Hogan's Heroes Show, 3419 Hayhurst Lane Southfield, Miami, FL (2026)

07/01/2026

It was only 8:00 AM, and Klink was already humming a waltz.

Hogan knew immediately that something was terribly wrong.

German commandants only hummed when they were about to be promoted, or when someone was about to be shot.

Hogan preferred the first option, but he always planned for the second.

He climbed down the ladder into the underground communications room.

He stopped at the bottom rung.

LeBeau and Newkirk were standing in the middle of the room.

Between them was a massive, chaotic, absurdly knotted ball of thick black wire.

It looked like a giant mechanical spider had died mid-jump.

"I am afraid to ask," Hogan said, stepping off the ladder.

Newkirk glared at LeBeau. "Ask the Frenchman, Colonel. He’s the one who decided to 'tidy up'."

LeBeau threw his hands up, nearly strangling himself with a loop of wire. "I was organizing! It is a delicate process!"

"You’ve created a monster," Newkirk muttered, tugging a strand. "I think my wrist is permanently attached to this."

"If you pull that way, you tighten the loop around my waist!" LeBeau complained.

"Well, if I don't pull it, I'll be pulled into the floor!"

Hogan walked closer, staring at the tangled disaster. "Gentlemen, what exactly is this?"

"The new coaxial cable for the radio," Kinchloe said, not looking up from his desk in the corner. "We need it to tap the Commandant's new direct line to Berlin."

"And?" Hogan asked.

"And we need it in ten minutes," Kinchloe said smoothly. "Before the Berlin line goes active."

Hogan looked at the knot holding his men captive. "Can you untangle it in ten minutes?"

"I can’t even find the ends, Colonel," Kinchloe replied.

"We are making progress!" LeBeau insisted.

Newkirk pulled a loop, and LeBeau’s right leg je**ed forward involuntarily.

"Brilliant progress," Newkirk said dryly.

Hogan crossed his arms. "Where did we get this wire in the first place?"

"Sergeant Schultz’s supply closet," Carter chimed in, suddenly appearing from the tunnel entrance. "I borrowed it this morning."

"Did Schultz notice?" Hogan asked.

"Oh, definitely not," Carter smiled. "I swapped it with a fake wire."

Hogan blinked. "A fake wire?"

"Yeah," Carter said proudly. "I painted a bunch of licorice strings black and glued them together."

Hogan stared.

Newkirk stopped pulling the knot. "You put candy in the German supply closet?"

"It looks just like wire!" Carter protested.

"Until someone gets hungry," LeBeau muttered.

Heavy footsteps suddenly echoed above them.

The trapdoor swung open.

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz’s voice boomed down the shaft.

Hogan looked at Kinchloe. "Is the Berlin line active yet?"

"Two minutes, Colonel."

"Everybody freeze," Hogan ordered.

He climbed up the ladder, popping his head into his quarters.

Schultz was standing in the middle of the room, looking incredibly distressed.

"What is it, Schultz?" Hogan asked casually, stepping up and closing the trapdoor.

Schultz wiped sweat from his forehead. "Colonel Hogan, a terrible thing has happened."

"You missed breakfast?"

"Worse!" Schultz gasped. "Major Hochstetter is here!"

Hogan’s smile faded slightly, though his posture remained completely relaxed. "The Gestapo? Here?"

"He is with Kommandant Klink right now," Schultz said, lowering his voice to a frantic whisper. "He is inspecting the camp's security. And he wants to see the supply closet."

"Why the supply closet?"

"He believes there is a black market operation stealing communication wire!" Schultz said, his eyes wide.

Hogan kept his face entirely neutral. "That’s ridiculous, Schultz."

"I know!" Schultz agreed. "But if he looks in my closet and sees the wire is gone..."

"He’ll send you to the Russian front," Hogan finished.

Schultz gulped. "Or somewhere colder."

"Don't panic, Schultz. Your wire is perfectly safe."

"It is?"

"Of course," Hogan lied smoothly. "You just have to keep him away from the closet for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Schultz asked nervously. "How?"

"Tell him you lost the key," Hogan suggested.

"I cannot lie to the Gestapo!"

"Then tell him you ate the key," Hogan said. "Just stall him."

Schultz turned to leave, then paused. He sniffed the air.

"Colonel Hogan... why does my supply closet smell like black licorice?"

"It’s a new German cleaning solvent," Hogan said without missing a beat. "Very advanced."

"Ah. German science."

"It leaves a sweet scent to confuse Allied bombers," Hogan added.

Schultz nodded slowly. "Very clever. The bombers will think we are a candy factory."

"Exactly," Hogan said. "Now go stall the Major."

Schultz hurried out the door, humming a nervous tune.

Hogan immediately dropped back down the tunnel.

Newkirk and LeBeau were now entirely wrapped in the wire, standing practically back-to-back.

They looked like two men trapped in a giant fishing net.

"Don't move," Newkirk whispered. "If you move your elbow, it tightens around my neck."

"I am trying to breathe!" LeBeau snapped.

"We have a slight change of plans," Hogan announced. "Major Hochstetter is here."

The room went entirely silent.

"The Gestapo?" Newkirk gulped.

"He’s looking for stolen wire," Hogan said. "Carter, how quickly can you dissolve your licorice?"

"Dissolve it?" Carter asked. "With what?"

"Water, heat, anything."

"It’s industrial glue, Colonel. It’s pretty solid."

Hogan rubbed his chin. "Kinch, can we tap the line without the wire?"

"No, Colonel. Not unless we want Klink to hear us breathing on the other end."

"Right." Hogan looked at the two trapped corporals. "Bring the wire upstairs."

"Upstairs?" LeBeau squeaked.

"We can’t untangle it here in time," Hogan said. "We’ll hide it in plain sight."

"Colonel, with respect," Newkirk said, "we can’t even walk."

"Then waddle," Hogan ordered.

It took five agonizing minutes for Newkirk and LeBeau to shuffle up the ladder.

They were still securely bound together by the massive black knot.

"Left foot," Newkirk whispered loudly.

"I am using my left foot!" LeBeau hissed.

"Your other left foot!"

"I only have one left foot, you idiot!"

They finally squeezed through the trapdoor and stood awkwardly in the middle of Hogan's quarters.

The wire was wrapped around Newkirk’s waist, looping over LeBeau’s shoulder, and tangling between their legs in an impossible web.

"Beautiful," Hogan said. "Now stand near the stove."

"The stove?" LeBeau asked. "It is burning hot!"

"Exactly. If anyone asks, you're drying your laundry."

"Laundry?" Newkirk looked down at the industrial black cable. "This looks like a submarine part, Colonel."

"It’s a very thick sweater," Hogan said.

Before anyone could argue, the front door of the barracks slammed open.

"Achtung!" a guard shouted.

Colonel Klink strode into the room, his monocle shining.

Behind him was Major Hochstetter, looking furiously impatient.

"Hogan!" Klink barked. "Fall your men in for inspection!"

Hogan smiled warmly. "Commandant Klink. Major Hochstetter. To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Save your charm, Hogan," Hochstetter sneered. "We are conducting a search for stolen communication equipment."

"Equipment?" Hogan looked shocked. "Here? In Stalag 13?"

"The finest camp in Germany!" Klink added nervously. "No one has ever successfully stolen anything from Stalag 13!"

"We shall see," Hochstetter said.

He began pacing around the room.

He checked under the bunks.

He opened the footlockers.

He walked dangerously close to the stove.

Newkirk and LeBeau stood perfectly still.

They were sweating profusely.

The massive wire knot was practically vibrating between them as they tried to maintain their balance.

Hochstetter stopped.

He slowly looked Newkirk up and down.

He looked at LeBeau.

He stared directly at the giant black cable wrapped around them.

"What is this?" Hochstetter whispered dangerously.

"Just staying warm, Herr Major," Newkirk smiled weakly.

"We get terrible drafts in here," LeBeau added.

Hochstetter turned slowly to Klink.

"Klink," Hochstetter said quietly. "Are your prisoners wearing military-grade coaxial cable as clothing?"

Klink stepped forward, his face turning incredibly pale.

"I... I can explain, Major," Klink stammered.

"Please do," Hochstetter said, his voice dripping with venom.

"Hogan?" Klink squeaked, turning desperately to the American. "Explain."

Hogan stepped smoothly between the Gestapo officer and the terrified prisoners.

"It's quite simple, Major," Hogan said calmly. "It's an art project."

"An art project?" Hochstetter exploded.

"Yes," Hogan nodded. "The Commandant encouraged it. It keeps morale high. We call it 'The Futility of War'."

Hochstetter’s face turned bright red.

"You are mocking the Third Reich!"

"Not at all," Hogan said. "We made it out of licorice."

Hochstetter froze. "Licorice?"

"Yes," Hogan said. "Carter, show him."

Carter quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, leftover piece of his glued licorice string.

He handed it directly to the Gestapo major.

Hochstetter glared at it.

He cautiously brought it to his nose and sniffed.

His eyes widened slightly. "It... it actually smells like candy."

"Exactly," Hogan said. "It's completely harmless."

Hochstetter looked back at the giant knot on Newkirk and LeBeau.

"You built a giant ball of candy?"

"Prison life is very boring, Major," Newkirk chimed in.

Hochstetter threw the small piece on the ground in disgust.

"Bah! This is a complete waste of my time!"

He turned aggressively to Klink. "Your camp is a madhouse, Klink!"

"But a secure madhouse, Herr Major!" Klink smiled nervously.

"I am going to check the main supply closet right now," Hochstetter declared. "If I find one piece of candy in there instead of wire, you will be joining the Russian front!"

Hochstetter stormed out of the barracks, letting the door slam behind him.

Klink glared at Hogan. "Licorice? Really, Hogan?"

"You know how creative the men get, Commandant."

Klink shook his head and hurried out after the Major.

As soon as the door closed, Hogan exhaled.

"Alright, Kinch," Hogan called out. "Did we get it?"

Kinchloe poked his head out of the trapdoor.

"We got it, Colonel. The line is tapped."

"How?" Newkirk asked, completely bewildered. "The wire is up here with us."

"I used the licorice," Kinchloe said dryly.

Hogan stared. "You used candy to tap a German military radio?"

"The sugar acts as a temporary conductor," Kinchloe shrugged. "It’ll hold for about an hour before it melts into a puddle."

Hogan smiled.

"Gentlemen," Hogan said. "I think we just achieved a very sweet victory."

LeBeau groaned in pain. "Can someone please cut us out of this now?"

Newkirk pulled a stubborn strand.

LeBeau instantly fell over onto the floor.

06/30/2026

The sound of thirty pounds of solid steel hitting the dry earth was loud enough to reach London.

Carter froze.

His hands remained hovered in the air, shaping the exact empty space where the giant wire cutters had been a second ago. His mouth hung slightly open in a silent, panicked "uh oh."

Klink blinked, adjusting his monocle.

"What in the world was that noise?"

Hogan didn't hesitate. He stepped smoothly in front of Klink, dropping his shoulder to physically block the Commandant's downward view.

He threw his arm straight up toward the clouds, pointing dramatically.

"Look at that, Colonel!" Hogan shouted.

Klink leaned back, automatically following Hogan’s finger toward the empty blue sky. He tapped his riding crop against his leg.

"Look at what, Hogan?"

"The altitude!" Hogan said smoothly.

Carter remained trapped in his awkward crouch. He stared at the massive metal wire cutters lying openly in the dirt, right between Hogan’s boots and Klink’s perfectly polished riding boots.

"Altitude?" Klink squinted at the sky. "What altitude?"

"Of that Allied reconnaissance plane, sir," Hogan said, his voice entirely calm. "A P-51 Mustang, I believe. Taking direct photographs of Stalag 13."

Klink’s posture instantly changed. He puffed out his chest and adjusted his collar.

"Photographs? Of my camp?"

"They consider you a high-priority threat, sir," Hogan nodded.

Klink smiled proudly at the clouds. "Well. It is to be expected. Wilhelm Klink has never failed to keep his prisoners secure."

Inside the barracks, fifty yards away, Newkirk let the window curtain drop.

He turned back to the room.

"Well, that’s it, then," Newkirk said. "Carter’s dead. It was nice knowing him. I call dibs on his extra blanket."

Kinchloe looked up from the hidden radio hidden under the bunk. His face was perfectly calm.

"What happened?" Kinchloe asked.

"Carter just dropped the heavy-duty wire cutters right on the Commandant's toes," Newkirk sighed. "Right out in the open."

LeBeau stopped stirring a pot of soup on the small stove. He wiped his hands on his apron.

"Out in the open? But we need those to cut the underground communication cable before Klink turns on his new security fence!"

"I am aware of our schedule, LeBeau," Kinchloe said, adjusting his headset. "London is waiting for the signal. We have ten minutes."

"We won't have ten seconds if Klink looks down," Newkirk muttered.

Out in the courtyard, Klink was starting to get a stiff neck.

"I do not see any airplane, Hogan."

"It is using the new invisible cloud-cover tactic, sir," Hogan replied. "Very top secret. Carter, isn't that right?"

Carter je**ed upward. "Uh! Yes! Very invisible, sir. You can't see it at all. That's how you know it's there!"

Klink frowned, finally lowering his chin.

Hogan immediately shifted his stance, sliding his left boot completely over the metal handles of the giant cutters.

"In fact, sir," Hogan said quickly, "I think it went behind the guard tower."

Before Klink could turn, heavy footsteps crunched against the dirt.

Sergeant Schultz waddled into the courtyard, holding his rifle awkwardly across his large stomach.

"Herr Kommandant!" Schultz beamed. "The engineers have finished! The new electrified underground cable is fully connected to the main grid!"

"Excellent, Schultz!" Klink proclaimed. "An impenetrable web of security. No one will ever tamper with Stalag 13's communications again."

Schultz smiled, but as he stepped closer, his eyes drifted downward.

He stopped.

He stared at the massive metal jaws of the wire cutters sticking out from under Hogan’s boot.

Schultz blinked. He looked up at Hogan.

Hogan smiled pleasantly.

Schultz looked at Carter.

Carter was sweating so heavily his leather jacket looked wet.

Schultz slowly closed his eyes.

"I see nothing," Schultz whispered to himself.

"What was that, Schultz?" Klink barked.

Schultz opened his eyes and stared firmly at a completely empty patch of sky.

"I said, I see nothing in the sky, Herr Kommandant! It is a beautiful day to know absolutely nothing!"

"Fool," Klink muttered. He turned back to Hogan. "Now, Hogan, as I was saying. My new security cable—"

"Will require routine testing, of course," Hogan interrupted.

"Testing?"

"To ensure it cannot be cut," Hogan said. He took a single step toward Klink, forcing Klink to step backward.

The wire cutters were now exposed in the dirt again.

Inside the barracks, LeBeau had a piece of fishing line tied to a metal hook.

"I am going under the floorboards," LeBeau said. "I can cast the hook and pull the cutters back."

"You're going to fish for heavy machinery in broad daylight?" Newkirk asked.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Yes," Newkirk said. "We surrender. It’s much less stressful."

Kinchloe tapped the radio dial.

"Stop complaining and start fishing, LeBeau. Seven minutes until Klink throws the power switch."

Back in the courtyard, Hogan was giving Klink a masterclass in distraction.

"You see, Colonel, the Allies are developing specialized, heavy-duty wire cutters. Massive things. Capable of slicing through anything."

"Bah!" Klink waved his hand. "German engineering is superior to any wire cutter!"

"I don't know, sir," Hogan said, shaking his head. "I've heard these new tools are incredibly heavy. Hard to carry. Easy to drop."

Carter let out a small, terrified squeak.

Klink glared at Carter. "What is wrong with your man, Hogan? He looks ill."

"Combat fatigue, sir," Hogan said smoothly. "He is very intimidated by your presence."

Klink smiled. "As well he should be. Discipline!"

Underneath the barracks floorboards, LeBeau slid through the dust.

He peeked out through the wooden slats. He could see Klink’s boots, Hogan’s boots, and the massive wire cutters lying in the dirt between them.

LeBeau tossed his metal hook.

It landed with a soft clink right next to the cutters.

Klink paused. "Did you hear something?"

"A cricket, sir," Hogan said.

"A metallic cricket?" Klink asked suspiciously.

"A very resilient cricket," Hogan confirmed.

LeBeau pulled the fishing line. The hook caught the handle of the wire cutters.

He began to pull.

The heavy metal tool began to slide slowly across the dirt, dragging a small trench behind it.

06/30/2026

It was not the first time Colonel Hogan had to smile at a German officer, but it was definitely the first time he had to do it while doing the splits over an open tunnel shaft.

Klink leaned down, his monocle catching the afternoon sun.

"Fascinating," Klink muttered.

Hogan didn't move a muscle.

"Isn't it, Kommandant?" Hogan said.

Klink squinted at the dirt exactly two inches from Hogan's left boot.

"I have a highly trained eye, Hogan. The Gestapo themselves have praised my observational skills."

"They probably send you letters every week."

"They would, if they weren't so busy." Klink adjusted his collar. "But mark my words, I will find it."

"Find what, exactly?"

"General Burkhalter's customized pocket watch. He dropped it somewhere in this courtyard."

Beneath Hogan's boots, a wooden trapdoor hovered two inches above the dirt. It was jammed.

Hogan could hear faint, frantic whispering coming from the dark gap between his shoes.

"Pull it, you bloody idiot!" That was Newkirk.

"It's stuck on a root!" Carter's voice echoed faintly.

Hogan cleared his throat loudly to cover the noise.

"You know, Kommandant, standing out here in the sun isn't good for your complexion."

Klink stood up straight and rubbed his chin.

"Nonsense. A man of my iron constitution does not fear the sun. But why are you standing like that?"

Hogan looked down at his incredibly wide stance.

"Calisthenics."

Klink raised an eyebrow.

"In the middle of the courtyard?"

"American military doctrine, sir. Keeps the hips loose. Readiness is everything."

Klink scoffed.

"Ridiculous. Move aside, Hogan. I need to inspect that patch of dirt."

Hogan shifted his weight, keeping his boots firmly planted on either side of the open wood gap.

"I wouldn't step here, Kommandant."

"And why not?"

"Sinkhole. Very unstable."

Before Klink could process that, the barracks door opened. Schultz waddled out, holding a clipboard.

"Herr Kommandant!"

Klink snapped around.

"What is it, Schultz? Can't you see I am conducting a microscopic search?"

Schultz looked at Klink. Then he looked at Hogan. He looked down at Hogan's feet.

Schultz's eyes went wide.

"I see nothing!" Schultz yelled.

He immediately turned around and started walking back to the barracks.

"Schultz, halt!" Klink barked.

Schultz stopped, his shoulders slumping. He turned back slowly.

"Yes, Herr Kommandant."

"Did you check the perimeter for the General's watch?"

"I checked everywhere. Under the trucks. In the kitchen. I even checked the strudel."

"You ate the strudel, didn't you?"

Schultz smiled nervously.

"It was a very thorough search."

Hogan felt a sharp poke against his right ankle. Someone below was trying to pry the door shut with a crowbar.

"Careful with the toes down there," Hogan mumbled.

"What was that?" Klink asked.

"I said, the crows are everywhere. Bad omen."

Kinchloe's voice drifted up from the gap.

"Colonel, the hinge is busted. We need three seconds of clearance to yank it down."

Hogan kept his polite smile locked on Klink.

"Kommandant, I have a theory about this watch."

Klink tapped his riding crop against his leg.

"I do not need theories from prisoners. I need results."

"Of course. But what if the watch wasn't dropped?"

Klink paused.

"What are you implying?"

"I'm just saying, Major Hochstetter was in the courtyard this morning. And he did admire the General's punctuality."

Klink's eyes widened.

"Hochstetter? A thief? That is a dangerous accusation, Hogan."

"I'm not accusing anyone. I'm just making an observation. Much like your Gestapo-level skills."

Klink puffed out his chest.

"It is true that Hochstetter has always been jealous of my spotless record."

"Exactly."

"And he was standing near the gate..."

06/30/2026

Kinchloe stopped breathing.

It wasn’t the first time he had faced a firing squad, but it was certainly the most ridiculous way to earn one.

A fully operational Allied radio transmitter sat wide open on the wooden tavern table.

Sergeant Hans Schultz stood right next to it, happily chugging a massive stein of dark beer.

"Ah," Schultz wiped his mouth with his thick wool sleeve. "Nothing like a cold beer after a long patrol."

He hadn't looked down. Yet.

Kinchloe kept his face completely blank.
"Schultz," Kinchloe said softly. "Maybe you should close the lid on that case."

Schultz patted his large stomach.
"Why? The fresh air is good for the leather."

"It's bad for my health," Kinchloe muttered.

Colonel Hogan leaned against the bar across the room.

He took one look at the exposed radio dials and casually walked over.
He didn’t run. He didn’t panic.

Hogan smiled warmly.
"Beautiful day for a beverage, isn't it, Schultz?"

"Colonel Hogan! What are you doing in town?"

"Just enjoying the local culture," Hogan said. He casually tossed a pretzel into his mouth. "And admiring your luggage."

Schultz puffed out his chest proudly.
"Oh, this? I found it by the supply truck."

"Did you?" Hogan asked. "Did you look inside?"

"Not yet. I was thirsty first."

Kinchloe slowly reached his right hand toward the heavy leather lid.

Schultz playfully slapped Kinchloe's hand away.
"Nein! Protocol, Kinchloe. I must inventory the contents before I turn it in."

"I wouldn't do that," Hogan said smoothly.

"Why not?"

"It might be classified."

Before Schultz could answer, the tavern door violently swung open.

Colonel Klink marched inside, tapping his riding crop aggressively against his black boots.

"Schultz!" Klink barked.

Schultz jumped. A splash of beer hit the table, missing the radio tubes by half an inch.
"Herr Kommandant!"

Klink marched straight toward their table.
"What are you doing drinking on duty?"

"I am not on duty, Herr Kommandant! I am simply... inspecting the local brew for safety."

Klink narrowed his eyes. He adjusted his monocle.
"And what is that?" Klink pointed his crop directly at the open briefcase.

Hogan smoothly stepped between Klink and the table.

"Just a minor misunderstanding, Colonel," Hogan said.

Klink scoffed.
"A misunderstanding? It looks exactly like a briefcase."

"It is a briefcase," Kinchloe said, his voice flat.

"I know it's a briefcase!" Klink snapped.

From the next booth, Newkirk leaned back.
"Then why did you ask, sir?"

Klink glared.
"Silence!"

Klink shoved his way past Hogan and stood right in front of the table.

Schultz smiled nervously, gripping his beer stein like a shield.
"It is just lost property, Herr Kommandant," Schultz offered.

"I will be the judge of that," Klink said. "Open it."

"It is already open."

"Then move your giant stomach so I can look at it!" Klink yelled.

Behind his back, Hogan snapped his fingers twice.
Across the tavern, Carter, disguised as a clumsy waiter, nodded.

06/30/2026

Colonel Wilhelm Klink rarely allowed prisoners to handle his fine china.

Today, however, Colonel Robert E. Hogan was pouring the coffee.

And Hogan was pouring it very, very slowly.

Klink stared at the silver pot.

"Hogan, what exactly are you doing?"

"Morale, sir," Hogan said, not stopping the pour. "A well-caffeinated Kommandant is a fair Kommandant."

Klink adjusted his monocle.

"Flattery will not get you extra rations."

"I was aiming for a weekend pass to Berlin."

Klink scoffed. He reached toward the large paper spread across his desk.

It was a map.

Not just any map. It was the master schematic of the Stalag 13 tunnel network.

LeBeau had dropped it ten minutes ago while dusting.

Hogan shifted his weight, leaning across the desk to expertly block Klink’s line of sight with his body and the coffee pot.

"Careful, sir. It's hot."

"I know what coffee is, Hogan."

By the door, Sergeant Hans Schultz stood perfectly still.

Schultz gripped his rifle. He looked at the map. He looked at Hogan.

Schultz closed his eyes tightly.

"Schultz, are you sleeping standing up again?" Klink barked.

Schultz’s eyes snapped open.

"No, Herr Kommandant! I am resting my eyelids for maximum vigilance!"

"Idiot," Klink muttered.

Hogan needed a distraction. Fast.

"Interesting map, Colonel," Hogan said casually, holding the cup out of reach.

Klink puffed out his chest.

"Ah, yes. General Burkhalter sent it this morning. It is the new grid for the regional supply depots."

Hogan nodded slowly.

"Looks a lot like a bunch of tunnels to me."

Klink laughed a high, nasal sound.

"Tunnels? Hogan, you are letting your imagination run wild."

"I suppose I am, sir."

Klink leaned to the right, trying to see past Hogan's sudden helpfulness.

"Though I must admit, these supply lines are drawn very strangely. Why would a depot lead directly under my stove?"

Hogan didn't blink.

"Subterranean heating, sir. Very modern."

Klink rubbed his chin.

"The Third Reich is always innovating."

The phone on the desk rang loudly.

Klink snatched it up.

"Kommandant Klink! ... Yes, Herr General. ... Now? But Herr General..."

Klink slammed the phone down. He looked pale.

"General Burkhalter is at the front gate."

Hogan whistled softly.

"He moves fast."

"He wants to review my analysis of the supply map," Klink said, his voice squeaking. "I haven't even read it yet!"

"You’re a genius, Colonel," Hogan said. "Wing it."

Down in the barracks, the atmosphere was tense.

Kinchloe sat at the radio table, headphones resting around his neck.

"Burkhalter's staff car just pulled up."

Newkirk groaned, leaning against the bunk.

"Blimey. And the Guv'nor is still in Klink's office with the grand design?"

"Sitting right on the desk," Kinchloe said calmly.

Carter jumped up from his bunk.

"Gosh, guys! If Burkhalter sees that map, he'll know exactly where all the trapdoors are!"

"Brilliant deduction, Carter," Newkirk muttered.

LeBeau paced the floor.

"It is my fault! I was polishing the globe, and the paper just slipped!"

"Relax, LeBeau," Kinchloe said. "Colonel Hogan isn't going to let Burkhalter see that map."

"How's he going to stop him?" Carter asked. "Eat it?"

Newkirk raised an eyebrow.

"With Klink's coffee? It’d be the best-tasting thing in the room."

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside Klink's office.

"He is here!" Klink panicked, straightening his tunic.

"Schultz! Stand at attention!"

Schultz stiffened so hard his helmet rattled.

The door swung open.

General Burkhalter marched in, his face set in a permanent scowl.

"Klink."

"Herr General!" Klink clicked his heels. "What an unexpected honor."

Burkhalter glared at Hogan.

"What is he doing here?"

"Just pouring the coffee, General," Hogan said, holding up the pot. "Cup?"

"I do not drink coffee with prisoners."

"More for us," Hogan smiled.

Burkhalter turned his heavy gaze to Klink.

"I am not here for social hour, Klink. I want your report on the new supply map."

Klink swallowed hard.

"Of course, Herr General. It is... right here."

Klink gestured to the desk.

The tunnel map sat there, plain as day.

Hogan stood frozen.

He had run out of time. He needed a disaster.

06/29/2026

Newkirk had survived the Blitz, three POW camps, and LeBeau's experimental cabbage soup, but he had never smiled quite like this.

He was smiling like a man who was already dead.

Sergeant Hans Schultz stood inches away, staring at the ceiling and complaining about his feet.

"My boots are shrinking, Newkirk. The war is shrinking my boots."

Newkirk kept his hands locked behind his back.

"Tragic, Schultzy. A real tragedy. You should probably go sit down in the guardhouse."

Schultz waved a thick hand dismissively.

His fingers brushed against the grey wool blanket of the lower bunk.

Resting on that blanket, exactly two inches from Schultz's thumb, was a perfectly forged, dark blue civilian passport.

It had a gold stamp on the front.

It belonged to an underground contact waiting in town.

If Schultz looked down, the war was over for all of them.

"I cannot sit, Newkirk," Schultz sighed, shifting his rifle. "Kommandant Klink is in a mood. He is expecting an inspector."

"All the more reason to go patrol the perimeter," Newkirk squeaked.

His voice was an octave too high.

The barracks door opened.

Colonel Hogan walked in, carrying a clipboard.

He took exactly two steps before his eyes locked onto the blue passport.

Hogan didn't stop. He didn't blink.

He just smoothly adjusted his course and leaned against the bunk next to Newkirk.

"Afternoon, Schultz," Hogan said, his voice completely level. "Fascinating ceiling?"

"It is a miserable ceiling, Colonel Hogan," Schultz groaned. "Just like my boots."

"You should have requisitioned a new pair," Hogan said, casually sliding his hand down his side.

He was three feet from the passport.

"I tried!" Schultz threw his free hand up in frustration.

The sudden movement made Newkirk flinch.

"Klink says the Third Reich does not have extra leather for Sergeant Schultz," Schultz complained.

"Shame," Hogan said. "LeBeau, doesn't Schultz look pale?"

LeBeau popped out from the kitchen area.

"Very pale, Colonel. He looks like a ghost who needs a pastry."

"I do not need a pastry," Schultz said, though his eyes darted toward the kitchen.

"You need a strudel," Hogan corrected. "A warm one."

"I cannot."

Schultz slapped his hand down onto the bed.

Newkirk stopped breathing.

Schultz’s palm landed exactly one inch to the left of the passport.

"Klink has ordered me to inspect every mattress for contraband," Schultz declared.

Hogan smiled.

"Starting with this one?"

"Starting with this one," Schultz nodded.

He finally started to lower his chin to look at the bed.

"Wait!" Carter burst out from the back room.

Schultz jumped.

Carter ran forward holding a complex wire contraption that looked dangerously like an explosive.

"Look what I made out of a toaster and three spoons!" Carter announced.

Schultz stared at the metal mess.

"What is that?"

"It's a localized, low-frequency..." Carter caught Hogan's eye. "...egg be**er."

"An egg be**er?" Schultz asked.

"The best in Germany," Hogan said. "Show him, Carter."

"Well, you just turn this crank..."

Carter turned the spoon handle.

A loud spring detached and shot across the room, bouncing off Schultz's helmet.

"Achtung!" Schultz yelled, dropping his rifle to grab his helmet.

His hand left the bed.

Hogan moved his fingers toward the blue booklet.

Before he could reach it, the barracks door swung open again.

Colonel Klink marched in, carrying his riding crop.

"Schultz!" Klink barked.

Schultz snapped to attention.

"Herr Kommandant!"

"What is the meaning of this noise?" Klink demanded, slapping the crop against his own boot. "I can hear you blundering around from my office."

"An egg be**er malfunctioned, Herr Kommandant," Schultz reported proudly.

Klink narrowed his eyes.

"An egg be**er?"

"It was very violent," Schultz confirmed.

Hogan casually shifted his weight, trying to block Klink's line of sight to the lower bunk.

"Just standard POW morale building, Colonel," Hogan said. "We're planning a bake sale."

Klink scoffed.

"There will be no bake sales, Hogan. General Burkhalter's inspector is arriving in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Hogan asked. "You must be very confident in your security."

"Wilhelm Klink has never failed," Klink said, adjusting his monocle. "Stalag 13 is a fortress."

"Of course," Hogan agreed. "Nothing gets in or out."

"Exactly." Klink stepped further into the room. "Schultz, have you finished the contraband inspection?"

"I am in the middle of it, Herr Kommandant."

"Well? Proceed!"

Schultz turned back toward Newkirk's bunk.

"Move aside, Newkirk," Schultz ordered.

Newkirk didn't move.

"I can't, Schultzy. I've pulled a muscle in my back."

"Then I will move you," Schultz said.

He reached out to push Newkirk aside.

The blue passport was fully exposed behind Newkirk's leg.

Klink took a step closer to supervise.

"Is there a problem here, Hogan?" Klink asked.

"No problem, sir," Hogan said. "Just admiring your discipline."

"As you should." Klink tapped his crop against his hand. "Let's see what these prisoners are hiding."

Schultz grabbed Newkirk's shoulder.

Newkirk looked at Hogan with pure panic.

Hogan didn't lose his smile.

Kinchloe quietly stepped out from the shadows near the radio room entrance.

"Excuse me, Colonel Klink," Kinchloe said softly.

Klink turned.

"What is it, Kinchloe?"

"I was just cleaning the windows near the gate, sir," Kinchloe said, his tone entirely relaxed. "I believe I saw a black Mercedes approaching."

Klink froze.

"A black Mercedes?"

"Yes, sir. Looked like a Gestapo license plate."

Klink's face lost all its color.

"Gestapo? General Burkhalter didn't say the inspector was Gestapo!"

"Maybe it's a surprise inspection," Hogan suggested helpfully.

"They love surprises," Newkirk added, gripping the bunk bed frame tighter.

Klink spun around.

"Schultz! Forget the mattress! Get to the gate!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

Schultz grabbed his rifle.

As he pulled the rifle up, the leather strap caught the edge of the blue passport.

The passport flipped into the air.

Time seemed to stop.

Hogan's Heroes Show

07/01/2026

06/30/2026

06/30/2026

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