Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, nor do I profit from this story. All rights belong to their owners and no infringement is intended.

Cover picture courtesy of Katbybee's amazingly talented daughter, Hilary. My thanks to her and her mother, who served as go-between ;)

The rains of March and early April had given way to bright sunshine and warm temperatures. Overall morale in camp was not just up, but the highest it had been since autumn of last year. The men organized baseball games and soccer matches daily, with Newkirk making a killing in the betting pool. An almost lazy attitude prevailed among the guards as happy, content prisoners gave them no trouble. Hogan and crew were in a slower period, with missions happening only once or twice a week.

LeBeau had received permission from Klink - through Hogan, of course - to plant vegetable gardens in exchange for a detail of men to work on the Commandant's flower bed. For the men, the opportunity to be out in the sunshine far outweighed their dislike of work details. So, two decently-sized details emerged with LeBeau leading the flowerbeds and Baker leading the vegetable gardens.

Hogan sat on the bench outside of their barracks sipping on a cup of coffee, soaking in the sun, and watching his boys play ball. It was baseball today and the Americans had a two-run lead at the bottom of the ninth; but the Europeans had two walks and they'd saved their best hitter for last.

Carter was on the mound with Olsen catching. Olsen gave a signal and Carter shook his head ever so slightly. Olsen rolled his eyes and gave a second signal. Carter grinned, eagerly nodded, and began his wind-up which resulted in a tremendous screwball.

McKern, an RAF sergeant, stepped into the pitch. A loud crack from the bat sent the ball sailing over Carter's head. Garlotti, who was playing left field, backpedaled while McKern took off for first base. Cheers erupted from the Europeans as their first runner scored.

Garlotti, paying more attention to the ball than where he was going, stumbled into the vegetable garden. He tripped over Baker, falling into the freshly-turned soil and losing track of the baseball in the process.

"The onions!" LeBeau squawked from across the yard. Baker tried to push Garlotti off of the spring onions and out of the garden, while the New Jerseyan searched frantically for the ball.

Newkirk leaped to his feet and began screaming with visions of losing his entire cigarette stash filling his mind. "Get the ruddy ball!"

The Europeans tied the score with their second runner, as Garlotti finally spotted the leather-wrapped sphere on the other side of the garden. He mumbled a quick apology to Baker as he plowed through the rest of the turned soil. McKern rounded third just as he snatched up the ball and threw it as hard as he could to the third baseman.

Kinch - the aforementioned third baseman - caught the ball with ease, spun and lobbed it into the waiting hands of Olsen. He slammed his gloved hand down on McKern's thigh as the runner slid into home base. McKern, Olsen, and both teams waited anxiously for the umpire to make his call.

"Safe!"

The Europeans started to cheer as they huddled together.

"Safe?!" Olsen gaped, "what do you mean safe?! He was so far out that he was back in his hometown!"

Schultz frowned and shook his head, "no, no, no. He was safe. I am the umpire. He is safe."

"Never met anyone as blind as you are, Schultzie," Newkirk hollered, testily, from his 'office' beside the delousing station. He'd set up a small table with a ledger and the box containing the barracks' cigarettes. Newkirk, presuming the Americans' greater ability at their own sport, had made the mistake of laying odds - specifically, four to one odds. A small crowd had begun to form a line, eager to settle their bets.

Schultz backed up as the teams began to bicker. "All right, fellas," Hogan called. He set down his cup and hurried over before a brawl could break out. "Schultz is right. You all agreed to have him as umpire, so his ruling stands."

The American team reluctantly backed off, still grumbling, while the Europeans quietly celebrated their first baseball victory of the year. McKern reached a hand out to Olsen, saying, "Well played, laddie." His strong, Scottish accent and big smile took away some of Olsen's ill feelings as he added, "between you and me, I'm not so sure about the hun's ruling, either."

Olsen shook his hand and joined in on his hearty laughter. Both men sobered when LeBeau came over. The little Frenchman lit into poor Garlotti, "you stupid Americans with your stupid games. Hit the ball away then run around like dogs chasing tails." He gestured, frantically at the wrecked garden which Baker and his detail were trying to salvage. "You have completely ruined all of our hard work."

"Gee, I'm sorry, LeBeau..." Garlotti muttered, shifting from foot to foot. He rubbed the back of his neck and was beginning to wonder if he was in physical threat from the little man's ire.

"Sorry?!" LeBeau squawked. His eyes bulged and it was clear that he wasn't having any of it. "'Sorry' does not fix the garden. 'Sorry' doesn't put carrots, peas, and beans in my cookpot. You will learn what 'sorry' means when you don't have vegetables with your dinner."

Hogan put his hand on LeBeau's shoulder and said, "take it easy. I'm sure the fellas will help straighten and re-plant the rows..." Carter cut him off by tapping the colonel's arm and pointing, discreetly, toward the gate.

A German staff car was stopped and waiting for the guards to allow passage. The Heroes recognized it immediately as General Burkhalter's car.

"I wonder what he wants," Kinch murmured.

"Don't know, but whatever it is, I..." Hogan started to reply, before catching Schultz hovering close by them, obviously eavesdropping. "What do you think he wants, Schultz?"

Catching on quickly, Kinch smiled, "Yeah, Schultz, you're always hanging around the Commandant. Did he tell you anything?"

Schultz backed away; too many times the Heroes had pumped him for information. He was beginning to question just whose side he was on. "I heard nothing, I saw nothing, and I know nothing," he said quickly. "Please, Colonel Hogan, don't ask me."

"All right, Schultz, I guess we'll all have to live without knowing," Hogan sighed, "come on, guys, let's get a cup of coffee." He walked back to the barracks. As he reached the door, he yelled, "Newkirk, com'on!"

Newkirk closed up the shoe box, much to the complaint of several prisoners who hadn't received their pay out, and ran across the yard. He bumped Langenscheidt's shoulder and tipped his head in a quick apology before heading into the barracks.

Langenscheidt frowned as he watched the barracks door close, "Sergeant, doesn't the Englander despise coffee?" When Schultz nodded, he continued, "then isn't that suspicious behavior that requires investigation?"

Schultz pursed his lips in thought. "Karl," he began slowly, "when you are an old sergeant like me, you will understand that, sometimes, it is better for everyone concerned to not see anything."

Langenscheidt nodded, his brows furrowed with confusion. He didn't think his sergeant was quite right about that, but before he had a chance to protest, Schultz had gone. With a shrug, Langenscheidt continued on to the Mess, deciding that whatever was going on with the Colonel and his men would have to wait for a more conscientious guard.

H~H

Inside the barracks, the men were gathered around the table in Hogan's office.

"I'm sorry, sir," Kinch apologized again as he fiddled with the coffee pot. It was the fourth time this month that the device hadn't come on. The wire had a short and needed to be replaced, but wire was in short supply. For now, the best they could do was jiggle it until the break connected and hold it steady.

"Well," Carter said cheerily, he was kneeling on the floor at Kinch's feet, helping to jiggle the length of wire, "at least we'll miss all of Klink's boot-licking."

Newkirk snorted from his spot on the bottom bunk. He shifted the pillow down lower to support his back and muttered, "thank heaven for small favors."

Hogan called LeBeau over to send him on 'cleaning duty' in Helga's office, when the coffee pot crackled to life. Kinch and Carter simultaneously froze.

"… and that is why it must be kept in the safe." Burkhalter's loud, nasally voice said. Hogan stepped closer to the table and Newkirk sat up, leaning forward to hear.

"Rest assured, General, all will be taken care of," Klink's voice was heard over the scraping of chairs against the wooden floor. "Schultz can oversee moving the safe to your quarters and Langenscheidt will take good care of the Fuehrer's present..."

"The Fuehrer's present will also remain in my room," Burkhalter cut off his underling. "I wouldn't trust you with it if you were the last Aryan on earth."

They half-heard something that sounded like a 'yes, herr general' and then a door opened.

"I'm worn from my journey," Burkhalter's voice started to fade as he got further from the bug. "I'll just have dinner in my room."

"Of course, General," Klink agreed. "I'll see to your driver and make arrangements for your dinner to be sent in."

Hogan motioned for Kinch to pull the plug. "Sounds important," he said to no one in particular. "Whatever it is, we'll need pictures."

Newkirk stood and stretched, "guess I'm opening a safe tonight."

"We don't even know what we're looking for," LeBeau said, nudging him in the ribs.

Newkirk blew on his fingernails and rubbed them against his lapel, "I'll have you know that I keep a running account of every item in that safe. Trust me, I'll know what's new."

Before the two could devolve into their usual squabbling, Hogan cleared his throat, "After lights-out, Newkirk and Carter are going in."

"I don't need any help, guv," Newkirk started to complain. "I'll be in an' out before anyone knows I was there."

Hogan glanced at his watch, mentally counting the hours. "Carter takes better photographs than you do; he goes. Carter, go get your camera ready."

Carter nodded and left the room. Newkirk waited until he was certain the Yank was out of ear shot before he continued making his case, "come on, Colonel. Andrew has many talents… need a bridge blown or some sorta chemical concoction and he's your man… but being quiet or stealthy isn't exactly his strong suit."

"Which is why LeBeau is going to slip something into the General's soup," Hogan said simply. He headed into the common room which with most of the men outside enjoying the spring weather, was almost empty.

LeBeau nodded solemnly, "I shall have to put in extra garlic to cover up the taste of the arsenic..."

"I prefer he wakes up in the morning."

"À chacun son goût," LeBeau muttered, shaking his head. He made his way out of the barracks and right into Schultz, who began to tick off the General's requests for dinner as they walked to the Kommandant's kitchen.

H~H

Burkhalter forced himself to put the last bite of bienenstich into his mouth. He was feeling very full and rather sleepy, but the rich cake was calling out to him. Oh, how these French could bake! To his way of thinking, if the French had stuck to baking instead of constantly fighting their superior neighbours then they'd have been much better off. He swallowed and reached for the glass of warm milk. He took a sip and grimaced. He hated goat's milk and the thought of drinking the whole glass was especially unappealing after that large dinner. He stood with a yawn, grabbed the empty bowl, and shuffled into the bedroom. He set the bowl down beside the small box in the corner and poured half the glass into it.

"All right, little dog," he murmured. He scooped a tiny, shepherd puppy from the box and placed it in front of the bowl. "Eat, eat."

The puppy didn't need much urging, being trapped in a car without food or water the entire day had been trying for the poor thing. Burkhalter allowed the slightest hint of a smile before sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled his boots off and lay them beside his bed, fighting another enormous yawn.

I must be getting old, he thought, scratching the back of his head. Trips like this used to be enjoyable… well, except for seeing my inept commandants. He stretched across the bed and flipped the round light switch. Now, these little trips are just tiring. He lay stretched across the bed and his eyelids began to flutter closed. He should take off his pants and crawl under the covers, but he was just too tired. A little nap wouldn't hurt…

The puppy licked the edge of the plate and it slid forward. He stepped closer and continued licking until he finished the milk. He licked his chops, whined a little bit, and began to sniff around until he smelled something familiar. He promptly squatted and relieved himself on the tall, black that business taken care of, he began to explore. There wasn't much to see in this place and he probably would have settled down to sleep, if he hadn't spotted the door.

In his drowsy state, Burkhalter had left the door ajar and it took the puppy little effort to squeeze his teeny frame through. This room was still fully lit and he bounded in. With his nose to the ground and tail wagging furiously, he ran through the room. Breathing in all of the intoxicatingly new and different smells.

While the pup was under the couch investigating a newly discovered mouse hole, the window slid open and a man, dressed in blue, climbed in. He hurried over to the door and flipped the switch, plunging the room into darkness. The guards would think that Burkhalter had gone to bed and not disturb him, hopefully. A soft thump caused him to turn back to the window.

"Easy, Andrew," he hissed.

"Sorry," Carter mumbled, apologetically. He turned the flashlight on and did a quick inspection of the camera he'd dropped. "It's okay, nothing's broken."

Newkirk went over to the bedroom door and finished opening it the rest of the way. His eyes, while not completely adjusted to the darkness, could make out Burkhalter's portly form. From the deafening snores, it was obvious that he was fast asleep. "Come on," he whispered to Carter, who was at his heels. Carter switched on the flashlight, taking care not to disturb the General, and hurried to the safe sitting beside Klink's dresser.

"We could've done it from the tunnel," Carter joked. "Just pop up and grab the stuff."

Newkirk wasn't really listening; he was too focused on the safe. He crouched down and had Carter shine the light directly on the dial. He pressed his ear to the cool metal and began to turn the knob, listening carefully for the clicks of tumblers dropping into place.

Suddenly, Carter switched the flashlight off and whispered, "did you hear that?"

Newkirk paused and listened intently, but all he could hear was Burkhalter's steady snoring.

"Just your imagination," he whispered back. Grabbing Carter's hand, he put the light back on the dial. A moment later and he was sliding the safe door open. He dug through the contents as quickly as he could. Skipping over Klink's various personal effects, last month's Luftwaffe code book, and several boring camp ledgers, he discovered a smooth, manila envelope. He flipped it over an unwound the string keeping it closed. He pulled out a small stack of typed papers and skimmed through the first page. "Jackpot," he murmured, handing the papers to Carter.

Carter gave Newkirk the flashlight and lay the papers on the floor. He focused the camera and clicked once, spun the wheel, and snapped another. While this used up more film; on the off chance that one of the photographs didn't turn out right, he always had a back up. It took them about ten minutes to photograph every page, put them back in their proper order, and replace the envelope. Newkirk shut the safe and set the dial. He and Carter eased through the door and over to the window, before Carter came to a halt.

"There it is again," he hissed.

Newkirk listened, hearing the faint sounds of scratching or clicking. He was about to dismiss Carter's concern as just a mouse, when he heard something else… muffled voices. Frowning, he slid the curtain aside and peeked out the window. While they were inside, it had begun to rain and Privates Schmidt and Huber had decided to take their smoke break under the eaves.

"Sorry, Andrew," Newkirk said ruefully. "Guess it wasn't your imagination."

"That wasn't what I heard..."

Newkirk pressed him back into the bedroom, "come on, we'll have to use the tunnel."

"But the Colonel said," Carter protested as Newkirk started to push the dresser away from the tunnel opening.

"Burkhalter's still fast asleep," Newkirk gestured to the snoring lump on the bed. He climbed down the ladder. "It'll be alright."

Carter watched his friend disappear and started to follow when he heard that noise again. He took a chance and turned the flashlight on, shining it across the floor. He spotted a tiny, black and tan puppy sitting by the door. He grinned and made a clicking noise with his tongue. The puppy didn't hesitate a second before bounding forward. Carter held his fingers out and the puppy sniffed them for a moment. He gently petted the top of his head and the puppy began to wiggle in delight. Carter indulged the playful creature even further by scratching behind both ears.

A loud snort from Burkhalter as he shifted in bed caused Carter to jump. He'd almost forgotten where he was. He pushed the pup away from him and began to climb into the tunnel. The pup sat down with a soft thud. His dark, almond-shaped eyes bore into Carter with that look to which no man, woman, or child could ever say no.

Carter bit his lip… he shouldn't do it… the Colonel would tan his hide…

The dog whined and Carter dismissed his better judgment. He scooped him up and slid the creature into his flight jacket. It took considerable effort and ability, but he managed to close the opening and descend the ladder without hurting himself or his passenger. As he went to his lab and began to develop the film - in between making sure the pup didn't get into anything dangerous, his conscience nagged at him.

What will Colonel Hogan say?

*TBC*

Translation: À chacun son goût - means to each his taste... or more simply, have it your way.