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When a strange general with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist appeard at camp, they all knew they had to figure out what was in it. Like always, Hogan had a plan, and all LeBeau had to do was cook a meal. Luckily since they were in the Kammandant's quarters, he had access to an actual kitchen and not just the furnace in their barracks.
“You're a better cook than my wife,” Schultz said as he scraped the edge of the pot with his fingers.
“Merci!” LeBeau said cheerfully, as he began to slice carrots for his next dish.
“You're also better looking,” Schultz said. LeBeau wasn't sure if it was a joke, but he didn't have time to ponder it as he was too busy preparing the general's next meal.
“Merci,” he simply replied, deciding to think on it later.
Schultz left at some point and Newkirk came with the papers from the general's briefcase; they were photographed while Hogan was distracting Klink and the general. An awful screeching sound came from the other room and LeBeau winced, but kept working.
“Bravo Kammandant, Bravo! Play us another,” they heard Hogan shout from the other room after the screeching stopped.
“Klink found his bloody fiddle again,” Newkirk complained as he gathered the papers to return them to the briefcase.
Later that evening in the tunnels after the photos were developed, they discovered that the papers contained the battle plans for the fourth army, and now they had to figure out how to get the info out. They had two officers who were ready to be smuggled out, but how? Klink tightens securely whenever they have guests.
“They think they're winning right? What if they thought they were losing?” Hogan thought aloud to his crew. “We've gotta attack them at their weakest point,”
“Schultz!” They all said.
“Who else,” Hogan confirmed.
LeBeau laid in his bed shivering and staring at the bunk above him. It was a cold night and sleep eluded him. Schultz was the only thing in his head. Hogan has his touch with Klink and LeBeau has his touch with Schultz. He can't play Schultz like Hogan plays Klink, but he does have an easier time convincing Schultz then any of the others do. Except maybe Hogan himself. Hogan can be convincing. But LeBeau can cook, and that's why Schultz listens to him. Yes, that's all there is to it. Schultz just likes his food.
Newkirk shifted above him. LeBeau sat up, leaving the semi warmth of his bed and crept to the edge of their bunk so he was just peeking over.
“Newkirk, Newkirk, are you awake?” He whispered, trying not to wake the other prisoners.
“I am now,” he said, shifting to look at LeBeau. “Can't sleep? Cold?”
“Yeah, would you scoot over?” LeBeau said, climbing into his friend's bed without even waiting for an answer, dragging his blanket up with him. With two blankets and another person, he was warm enough to fall asleep.
When he woke up the next day he was still tired. He slept well, just not enough, he was still cold too. They started their plan to convince the krauts that the Russians were closing in on them. The members of barracks two were all sitting, facing Hogan, who was pointing to a poster with Russian words and their English translations on it, teaching them how to say friend in Russian. On cue, Schultz walked in and asked what they were doing.
“Just learning some Russian Schultz! It could do you some good to learn too!” Hogan began.
“Goodbye,” Schultz said as he turned to leave.
“What if they get here before the Americans do? What are you gonna do then?” Schultz stopped and thought about that for a second.
“You heard something? How? Do you have a radio? Colonel Hogan puh-lease! you could get into trouble with the Kammandant!” Schultz complained. Their banter continued until Hogan convinced Schultz to join them in learning Russian.
LeBeau, who was leaning back on Kinch, sat up when he tapped his shoulders. Kinch scooted over to make room for Schultz. LeBeau leaned back against the new body behind him, mindlessly repeating the Russian words with the rest of the people in the barracks.
“Da, nyet,” they all said, over and over again. Kinch asked what hello was in Russian. LeBeau looked back at him. It was then that he realized he was no longer leaning back against his friend, but Schultz. He sat up and snapped his attention back forward murmuring an apology for something, he wasn't really listening to himself speak. He could hear Hogan responding to Kinch but he wasn't listening anymore.
Why was he acting like this? He didn't care before. Newkirk gave him a questioning look. LeBeau shook his head, dismissing it. It doesn't matter, he doesn't care. He doesn't. LeBeau forcibly pushed Schultz from his thoughts and focused back on Hogan's lesson.
As soon as the lesson was over, he scrambled away. He didn't know where he was going, just away. Hogan and Kinch were gonna write Schultz a letter saying that he was a humane guard and asking for leniency from the Russians, they didn't need him for that.
Schultz wandered around the compound, gathering signatures from the prisoners on the letter Hogan and Kinch wrote for him. LeBeau had successfully managed to avoid him this far. He headed back to the barracks to take a nap. When he got in, there wasn't anyone in the main room. Hogan was probably annoying Klink, Newkirk should be working on making uniforms for the officers they are currently working on smuggling out, Kinch and Carter were outside doing who knows what, meaning LeBeau had the nice quiet barracks to himself for his nap.
He laid down on his bed and closed his eyes. He listened to the muffled sound of the other prisoners outside and was just about to drift off when he heard the door open and heavy footsteps step inside. LeBeau mentally cursed whoever it was for disturbing his small bit of quiet time.
“LeBeau, there you are, will you sign my letter?” Schultz said, walking over to LeBeau's bunk. LeBeau sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Sure Schultzy,” LeBeau grabbed the pen from Schultz's hands, signed his name and handed it back. Schultz grabbed it and took a step back to leave, but then stopped.
“You were quite tricky to find, you know,” Schultz said. LeBeau was trying to read him, was he upset?
“Sorry, I've got a lot on my mind,” LeBeau replied, trying to find the courage to ask what Schultz meant by his comment yesterday. He decided to steer the conversation in a safer direction, “Could you potentially get me some vanilla? I'm almost out, I could make you some apple strudel in exchange?”
“Oh, apple strudel!” Schultz said, overjoyed. “Oh ja, I'll get it for you!”
LeBeau laughed a bit and got to work. Schultz watched him. Should he bring it up?
“Better looking than your wife, huh?” LeBeau joked nervously, as he quoted Schultz from yesterday. LeBeau kept his eyes on the pastry dough he was making, refusing to look at the other man.
“Oh ja, a better cook too” Schultz, affirming his statement from yesterday, placing a hand on LeBeau's shoulder. LeBeau stiffened a bit. Schultz pulled his hand back, “Are you alright?”
“I thought you weren't supposed to say that kind of thing about another man,” LeBeau said, "Won't you get put in a prison camp but as a prisoner instead of a guard or something?”
Schultz looked at him and then walked towards the door. LeBeau panicked, did he say the wrong thing? Stupid, he shouldn't have brought it up. Schultz cracked the door open just enough to peek through.
“Our Colonels don't seem too concerned by that risk,” Schultz said, pointing towards the Kammandantur. LeBeau set the dough down and walked over to see what he was pointing at.
He saw Colonel Hogan looking out the window in Klink's quarters and pulling the window curtain shut. LeBeau looked at Schultz confused.
“Oh well, I know nothing anyways,” Schultz shrugged and dismissed whatever their Colonels decided to get up to. “What I do know is that you're a better cook than my wife, and better looking, and are kinder than her too.” Schultz left it at that
LeBeau moved back to the table and began chopping the apples.
“Us Frenchmen are very good lovers, you know,” he said proudly, he threw the apples in the pot with some butter and sugar and other spices and began heating it on the furnace. Schultz moved to sit at the table. LeBeau filled the pastry dough with the apple filling and put it in the furnace to cook.
LeBeau looked at his watch, noting the time “those need to cook for 35 minutes,” He said to himself.
He sat next to Schultz, and looked at him. His fingers brushed over his lips. However, his eyes began to feel heavy and drift close. Remembering his original goal of taking a nap, he settled closer into Schultz's side, and leaned forward onto the table. He felt Schultz shift and he opened his eyes to see Schultz drape his blue great coat over his shoulders. It was warm.
When he woke up, he was in his bed. Tucked beneath his covers. Just a dream LeBeau thought to himself as he rolled over. He looked at the table and sat up. The apple strudel was on the table, it wasn't a dream. He got up and walked over to the pastries, one was missing.