Foreign City Sirens, ch 5 by rose_of_pollux [Hogan's Heroes, Ritenuto]
Title: Foreign City Sirens, chapter 5: Bring Him Home
Author: Crystal Rose of Pollux (rose_of_pollux)
Theme: 17; Ritenuto
Fandom: Hogan's Heroes
Warnings: PG13
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine (except for the OCs), and the story is
Summary/Comments: LeBeau makes it out of the frying pan but into the fire as the rest of the team try to figure out what they can do to help.
Cross-posted to other comms and fanfiction.net
Newkirk hadn’t been too worried when the collaborators had started giving chase-he had known about the French Underground men backing them up. If he had known that LeBeau would’ve ended up following them, too, he probably would have been highly concerned for him; DuBois was back at Stalag 13, and would not have been there to vouch that LeBeau was really on their side, merely serving as an infiltrator.
Jean-Philippe certainly wasn’t aware of it. His sudden depression had not gone unnoticed by his two rescuers, either.
“Hey, Buddy, we aren’t going to leave you somewhere to fend for yourself, you know,” Carter said. “Papa Bear will get you out of here only after he’s sure you’ve got everything you need.”
“Quoi?”
“Oh, ‘e is just wondering why you’re so down in the mouth,” Newkirk explained. “Especially after that ruddy marvelous rescue we pulled off.”
“Pardon, mes amis. It is not that I am not grateful for what you have done for me. I… I am in a bit of a shock,” the Sous-lieutenant explained.
He shuddered as the duo exchanged puzzled glances.
“I… I saw my brother. My younger brother was among my captors back there-he did not lift a finger to help me…”
“Ooh, blimey…” Newkirk winced, not realizing to whom the Sous-lieutenant was referring to. “Sorry, Chum. That’s a low blow, that is.”
“Yeah, no kidding!” Carter said. “I have a younger brother, too-back home. Gosh, if I had heard that he’d become a turncoat, I don’t even know what I would begin to think-”
“Shut up!” Newkirk hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. Sometimes, Carter didn’t seem to have any tact at all.
“Ow! What?” the American asked, frowning as he rubbed his side. “I was just trying to be helpful!”
“Do not concern yourself with it, mes amis,” Jean-Philippe said. “It is my burden to bear; you would not want to involve yourselves with it.”
He had no idea how involved Newkirk and Carter already were.
The younger LeBeau, in the meantime, was figuring out how to escape the ring of Underground fighters. Hidden in the middle of the group of collaborators, his lack of height as proving to be a distinct advantage, making him almost invisible in the moonless night.
Realizing that he could capitalize on this to help make his escape, LeBeau began to edge his way towards one side of the group of collaborators, who were pressed against a thick row of bramble bushes.
As the Underground fighters barked orders at the collaborators to, one by one, surrender their weapons, LeBeau crouched down even lower, hiding amidst them until he began to inch backwards into the bramble bushes, gritting his teeth as he was scratched. He progressed slowly, at first, but as the rustling of the bushes became more and more pronounced, he realized that he would have to get through it with one fell swoop. Suddenly, he launched into a backwards somersault-something he hadn’t done since the time that he had pulled one off for the “benefit” of a captured German general whom Hogan was trying to convince was quite ill.
Voices yelled at him to halt, but he paid them no heed, disappearing into the darkness of the night as bullets erupted from behind him. He zigzagged and dodged between the trees-something he had been used to doing when hiding from German soldiers during escape attempts and missions past.
He did not begrudge his current assailants as he had his previous ones, however; he was, after all, on their side, and he knew that, for their sake, he had to make it out of this.
It was then that he recalled Newkirk’s strategy for getting out of the line of fire in desperate times such as these-climb up a tree. Though it wasn’t his usual method of dealing with the situation, LeBeau realized that his options were limited; grateful that Newkirk had eventually had the foresight to teach him how to do so, LeBeau quickly made his way up one of the nearby trees. Moments later, his pursers ran right under him as he had hoped, focused on the path ahead.
LeBeau breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived; he knew he had to make it back to the Hausnerhof in one piece and continue with the plan. The corporal winced; his foray into the brambles had not left him unscathed, he realized, as something trickled down his face. His stomach lurched at the realization that he was bleeding, and he was immensely grateful that he couldn’t see the blood from where he was.
Making a mental note to himself not to look in the mirror until he cleaned his face up, LeBeau climbed back down once he was sure that the coast was clear and ran back to the Hausnerhof as quickly and as silently as he could.
Even as he approached the building, he could hear the sirens-the Secret Police were on the scene. LeBeau hesitated, making sure that Hochstetter was not among them before he stepped forward and wearily introduced himself as Henri Gravois, explaining to them and to the other collaborators (who were now approaching him for information as to what had happened) that the Underground had set up an ambush for them, and he had only managed to escape because of a combination of his height and sheer luck.
The Germans were reluctant to let him go until he explained that the Belloqs were waiting for him inside; apparently, these men were under Major Becker’s orders, and the Belloqs were important names to them. They stood aside, allowing him to go back up to the room where Jean-Philippe had been held. Margot was there, tending to Sébastien, who was now conscious, but nursing the bruise that Newkirk had given him during their encounter. It was satisfying for the French corporal to see that the man who had kept his brother captive had started to reap what he had sown-and at the hands of the corporal’s best friend, no less.
“Monsieur Gravois, what happened to you?!” Margot asked, immediately sitting him down next to her father and starting to tend to his wounds, as well.
LeBeau explained again about the ambush, and his narrow escape.
“You were a fool to send them out there, Margot,” Sébastien chided. “You should have suspected that those cursed Underground fighters would have been waiting and preparing an ambush should we have pursued that Sous-lieutenant! Now, half of our men are captured! We can only be grateful that Monsieur Gravois eluded them; Major Becker would have been livid to lose him before he had a chance to explain the information he had given us! And he is still going to be furious-he is on his way up from the lobby even as we speak! What am I to tell him?”
“I am sorry, Father,” Margot said, as she finished tending to LeBeau’s cuts and scratches. “It was a foolish error in judgment.”
“Belloq!” a voice suddenly spat from the doorway.
LeBeau turned to see a furious German major standing in the doorway-one that he, thankfully, did not recognize. Sébastien rose to his feet immediately to salute the major in greeting, and LeBeau quickly followed suit, though it wounded him to the core even to just pretend to offer fealty to the major and to the regime he stood for.
“You are Henri Gravois?” the major asked, in English, as he did not know French all that well. “I understand that you have gathered an impressive amount of information for us-and very valuable information, at that.”
“Yes, I have,” LeBeau said, acting a lot calmer than he felt. “And you must be Major Becker?”
“Ja.” He turned back to the Belloqs. “And what am I to do with you, Herr Belloq, and your foolish daughter? Thanks to this girl’s incompetence, we have lost half of this cell to those Underground rats! If it were not for the fact that your family has long since been supportive of Germany, we would have been forced to seriously reassess our dealings with you.”
“I do apologize for this, Major,” Sébastien said. “But the information that Monsieur Gravois has uncovered will give us the names and locations of the local Underground-the French Underground is sure to be staying with them, perhaps even holding our men as prisoners in their various safehouses. We can retrieve them and turn the tables on the Underground, thanks to Monsieur Gravois.”
“And Monsieur Gravois has also found information as to who Papa Bear is,” Margot said, her eyes shining.
“Is that so?” Becker asked, his eyebrows arching as he looked back to LeBeau. “That is information that Major Hochstetter has been after for a long time; he is obsessed with it.”
He held out his hand for the information, which Sébastien presented to him.
“I have not even read this for myself yet, Major,” he said. “I was going to wait until the meeting tomorrow morning…”
He trailed off as Becker’s eyes widened to the size of saucers upon reading the fake information.
“General Burkhalter is Papa Bear?!” he exclaimed.
LeBeau shrugged and succeeded in maintaining a straight face, thought it wasn’t easy; his amusement at the scene was now growing by the minute. Hogan had come up with that particular fairy tale in a moment of mischievous genius, and it had been declared among all of the Heroes and DuBois as too hilarious not to add in with the rest of the fake information.
Margot looked utterly shocked.
“But… I was certain that Papa Bear was an American officer!” she said. “All of the rumors pointed to that American colonel in Stalag 13-it simply must be him! How could Papa Bear be a German?!”
“Papa Bear is an American,” LeBeau assured her, speaking slowly, so as not to crack himself up. “That is not the real General Burkhalter; the real Burkhalter was captured in 1942 and was replaced by this American. He is wearing a fat suit to fool everyone, and his vocal imitation is flawless.”
“Incredible,” Becker said, his eyes shining. “That explains so many things-why Burkhalter keeps visiting Stalag 13 so often, and why he allows a fool like Klink to remain in command if the place. Klink isn’t involved, as well, is he?”
“Klink? Not at all; he is the perfect dupe!” LeBeau said, still enjoying himself immensely, for the moment. “But remember, Papa Bear is incredibly manipulative; there is no telling how many others in charge of Luft Stalags are also dupes, planted by this mastermind!”
“But if Papa Bear has impersonated General Burkhalter, where is the real one? Have they kept him alive, or is he dead?” Becker asked.
“They keep moving him around, from what I understand; he has been taken to London, to Paris… I even heard that they sometimes bring him back to Germany to hide under our very noses!”
“We must put an end to Papa Bear’s game immediately,” Becker said. “This cannot wait until tomorrow. I will call up Major Hochstetter immediately and arrange a meeting with him at his headquarters tonight.”
LeBeau’s good mood suddenly vanished in less than a second. This changed-and ruined-everything.
“Hochstetter?” he asked, pretending to sound affronted. “Why bring him into this?”
“I agree,” Margot sniffed. “I wished to apprehend Papa Bear on our own; we do not need the help of that mad dog!”
“Fraulein, it is precisely because the man is a mad dog that I wish to have him present when I reveal to our superiors who Papa Bear is. I want to be the one to prove to him that he has been spending the last few years on a wild goose chase, going after some worthless American colonel-without a doubt, the rumors were started with the sheer intent of keeping us from ever suspecting the truth about Papa Bear’s identity. And to think, he has been under our noses, living a life of luxury!”
“So, in other words, your promotion will be assured upon Hochstetter’s disgrace?” LeBeau asked, folding his arms. “I do not appreciate your using my hard-earned information for your own personal gain!”
“All truly is fair in love and war, apparently,” Margot sniffed.
Becker ignored them both, crossing to the phone to call up Hochstetter, informing him of his request for an immediate meeting, but refusing to give him any of the details concerning why.
“Calm down, Monsieur Gravois,” Sébastien said, speaking in English for Becker’s benefit. “Your efforts will not go unrewarded-I will assure you of that.”
And that is not what is troubling me at all, LeBeau thought, despairing. How do I get out of this one?
************************
“Incroyable,” Jean-Philippe murmured as Newkirk and Carter led him through the tunnels and into the radio room, where Hogan, Kinch, and DuBois were all waiting for them.
“What, this?” Newkirk asked. “Nice little set-up, ain’t it?”
“Did you dig all of these tunnels yourselves?”
“You bet we did!” Carter said. “And boy, it wasn’t easy, either…”
He trailed off as Hogan approached them, shaking Jean-Philippe’s hand.
“Hey, there,” he said. “For the sake of conversation and security, you can call me Papa Bear.”
Jean-Philippe blinked, awe creeping into his face.
“You are the famous Papa Bear-the one whom Tiger keeps speaking about?”
“Tiger and everyone else this side of Europe,” Hogan responded, with a chuckle. “My men will provide you with food and a change of clothes. We’ll talk more later-and see if we can fit in a guided tour for you.”
The radio suddenly crackled to life, a French voice speaking over it.
“It’s for you,” Kinch smirked, handing the transmitter to DuBois.
As DuBois spoke to his contact, Newkirk and Carter saw to the civilian clothes and food for Jean-Philippe.
“This won’t be a perfect fit, mind you,” Newkirk said. “But I’ll take your measurements later and tailor a proper set for you as soon as I get the chance. As for the food, you’ll ‘ave to accept our apologies for the lower standard; we usually ‘ave better rations around ‘ere, but our resident chef ain’t in, so we’re making do with what we’ve got.”
“I have not eaten in days; I am sure that what you have will be fine…” Jean-Philippe began, but he trailed off as he thought about his younger brother’s cooking, and how it was looking more and more doubtful that he would ever get a chance to even see his brother again.
“Such a waste…” he murmured in his own tongue.
“Colonel...!” DuBois suddenly exclaimed, a look of concern crossing his face.
Hogan headed over to him, silently questioning what was wrong.
“That was one of my men,” DuBois explained, seeing the look on Hogan’s face. “I instructed him to stay back at the Hausnerhof to find out whatever information he could. The good news is that half of the collaborators were captured trying to pursue their lost prisoner. Big Bad Wolf made contact with Major Becker upon returning to the hotel room, and he believed the information on General Burkhalter.”
“So, what’s the bad news?” Hogan asked.
“Becker now wishes to meet with Major Hochstetter-and he insists that every remaining member of the cell attend.”
Hogan exhaled.
“LeBeau…” he muttered, prompting Jean-Philippe to look up, thinking he was addressing him.
No one noticed his reaction, however; all eyes were on the colonel.
“Sir…” Newkirk said, his unbridled worry now beginning to return to him. “Sir, we need to get Louis out of there before that ruddy meeting!”
Hogan shut his eyes to think as Jean-Philippe’s eyes widened in amazement as he realized that they seemed to be talking about his brother, not him.
“I hate to send the two of you back out there again,” the colonel said, after going over their options. “But you two are the only ones capable of impersonating German officers with enough authenticity to get things done in your favor. You need to intercept them and get LeBeau out of there.”
“Will do, Sir,” Newkirk said, as Carter nodded fervently.
“And I will be there with my men to capture the reaming members of the cell,” DuBois said.
“So, in other words, you two need to get LeBeau out of the line of fire before it all breaks loose,” Hogan said. “I’ll have ‘General Kinchmeyer’ draw up some fake orders telling you to bring him in for questioning.”
“I’m on it,” Kinch said, getting to work on the orders. “You want me to put in a phone call to make it official?”
“Yeah, good idea,” the colonel said. “Any questions?”
“None, Sir,” Carter said. “We’ll get him out of there; don’t you worry.”
“For once, I agree with ‘im,” Newkirk said. “We ain’t coming back without Louis.”
Jean-Philippe could not remain quiet for any longer.
“Why are you risking your lives to save one of those collaborators?” he inquired, still convinced that he had been stabbed in the back by his own brother. “Is information that valuable to you? I can tell you all of what I overheard, if that is the case.”
“Collaborator?” Newkirk asked, after ducking into the next chamber and returning as Major Newkirkheim. “Louis Vive la France LeBeau, a Vichy collaborator? Cor, don’t you ever let ‘im ‘ear you accusing ‘im of that, if you’re keen on keeping all of your teeth! Louis is one of us-our resident chef, and me little mate! And ‘e went out there to infiltrate that lot.”
“Infiltrate…” Jean-Philippe repeated.
He suddenly started laughing in relief, causing Newkirk to stare blankly at him.
Carter now returned to the radio room as Colonel Carterhoff, also puzzled.
“Did I miss something?” he asked, as he and Newkirk started going over weapons.
“Do you remember me telling you that I had seen my younger brother among those collaborators?” Jean-Philippe asked. “That is the same man you are speaking of.”
Utter silence filled the radio room.
“Holy cats…” Kinch murmured at last.
“It is true-my name is Jean-Philippe LeBeau,” the Sous-lieutenant said. “You mean he has not told you about me?”
“Well, he mentioned he had a brother,” Carter said, accepting the finished false orders from Kinch. “But we always pictured someone like him-short and… not blond.”
Jean-Philippe shrugged.
“It is a running joke in our family-I inherited our mother’s looks, and Louis inherited her temper.”
“Sounds about right,” Newkirk murmured. “Right-o, then, we’re off.”
“Wait,” the Souls-lieutenant said. He turned to Hogan. “Colonel, I beseech you-may I go with them to help Louis?”
Hogan, who had been in somewhat stunned silence the entire time, now exhaled loudly again. He exchanged a glance with DuBois, who had made his own preparations to leave. The lieutenant gave his head a shake, and Hogan had to agree.
“Look,” the colonel said. “They’d likely recognize you in a heartbeat, no matter how well we tried to disguise you-and there just isn’t time for fitting you with a disguise, either. You can trust my men to pull this off; they have a great deal of experience in this sort of thing. Leave it to them.”
“Speaking of which, we’ve got to get going if we want to intercept them before they get to Hochstetter’s headquarters,” Carter said.
“The staff car is outside the gate; we put it there in the event of an emergency,” Kinch informed him. “Lieutenant DuBois, you can take the motorcycle; we put that out there, too.”
DuBois thanked him and headed down the tunnel, aiming to meet with his men as soon as possible.
“Great!” Carter said. He turned to Newkirk. “You drive; I outrank you.”
“I’m always the ruddy driver…” the Englishman muttered, as Carter headed down the tunnel next. “Just once, can’t I be the ranking officer…?”
He paused before following Carter, turning back to Jean-Philippe.
“You can trust us, Chum,” he said. “Getting Louis back ‘ere is me top priority. I’ll admit I ‘ave not known ‘im as long as you ‘ave, but Louis is like a brother to me, too.”
Jean-Philippe sighed, realizing that he wasn’t going to be going anywhere, but also realizing that the Englishman was sincere.
“I believe you,” he said, with a nod.
Newkirk returned the nod and headed down the tunnel after Carter, ignoring the stinging feeling in his legs as his weary muscles silently protested this action.
Nothing mattered now, except bringing Louis back.
Author: Crystal Rose of Pollux (rose_of_pollux)
Theme: 17; Ritenuto
Fandom: Hogan's Heroes
Warnings: PG13
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine (except for the OCs), and the story is
Summary/Comments: LeBeau makes it out of the frying pan but into the fire as the rest of the team try to figure out what they can do to help.
Cross-posted to other comms and fanfiction.net
Newkirk hadn’t been too worried when the collaborators had started giving chase-he had known about the French Underground men backing them up. If he had known that LeBeau would’ve ended up following them, too, he probably would have been highly concerned for him; DuBois was back at Stalag 13, and would not have been there to vouch that LeBeau was really on their side, merely serving as an infiltrator.
Jean-Philippe certainly wasn’t aware of it. His sudden depression had not gone unnoticed by his two rescuers, either.
“Hey, Buddy, we aren’t going to leave you somewhere to fend for yourself, you know,” Carter said. “Papa Bear will get you out of here only after he’s sure you’ve got everything you need.”
“Quoi?”
“Oh, ‘e is just wondering why you’re so down in the mouth,” Newkirk explained. “Especially after that ruddy marvelous rescue we pulled off.”
“Pardon, mes amis. It is not that I am not grateful for what you have done for me. I… I am in a bit of a shock,” the Sous-lieutenant explained.
He shuddered as the duo exchanged puzzled glances.
“I… I saw my brother. My younger brother was among my captors back there-he did not lift a finger to help me…”
“Ooh, blimey…” Newkirk winced, not realizing to whom the Sous-lieutenant was referring to. “Sorry, Chum. That’s a low blow, that is.”
“Yeah, no kidding!” Carter said. “I have a younger brother, too-back home. Gosh, if I had heard that he’d become a turncoat, I don’t even know what I would begin to think-”
“Shut up!” Newkirk hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. Sometimes, Carter didn’t seem to have any tact at all.
“Ow! What?” the American asked, frowning as he rubbed his side. “I was just trying to be helpful!”
“Do not concern yourself with it, mes amis,” Jean-Philippe said. “It is my burden to bear; you would not want to involve yourselves with it.”
He had no idea how involved Newkirk and Carter already were.
The younger LeBeau, in the meantime, was figuring out how to escape the ring of Underground fighters. Hidden in the middle of the group of collaborators, his lack of height as proving to be a distinct advantage, making him almost invisible in the moonless night.
Realizing that he could capitalize on this to help make his escape, LeBeau began to edge his way towards one side of the group of collaborators, who were pressed against a thick row of bramble bushes.
As the Underground fighters barked orders at the collaborators to, one by one, surrender their weapons, LeBeau crouched down even lower, hiding amidst them until he began to inch backwards into the bramble bushes, gritting his teeth as he was scratched. He progressed slowly, at first, but as the rustling of the bushes became more and more pronounced, he realized that he would have to get through it with one fell swoop. Suddenly, he launched into a backwards somersault-something he hadn’t done since the time that he had pulled one off for the “benefit” of a captured German general whom Hogan was trying to convince was quite ill.
Voices yelled at him to halt, but he paid them no heed, disappearing into the darkness of the night as bullets erupted from behind him. He zigzagged and dodged between the trees-something he had been used to doing when hiding from German soldiers during escape attempts and missions past.
He did not begrudge his current assailants as he had his previous ones, however; he was, after all, on their side, and he knew that, for their sake, he had to make it out of this.
It was then that he recalled Newkirk’s strategy for getting out of the line of fire in desperate times such as these-climb up a tree. Though it wasn’t his usual method of dealing with the situation, LeBeau realized that his options were limited; grateful that Newkirk had eventually had the foresight to teach him how to do so, LeBeau quickly made his way up one of the nearby trees. Moments later, his pursers ran right under him as he had hoped, focused on the path ahead.
LeBeau breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived; he knew he had to make it back to the Hausnerhof in one piece and continue with the plan. The corporal winced; his foray into the brambles had not left him unscathed, he realized, as something trickled down his face. His stomach lurched at the realization that he was bleeding, and he was immensely grateful that he couldn’t see the blood from where he was.
Making a mental note to himself not to look in the mirror until he cleaned his face up, LeBeau climbed back down once he was sure that the coast was clear and ran back to the Hausnerhof as quickly and as silently as he could.
Even as he approached the building, he could hear the sirens-the Secret Police were on the scene. LeBeau hesitated, making sure that Hochstetter was not among them before he stepped forward and wearily introduced himself as Henri Gravois, explaining to them and to the other collaborators (who were now approaching him for information as to what had happened) that the Underground had set up an ambush for them, and he had only managed to escape because of a combination of his height and sheer luck.
The Germans were reluctant to let him go until he explained that the Belloqs were waiting for him inside; apparently, these men were under Major Becker’s orders, and the Belloqs were important names to them. They stood aside, allowing him to go back up to the room where Jean-Philippe had been held. Margot was there, tending to Sébastien, who was now conscious, but nursing the bruise that Newkirk had given him during their encounter. It was satisfying for the French corporal to see that the man who had kept his brother captive had started to reap what he had sown-and at the hands of the corporal’s best friend, no less.
“Monsieur Gravois, what happened to you?!” Margot asked, immediately sitting him down next to her father and starting to tend to his wounds, as well.
LeBeau explained again about the ambush, and his narrow escape.
“You were a fool to send them out there, Margot,” Sébastien chided. “You should have suspected that those cursed Underground fighters would have been waiting and preparing an ambush should we have pursued that Sous-lieutenant! Now, half of our men are captured! We can only be grateful that Monsieur Gravois eluded them; Major Becker would have been livid to lose him before he had a chance to explain the information he had given us! And he is still going to be furious-he is on his way up from the lobby even as we speak! What am I to tell him?”
“I am sorry, Father,” Margot said, as she finished tending to LeBeau’s cuts and scratches. “It was a foolish error in judgment.”
“Belloq!” a voice suddenly spat from the doorway.
LeBeau turned to see a furious German major standing in the doorway-one that he, thankfully, did not recognize. Sébastien rose to his feet immediately to salute the major in greeting, and LeBeau quickly followed suit, though it wounded him to the core even to just pretend to offer fealty to the major and to the regime he stood for.
“You are Henri Gravois?” the major asked, in English, as he did not know French all that well. “I understand that you have gathered an impressive amount of information for us-and very valuable information, at that.”
“Yes, I have,” LeBeau said, acting a lot calmer than he felt. “And you must be Major Becker?”
“Ja.” He turned back to the Belloqs. “And what am I to do with you, Herr Belloq, and your foolish daughter? Thanks to this girl’s incompetence, we have lost half of this cell to those Underground rats! If it were not for the fact that your family has long since been supportive of Germany, we would have been forced to seriously reassess our dealings with you.”
“I do apologize for this, Major,” Sébastien said. “But the information that Monsieur Gravois has uncovered will give us the names and locations of the local Underground-the French Underground is sure to be staying with them, perhaps even holding our men as prisoners in their various safehouses. We can retrieve them and turn the tables on the Underground, thanks to Monsieur Gravois.”
“And Monsieur Gravois has also found information as to who Papa Bear is,” Margot said, her eyes shining.
“Is that so?” Becker asked, his eyebrows arching as he looked back to LeBeau. “That is information that Major Hochstetter has been after for a long time; he is obsessed with it.”
He held out his hand for the information, which Sébastien presented to him.
“I have not even read this for myself yet, Major,” he said. “I was going to wait until the meeting tomorrow morning…”
He trailed off as Becker’s eyes widened to the size of saucers upon reading the fake information.
“General Burkhalter is Papa Bear?!” he exclaimed.
LeBeau shrugged and succeeded in maintaining a straight face, thought it wasn’t easy; his amusement at the scene was now growing by the minute. Hogan had come up with that particular fairy tale in a moment of mischievous genius, and it had been declared among all of the Heroes and DuBois as too hilarious not to add in with the rest of the fake information.
Margot looked utterly shocked.
“But… I was certain that Papa Bear was an American officer!” she said. “All of the rumors pointed to that American colonel in Stalag 13-it simply must be him! How could Papa Bear be a German?!”
“Papa Bear is an American,” LeBeau assured her, speaking slowly, so as not to crack himself up. “That is not the real General Burkhalter; the real Burkhalter was captured in 1942 and was replaced by this American. He is wearing a fat suit to fool everyone, and his vocal imitation is flawless.”
“Incredible,” Becker said, his eyes shining. “That explains so many things-why Burkhalter keeps visiting Stalag 13 so often, and why he allows a fool like Klink to remain in command if the place. Klink isn’t involved, as well, is he?”
“Klink? Not at all; he is the perfect dupe!” LeBeau said, still enjoying himself immensely, for the moment. “But remember, Papa Bear is incredibly manipulative; there is no telling how many others in charge of Luft Stalags are also dupes, planted by this mastermind!”
“But if Papa Bear has impersonated General Burkhalter, where is the real one? Have they kept him alive, or is he dead?” Becker asked.
“They keep moving him around, from what I understand; he has been taken to London, to Paris… I even heard that they sometimes bring him back to Germany to hide under our very noses!”
“We must put an end to Papa Bear’s game immediately,” Becker said. “This cannot wait until tomorrow. I will call up Major Hochstetter immediately and arrange a meeting with him at his headquarters tonight.”
LeBeau’s good mood suddenly vanished in less than a second. This changed-and ruined-everything.
“Hochstetter?” he asked, pretending to sound affronted. “Why bring him into this?”
“I agree,” Margot sniffed. “I wished to apprehend Papa Bear on our own; we do not need the help of that mad dog!”
“Fraulein, it is precisely because the man is a mad dog that I wish to have him present when I reveal to our superiors who Papa Bear is. I want to be the one to prove to him that he has been spending the last few years on a wild goose chase, going after some worthless American colonel-without a doubt, the rumors were started with the sheer intent of keeping us from ever suspecting the truth about Papa Bear’s identity. And to think, he has been under our noses, living a life of luxury!”
“So, in other words, your promotion will be assured upon Hochstetter’s disgrace?” LeBeau asked, folding his arms. “I do not appreciate your using my hard-earned information for your own personal gain!”
“All truly is fair in love and war, apparently,” Margot sniffed.
Becker ignored them both, crossing to the phone to call up Hochstetter, informing him of his request for an immediate meeting, but refusing to give him any of the details concerning why.
“Calm down, Monsieur Gravois,” Sébastien said, speaking in English for Becker’s benefit. “Your efforts will not go unrewarded-I will assure you of that.”
And that is not what is troubling me at all, LeBeau thought, despairing. How do I get out of this one?
************************
“Incroyable,” Jean-Philippe murmured as Newkirk and Carter led him through the tunnels and into the radio room, where Hogan, Kinch, and DuBois were all waiting for them.
“What, this?” Newkirk asked. “Nice little set-up, ain’t it?”
“Did you dig all of these tunnels yourselves?”
“You bet we did!” Carter said. “And boy, it wasn’t easy, either…”
He trailed off as Hogan approached them, shaking Jean-Philippe’s hand.
“Hey, there,” he said. “For the sake of conversation and security, you can call me Papa Bear.”
Jean-Philippe blinked, awe creeping into his face.
“You are the famous Papa Bear-the one whom Tiger keeps speaking about?”
“Tiger and everyone else this side of Europe,” Hogan responded, with a chuckle. “My men will provide you with food and a change of clothes. We’ll talk more later-and see if we can fit in a guided tour for you.”
The radio suddenly crackled to life, a French voice speaking over it.
“It’s for you,” Kinch smirked, handing the transmitter to DuBois.
As DuBois spoke to his contact, Newkirk and Carter saw to the civilian clothes and food for Jean-Philippe.
“This won’t be a perfect fit, mind you,” Newkirk said. “But I’ll take your measurements later and tailor a proper set for you as soon as I get the chance. As for the food, you’ll ‘ave to accept our apologies for the lower standard; we usually ‘ave better rations around ‘ere, but our resident chef ain’t in, so we’re making do with what we’ve got.”
“I have not eaten in days; I am sure that what you have will be fine…” Jean-Philippe began, but he trailed off as he thought about his younger brother’s cooking, and how it was looking more and more doubtful that he would ever get a chance to even see his brother again.
“Such a waste…” he murmured in his own tongue.
“Colonel...!” DuBois suddenly exclaimed, a look of concern crossing his face.
Hogan headed over to him, silently questioning what was wrong.
“That was one of my men,” DuBois explained, seeing the look on Hogan’s face. “I instructed him to stay back at the Hausnerhof to find out whatever information he could. The good news is that half of the collaborators were captured trying to pursue their lost prisoner. Big Bad Wolf made contact with Major Becker upon returning to the hotel room, and he believed the information on General Burkhalter.”
“So, what’s the bad news?” Hogan asked.
“Becker now wishes to meet with Major Hochstetter-and he insists that every remaining member of the cell attend.”
Hogan exhaled.
“LeBeau…” he muttered, prompting Jean-Philippe to look up, thinking he was addressing him.
No one noticed his reaction, however; all eyes were on the colonel.
“Sir…” Newkirk said, his unbridled worry now beginning to return to him. “Sir, we need to get Louis out of there before that ruddy meeting!”
Hogan shut his eyes to think as Jean-Philippe’s eyes widened in amazement as he realized that they seemed to be talking about his brother, not him.
“I hate to send the two of you back out there again,” the colonel said, after going over their options. “But you two are the only ones capable of impersonating German officers with enough authenticity to get things done in your favor. You need to intercept them and get LeBeau out of there.”
“Will do, Sir,” Newkirk said, as Carter nodded fervently.
“And I will be there with my men to capture the reaming members of the cell,” DuBois said.
“So, in other words, you two need to get LeBeau out of the line of fire before it all breaks loose,” Hogan said. “I’ll have ‘General Kinchmeyer’ draw up some fake orders telling you to bring him in for questioning.”
“I’m on it,” Kinch said, getting to work on the orders. “You want me to put in a phone call to make it official?”
“Yeah, good idea,” the colonel said. “Any questions?”
“None, Sir,” Carter said. “We’ll get him out of there; don’t you worry.”
“For once, I agree with ‘im,” Newkirk said. “We ain’t coming back without Louis.”
Jean-Philippe could not remain quiet for any longer.
“Why are you risking your lives to save one of those collaborators?” he inquired, still convinced that he had been stabbed in the back by his own brother. “Is information that valuable to you? I can tell you all of what I overheard, if that is the case.”
“Collaborator?” Newkirk asked, after ducking into the next chamber and returning as Major Newkirkheim. “Louis Vive la France LeBeau, a Vichy collaborator? Cor, don’t you ever let ‘im ‘ear you accusing ‘im of that, if you’re keen on keeping all of your teeth! Louis is one of us-our resident chef, and me little mate! And ‘e went out there to infiltrate that lot.”
“Infiltrate…” Jean-Philippe repeated.
He suddenly started laughing in relief, causing Newkirk to stare blankly at him.
Carter now returned to the radio room as Colonel Carterhoff, also puzzled.
“Did I miss something?” he asked, as he and Newkirk started going over weapons.
“Do you remember me telling you that I had seen my younger brother among those collaborators?” Jean-Philippe asked. “That is the same man you are speaking of.”
Utter silence filled the radio room.
“Holy cats…” Kinch murmured at last.
“It is true-my name is Jean-Philippe LeBeau,” the Sous-lieutenant said. “You mean he has not told you about me?”
“Well, he mentioned he had a brother,” Carter said, accepting the finished false orders from Kinch. “But we always pictured someone like him-short and… not blond.”
Jean-Philippe shrugged.
“It is a running joke in our family-I inherited our mother’s looks, and Louis inherited her temper.”
“Sounds about right,” Newkirk murmured. “Right-o, then, we’re off.”
“Wait,” the Souls-lieutenant said. He turned to Hogan. “Colonel, I beseech you-may I go with them to help Louis?”
Hogan, who had been in somewhat stunned silence the entire time, now exhaled loudly again. He exchanged a glance with DuBois, who had made his own preparations to leave. The lieutenant gave his head a shake, and Hogan had to agree.
“Look,” the colonel said. “They’d likely recognize you in a heartbeat, no matter how well we tried to disguise you-and there just isn’t time for fitting you with a disguise, either. You can trust my men to pull this off; they have a great deal of experience in this sort of thing. Leave it to them.”
“Speaking of which, we’ve got to get going if we want to intercept them before they get to Hochstetter’s headquarters,” Carter said.
“The staff car is outside the gate; we put it there in the event of an emergency,” Kinch informed him. “Lieutenant DuBois, you can take the motorcycle; we put that out there, too.”
DuBois thanked him and headed down the tunnel, aiming to meet with his men as soon as possible.
“Great!” Carter said. He turned to Newkirk. “You drive; I outrank you.”
“I’m always the ruddy driver…” the Englishman muttered, as Carter headed down the tunnel next. “Just once, can’t I be the ranking officer…?”
He paused before following Carter, turning back to Jean-Philippe.
“You can trust us, Chum,” he said. “Getting Louis back ‘ere is me top priority. I’ll admit I ‘ave not known ‘im as long as you ‘ave, but Louis is like a brother to me, too.”
Jean-Philippe sighed, realizing that he wasn’t going to be going anywhere, but also realizing that the Englishman was sincere.
“I believe you,” he said, with a nod.
Newkirk returned the nod and headed down the tunnel after Carter, ignoring the stinging feeling in his legs as his weary muscles silently protested this action.
Nothing mattered now, except bringing Louis back.