hair. Bingo.
Beside him, LeBeau sucked in his breath and tensed, gesturing excitedly. Newkirk nodded and then, reaching out, knocked quietly on the open door. In the bed, one of the girls shifted. “Hit the lights,” he whispered to Carter, standing on that side of the doorway. The American reached out and flicked the lights on.
Light streamed into the room from the overhead fixture, revealing a small bedroom whose wooden floor was covered with a wide rug. The large wooden-framed bed was covered with a heavy white spread of what looked like expensive linen. Beneath it, the two girls shifted, and then startled awake.
Newkirk startled as well, and felt the reaction run through the other two men.
