Ginger Tea and Trickery - Hogan's Heroes Fanfiction

Chapter 1

"Given the timing, we do have a few minutes leeway, in case Major Hochstetter arrives early or Klink leaves late, or something else goes wrong," Kinch didn't stop talking as sudden pelting coughs backed his words - they came all too often to pause for them - but when he finished his sentence he looked over at the perpetrator, "Cough not getting any better, Cohen?"

The Jewish boy shook his head and took another sip from the mug in his hands.

Newkirk raised an eyebrow, "It's sure takin' you long enough to shake it. You're going to run us Englishmen dry of our ginger tea."

A miserable nod and an apologetic shrug.

Colonel Hogan nodded his sympathy before drawing his men's attention back to the map laid out before them on the common room table, "Okay. Barnes, Davis, you know what you're doing?"

A nod, "We're the diversion on the east side of camp, Colonel. At 22:00"

"Behind the guards' Barracks number 8," Colonel Hogan said, and the two confirmed with a nod,

"Alright. Garlotti and Joseph?"

"We're the diversion on the west side of camp," Garlotti said, and Joseph grinned conspiratorially, "At 22:05."

"Broughton and Addison are," Hogan pointed towards the pair with his pencil.

"Jamming the door shut on the rec hall," Broughton finished his sentence, "With this," He held up a little wooden piece, not much larger than his thumb but built to jam the bottom of the door, and also disappear out of sight when somebody finally busted the door open.

"Good. Newkirk and Baker are ready to get Herr Hiedler into disguise down in the tunnels, after he is pulled down there by Carter and myself," Another point with the pencil, "LeBeau is making dinner, Kinch is helping. Olsen is serving. Foster, you and Cohen are supposed to be distracting the guard on the rec hall," Hogan frowned at Foster, perched on his bunk, and Cohen, looking quite miserable and quite not up for saving the world below him, "Can you handle that yourself?"

"Sure, Colonel," Foster nodded confidently, and then looked down at Cohen, "I mean, unless you'd like to come cough on Beckenbauer."

Cohen had leaned up against the bunkpost and let his eyes drift shut, and grunted a small, barely audible acknowledgement that set him coughing again.

When the fit had passed, Hogan asked, "What'd the medic say about that, Cohen?"

Cohen opened his mouth, and then shut it and sighed. And winced. And looked at Broughton, who had accompanied/dragged Cohen (who was decidedly not a fan of doctor's visits) to the infirmary.

"Says it might take a week or so, but he shouldn't get any of us sick since we had it already," Broughton said. Everyone shuddered. That had been a miserable week, "Lots of tea. He also told me to tell you specifically that if you sent Cohen out on a night like tonight he'd be over here and he wouldn't be happy," It had been freezing lately, part of the reason Barracks 2 had caught the cold anyway.

Hogan nodded, taking that advice to heart. Even if he could ultimately pull rank, nobody liked going up against Sergeant Wilson, "Alright. Cohen, you're making sure the bunk doesn't blow away," He said. There was a pretty awful draft coming from a hairline crack on the wall by his bunk, and Hogan had half a mind to get the kid to move to another bunk, but unfortunately it was nearly just as cold anywhere else in the hut.

"Uh-uuuh," He forced one eye open and smiled weakly at the Colonel.

"Good kid," Hogan said, "Alright, men, watches," He looked at his, "9:28."

A series of grunts as men fixed their watched, "In three, two - now."

Several soft clicks.

"Good," Hogan nodded, "We've been over this. This is a big mission, I'm not going to say that it could mean a lot of lives. Because it does mean a lot of lives, period. We pull this off and a lot of good men are going to get to go home when this whole damn thing is over. We blow it... we may very well be staring down the wrong end of a rifle. This is tight, there's a million different things that could go wrong, but we're going to pull it off. Alright," He nodded, "Move out."

Broughton and Addison went first, and then Foster, and steadily the others left the building, not a word was spoken.

Hogan watched them go,until the barracks was silent, nearly empty save for he and Cohen.

He glanced at his watch. Still a few minutes until he headed over to Klink's quarters.

"Cohen?" He whispered, nudging the boy softly. He'd fallen asleep, face pressed into the bedpost, "Oh, brother," Hogan took the mug from his hand and set it aside. Then, careful to support his head, he eased Cohen back onto the bunk.

"Umm?" He startled awake, blinking through watery eyes, one hand starting to shove out.

"Shush, it's just me. Go back to sleep."

Cohen mumbled something, and then curled up on himself.

Hogan tucked the blankets around him - he had several, he was the only one who needed them anymore, and Klink was too stingy to let them keep very many extra - the kid was still in his coat and uniform, for crying out loud. He tugged off his boots and Cohen stirred again.

"'nks."

"Sure, kid," Hogan nodded "Stay warm, okay? A lingering cold's one thing, pneumonia's a whole 'nother ballgame."

"Mmmm," He mumbled, "Careful, Colonel," The words were barely audible, and his voice died at the end, and he buried his chin in the blankets.

"Always, Corporal," Hogan patted his shoulder and left the barracks, shutting the door quietly behind him.