Work Text:
“It's a bleedin' unholy union.”
Three airmen had been transferred into the one star holiday camp that was their Stalag away from home that morning. But between a mix-up at the gate and a new guard with a head cold, they'd made a break for the forest before anyone could say “Welcome to Stalag 13”.
It had taken Hogan all of three minutes (after the spot roll call to make sure no one else had the stupid idea of making a break for freedom) to send Newkirk, Carter and LeBeau down the tunnels to try and head the escaping airmen off and send them back to Camp. And Kinch was on the radio, calling the local underground units to be on the alert and do the same.
Hogan wasted no time after that turning himself around and marching straight into Klink's office.
If the Gestapo got their hands on the airmen, they'd be running straight into their own firing squad. And Klink, unable to hide behind his “no prisoner has ever escaped from Stalag 13” boast, would find himself on the first train out, burning his violin to stay warm.
Hogan had a plan.
Well, not so much a plan as an idea. The seed of a notion. A tiny, germinating sprout of a possible course of action.
“Out, Hogan!”
Hogan hadn't even taken a breath inside the Kommandant's office. A new record for Klink.
Hogan kicked the door closed, crossing his arms.
Schultz, hovering nervously by Klink's desk, sent him a pleading look. Eyes wide, hands twisting around the barrel of his rifle. Hogan got it, Klink was in no mood for Hogan's foolery, but Hogan wasn't either.
Maps of the camp and Hammelburg area were spread out over Klink's desk, Klink's monocle glinting as he bent over them.
Okay. Hogan could work with this.
“Any sign of them?”
He knew there wouldn't be. If Hogan's men hadn't already dragged the airmen kicking and screaming back to camp, he doubted Klink's guards could have achieved that feat.
Klink's eyes narrowed, frustrated but not remotely surprised that his senior POW was there to continue ruining his day. “We will find them,” he said, lacking the usual arrogance he put on for the show. “No prisoner has ever escaped from Stalag 13.”
“I know that,” Hogan reminded him, the words were practically the motto of the camp. “You know that. And I would have told them that, if they hadn't escaped.”
Klink's eye twitched, Schultz let out a quiet noise.
“Hogan.”
Right. Bad, Hogan. Wrong time to tease the Kommandant.
“Sorry,” he muttered, soft enough he could pretend he'd never apologised. “I joke when I'm worried.”
“Schultz, send out guards here,” Klink pointed to the map, making no effort at all to hide it. “And double the patrols here and here.”
“Jawohl, Kommandant,” Schultz snapped to the best salute he was able and scurried out of the office.
Klink watched him go, then scrubbed a weary had over his face. It never rained but it poured.
“Why are you here, Hogan?”
“I don't want my men to be shot by trigger happy Gestapo.”
The airmen might have just walked through those gates when they escaped but they became his men the moment they became Klink's prisoners. Their lives were on his shoulders. And if there was anyone else in camp who understood that burden, it was the Kommandant.
Klink did, Hogan knew he did, but he peered at Hogan with the exhaustion of a man waiting for the other shoe to drop. “And?”
“And if we're to have any chance of getting them back with no damage to them or this camp's reputation, our best shot is to work together,” Hogan added, logical and efficient. “That's enough of a reason to be getting on with, don't you think?”
Come on, Kommandant, you know you need my help. Don't make me beg.
Klink stared at him for a long moment, long fingers tapping at the map. For once, Hogan didn't bother with a cocky smirk. If Klink needed to see he was honest here, Hogan wasn't going to stand in his way.
This wasn't their usual cat and mouse. That was nine to five fun, this was an emergency.
Finally, Klink nodded. “I have patrols already out here, here and here,” he said, pointing at the forest and the roads leading to Hammelburg. “Schultz is sending more patrols to the outlying farms.”
Hogan peered at the map, trying to analyse where Newkirk, Carter and LeBeau would have gone. Where he himself would go if he were escaping an unfamiliar camp for the first time.
Hogan traced the map north. That's where Newkirk and Carter would head - they knew those woods like the backs of their hands. If the airmen were there they'd find them. LeBeau would head towards Hammelburg, stick to the outskirts, maybe rendezvous with an underground operative if their paths crossed.
There was a barn on an abandoned farm to the South. No underground close. If Kinch's information had been right, they'd been shot down a mile or so from there. It was a long shot they'd even seen it in the heavy snow of the past week, but Hogan's business ran on long shots. The longer the better.
Hogan hummed, tapping at another spot on the map.
LeBeau, Newkirk and Carter were too far away to retask. And the longer they waited, the more time Hochstetter had to clue into the fact something was up at his least favourite Stalag.
The airmen were only going to get recaptured anyway and Hogan could use the apparent boost to Klink's ego at recapturing them to leverage a shorter cooler stay than usual. A week or so at most.
And, when it came down to it, Hogan trusted Klink with the lives of his men. As long as he could, he'd keep them safe.
“What about here, Kommandant?” Hogan tapped the farm. “Isolated. Good place to hide out.”
“Really?” Klink stared at him, a hint of the spark of their usual game hiding in his eyes. “Is that where you'd hide?”
“I can't give away all my secrets,” Hogan replied, flashing a cheeky grin. “I'd be no fun without my mystery.”
Klink hummed dubiously, levity fading from his face.
“My guards won't run into your men?” Klink traced the routes to and from camp. “They won't turn a blind eye if they see them.”
“If my men were there, there'd be no need to send your guards, Kommandant.”
“Very well.” Klink moved to the radio he used to communicate with the guards outside the camp. “I’ll order my men there.”
The three airmen were found, bought back to the camp, and subjected to the “no one escapes from Stalag 13” spiel with extra German pomp. Major Hochstetter came screeching into camp a day late and a dollar short, finding everything ship shape and running smoothly. And Hogan and his men returned to their regularly programmed activities. Running missions, helping downed pilots escape, ruining the Germans days.
And if anything had changed, it never showed in the day to day activities of the camp. Hogan kept irritating Klink, they kept sharing their weekly chess matches. And if Newkirk watched Hogan and Klink interact with a shrewd frown, well he'd always been convinced that the pair of them would make an unholy union if they ever decided to work together.