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Lupercalia
Oh hey, it's Lupercalia already! I was going to post some never-to-be-finished psychic wolf fics for Lupercalia, wasn't I.
Here's ~1000 words of the beginning of a Hogan's Heroes wolfbrother fic the world *definitely* needed, from the February where I got really depressed and marathoned about half of Hogan's Heroes on youtube!
"This is a violation of the Geneva Convention!" Hogan insisted, emphasizing it with a fist to Klink's office desk.
"What would you have me do?" the Kommandant replied. "We do not have accommodations here to properly isolate a köningenwolf in her time." The old Germanic world fell from Klink's lips far more easily than the English he habitually used with his prisoners, and Hogan was involuntarily reminded of the deep history of the wolfpacks in these parts: in America, in Britain, the old words had fallen out of use a century and more ago, but in Germany they were built in to the language.
"Shall I instead turn you out among your men, as was the Old Way?" Klink continued in that same thought. "I am sure that there are other Stalags where they find such a spectacle very entertaining--"
Mae, Hogan's wolfsister, whined high back in her throat, and sent Hogan a parade of images he really didn't need right then. She liked the idea of having all of her pack to compete for her favor. She knew that she was their leader, and deserved only the strongest of her wolves to father her pups, and that there were none in her pack unworthy of her.
Hogan had heard the stories, plenty to go with Mae's images, as anyone with a wolfsister had-- of the ancient ways; the pack, man and wolf alike, turning feral for the duration of the breeding, the orgy of violence and, well, orgies, that could break out among even the most disciplined men during a lead she-wolf's heat. And it was too easy to imagine the scene, in the confines of a POW camp, with the guards' wolves drawn into the frenzy as well-- but with Mae's desire already beginning to run hot in his blood, it was difficult to fear it. Mae was right, after all: none of his men was unworthy.
"Fine," he told Klink heatedly. "Do that. I'll give my consent."
Klink stared into his face for a long moment, and Adler, his wolfbrother, stirred at his feet, before he replied, "Nein, Colonel. I know you. You think you are clever: you wish to be sent to Switzerland for the whelping, where you will be beyond my vigilance, and can escape back to your army. Very clever, but no. I cannot compel you to a breeding, but I am not required to allow it, either."
Damnit. Of course. Pregnant wolfsisters and their brothers, by the terms of the Geneva Convention ruling prisoners of war, were required to be accommodated in a neutral power for the duration, in order that the pups could be repatriated as soon as they were weaned. It was an excellent incentive for detaining powers to prevent breedings from occurring among prisoners, but Hogan couldn't afford to be away from the camp regardless, especially with no guarantee they would be returned to Stalag 13 after.
"No, you shall not get out of here that way," Klink said. "I told you: Major Hochstetter has agreed to host both of you at his headquarters in Hammelburg until the danger has passed. It should be far enough from the camp to prevent any problems, and his men should be capable of keeping you out of trouble. You can see that it is the only possible solution."
The Gestapo, like the other paramilitary groups under the umbrella of the S.S., had no wolfbrothers, a contradiction in an organization which prided itself on its fierce Nordic heritage. But in its early years, before the war, it had been necessary to keep them technically exempt from the limits imposed by the 1919 treaty on military organizations. Now they took a perverse pride in it, saying that the brotherhood of their fellow patriots was all the pack they needed. (It was rumored that the real reason the SS still had no wolves was that Himmler, after having been rejected by all available pups for the twelfth season, swore never to allow it. But it was only rumored in whispers.) The Allied wolfpacks referred to the SS by a scent-name also used to warn pack members away from mad dogs. The Wehrmacht wolfpacks, Mae had told him, called them worse.
It was logical for a POW lead wolf in heat to be sent to where she could be guarded by men with no wolf-brothers of their own, who could keep them safely isolated without becoming distracted. But Hogan was fairly certain he'd prefer the Old Ways to Hochstetter, if it came down to that choice.
Why now? he asked her. Couldn't you have picked some better time to do this? Maybe after we win the war?
Mae glanced back at him slit-eyed. This is the better time, she told him, and fine, then. He'd been hoping they'd make it through the rest of the war; Mae was getting old enough that she regularly skipped several years between breedings, but life in Stalag 13 had clearly been too soft. If she had to, he supposed, her timing could have been much worse.
Except that there were several different operations going down tomorrow, and he and Mae really needed to be here, in camp, coordinating things through the pack-sense. Even in the early stages of heat, the men would be far more effective with than without that advantage. "I will lodge a formal protest," Hogan said stiffly to Klink. "Against my being transferred to Gestapo custody without cause or due procedure."
"Your wolfsister is going into heat! How is that not cause?" Klink said. "Hogan, do you think I like the idea of asking Hochstetter a favor? Do you think I do not know what sort of man he is, to give one of my prisoners into his care? But I cannot simply lock you both in the cooler for a week, you must see that."
"Why not?" Hogan asked, an idea dawning. That was the usual procedure, when one of the other wolfsisters among the prisoners went into heat; even with most of the young she-wolves being kept on the home front for breeding, it happened with some regularity, and the isolation cells were both physically separated from the rest of the camp, and built with a certain amount of insulation from the pack-sense. The rest of the wolves in camp would feel it enough to be restless and somewhat snappish until the worst of it had passed, their brothers picking up on their mood, but it was a matter of routine and men and wolves both were accustomed to dealing with it.
It would be a different matter entirely with Mae. A pack leader's influence on the rest of the pack, and control of the pack-sense, were such that the small amount of isolation provided by the cooler would make little difference. And Mae had always been the wolf who led the pack.
On the other hand, Hogan had confidence in their pack to have control over themselves. And he had confidence in them to control the German guards, too.
And there was the fact that the cell used for the purpose had a hidden tunnel entrance in the floor.
...and from there it was supposed to go into Hogan trying to run the usual caper plot via the secret tunnel while everything gets increasingly hazy and hormonal. I have no idea what the caper plot was supposed to *be*, though, or what (if any) pairings we were going to end up with. (I think I mostly wanted to figure out the worldbuilding for how they handled wolves in that setting, and I got that far!)
Here's ~1000 words of the beginning of a Hogan's Heroes wolfbrother fic the world *definitely* needed, from the February where I got really depressed and marathoned about half of Hogan's Heroes on youtube!
"This is a violation of the Geneva Convention!" Hogan insisted, emphasizing it with a fist to Klink's office desk.
"What would you have me do?" the Kommandant replied. "We do not have accommodations here to properly isolate a köningenwolf in her time." The old Germanic world fell from Klink's lips far more easily than the English he habitually used with his prisoners, and Hogan was involuntarily reminded of the deep history of the wolfpacks in these parts: in America, in Britain, the old words had fallen out of use a century and more ago, but in Germany they were built in to the language.
"Shall I instead turn you out among your men, as was the Old Way?" Klink continued in that same thought. "I am sure that there are other Stalags where they find such a spectacle very entertaining--"
Mae, Hogan's wolfsister, whined high back in her throat, and sent Hogan a parade of images he really didn't need right then. She liked the idea of having all of her pack to compete for her favor. She knew that she was their leader, and deserved only the strongest of her wolves to father her pups, and that there were none in her pack unworthy of her.
Hogan had heard the stories, plenty to go with Mae's images, as anyone with a wolfsister had-- of the ancient ways; the pack, man and wolf alike, turning feral for the duration of the breeding, the orgy of violence and, well, orgies, that could break out among even the most disciplined men during a lead she-wolf's heat. And it was too easy to imagine the scene, in the confines of a POW camp, with the guards' wolves drawn into the frenzy as well-- but with Mae's desire already beginning to run hot in his blood, it was difficult to fear it. Mae was right, after all: none of his men was unworthy.
"Fine," he told Klink heatedly. "Do that. I'll give my consent."
Klink stared into his face for a long moment, and Adler, his wolfbrother, stirred at his feet, before he replied, "Nein, Colonel. I know you. You think you are clever: you wish to be sent to Switzerland for the whelping, where you will be beyond my vigilance, and can escape back to your army. Very clever, but no. I cannot compel you to a breeding, but I am not required to allow it, either."
Damnit. Of course. Pregnant wolfsisters and their brothers, by the terms of the Geneva Convention ruling prisoners of war, were required to be accommodated in a neutral power for the duration, in order that the pups could be repatriated as soon as they were weaned. It was an excellent incentive for detaining powers to prevent breedings from occurring among prisoners, but Hogan couldn't afford to be away from the camp regardless, especially with no guarantee they would be returned to Stalag 13 after.
"No, you shall not get out of here that way," Klink said. "I told you: Major Hochstetter has agreed to host both of you at his headquarters in Hammelburg until the danger has passed. It should be far enough from the camp to prevent any problems, and his men should be capable of keeping you out of trouble. You can see that it is the only possible solution."
The Gestapo, like the other paramilitary groups under the umbrella of the S.S., had no wolfbrothers, a contradiction in an organization which prided itself on its fierce Nordic heritage. But in its early years, before the war, it had been necessary to keep them technically exempt from the limits imposed by the 1919 treaty on military organizations. Now they took a perverse pride in it, saying that the brotherhood of their fellow patriots was all the pack they needed. (It was rumored that the real reason the SS still had no wolves was that Himmler, after having been rejected by all available pups for the twelfth season, swore never to allow it. But it was only rumored in whispers.) The Allied wolfpacks referred to the SS by a scent-name also used to warn pack members away from mad dogs. The Wehrmacht wolfpacks, Mae had told him, called them worse.
It was logical for a POW lead wolf in heat to be sent to where she could be guarded by men with no wolf-brothers of their own, who could keep them safely isolated without becoming distracted. But Hogan was fairly certain he'd prefer the Old Ways to Hochstetter, if it came down to that choice.
Why now? he asked her. Couldn't you have picked some better time to do this? Maybe after we win the war?
Mae glanced back at him slit-eyed. This is the better time, she told him, and fine, then. He'd been hoping they'd make it through the rest of the war; Mae was getting old enough that she regularly skipped several years between breedings, but life in Stalag 13 had clearly been too soft. If she had to, he supposed, her timing could have been much worse.
Except that there were several different operations going down tomorrow, and he and Mae really needed to be here, in camp, coordinating things through the pack-sense. Even in the early stages of heat, the men would be far more effective with than without that advantage. "I will lodge a formal protest," Hogan said stiffly to Klink. "Against my being transferred to Gestapo custody without cause or due procedure."
"Your wolfsister is going into heat! How is that not cause?" Klink said. "Hogan, do you think I like the idea of asking Hochstetter a favor? Do you think I do not know what sort of man he is, to give one of my prisoners into his care? But I cannot simply lock you both in the cooler for a week, you must see that."
"Why not?" Hogan asked, an idea dawning. That was the usual procedure, when one of the other wolfsisters among the prisoners went into heat; even with most of the young she-wolves being kept on the home front for breeding, it happened with some regularity, and the isolation cells were both physically separated from the rest of the camp, and built with a certain amount of insulation from the pack-sense. The rest of the wolves in camp would feel it enough to be restless and somewhat snappish until the worst of it had passed, their brothers picking up on their mood, but it was a matter of routine and men and wolves both were accustomed to dealing with it.
It would be a different matter entirely with Mae. A pack leader's influence on the rest of the pack, and control of the pack-sense, were such that the small amount of isolation provided by the cooler would make little difference. And Mae had always been the wolf who led the pack.
On the other hand, Hogan had confidence in their pack to have control over themselves. And he had confidence in them to control the German guards, too.
And there was the fact that the cell used for the purpose had a hidden tunnel entrance in the floor.
...and from there it was supposed to go into Hogan trying to run the usual caper plot via the secret tunnel while everything gets increasingly hazy and hormonal. I have no idea what the caper plot was supposed to *be*, though, or what (if any) pairings we were going to end up with. (I think I mostly wanted to figure out the worldbuilding for how they handled wolves in that setting, and I got that far!)
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I think working a Hogan's Heroes type caper plot with wolves and packsense would be really interesting, too (even *without* the porn! :D) but it would take some real plotting skill, and also writing comedy about WWII is threading a very different needle now than it was in the early 60s.
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...also, shit, I meant to write something for this fest
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The comedy WWII in my head is 'Allo 'Allo, which also fits imperfectly into this amalgam. I like the Gestapo being human-only as a somewhat odd contrast. It's like they have no daemons.