DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Hogan's Heroes.

SUMMARY: When it becomes apparent to Allied High Command that Hogan is no longer working for their side, Colonel Crittendon is sent to investigate (complete with swagger stick and Secret Weapon). In response to the Hochstetter's Heroes Challenge.

This effort is in response to my very own Hochstetter's Heroes Challenge, which requires:

- that at least one of the Heroes work(s) for Hochstetter, or pretend(s) to;

- a reference to Rumpelstiltskin; and

- a reference to British or American chocolate.

I know that there's already one other response available on the net – "Hochstetter's Heroes", by Groundyonly – and I urge you all to read it, as it's brilliant. Now, I don't want to compete with the author... rather, I have something very different in mind. More humour, less Gestapo torture, if you want to put it that way. I should probably apologize in advance to British officers, beautiful women, and most of the canon characters... so don't take this too seriously, just enjoy it. Oh, and Linda – I'd be glad if you could review my not-so-little effort! Have fun.

*** signifies a change of perspective within the chapter

Cuckoo's Eggs

by netrat

1 – The Observer

Colonel Rodney Crittendon was briskly striding through the corridors of Allied High Command Centre, swagger stick under one arm. Paying no heed to the flurry of activity around him, he turned a corner and walked to the door behind which the office of General Sands, currently the man in charge of the German underground, lay. He entered the antechamber and had himself announced by the secretary, a woman rather too sour and elderly to merit much twirling of Crittendon's magnificent mustache.

General Sands was looking over some papers, but seemed glad at the interruption.

"Good morning, sir!" Crittendon proudly stood to attention.

"Rodney, old chap… good of you to come, very good. Have a seat." General Sands had been a highly decorated flyer before London called him home. The general opinion was that he'd been promoted out of concern for the wear and tear of Allied planes: Having a bombardier that heavy, so the joke went, put the same strain on the metal as transporting a herd of elephants would. Needless to say, Sands did not take kindly to any mention of his weight.

"Up for a top secret mission, Rodney?"

Crittendon's mustache went up proudly at both ends as he answered: "Any place, any time, sir. Always happy to do the old home country a favour, you know!"

"Indeed, Rodney. Let me be open with you: You're the best we've got here. Experience in Germany… extensive experience"… even if most of it was as a prisoner at Stalag 16 after a rather ill-conceived attempt at ordering Papa Bear home…, "combat and commando training, the whole works. And I know you're a man of steely nerves and never-ending resources."

"I make rather good tea, too", Crittendon volunteered.

"Jolly good, old chap! Now, should you accept this mission, you'd be off tomorrow evening – back to Hammelburg in Germany.

"Hammelburg… that's the area where Colonel…"

"… Hogan. The American." Sands' normally jolly face darkened.

"Are you ordering him home again?"

"Not exactly", Sands replied, putting an odd strain on the last word. He shifted his weight behind the enormous desk that held his papers. "Rodney, old chap, I'll be honest with you. Strange things are happening at Stalag 13. Unusual things. Not", he continued, seeing Crittendon was about to voice a comment, "the usual unusual happenings. I'll be frank, no beating around the bush: We are not one hundred percent certain about Hogan's loyalities."

"You mean to imply he works for –"

"We are not one hundred percent certain", Sands repeated, sounding like he'd memorised the sentence. "We do have a reliable source alerting us to, as I said, unusual occurrences."

"And you want me to –" Crittendon prompted.

"Take a look, old chap. Think of yourself as an observer. We want you to investigate, look into every nook and cranny of Stalag 13, and report anything out of the orderly to us. You'll be given Priority One codes for the radio. If, and I hope this won't become necessary, we'll have to take further action…" Sands tried his best to look menacing but compassionate, and failed at both, "I trust that you are our man – both to continue the operation and to, uh, get Hogan out of the way if necessary."

Crittendon nodded, a sudden stale taste in his mouth. Eliminating a fellow Allied officer was not what he'd signed up for… still, if Hogan proved to be a turncoat… a man as dangerous as him…

"Sir! Permission to volunteer to go to Hammelburg!"

"Great, old chap. Knew I could rely on you." Suddenly, Sands leaned forward conspiratorially, his chair creaking ominously. "Now, I know you're a resourceful man – I see you got yourself a new swagger stick – but still, just in case, we'll be providing you with a secret weapon." He almost whispered the last two words. "Something to make your job at Stalag 13 a little easier."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It's simple, Rodney. Hogan's men seem quite loyal to him, so you may have a hard time getting them to give you information." He paused to pick up the office phone and call his secretary: "Helen? Show Corporal Whealey in, if you please. Thank you."

"Now", he continued, "think about it. What could you offer a man who's been in a German prison camp for years?"

"A cup of good old tea?" Crittendon said.

"To the French and the Americans?" Not too likely, Crittendon had to admit.

Just as he was about to say something else, the door opened and in came, followed by Helen who paused at the doorstep, a buxom blonde woman wearing a RAF uniform and the most winning smile Crittendon had ever seen outside his mirror. General Sands beamed:

"Rodney, may I present your traveling companion, Corporal Fenella Whealey."

She had… Crittendon struggled to find the right words… curves. Lots, all in the right places. Golden hair. Corn-blue eyes with a sparkle in them that seemed, to Crittendon, directed entirely at him. "Miss… excuse me, Corporal… let me assure you that I'm most pleased to meet you. I have just volunteered for the mission in question."

"Oh, you are so brave, Colonel", she replied with a look of adoration. Crittendon felt his chest swell and his mustache curl at the ends.

"Corporal Whealey has had the same commando training as you have", General Sands said. Crittendon allowed himself to conspiratorially wink at her, in order to make her feel that, though a subordinate… if a very shapely one… she was considered a member of the elusive Fort Westing Week-End Training Course From Hell Club. "She's also a qualified radiowoman, so you can rely on her for the reports."

"Good ma- woman", Crittendon said appreciatively. "May I ask if you have any field experience? Germany is currently a rather dangerous place, I'm afraid."

"Not yet", the blonde admitted, blue eyes wide open, only to add: "But with you as my superior officer, I don't feel at all frightened… sir!"

Crittendon couldn't prevent the – rather modest, or so he thought – grin that spread on his face. For him, General Sands' request had just turned into the best gift he'd had since his fourtieth birthday last year.

So, what do you think? Reviews are appreciated!