[Hogan's Heroes] Enfilade: Room Five (PG) a WW2 fic crossover with the Howling Commandos

 ~*~*~* A/N WARNING FOR PERIOD-SPECIFIC ATTITUDES AND PREJUDICES *~*~*

February 28, 1945

As the gramophone borrowed from Captain Okada clicked itself off, Baron Wolfgang Franz Nikolaus Maria von Strucker smiled, he who rarely smiled. The expression skewed his scars and could be called reverent, so he made sure that no one else but Marya saw him today. She was a Slav, so she did not count. It was a pity she was a lowly Slav because of her charming ability to be all in all to him at this stage of his life, but her race was a fact and Aryans faced facts. He removed his gloves before touching the one wall of his shipboard bower that was not gray steel pocked with rivets. The golden gleam gilded his fingers as the single amber panel on display warmed to his touch, and his smile turned dreamy. As a kindergardner, he had sucked his thumb. If she were not here, he might take up the habit once more in pure indulgent ecstasy.

Von Strucker's thoughts drifted to an oxbow on the Upper Rhine, where Großvater placed him as a five year-old on his lap as the two sat upon green spring grass. "My mother remembers well when the Rhine curled like a corkscrew that will open a vintage Mosel for our luncheon today." Then Großvater nodded up at Urgroßmutter. Vater and Großvater had made a chair with their arms to carry her to the riverside picnic grounds from the Daimler Phoenix that led the three-car procession from Bavaria, two for family, one for servants. Urgroßmutter's spine remained straight in great old age, though her legs did not work properly. She transferred to sit on a cushioned chair that servants positioned at Rhine's edge under a linden. She interrupted her son's story about straightening the Rhine without begging pardon after six and a half minutes.

"The twentieth century is only three years old, but I am ninety-five years old. Make your story short."

"Jawohl, Mutti!"

Wolfgang knew better than to expect a wink from Großvater.

Großvater squeezed him harder instead. "And so, Wolfgang, Karlsruhe shows perfect Prussian planning. The palace tower centers the thirty-two streets fanning outward in straight lines from its hub, as I pointed out when we drove through the city this morning. Germany calls it the Fan City since Prussians invented the folding fan, too."

"My tutor says the Japanese invented --- "

"And do you see him picnicking with us today? I dismissed him for telling untruths."

"Yes, Großvater."

Vater left the seated group for the automobiles parked on the roadway above to aid Mutter, who lately had gotten fat. The two of them proceeded slowly through the tall grasses that plucked at Mutter's skirts on the slanted embankment. Wolfgang thought of a question to show he had been listening.

"Großvater, is planning a good thing?"

"Wolfgang, it is the best thing. Orderliness guarantees a perfect life, is that not so, Mutti?"

"If I say yes, will you allow me peace?"

Wolfgang thought harder. "Waters come in here" --- he pointed to the south, where the Rhine flowed towards the picnic grounds from an unseen source --- "to leave there" --- he pointed to the north, where the Rhine disappeared around a curve --- "so why did the straightener leave a twisty part? Why is not all the Rhine nice and straight?"

"Mutti, help me."

"Always, mein Sohn. Wolfgang, Tulla the straightener left in some oxbows to allow Rhinemaidens a place to hide their gold. Run down to the river to look for it."

Wolfgang sped to the river.

IOIOIOIOIO

"You dance divinely, Wolf," purred Marya, interrupting his reverie. She perched beside him, or as beside him as she could get, on the eighteenth century teakwood loveseat unexpectedly crated among Amber Room panels. Its burgundy velvet upholstery mostly contained its horsehair stuffing. Mostly. A bit stuck up through the lush material, just enough to make her squirm most attractively, Wolfgang mused. Although the hair jabbed through his jodhpurs, he prided himself on Prussian stoicism to not wiggle because, well, she may be his friend, yet there existed Prussian pride to uphold. Urgroßmutter would expect no less.

"Wolf," continued Marya, stroking the back of his hand where it rested on the amber, "where is our submarine bound, darling?"

Another fact to be faced as the war drew on was that he lost more faith in the Fuehrer day by day. The man edged into insanity, drew back from the brink, and then surged further down that dark path. Germany bound its fate to his. Whatever respect Wolfgang owed the Austrian burnt away until a dry husk remained, masked with pretenses of agreement to scheme after crazed scheme. There was one scheme Wolfgang thought Adolf might approve: an Alpine redoubt to ensure survival for his own inner circle if all were lost, but in recent days the idiot blindly insisted the war went well. Superior minds knew better, unafraid of the future. Are we not the supermen? Wolfgang mused. Aryan pure supermen? There was only one answer to his friend's question. "We sail from death to life, liebchen."

Marya laced her fingers through his and reached to enjoy the amber as well, but she stopped within one centimeter after a sharp look from her companion. "And in marvelous style!"

"And with one companion whom you have not yet met. A companion whom you will entertain." He stroked the point of her chin.

Marya leaned into the caress. "All I do, I do for you. It is my way."

Wolfgang mulled over events on this very loveseat. "Your agility is the stuff of legends, as is your wit."

"You speak truth, so it is not flattery." She traced the deepest scar on his cheek. "As you know, it is impossible to flatter me when truth does not threaten honor by lying. For example, it is truth that you and I enjoy friendship with benefits."

"You have confided that you hate truth, so does that mean --- "

"Never! With you? Never!"

"You could hardly answer otherwise."

The loveseat creaked as Marya knelt upon the velvet to lean over the divider. "I could produce an encore."

"Nein. Later."

"You only like me when you are bored."

Wolfgang rose to his feet after delivering a peck to the pouting plush lips. "Puppchen, we sail for the Lao People's Revar. True, that nation is landlocked yet we shall prevail upon the Reich's treaty with our honorary Aryans, the Nipponese, to debark at Haiphong Harbor and trek overland with our treasures" --- a frown marred her flawless brow --- "or perhaps we shall commandeer a cargo plane in Hanoi, which would be easier on you --- I'll ask Okada - "

Dare she interrupt him when he was being considerate? Curled upon the seat with legs underneath like a cat's, she shifted moods from lusty to curious to threatening. "Lao People's Revar? But I am White Russian! I refuse to mingle with sovietsky. Find somewhere else in Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere to land. I favor Madripoor."

She pushed, so he pushed back and sat down again to dominate with his nearness. "Are you sorry you came? I could have abandoned you to the commandos who howl, and where would you be now?"

"Pfah, I could have exposed you to them with one womanly scream. As it is, they can never reach Madripoor. Sail us to Malay Archipelago instead of Lao and I shall make it worth your while, in any number of ways." She produced a manicure file from somewhere and buffed her nails, squinting this way and that as she shaped them. The poking horsehairs must have bothered her dimpled knees because she shifted her weight back and forth as she continued to kneel.

Even though the idea flowered from a Slavic mind, the scheme deserved some thought. Madripoor could be bought; Madripoor held allies; Madripoor ran rings around Lao People's Revar in terms of sophistication. He and Marya could own Madripoor ... if it were not necessary to defeat local ninjas loyal to the Hand and its jonin. And the Hand's current leader, The Most Honorable Jonin Whatever-Their-Name-Is-Now. This sounded like work, in which a German, an Aryan, glorified ordinarily, but he deserved leisure to savor their golden treasure. It was best to buy some time with her before considering her plan. Taunting proved the best way, as always.

"Afraid?"

"Never! A true Russian fears nothing!" The file arrowed from her hand to pierce the velvet upholstery between his thighs. "It slipped, darling. Forgive me?"

"As much as you forgive me."

He plucked the sharpness out to twiddle it before her bright, bright blue eyes. He could end her with the file or with his bare hands, he knew it, she knew it, so why did she not cower?

She gripped the divider instead with nary a quiver in her taut figure. "Wolf, take the room and me to Madripoor."

"No."

"Kaigoon? Carupa? Karaku?"

She could bend in her desires in the most interesting ways. Delicious.

One way she did not bend in was her resolve not to have anything to do with Soviets and this made the following three days tiresome indeed.