ext_374050 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
rose-of-pollux.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2011-03-12 10:42 pm
rose-of-pollux.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2011-03-12 10:42 pm
[March 12th] [Hogan's Heroes] The Code of Thievery
Title: The Code of Thievery
Day/Theme: March 12th - There's a Fine Line Between One's Good Points and Bad Points
Series: Hogan's Heroes
Characters: Corporal Peter Newkirk, Andrew Carter, Louis LeBeau
Rating: T (WWII-era fandom, violence)
Author’s Note: This vignette was inspired by today’s 31_days prompt: “There's a Fine Line Between One's Good Points and Bad Points.” Also, I have this vignette taking place in November of 1942, when Carter was still relatively new to the team and when the team was more focused on rescuing downed fliers rather than sabotage, which explains some of Newkirk’s thought process later on. As always, the characters aren’t mine, and the story is.
*********************************
Bavaria, Germany; November 3, 1942
Throughout the course of history, thieves have always had a code of honor. Granted, it was always something of an unwritten code, and, like the Pirate Code, the rules were more “guidelines” than anything else and were open to personal interpretation, but Peter Newkirk followed his own set of rules whenever he engaged in thievery—which had been. He was no classy, gentleman thief by any means, but this rascally rogue did have morals. And as he and two best friends paused just outside of Colonel Feldkamp’s headquarters in Hammelburg, waiting to infiltrate the dark corridors within, he found himself being forced to reassess his own code, which was rather simple. There were only three rules in the Peter Newkirk Code of Thievery, after all.
Rule number one was never to steal anything on what would’ve been Mum’s birthday or the anniversary of her death. Newkirk had never stolen anything while she was alive; he hadn’t needed to, and, if he had, Elizabeth Newkirk would’ve nipped it in the bud faster than he could’ve said “Cor blimey!” And while Peter was not one to admit that he believed in ghosts, he decided that it was on those two days that he would not steal. The remaining 363 days, however, were fair game.
Well, that didn’t matter tonight, thankfully; tonight wasn’t linked to his mother in any way. Even if it had, though, he would’ve made an exception in this case. This time, it was part of a mission, and lives were at stake—not just his own life, but those of his closest friends. And that led to rule number two.
Rule number two was never to steal anything from his best mates—well, steal and not return, that is; Newkirk’s rare pranks sometimes consisted of making his friends’ possessions go missing, but always temporarily. He would never even consider stealing from his friends with the intent to fatten his own pockets. Some things in life had to be sacred, and to Newkirk, his friends were just that.
That rule didn’t apply in this current situation, either, though; this theft he was about to commit was on a complete stranger, and the object he was taking would, in fact, save the lives of his friends.
Oh, it was a valuable object, though not at first glance—it was a roll of film. But in it was incriminating evidence; some transient German officer (an ardent spy sent by suspicious superiors) had arrived in Stalag 13, ordering Klink around and keeping him busy (despite being a captain, though, really, a lieutenant could’ve done it). The captain wasted no time in snooping around the stalag as he had been ordered. The Heroes had taken the precaution of temporarily suspending their operations, and they nearly would’ve gotten away with it had the captain not tripped over the rug in Klink’s quarters and crashed into the stove; the angle of his collision had been the one angle that caused the stove to move on its hinge, revealing the tunnel entrance trapdoor beneath it.
All madness had broken loose at that point. The captain was in the tunnels, taking pictures of everything down there. And as it had all happened during roll call, precious time had been wasted; by the time the Heroes all headed down into the tunnels to jump him, it was too late. He had gone. Olsen gave the news that he had seen a very puzzled but relieved Klink trying to stop the captain from leaving, but to no avail. It took Colonel Hogan only a moment to determine what to do, and his subsequent orders to Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter had no sugarcoating on them.
“Get that film back and replace it with this,” he said, handing Newkirk another roll of film. “And then get rid him, or else we’re all as good as dead.”
There was no declining this mission, and the trio was soon off and in disguise, following the captain.
And as the three discussed about how they only had a limited time, and that the rest of their comrades were packing up even as they spoke, Newkirk didn’t give much thought to his personal Code of Thievery. He was concerned as his comrades about the possibility of this being their final mission, one way or another, this would be their final mission. Even if they silenced the captain, there was every chance in the world that they would still have to flee for their lives if Feldkamp, or anyone else, got so much as a look at the film.
But it was only when LeBeau pulled the car up to the looming building that Newkirk was reminded of rule number three—that he would never inflict any harm on anyone during a robbery. Never once in all of his times as a cat burglar in London had Newkirk ever used a weapon, even though he always carried his “pencil sharpener.” Even since coming to Stalag 13 and taking part in the missions, he had usually avoided armed robbery here, as well, if he could avoid it. But even on the odd missions where he had committed armed robbery, he had never killed anyone.
But Hogan’s orders had been quite clear. That was going to have to change right now if he had any hope of ensuring the safety of his mates. And Newkirk did not need to debate the situation for more than two seconds—his mates’ lives trumped everything, including his own life.
“Keep the motor running, Louis,” Newkirk said, quietly, as he (dressed as a lieutenant) and Carter (dressed as a corporal) got out of the car they had “borrowed” from the motor pool.
The Frenchman, also in disguise as an enemy corporal, nodded, knowing that he would have a very difficult time with trying to pass as a German—especially with his thick French accent.
Carter was pale behind the false mustache he was wearing; the younger American hadn’t been with the team very long, and the prospect of walking in that building to steal the film was very daunting. His pockets were full of smokescreen charges in the event that they would have to make a quick escape.
Newkirk’s face was set with determination as he led Carter inside. The trick was, of course, acting like he belonged there—walking with his eyes straight ahead and head held high, keeping a snooty expression on his face. Carter took his lead and imitated him, remaining silent as Newkirk gruffly asked someone where the captain in question had gone.
“He is waiting for Colonel Feldkamp, outside his office,” the man replied.
Newkirk thanked him and led Carter to the office. He had the decoy film in his hand, and the switch itself took an instant—he “accidentally” collided with the captain and pulled off the switch without the captain even realizing what had happened.
Carter gave Newkirk a look, indicating that they had to get the captain away so that they could decide what to do with him. The sergeant still held onto the idea that maybe, they could dump him off with the Underground and have them ship him off to England for the remainder of the war.
Cynical Newkirk, on the other hand, was certain that they could never pull off a kidnap job—not in the middle of the secret police headquarters, anyway—and that Hogan’s orders were to kill the man.
The Englishman responded to Carter’s look with a shake of his head, though he did agree that if they were going to dispatch of the captain, it would be best to do it elsewhere than in the middle of the corridor.
Carter bit his lip as Newkirk turned back to address the captain.
“Excuse me, Sir, but if you could possibly…”
Newkirk trailed off as the captain turned to him, his eyes widening in recognition.
“You…” he hissed. “You are one of the Englishmen from Stalag 13!”
“Run, Andrew!” Newkirk hissed, turning to go.
“HALT!”
The captain seized Newkirk by the collar of his uniform and cuffed him on the back of the head, calling for backup from anyone within earshot and ordering them to attack the infiltrators.
Carter panicked, and did the first thing that came to his mind—he lit a smokescreen charge and started yelling that there was a fire. The captain cursed as smoke filled the corridor, and Newkirk saw his chance to elbow him in the ribs.
The captain let him go as he grunted in pain, and Newkirk now turned on him, drawing the weapon Hogan had supplied him with, but soon found himself facing the captain’s own weapon.
For one second, the captain and the corporal stood face to face with their guns pointed at each other—one second that seemed like an eternity. They stood as a perfect contrast, perfect opposites.
Newkirk snapped himself out of it as he looked into the captain’s cold eyes and saw the unfeeling hatred and lack of remorse. In what was another second—nay, a fraction of a second—the Englishman recalled something that Hogan had once told him when their fledgling operation had just gotten started and Newkirk had been complaining about how he hadn’t been doing much of anything other than running around stealing things.
“Don’t think of it as stealing, Newkirk. You’re fighting—fighting a war. You’re a soldier first.”
Newkirk brought himself back to the present and didn’t even think about it a second more. His finger started squeeze down on the trigger, but he froze as he heard a gunshot first—not from him, not from the captain, and certainly not from Carter, who was still yelling about the fire.
No, the gunshot came from the other end of the corridor, and as Newkirk looked on in stunned silence, the captain he was about to kill fell forward, motionless.
Newkirk hurriedly put his weapon away as a shocked, young private ran over, his eyes wide.
“What happened?!” he gasped. “I… I heard shouting and saw the smoke! I thought I heard someone shouting! And I heard someone order to open fire! I thought it was an arsonist, so I fired—!”
“You shot the captain!” Newkirk replied, equally stunned. “The arsonist fled down the corridor! I will get him; you try to revive the captain! And be sure to tell Colonel Feldkamp exactly what happened!”
It would be a waste of effort to try to revive the captain; even through the smoke, Newkirk could see the telltale hue to the man’s face. He was dead.
“Come, Carterhoff!” Newkirk ordered, just refraining from dragging the stunned Carter through the smokescreen.
They didn’t stop to catch their breath; they couldn’t afford to with men swarming all around them, heading for the corridor they had just left. They got out of the building as quickly as they could, much to the relief of the worried LeBeau who had seen the smoke coming out of a hall window and had assumed the worst.
“Mission accomplished,” Newkirk gasped, once he and Carter inside and LeBeau had driven off. “I’ve got the film, and the captain is dead!”
“And we weren’t the ones who killed him!” Carter said, still in disbelief.
The American launched into the story for the Frenchman’s benefit.
“You should’ve seen it, though,” he finished. “If that private hadn’t come along when he did, Newkirk would’ve gone through with it!”
“Too right,” the Englishman sighed. “Didn’t really ‘ave a choice, did I?”
“Well, at least be grateful that you did not have to kill him,” LeBeau said, with a shake of his head. “There is no way to link Stalag 13 to his death, and you can be just an ordinary, honorable thief.”
Newkirk mused for a moment. As far as he was concerned, he hadn’t violated any of the three rules of the Peter Newkirk Code of Thievery. But perhaps it was time to put aside that code aside in favor of a new one.
“Not just an honorable thief, little mate,” he said at last, a wan smile on his face as he recalled Hogan’s words again. “An honorable solider, too.”
Day/Theme: March 12th - There's a Fine Line Between One's Good Points and Bad Points
Series: Hogan's Heroes
Characters: Corporal Peter Newkirk, Andrew Carter, Louis LeBeau
Rating: T (WWII-era fandom, violence)
Author’s Note: This vignette was inspired by today’s 31_days prompt: “There's a Fine Line Between One's Good Points and Bad Points.” Also, I have this vignette taking place in November of 1942, when Carter was still relatively new to the team and when the team was more focused on rescuing downed fliers rather than sabotage, which explains some of Newkirk’s thought process later on. As always, the characters aren’t mine, and the story is.
Bavaria, Germany; November 3, 1942
Throughout the course of history, thieves have always had a code of honor. Granted, it was always something of an unwritten code, and, like the Pirate Code, the rules were more “guidelines” than anything else and were open to personal interpretation, but Peter Newkirk followed his own set of rules whenever he engaged in thievery—which had been. He was no classy, gentleman thief by any means, but this rascally rogue did have morals. And as he and two best friends paused just outside of Colonel Feldkamp’s headquarters in Hammelburg, waiting to infiltrate the dark corridors within, he found himself being forced to reassess his own code, which was rather simple. There were only three rules in the Peter Newkirk Code of Thievery, after all.
Rule number one was never to steal anything on what would’ve been Mum’s birthday or the anniversary of her death. Newkirk had never stolen anything while she was alive; he hadn’t needed to, and, if he had, Elizabeth Newkirk would’ve nipped it in the bud faster than he could’ve said “Cor blimey!” And while Peter was not one to admit that he believed in ghosts, he decided that it was on those two days that he would not steal. The remaining 363 days, however, were fair game.
Well, that didn’t matter tonight, thankfully; tonight wasn’t linked to his mother in any way. Even if it had, though, he would’ve made an exception in this case. This time, it was part of a mission, and lives were at stake—not just his own life, but those of his closest friends. And that led to rule number two.
Rule number two was never to steal anything from his best mates—well, steal and not return, that is; Newkirk’s rare pranks sometimes consisted of making his friends’ possessions go missing, but always temporarily. He would never even consider stealing from his friends with the intent to fatten his own pockets. Some things in life had to be sacred, and to Newkirk, his friends were just that.
That rule didn’t apply in this current situation, either, though; this theft he was about to commit was on a complete stranger, and the object he was taking would, in fact, save the lives of his friends.
Oh, it was a valuable object, though not at first glance—it was a roll of film. But in it was incriminating evidence; some transient German officer (an ardent spy sent by suspicious superiors) had arrived in Stalag 13, ordering Klink around and keeping him busy (despite being a captain, though, really, a lieutenant could’ve done it). The captain wasted no time in snooping around the stalag as he had been ordered. The Heroes had taken the precaution of temporarily suspending their operations, and they nearly would’ve gotten away with it had the captain not tripped over the rug in Klink’s quarters and crashed into the stove; the angle of his collision had been the one angle that caused the stove to move on its hinge, revealing the tunnel entrance trapdoor beneath it.
All madness had broken loose at that point. The captain was in the tunnels, taking pictures of everything down there. And as it had all happened during roll call, precious time had been wasted; by the time the Heroes all headed down into the tunnels to jump him, it was too late. He had gone. Olsen gave the news that he had seen a very puzzled but relieved Klink trying to stop the captain from leaving, but to no avail. It took Colonel Hogan only a moment to determine what to do, and his subsequent orders to Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter had no sugarcoating on them.
“Get that film back and replace it with this,” he said, handing Newkirk another roll of film. “And then get rid him, or else we’re all as good as dead.”
There was no declining this mission, and the trio was soon off and in disguise, following the captain.
And as the three discussed about how they only had a limited time, and that the rest of their comrades were packing up even as they spoke, Newkirk didn’t give much thought to his personal Code of Thievery. He was concerned as his comrades about the possibility of this being their final mission, one way or another, this would be their final mission. Even if they silenced the captain, there was every chance in the world that they would still have to flee for their lives if Feldkamp, or anyone else, got so much as a look at the film.
But it was only when LeBeau pulled the car up to the looming building that Newkirk was reminded of rule number three—that he would never inflict any harm on anyone during a robbery. Never once in all of his times as a cat burglar in London had Newkirk ever used a weapon, even though he always carried his “pencil sharpener.” Even since coming to Stalag 13 and taking part in the missions, he had usually avoided armed robbery here, as well, if he could avoid it. But even on the odd missions where he had committed armed robbery, he had never killed anyone.
But Hogan’s orders had been quite clear. That was going to have to change right now if he had any hope of ensuring the safety of his mates. And Newkirk did not need to debate the situation for more than two seconds—his mates’ lives trumped everything, including his own life.
“Keep the motor running, Louis,” Newkirk said, quietly, as he (dressed as a lieutenant) and Carter (dressed as a corporal) got out of the car they had “borrowed” from the motor pool.
The Frenchman, also in disguise as an enemy corporal, nodded, knowing that he would have a very difficult time with trying to pass as a German—especially with his thick French accent.
Carter was pale behind the false mustache he was wearing; the younger American hadn’t been with the team very long, and the prospect of walking in that building to steal the film was very daunting. His pockets were full of smokescreen charges in the event that they would have to make a quick escape.
Newkirk’s face was set with determination as he led Carter inside. The trick was, of course, acting like he belonged there—walking with his eyes straight ahead and head held high, keeping a snooty expression on his face. Carter took his lead and imitated him, remaining silent as Newkirk gruffly asked someone where the captain in question had gone.
“He is waiting for Colonel Feldkamp, outside his office,” the man replied.
Newkirk thanked him and led Carter to the office. He had the decoy film in his hand, and the switch itself took an instant—he “accidentally” collided with the captain and pulled off the switch without the captain even realizing what had happened.
Carter gave Newkirk a look, indicating that they had to get the captain away so that they could decide what to do with him. The sergeant still held onto the idea that maybe, they could dump him off with the Underground and have them ship him off to England for the remainder of the war.
Cynical Newkirk, on the other hand, was certain that they could never pull off a kidnap job—not in the middle of the secret police headquarters, anyway—and that Hogan’s orders were to kill the man.
The Englishman responded to Carter’s look with a shake of his head, though he did agree that if they were going to dispatch of the captain, it would be best to do it elsewhere than in the middle of the corridor.
Carter bit his lip as Newkirk turned back to address the captain.
“Excuse me, Sir, but if you could possibly…”
Newkirk trailed off as the captain turned to him, his eyes widening in recognition.
“You…” he hissed. “You are one of the Englishmen from Stalag 13!”
“Run, Andrew!” Newkirk hissed, turning to go.
“HALT!”
The captain seized Newkirk by the collar of his uniform and cuffed him on the back of the head, calling for backup from anyone within earshot and ordering them to attack the infiltrators.
Carter panicked, and did the first thing that came to his mind—he lit a smokescreen charge and started yelling that there was a fire. The captain cursed as smoke filled the corridor, and Newkirk saw his chance to elbow him in the ribs.
The captain let him go as he grunted in pain, and Newkirk now turned on him, drawing the weapon Hogan had supplied him with, but soon found himself facing the captain’s own weapon.
For one second, the captain and the corporal stood face to face with their guns pointed at each other—one second that seemed like an eternity. They stood as a perfect contrast, perfect opposites.
Newkirk snapped himself out of it as he looked into the captain’s cold eyes and saw the unfeeling hatred and lack of remorse. In what was another second—nay, a fraction of a second—the Englishman recalled something that Hogan had once told him when their fledgling operation had just gotten started and Newkirk had been complaining about how he hadn’t been doing much of anything other than running around stealing things.
“Don’t think of it as stealing, Newkirk. You’re fighting—fighting a war. You’re a soldier first.”
Newkirk brought himself back to the present and didn’t even think about it a second more. His finger started squeeze down on the trigger, but he froze as he heard a gunshot first—not from him, not from the captain, and certainly not from Carter, who was still yelling about the fire.
No, the gunshot came from the other end of the corridor, and as Newkirk looked on in stunned silence, the captain he was about to kill fell forward, motionless.
Newkirk hurriedly put his weapon away as a shocked, young private ran over, his eyes wide.
“What happened?!” he gasped. “I… I heard shouting and saw the smoke! I thought I heard someone shouting! And I heard someone order to open fire! I thought it was an arsonist, so I fired—!”
“You shot the captain!” Newkirk replied, equally stunned. “The arsonist fled down the corridor! I will get him; you try to revive the captain! And be sure to tell Colonel Feldkamp exactly what happened!”
It would be a waste of effort to try to revive the captain; even through the smoke, Newkirk could see the telltale hue to the man’s face. He was dead.
“Come, Carterhoff!” Newkirk ordered, just refraining from dragging the stunned Carter through the smokescreen.
They didn’t stop to catch their breath; they couldn’t afford to with men swarming all around them, heading for the corridor they had just left. They got out of the building as quickly as they could, much to the relief of the worried LeBeau who had seen the smoke coming out of a hall window and had assumed the worst.
“Mission accomplished,” Newkirk gasped, once he and Carter inside and LeBeau had driven off. “I’ve got the film, and the captain is dead!”
“And we weren’t the ones who killed him!” Carter said, still in disbelief.
The American launched into the story for the Frenchman’s benefit.
“You should’ve seen it, though,” he finished. “If that private hadn’t come along when he did, Newkirk would’ve gone through with it!”
“Too right,” the Englishman sighed. “Didn’t really ‘ave a choice, did I?”
“Well, at least be grateful that you did not have to kill him,” LeBeau said, with a shake of his head. “There is no way to link Stalag 13 to his death, and you can be just an ordinary, honorable thief.”
Newkirk mused for a moment. As far as he was concerned, he hadn’t violated any of the three rules of the Peter Newkirk Code of Thievery. But perhaps it was time to put aside that code aside in favor of a new one.
“Not just an honorable thief, little mate,” he said at last, a wan smile on his face as he recalled Hogan’s words again. “An honorable solider, too.”