Author's note: First time fic (really). No beta -- maybe I'm a fool or just a crazy risk-taker. Either way, sorry for any annoying mistakes. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, but please ... be gentle. It's my first time. Also, I have absolutely no medical background. Not sure if anything I wrote here is even possible, but hey, who knew a major covert operation could be run out of the "toughest stalag of all of Germany" either?

Disclaimer: I make no claims to Hogan and gang. 'Cause if I did, I'd drive something better than a 10 year old Geo Metro. Also, not sure who owns Sgt. Wilson the medic. I've always loved that character. If you e-mail me, I'll make sure to credit you. If you don't want me to use him, I'll respect your request - just let me know.

THANKS! And enjoy ...

Under the Weather

Chapter 1: Not So Fast, Colonel

Other than the gentle sounds of water dripping somewhere in the long vast darkness, the underground tunnel held the eerie silence appropriate for its location – deep down below several feet of frozen ground and snow. Of course, it being just after 2:00 AM on a cold winter morning and it being hidden under the "toughest Luftwaffe Stalag in all of Germany", the silence was doubly appropriate.

Suddenly, a dull metallic sound of a hatchway echoed through the maze of tunnels, making Sgt. James Kinchloe jump up from his post in front of the "prisoners'" hidden radio. As he moved to meet his friends and fellow conspirators, his headphones began to vibrate with the sounds of an incoming message. Sitting quickly back down, his attention was redirected.

Slowly one, two, three and eventually four individuals inconspicuously dressed in black, made their way down the wooden ladder to the dirt tunnel floor. Col. Robert Hogan, playing look-out and always the last to re-enter the tunnel, swung the "tree-stump" hatchway closed and secured it firmly behind him. The deadbolt clicked. As if on cue, the other three men broke out into what can only be called good old-fashioned bickering.

"Dammit Carter!" Corp. Peter Newkirk yelled indignantly. "You big ofe! Can't you climb down a bloody ladder without stepping on my hand?"

Sgt. Andrew Carter, who usually kept a laid-back friendly attitude, turned slowly around and said in a voice tight with tension, "Look Corporal," making sure to emphasize the hardly used title that distinguished their differences in rank. "If you moved faster as ordered, maybe you'd be able to protect those precious pick-pocketing fingers of yours!"

Newkirk fumed. Moving forward to smack Carter on his head, as he usually would have, he noticed the uncharacteristically serious look on Carter's face and quickly reconsidered.

Corp. Louis LeBeau, however, was sick of it all and jumped in between the two men condemning them both in that way that the French do so well; his words too quick and too sharp for any of them to even begin to understand, yet dramatic and condescending enough to understand the meaning.

"Shut up, you frog! Mind your own bloody business!!" Newkirk yelled, poking LeBeau with his supposedly injured finger.

"Yeah, go … go, uh … go bake a soufflé or something, why don't ya?!" Carter yelled, like an annoying eight-year old.

LeBeau, yelled back as well, and even if you didn't speak French, you knew he was not being complimentary.

Sighing heavily, Col. Hogan sat down on a lower rung of the wooden ladder. From there he simply watched the scene unfold before him. He knew why the men were behaving like this. They were reacting to what he too felt at that precise moment – complete and utter exhaustion. It had been a long week. A very very long week. The records would eventually show that from within the confines of a prison of war camp, he and his crew managed to help two allied men get out of Germany, steal the blue-prints of a jet propulsion engine, sabotage a nearby supply depot AND blow-up a strategically placed transport bridge – all within the span of eight days. 'Yup', he thought, 'It had been a very long week indeed.'

Sighing again, Hogan decided it was time to put a stop to the senseless bickering. He was simply too tired to endure anymore yelling and his pounding head would explode if it continued. "ENOUGH!" he belted out, using his best "Colonel-like" voice.

Instantly, Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau fell silent.

"Look," he continued wearily, "I know you're tired. We're all tired. If there's anyone here who'd know that, it's me." To give them credit, all three men looked down sheepishly at this rare admission from their leader. "So, of course we're bound to be on edge. But know this …" Hogan looked carefully at each of his men. "We've done a good job here. A damn good job. And each and every one of us should be proud of that fact."

With this realization dawning on them, the group began to smile and nod their heads in agreement.

"And once we've had a couple good nights sleep, we'll be able to see things more clearly and appreciate our success. Right?"

The three nodded again, knowing the colonel was right, of course. The mood had definitely lightened, if not the overwhelming exhaustion.

"Well," Hogan got up and began tugging off his black jacket. "I don't know about you guys, but all I want to do right now is to get out of this get-up and slip into my nice lumpy moth-eaten bed."

"Uh, not so fast, Colonel, "Kinch called out as he entered from the radio room. "This just came in from London marked Immediate Action." He handed his clipboard to the colonel, failing to hide a look of frustration and concern.

Hogan quietly read the transmission, then closed his eyes, sighed yet again, and leaned heavily against the damp dirt wall.

"Please mon Colonel, what is it?" Asked LeBeau looking from Hogan to Kinch and then back again.

After a pause, Hogan opened his eyes and read, "Rendezvous with new contact, codename "Humpty-Dumpty" at Lily Pad 4 by 0300 hrs today. High priority. No delay."

Again, as if on cue, all three men started complaining simultaneously.

"Bloody hell, Gov'nor! We just got back in. Not even a chance to rest my aching feet."

"Sacre bleu! It's freezing out there! My hands are frostbitten, see. How can I cook with frozen hands?!"

"Ah come on, Sir, its got to be at least four miles to Lily Pad 4. We're going to have to run the whole way just to get there on time!"

Hogan slowly put his hands up to quiet the group. "Don't worry guys. We're not going to have to go anywhere."

Confused faces looked back at him. Disobeying an order, especially one so urgently marked was not the colonel's style. To give him a break, Kinch stepped in. "The orders stated Col. Hogan is to go alone."

Naturally, the men balked. "What?!" "You've got to be kidding?" "It's too dangerous to go alone, Sir!"

Zipping up his jacket again and already moving towards the ladder, Hogan turned to the four and said, "Okay, orders are orders and if I'm to make that meeting on time, I'm going to have to get going now. Gentlemen, if I'm not back by morning roll-call," he glanced at his watch and grimaced, "You'll have to stall ol' monical-head for me. Okay? But I'll try to be back before then. And don't worry. I'll be fine."

And with a final look and nod of his head, he was up the ladder, out the hatchway and into the darkness of night.