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Story [Hogan's Heroes] Accents (Mod!Challenge)

Discussion in 'Non Star Wars Fan Fiction' started by pronker, Nov 13, 2022.

  1. pronker

    pronker Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Jan 28, 2007
    Title: Accents

    Author: pronker

    Era: November 1944

    Summary: Diva is as Diva does. Also, what if Manfredi and Johnson began POW life in Stalag 13 before transferring to Stalag 17?

    A/N: Written for a theForceDAHTNET's challenge using these prompts: Trope: People in Rubber Suits
    Words: Eschew, Forget, Shrewd
    Dialogue: "I can tell you from experience, that doesn't always work."
    Also, because this is quite a small fandom, here is a primer.
    IOIOIOIOIO

    "Uff da," moans Johnson.

    "Non sei ancora pronto? Dai!" growls Manfredi.

    Rökk Marika is my name. The Germans say Marika Rökk. Ez nagyon állat. As long as I make UFA product to uplift the masses of the Third Reich and milk dear Herr Goebbels of tidbits of information, I take their deutschemarks as I dance to their tune. I have learned to accept much in ten years.

    The dragon twitches its tail. Must I risk my manicure in this barbaric prison? There is no guard inside the Hall of Recreation per my demand, so I must.

    "Stand still," I command. The two Americans inside the rubber dragon mumble something or other as I ascertain the site connection remains secure, tail to torso. "Do not squirm so. I shall tell you when to move." Ach, the bronze catch chips the Jungle Red paint on my left pinkie as I clinch it tighter. I play the diva as everyone expects.

    "Tök rossz!" Manfredi and Johnson must hear me inside the dragon because I shout loud enough to awaken my baby; fortunately, Gaby remains at Hotel Hammelburg with Georg in our barely adequate family suite. He is so good with her. From habit, I trill my R's and rumble my umlauts to play up my Magyar accent. To listen to me would rouse the indigestion that plagues dear Georg at age sixty-two, yet I know Germans adore exotic touches as long is they are not too exotic.

    A disturbance grows at the barred door as someone roasts the marshmallow-shaped guard. "Aw, come on, Schultz! We're all members of the Marika Rökk Fan Club. You've gotta let us in to get her autograph! Forget the rules for once!"

    Mistrust gilds the gemütlich tones I've learned to recognize in two days' stay. "Colonel Hogan, please, it would mean my life!"

    Skepticism silvers the other voice. "Your life, Schultz?"

    "Well, maybe it would mean only my lunch, but that is still serious business."

    A shrewd voice, its accent as familiar to me as the scent of paprika. "Schultzie, Schultzele, a petit four I made just this morning - mmm, smell it - oops the icing is still soft - here, taste on my fingers - "

    "Das ist doch ja wunderbar and you saved this one just for me, only you would do this, how nice of you, cockroach - "

    Another voice, scratchy from cigarettes. "You love them so much, Schultzie, 'ere, take another."

    "Very well, Colonel Hogan, twenty minutes, no more." I can hear lips smacking even through the door.

    I have learned another thing in two days staging Ereleuva at Stalag 13: the door to the Hall of Recreation squeaks like an unrehearsed coloratura. After Schultz unbars the door to allow entry and then shuts it once more, a group of nationalities approaches.

    Three Americans outnumber the rest, an intriguing Frenchman and an Englander, all in uniform except the Frenchman. I wonder why he is not.

    Attitude leaks from the unquestioned leader, firm in voice, stride and manner. However, there lurks an artist's fire underneath. Dance? Music? Drama? "Madame Jacoby, our respects." There it is, step one of the code, which is the use of my formal name; it is common knowledge, yet an American could be excused for ignorance. I incline my head.

    "You have the advantage of me," I purr as Manfredi and Johnson stir in their confining suit. Would they emerge to undo the latch as they greet their commander? They two may be taller than I am, but this is my rehearsal. I whip around to shrivel the one wearing the front part of the suit with a glare. Through the eye holes, I can see his gaze drop - I am unsure if it is Manfredi or Johnson in the head of the suit - and he retreats one step, bumping into the tail part of the suit to provoke a yowl from within.

    The officer's decisive, unsmiling face relaxes into either a smirk or half-smile as he bows in the European fashion and indicates the rest of his group. "I'm Colonel Robert Hogan. I am senior officer of these men and head the Official Stalag 13 Rökk Marika Fan Club, where we eschew German customs regarding name order as much as we eschew saying Heil Hitler."

    There it is, the second step of code recognition: the uncommon English word eschew, twice.

    I am among friends.

    IOIOIOIOIO

    TBC

    IOIOIOIOIO
     
    Last edited: Dec 1, 2022
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  2. pronker

    pronker Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Jan 28, 2007
    From ten feet away, the dragon stomps its clawed feet as it gurgles gibberish through the mesh-covered open mouth. In the weak light of the Hall of Recreation, its feldgrau scales tipped with gold lack our film crew's expert lighting to lend sparkling glamor and danger. As it stands, only the cerise spine crest head-to-tail brightens the rubber suit. Eh, Tail End straightens his spine to greet his comrades. I shall weep if the connection loosens again, but it does not.

    "Cor, you two, wotta sight you are," chortles the Englander. The colonel focuses on me but the others surge to the dragon. The four men lean in closely to hear an account, I suppose, of what Manfredi and Johnson put up with helping me stage Ereleuva, a turgid, ambitious fifth entry to Wagner's Ring Cycle penned by Herr Goebbels himself.

    Hogan allows one minute of reunion and then inclines his head wordlessly towards the door; the Englander and the American with springy hair drift to the entry after polite pleased to meet yous as they pass me. I note how they secure the area, one leaning casually against the door to block easy entry as the other engages him in conversation to provide covering background noise for Schultz's curious ear, if he thinks to eavesdrop. Obvious, is it not, that these soldiers team together as much as troupers in a successful, year long stage engagement?

    The others clot around as I shoulder my way inside the tight group of the youngest appearing American, the Frenchman and the American colonel to play the sun while the three orbit me. Hmmm, the commander could be Mars, which would make the youngest a quicksilver Mercury and the Frenchman a languid Venus. I see now that the red sweater sports a discreet rank or unit patch on the shoulder, so French good taste triumphs over Kantian ideals of a uniform. I approve. Idle notions like these make my Georg consult my opinion about our films together. I wonder how the day proceeds with small Gaby and her loving pappa.

    "Let us push on, because I must return to my husband at the hotel in two and a half hours. I must feed my seven month-old Kleine. She will be hungry."

    "Can't your husband feed her? I mean, come on, it's not that hard." The youngest's face shows honest puzzlement.

    This is too outrageous a comment to let pass. I put on the face I used in Woman of My Dreams, a triumph at the Axis powers' box office just this summer. Georg calls it my sly Marlene Dietrich face. "I can tell you from experience, that doesn't always work."

    "Carter!" explodes Hogan. I feel certain this one does not blush often, yet now his ears burn a becoming shade of crimson. "Think about it."

    Carter does. "Oh."

    "We won't keep you long." The man becomes all business, so I must, as well.

    I fish the slip of paper from the top of my stocking, just under the garter. "Here. I overheard this place name and the word 'soon' at a cast wrap party. The atmosphere at the smörgåsbord dripped with triumph between Goebbels and the others in line; I do not know more. You westerners have the information, and in two weeks our crew travels to Czech Revar to pass this name to the Russian contact. She intimates to me she has used you before."

    Hogan's ears burn the uppermost hue of Hungary's tricolor once more and is that disgust or acceptance on the handsome face? "If it's who I think it is, used is the word, all right."

    "I see," I say. He thinks, remembers, and then continues.

    "How is Goebbels these days, gnädige Frau?"

    I shrug. If time permits, I can banish his execrable German accent. "He promotes my work, but he is hard to like therefore I do not like him. I am an actress so I pretend to like him and this" --- I flourish the slip of paper before stuffing it into the colonel's grasp --- "rewards me and now you."

    He secures the paper into his cap swiftly before his eyes widen as if my words register at last to spark protective instincts. "Don't take your baby to Czech Revar!" he bursts out. "I hear terrible things go on there --- "

    "It is no Széchenyi Spa, true. Have you seen Czech Revar?"

    "Well, no --- "

    "I have and it is as pleasant a land as I have visited. Our crew goes to shoot backgrounds of the mountains for Ereleuva."

    He pushes. "Aren't there enough mountains in Germany? Do you have to travel so far?" I recognize the signs of one well used to control. We do not have time for this.

    "Kamerad, colonel, I give up. Ask Georg because he is my director in all things and the father of my child. He would not risk us."

    "You are more trusting than the law allows," mutters Hogan before changing the subject. He removes his cap to peer at the name on the paper. "Losheim." His intense concentration and crinkled brow prods my memory of the cast party I viewed through a mist of schnapps.

    "I, I think that Herr Goebbels said that a, a bold push comes through the Losheim gap."

    IOIOIOIOIO

    TBConcluded.

    IOIOIOIO
     
    Last edited: Dec 17, 2022
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  3. pronker

    pronker Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Jan 28, 2007
    I sense there is little this colonel does not know despite his imprisonment, but Losheim puzzles him as much as it does me. He beckons to his second --- I think it is his second by the chevrons but I, too, am unsure in this moment and do not wish to show it --- and the second moves across to us while the Englander stays his solo post guarding the door. "Losheim Gap ring any bells, Kinch?"

    The reply arrives quickly with becoming modesty. "Not really. London is worried about the Siegfried Line, though. A gap sounds dangerous to them and to us. Three hundred ninety miles of protection for the Krauts."

    The dragon shifts uncomfortably and I spare the two men. "Sit, sit. Take the load off, as you say."

    "Tanks," comes through the mesh loud enough for us to hear as the two crumple onto the floor, then roll onto their sides awkwardly to spare the suit.

    "Tanks," repeats Hogan. "Artillery and tanks could pierce a gap from either side. This name needs to reach London pronto, Kinch."

    I contribute what I can. "Westwall is what we --- I mean the Germans --- call the Siegfried Line. Have you seen the Westwall?"

    "No, we flew over it. Have you seen it?"

    "Not in person. It is said to be impenetrable."

    "That's what we said about the Maginot Line," says the Frenchman softly. There is in his face embarrassment for his country, and grief for her, and resolve to do better; I feel the same precise way about my Hungary and the disgraceful Horthy who deserves whatever the Nazis charge him with.

    Hogan appears not to notice my sympathy with the Frenchman. "We're stuck in Hürtgen Forest, a real quagmire," he grumps, hugging himself tighter. "If only Field Marshal Model hadn't jumped into bed with Adolf --- "

    "Really?"

    "Figure of speech, Carter."

    "Oh."

    Hogan seems at ease with speculating in front of me. "Since Normandy, the Krauts are on the run but they'll turn like anyone would if pushed against a wall. They'll fight like demons."

    "They are demons," I say. "I have seen things that you have not, dear colonel." Ach, the dear just slipped out.

    "Timepoint ten minutes in from twenty." This from Carter; I sense the man operates on science and mathematics or perhaps on another plane of existence from the rest of us mortals. It endears him to me.

    I take command. "Our time is nearly up. I would like to speak with the one wearing the red sweater."

    "Me? Nobody ever wants to talk to me!"

    Hogan gestures permission absently, drawing aside to confer with his second about Losheim while Carter tags along. The five each display a thread of artistic talent to my professional eye, and I wish to ask an opinion as we two seek a corner. "What is your name?"

    "Louis LeBeau, at your service." He is so courtly! I feel he was born that way.

    "I am a dancer and a singer and der Führer wishes Georg to direct me in a heavy going drama about Ereleuva, of all people."

    "Who?"

    I ramble a bit, a fault of mine when I am passionate. "Der Führer approved Herr Goebbels' tiresome story of Ereleuva, the mother of Theodoric the Great of the Ostrogoths, who lives on in legend as Dietrich von Bern. She is a mother though perhaps not a wife, she is true to her faith and she will fight a dragon in the story to protect her country, can you believe it?" I want to pace, but I calm myself deliberately. "Why not pick her daughter, Amalafrida, who led a revolt, or the daughter of Amalafrida, Amalaberga, who also attempted a coup? Why not Ingund or Aregund, sisters who practiced polygamy with King Chlothar, whom you may know as King Clotaire?"

    He shakes his head as his eyes begin to cross. "I only sing and dance a little in revues. European history, pah." I laugh.

    "Herr Goebbels told Georg to 'make her the typical, strong Teutonic queen, brave in battle, efficient in family matters and of course beautiful.'" I shrug. "Herr Goebbels realizes Der Führer adores Germanic history and likely will censor whatever he disapproves of, so Georg and I must toe the line in this film. Ereleuva will uplift the masses."

    "Is that what you want to do?"

    I meet his gaze firmly. "I must, even if Wagner pirouettes in his grave. I will dance, sing and primp in another film, if there is one." This next is difficult to say, though I feel his mind is open, at least. "Do you think I can play a queen?"

    "Indubitably, madame." He again lifts my hand for a kiss.

    "So, we owe you one. What can we do to help you?" Hogan approaches more quietly than I would think. Louis and I both jump a little.

    This question is easy to answer. "Pretend to attack me. Critique the movements of the dragon." I wink at them all. "Play with me to make the scene less serious, less, less ... um ... "

    "Less Boche." Louis blocks the action. "Everyone, get up on the stage. Stage left, Manfredi and Johnson, middle shall be Madame, and you four stage right. Vite, vite! Carter, the time?"

    "Huh? Oh, right, five minutes, tops."

    "Then, I think, mmmm, Madame in profile with an imaginary sword, and you four show your backs to the audience. You will support Madame."

    They complain as all soldiers do. "Not me best side, mate." "Can the dragon breathe real fire to burn us?" "LeBeau, don't let directing go to your head."

    This will be the most fun I've yet had in Stalag 13. I seize a ping pong paddle before mounting the stage. "I have an idea to blend capoeira with the usual boring swordplay! Let me show you."

    "Very well, use it, whatever capoeira is." Louis speaks loudly to be heard through the rubber suit. "Manfredi and Johnson, on your toes, menace Madame. Everyone else, go with the flow." He vents to his comrades. "Move, shift your weight, don't just stand there! Pretend you have swords!"

    Manfredi and Johnson roar, claw the air --- well, Manfredi does because I believe now the head end to be him --- while Johnson sweeps the tail end. As the dragon draws near, I swirl the paddle over my head to catch the attention of the beast before rocking back and forth on my feet. The dragon halts in surprise as I stand on my hands before launching a backwards somersault flowing into a muted kick at the dragon's teeth. I misjudge the distance a mere trifle as the kick lands on Manfredi's throat. He staggers sideways, pulling Johnson with him until they sway like two pendulums. The joint between tail and torso gives way and I groan, "Tűnj az utamból!"

    I roll forward like a bocce ball towards the dragon to control the damage to the expensive suit, but the acting bug seems to have bitten the three Americans and the Englander. There, I'm between Manfredi and Johnson now, who regard the suit sadly as they sit splayed upon the wooden floor. "You had to do it, Manfredi, just had to ruin the dragon, and after all the time we spent in it."

    Manfredi appears unable to speak and waves his hands instead. Johnson looks to take offense at the gestures after he removes the dragon's head. "You can't call me that and get away with it."

    Louis shouts, "In character, in character! Keep it moving, only a minute or two before Schultz --- "

    Hogan, Carter and the Englander drop the act as my support warriors while helping me to my feet, as if I need any help. Manfredi massages his throat, I start to apologize and then Johnson takes a swing at Manfredi. Is Johnson a Berserker?

    "Hold it, hold it!" reprimands Hogan as he attempts to make peace. The Englander clutches Johnson's arms from behind, I admonish, "Hagyd abba!" and Louis joins us on stage. Perhaps Johnson is a Viking Berserker because he kicks at Manfredi, who dodges backwards to stumble into Hogan, who sways into Carter, who bumps Kinch who staggers into me and we all go down in a heap while a dark object sails past me down onto the floor.

    Louis crosses his arms and shakes his head as he peers down at us. "Incroyable." This must not happen when film is in the camera. It is good to get this contretemps out of the way early. In our daze, none of us react to a squeak and then a bang! of a door slamming against its jamb as another person enters the Hall of Recreation.

    "Himmel," breathes Schultz. "Himmel." He stoops to retrieve Hogan's cap. "Here, Colonel Hogan, oh too bad, it is crushed. I straighten it for you."

    Louis is best suited for what must happen. He makes a startling jeté off the stage to the floor and snatches the cap. "Schultz, merci."

    The Englander finds his voice even though sprawled out. "A bit o' blockin', Schultzie, and good as new, I say."

    Kinch gains his feet to lift Hogan and me to ours. I should like to know these men better, but now it is time to gather up props and script, bow in gratitude to them all, and change into street clothes from jaunty mid-thigh skirt and stretchy pullover. "Please call my car, Sergeant, while I make ready to leave. This scene needs a rewrite."

    Schultz clicks his heels and departs.

    IOIOIOIOIO

    The End.

    IOIOIOIOIO
     
    Last edited: Dec 9, 2022
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  4. devilinthedetails

    devilinthedetails Fiendish Fanfic & SWTV Manager, Interim Tech Admin star 6 Staff Member Administrator

    Registered:
    Jun 19, 2019
    @pronker Nice job with this! You were able to weave in the historical details of the World War II era very effectively into this story from the very beginning, which I appreciated very much as a history nerd:-B

    This part drew a chuckle from me. A very clever and witty way to use your quote prompt.

    This was another highlight for me. This discussion of the Maginot Line shows me that you know both your WWI and WWII history and can tie the details into emotional realities for your characters.

    Well done with this! =D=
     
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  5. Findswoman

    Findswoman Fanfic and Pancakes and Waffles Mod (in Pink) star 5 Staff Member Manager

    Registered:
    Feb 27, 2014
    Ooh, very interesting story! I knew barely anything about Hogan’s Heroes going in, so the primer was good to have. I enjoyed the motley, multinational group of characters and all the different accents and foreign-language phrases—that really added a lot of color and fun to the story. The way you integrated the prompts together into a spy story—from the code word “eschew” to the two-person rubber-suit dragon—was super clever and creative, and as devilinthedetails said, your knowledge of the RL history of the period really comes through. (And it’s true that Dad feeding that baby at that age definitely, er, "doesn’t always work”! :p ) Thank you so much for sharing this clever piece with the challenge—always great to have you! =D=
     
  6. pronker

    pronker Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Jan 28, 2007
    +devilinthedetails
    +Findswoman

    Thank you for reading in a not exactly obscure TV show's fandom, but a fairly small one. Something impressive about it that is the percentage of completed fics on FFN and AO3 skews quite high, nice when you start a read! :) The prompts prodded visualizing 'how in the world could a rubber suit come into play at a POW camp?' and by golly, it did happen in my mind's eye. :) The WW1 and 2 history feels loaded with opportunities to stick characters with impossible missions to make possible. Happy holidays, pronker