Two authors wrote this, and had lots of fun,
Parodying stories from two writers; not one.
Stories that cover a popular theme:
Picking on Newkirk, and making him scream!
(One of the authors who wrote this, no doubt,
Is one of whose stories this parody's about!)

Disclaimer: The Hogan's Heroes characters we do not own. They belong to others; they're just here on loan.

The Newkirk Dilemma

"I'm bored," Carter complained. He sighed and dealt out another card.

"Well, I'm beyond bored," Olsen retorted. "Look, I'm playing tic-tac-toe with myself."

"Haven't you heard anything on the radio?" LeBeau asked Kinch.

"No. It's been dead for 13 days, 4 hours, and 26 minutes. And now it's broken."

"Why do you think I'm here?" Baker asked. He received no answer. The men in the barracks were too depressed to talk.

"That's how long it's been since we've had a mission." Carter gave up on the solitaire game and tossed the cards on the floor. No one bothered to pick them up.

The men barely looked up as the door opened to reveal a sad-sack; otherwise known as Colonel Hogan. He dejectedly walked into the barracks.

"What did the Kommandant want, sir?" Kinch asked.

"The normal, ridiculous rigmarole about rations, respect, Red Cross packages, and rutabagas." He plopped into a chair. "We got an extra shipment."

"What the hell are rutabagas?" Carter asked.

"A root vegetable." LeBeau didn't even get excited at the mention of a food item.

Hogan glanced at the men, who were scattered across the barracks in every conceivable position. They all resembled a bunch of Debbie-downers.

"I bet this is how other POWs in all the other camps spend their time. Doing absolutely nothing." Olsen sniffled, rolled over, and faced the wall.

"You can say that again." Kinch did the same.

Hogan got up from the chair, walked over to Olsen's bunk, and shook the sergeant. "Aren't you supposed to be out?"

Olsen rolled over and faced the colonel. "No, sir. I was out last week. But, nothing happened, so I came back in. And I can't go out now, because no one is here to take my place." He sighed.

"Are you wearing my jacket?" Hogan demanded. He was feeling so out of sorts that he didn't realize he'd gone to the Kommandant's office without his bomber jacket and crush cap.

"I think so," Olsen replied. "To tell you the truth, I'm so discombobulated, I don't remember." He took off the jacket and handed it back to Hogan.

"Oh, my." Hogan went back to the table and sank down into a chair. "Anything on the radio?"

Kinch answered Hogan in a monotone. "Not since, you know… 13 days, 4 hours, and now 30 minutes."

No one bothered to move when Schultz opened the door and walked in. "Cockroach, you have anything to eat?"

"No. Why would I? There's nothing we need to know, nowhere we need to go, and no reason to bribe you. Go away."

"Hmmph." Schultz went over to Hogan. "Colonel, are you sick? You look like you lost your best friend."

"No, I'm not sick. What's up, Schultz?"

"A Gestapo car came through the gate. Major Hochstetter and a malevolent, mean looking, captain – no, major, I think – got out and walked into the Kommandant's office." Schultz held out his hand.

Hogan pawed through his pockets, retrieved a half-eaten candy bar and handed it over. "It's all I got."

"Thank you." Schultz left the barracks.

"I guess I'd better turn on the coffee pot." Hogan slowly got up and meandered into his office. He turned around and poked his head through the door. "Anyone?"

"Sure." Carter headed over. LeBeau and Kinch followed.

"Turn the damn thing on." Hogan pointed to Kinch.

"Klink, this is Major Einstein."

"It's a pleasure, sir. I'm always happy to have the Gestapo in my camp."

"Liar!" Hochstetter shouted.

"Liar, yes. Um, Einstein? As in the physicist?"

"No. The bagels."

"You know they aren't real bagels. Rolls with holes. Not boiled. Shameful," Hogan sniffed.

"What can I do for you, both?"

"We are looking for certain prisoners, Klink," Einstein answered. "Very specific. Zay must have certain, I should I say it…Qualities."

"May I ask what you want with these prisoners?"

"No, you may not."

"No, I may not," Klink repeated.

"Get that…that…Senior POW officer in here. I forgot his name," Hochstetter said.

"Now that's bizarre." Kinch suddenly became more interested. A minute ago, he could care less.

"You mean, Hogan?"

"Yes, Klink. Hogan."

There was a lull in the action as Klink could be heard going to the door.

"Oh, no." Hogan got up and walked out.

"Bye," Carter whispered.

"Au revoir."

"Maybe we should all escape," someone from the barracks suggested.

"Can't," Hogan replied as he headed out into the compound. "We'd be canceled."

Hogan didn't wait for the escort. He began to walk across the camp. No, trudged was more like it. He felt like he was twice as heavy and slow as molasses. The camp looked almost surreal. It had a sepia-like tone to it. He didn't question the lack of color as he entered the building and waited to be announced.

Helga, who was dressed like any normal German woman in the 40's – dull and dowdy, and with no make-up – opened the door to Klink's office. "Colonel Hogan," she said in a bored tone.

Hogan offered a lackadaisical salute and waited.

"This is Major Einstein."

"Physicist?" Hogan asked.

"Bagels," the malevolent-looking major replied.

"You're taking me where?" Hogan, ready to be cuffed, held out his hands.

"Not you," Hochstetter replied.

"Then what am I doing here, and why do you all look black and white?"

"Sit down, Colonel." Einstein pointed to a chair, which Hogan took. He sighed.

"Nothing has happened in this war for a while," Einstein began to explain. "The front has stalled. The bombing raids have stopped. It's been…frozen."

Tell me about it, Hogan thought.

"It's been almost two weeks." Klink pointed to a calendar.

"There's something missing. We are looking for prisoners for reasons I won't explain. Prisoners with certain qualities."

"No cooperation from me. It's against the Geneva convention." Hogan stood up.

"That Englishman," Hochstetter said.

That got Hogan's attention. He tried to shake off the cobwebs in his brain.


"That one!" Einstein perked up. "He has what we're looking for."

"British corporals?" Klink asked. "I'm sorry. He's in the cooler, in a coma, with a cold."

"13 days, 4 hours, and 45 minutes, sir." Hogan pointed out. No wonder nothing is happening. No wonder I feel like…We can't move. We can't go on…

Meanwhile: In the cooler, Newkirk, who was indeed in a coma, with a cold, was dreaming….

It was the runny nose that interrupted Newkirk's beauty sleep. That, and the scratchy throat and stuffed up head. "Blimey." With his eyes still closed, he tried to reach for his handkerchief, but to his utter dismay, his arms weren't going anywhere.

His eyes snapped open. "How did I get here? And why am I shackled to a wall?" He looked down. His favorite pajama tops were missing. "All right, Peter. Calm down. Think." He pulled at the shackles and attempted to free his wrists. No luck. Turning his head…"Ooh, that hurt!" Newkirk glanced at the room that was now his own personal dungeon. Come to think of it, that's what it looked like. A scary looking steel table, complete with straps, was in the middle. Next to that, a very large and very odd-looking glass ball. "Now why does that look familiar? Sniff."

Suddenly AND without warning, the door swung open. In walked Hochstetter and an unidentified SS officer.

"So. This is the Englander?" he asked Hochstetter.

"Yes. Newkirk. At last!"

"I'm not talking, Major. Achoo. Sniff."

"We'll see." Hochstetter reached into a brown paper bag and removed several items. Newkirk's eyes opened wide and followed every move as the major brought the items closer and closer.

"Make it easy on yourself, Corporal. Talk, and I'll let you have the Puffs, the Nyquil and a Ricola."

Newkirk licked his lips and pulled at the shackles. "Achoo. Hack. No. Never!"

"Bah!" Hochstetter tossed the cold supplies over his shoulder.

"You'll talk if we go after one of your friends," the SS officer sneered.

"No, not that!" Newkirk shouted, "No!"

"Yes! Hochstetter, bring over the ball!"

"Oh, God. Not the guv'nor. Please," Newkirk screwed up his eyes.

"Watch, or I'll shoot your eye out!" Hochstetter ordered.

Newkirk slowly opened one eye and looked into the ball; which mysteriously broadcast a good picture. "Boy that's clear," he said.

"Thanks! We've gone digital," Hochstetter replied.

"Oh, Louis. NO! What have you done?"

LeBeau was being forced at gunpoint to work in an American greasy spoon. A waitress was shouting out orders, which the French chef, who was close to tears, repeated.

"One SOS!"

"One SOS."

"One cheeseburger, hold the pickles, hold the lettuce!"

"Whatever," Louis sobbed.

"One dog with the works!"

"Dog!" Louis screamed.

"One PBJ on Wonderbread!"

Newkirk watched in horror.

"Talk, Newkirk, and we will transfer him to a 5 star restaurant; or maybe a slot on the Food Network."

"No, I can't. Forget the others. Get it over with."

"He's too stubborn," Hochstetter said. "Bring in the Colonel!"

Newkirk watched in utter terror as the colonel was dragged into the room by two burly guards, forced onto the table, and strapped down.

"Whatever they do to me, Newkirk; don't talk."

"But…but…you're the guv'nor. Achoo. I can't…"

"Newkirk! That's an order. And where's your pajama top?"

"Yes, sir. An order. They took the top. Sniff. The present. The one with the little hearts and…"

"Ooh." Hogan winced. "That's low." He ogled Newkirk for a moment and then winced again as the maniacal-looking SS officer ripped off his shirt, popping buttons all over the place.

"'Ey, it took me 'ours to sew those on properly!"

"You'll have more than buttons to worry about, when I'm through with the likes of you," the SS officer threatened.

He's one ace short of a full deck, Hogan thought.

He and Newkirk then watched in utter shock as the SS officer wheeled over a cart filled with all sorts of evil looking implements. He removed a full set of kitchen knives complete with a sharpener, a corkscrew, an egg slicer, a can opener and a blender.

"Care to help, Hochstetter?"

"No, I'll watch."

"Who's first?" The SS officer grabbed a knife and headed over to the table.

Hogan strained at the straps. He wasn't going anywhere. "Hold it. Let him go. It's me you want!"

"Wait!" Newkirk shouted, "'Ang on, sir. Isn't that my line? Cough. And shouldn't I be the one on the table, then?"

"I don't know," Hogan answered. "This wasn't well thought out, was it?" He turned to Hochstetter. "What do you think?"

"Stop stalling!" The SS officer came closer. "I'm ready to carve! What does it matter, who says what?"

Hochstetter held up his hand. "No, Hogan is right. He's supposed to watch his men being tortured, not the other way around."

"I think the author is confused," Hogan stated. "Newkirk and I should switch places."

"I agree. Sniff."

"What do you take me for? An idiot? This is all an elaborate plot to escape. You're both going down." The SS officer held the knife directly across from Hogan's sternum….

Meanwhile: Back at Stalag 13, where prisoners and guards, alike, were leading their humdrum lives, and where nothing interesting ever seemed to happen…

"Well???" Einstein asked.

"Well, what?" Hochstetter, Klink and Hogan replied.

"Aren't we going to go get the corporal? He's the one I'm looking for."

"To do what, Major?" Hogan didn't look up. He was checking his fingernails. "Take him out of the cooler to do what? Torture him?"

"That's none of your business, Colonel."

Hogan stood up. "I, uh…I think it is, Major. Isn't it Kommandant?"

"Beats me," Klink said.

"I think that's what you're doing here," Hochstetter stated matter-of-factly.

"Really, Major? I thought I was here to steal the towels."


"The corporal – in the cooler!" Einstein screamed. "Focus, Klink!"

"Fine. We'll go get him; even if he is in a coma. Perhaps Hogan can wake him up." Einstein pulled out his gun and pointed it at Hogan.

"Gee whiz, Major, I'll go." The three Germans and one bored, depressed pilot slowly trudged over to the cooler, and found Newkirk smack in the middle of a nightmare. A doozy by the looks of it.

"No, stop, please, not that… Anything but that! Not my sideburns! I'll kiss you if you'll stop…"

"He'll kiss anybody," Hogan said. "Figures he'd be having a nightmare. Now what?"

"Wake him up!" Einstein hissed.

"Oh, right. Newkirk, it's a dream, wake up," Hogan gently poked the corporal's shoulder. "He's in a coma. I don't know if this will…"

"Is that you, guv'nor?" Newkirk's eyes fluttered open.

"Yes! You were having a bad dream. You're okay!" Hogan stood up a little straighter. A rose next to Klink's headquarters blossomed and turned red.

"I don't feel so good." Newkirk's eyes closed again and he lay still.

"Newkirk? Newkirk! Oh, God, he's back in a coma again." The rose withered. Think, Hogan think. His brain, numb and turning to cabbage from 13 days and 5 hours of inactivity, tried to process the scenario. "Aha!" He snapped his fingers. "Get Carter!"


"Schultz, what do you need me for? I'm depressed and lethargic." Carter and Schultz were now trudging across the compound.

"Something about Newkirk and a coma."

Carter looked confused. "Newkirk?"

"Your best friend," Schultz reminded him. Carter still had a blank look. "Your buddy. The magician. The safecracker. The one who always teases you, and…"

"Stop. Does he have an English accent?"


"About this high, wears a blue jacket, and likes overcooked vegetables?"


"Plays a mean granny?"


"My best…" The light dawned in Carter's eyes, and his feet began to move faster through the camp, leaving Schultz huffing and puffing in his wake as the forsythia next to the rec hall bloomed a bright yellow.

"I'm here, sir." Carter stopped as he saw Hochstetter and Einstein. "Who are they?" he whispered.

"You remember Major Hochstetter, Carter?"

"Hochstetter, Hochstetter… Bah?"

"And this is Major Einstein. He wants us to wake Newkirk out of his coma, so he can take him away again, for goodness knows what."

"You can't let them do that, Colonel! He's my best buddy!"

"He iz what we are looking for," Einstein stated.

"He's sick, and hurt, and he has a cold. Carter, you have to wake him, one way or another. Or we'll lose a British actor, and they're good for ratings."

Carter wiped a tear and sat on the cot. He took Newkirk's hand in his. "Newkirk, I'm here for ya buddy. I know you tease me and make fun of me and say nasty things sometimes that aren't even in the script, but deep down, I know you're my best buddy and I let ya do that, because I know it helps your morale and all that stuff…I mean, I'm really not that stupid." Newkirk remained still. "It's not working, Colonel. What if he…"

"Don't think that, Carter. Keep trying."

"Newkirk. We need you. Nothing can go on without you. Who'll go get the replacement radio parts? Things are so dull around here…we haven't had a mission in almost two weeks. The camp doesn't even look right without you. Please."

"Look out the window!" Everyone except Carter turned. Klink pointed. A tree, barely visible through the bars, had leaves that had turned a bright green. "Amazing," Klink said.

"He squeezed my hand! Come on, Peter."

"Andrew, is that you?"

"Yes! Open your eyes."


"Ugh." Carter wiped his now wet hands on his pants. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.


Newkirk opened his eyes and grabbed the handkerchief. He blew his nose and then looked around. "What 'appened?"

Hogan, now smiling, walked over. "You caught a cold, and then were almost blown up, and then got thrown into the cooler for an overextended dental visit."

"Seven hours," Klink sniffed. "Plus getting Schultz plastered." (1)

"And you fell into a coma."


"Hey look! His jacket turned blue!" Carter exclaimed. Sure enough, bit by bit, the camp was returning to living color.

"It's my sunny personality," Newkirk quipped, closing his eyes again.

"Marvelous!" Einstein let out a maniacal and evil cackle. "Now he iz mine."

"What?" Newkirk struggled to sit up. "Sorry, I missed that. Help me, Carter."

"You are what I have been looking for," Einstein repeated.

Hogan, now feeling a bit better, quickly put himself between the major and his corporal. "Over my dead body, Major!"

"That could be arranged, Colonel." Einstein pointed his gun at Hogan, eliciting a squeal from Klink and Schultz.

Carter let go of Newkirk, who fell back on the cot with a thud and a sneeze. The sergeant then jumped in between Hogan and Einstein. "No one's shooting the colonel, boy... I mean, sir. You have to go through me, first."

"Down, Carter. You dropped your best buddy." Hogan pointed at the cot.

"Oh, sorry." Carter sheepishly went back over to the cot and helped Newkirk sit back up again.

"Wait a minute," Hochstetter interrupted. "You can't do that to Hogan. I'll have no reason to yell."

"Now, let's not be hasty," Klink whined. "What exactly are your plans for Corporal Newkirk? I need to know. Paperwork, you understand."

"True. Very well, then." Einstein lowered his gun. "Corporal!"

Newkirk, eyes closed again, didn't move.

Carter reached over and shook his shoulder, making Newkirk wince.

"What?!" he asked.

"Someone wants to ask you a question, Newkirk," said Hogan.

"I'm not asking him here! I am taking him vith me!"

Newkirk reopened his eyes and looked at everyone, spotting Einstein.

"Aw, have a heart, Major," said Hogan. "Look at him…is he in any shape to get up, nevermind go anywhere?"

Newkirk gave them puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine, fine!" the major exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. "But listen carefully, und answer me truthfully, do you understand?"

Newkirk nodded. "Yes sir."

"All right…" the major knelt beside the cot.

As one, Hogan, Carter, Klink, Hochstetter, and Schultz leaned closer, their faces right beside Einstein's and each other's.

Major Einstein blinked and turned his head, scowling at them until they stood back up. "Now, Englander, I have a question."

"I know, ya said that. What is it, already?"

The Major sighed. "I vant to know how you do it."

Hogan and Carter's stomachs flopped at that, and they glanced at each other.

"Uh…do what, Major? ACHOO!"

"Bless you!" Carter threw in.

"Tell me right now," said the major, trying to ignore the wet particles on his sleeve. "I vant to know exactly how you have all these wunderbar authors fall in love vith you und vrite all the stories about you."

Newkirk blinked. That was one question he never thought he'd be asked. "Und vhy…I mean, uh, an' why wouldja wanna know that?"

Einstein stood. "Because I vant vhat you have! I crave such attention from so many beautiful frauleins! Vhat makes you better than me? Vhat?!"

Everyone looked at him like he was insane.

Newkirk tried to prop himself on one elbow, and Carter helped him. "First of all, mate, ya don't want what I have."

"I don't?"

"Are ya crackers?! They don't treat me as well as ya think!" Newkirk shook his head and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. "They torture the daylights outta me!"

Einstein frowned. "Vhy would they do such a thing?"

"It's psychological," Carter cut in. "Women enjoy lavishing care and attention on the men they love…but a healthy man can't get that attention unless he needs it…which is where the torture and physical/mental harm come in. With the man now vulnerable, the woman can then take care of him and make him all better."

Everyone stared at Carter in shock.

"Listen to 'im, 'e's exactly right," said Newkirk. "Do ya really wanna be shot, an' stabbed, an' thrown down cliffs, an' given amnesia, an' frozen 'alf to death, an' kidnapped by psychos, among other things? I've even been given the measles, for goodness sake!"

"Hey," said Carter. "How did that author know that you never had the measles as a kid?"

Newkirk shook his head. "Beats me, mate." He looked back at the major. "Anyway, that's what ya 'ave to look forward to, if ya really want what I 'ave."

Carter shook his head. "And he calls himself 'Einstein'."

The major looked at him. "It's Einstein the bagels, not Einstein the physicist!" He then looked at Newkirk. "How do I know that you are telling me the truth? Maybe you are just trying to keep them all to yourself!"

"ACHOO!" Newkirk exclaimed. He lay back down, unable to keep himself in the half-sat-up position. He was pale and sweaty, looked thinner, and had fever-flush on his cheeks. "Look at me, Major. Need I say more? Next week, I'll probably be shot again...or tomorrow, even…I never spend too much time in 'ere, the authors make sure of that, because I can't get into any trouble in the cooler. I'll definitely survive though…I'm no good to these authors dead."

Both majors seemed to realize at the same time that no, they absolutely did not want what Newkirk had…

…as one, they both ran out…screaming.

Newkirk laughed, but it turned into a nasty cough. "There. I gave 'em the what-for." He smiled, and the whole camp came alive again in glorious Technicolor.

"Great job, boy!" said Carter. He bent down and picked a flower that appeared out of thin air.

"Newkirk," said Klink.


"I believe that the author currently writing this scene is compelling me to let you out of the cooler."

"Good girl. Her, not you," said Newkirk, sitting up with Hogan's help. He stopped, and closed his eyes with a sigh. "On second thought, maybe I should stay in 'ere."

"Why?" they all asked, without thinking.

"Because it probably means that I'm about to be tortured again in some way!" Newkirk opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. "Why me? Why—"

Suddenly, he fell over into a coma again.

Hogan caught him, with a sigh. "I wonder which author just did that?"

…of this story, not any future Newkirk torture. ROTFL!

(1) Happiness Is A Warm Sergeant, season one.