No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text and original characters, however, are mine.

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Robert Hogan sat at a corner table in the small pub, casually sipping his beer and looking straight ahead. He was used to having to pass some time on his own while waiting for a contact, and since he had had the rare luxury of being driven to his destination, he was ahead of schedule, just the way he liked to be. With time to spare, he could ease into his environment and blend into his surroundings, looking more like a local who belonged, rather than an intruder who might be in town to cause trouble.

The American Army Air Corps Colonel was comfortable sitting here in his civilian clothes in the middle of Nazi Germany—that was, at least as comfortable as any spy could afford to be on either side of the war. He'd certainly been out amongst Germans before, but usually that was a lot closer to the prison camp where he'd been assigned after being shot down in July of 1942. Everything near Stalag 13 was almost as familiar to him as his hometown; he had burned into his memory every road, every house's occupants, every Underground agent. Tonight, he was farther afield—in Hofberg, rather than his usual haunts in Hammelburg. But to Hogan, the information he was getting was worth the extra risk: particulars about the aircraft assembly plant that was about to start operating here—guards, production schedules, even details about the planes themselves, rumored to be greatly advanced over Germany's current aircraft. Those details were worth their weight in gold to Allied Headquarters in London, and as soon as Hogan got them back to Stalag 13, he would have his radio man, Sergeant James Kinchloe, translate it all into code and send it off to England. Then G2 could pick it apart and use it as they saw fit—hopefully, Hogan thought, including wiping the assembly plant off the face of the earth.

Now, Hogan's dark eyes bored into the wall across from him, letting the muted noise of the sparsely filled pub wash over him as he considered the week ahead. This mission was different: too far from camp, he'd decided to do the reconnaissance in person instead of sending one of his men, and it would take more than one quick trip outside the wire to get what he needed. So he'd organized to get out of Stalag 13 for as long as it took, by getting one of the men in his top-secret sabotage and espionage operation to dress up as a Luftwaffe officer and whisk him away on the pretence of forcing the former flying ace to help work on designs for a new German aircraft.

Hogan smiled as he remembered the chaos that had reigned in the office of the camp Kommandant, Wilhelm Klink, just that very morning. Sergeant Andrew Carter, perfectly transformed into the fictional Gruppenführer Knopf, had been just menacing enough, and just vicious enough, to be convincing to the German Colonel, and as Hogan loudly protested the demands being made of him, the Allied men had secured Hogan's absence from the camp in a way that would not be considered suspicious.

The images of the scene earlier that day faded into the back of his mind as he now contemplated the single perk of this mission: he would be getting the information through an agent with whom he always looked forward to spending all the time he could. And tonight, once they had made their initial contact, they might even get to spend some private time together, away from the eyes of strangers.

Hogan didn't have to glance at his watch; he knew she wasn't due for another six minutes. Being the extraordinary agent she was, she wouldn't be a minute late, or a minute early. And being the extraordinary woman she was, Hogan knew she would be nothing less than captivating. It was a combination that, despite himself, Hogan couldn't help but be powerfully attracted to, even though he had fought desperately against it, because he firmly believed that intimate relationships in a time of war could be dangerous to everyone involved. But on those rare occasions when he had time to simply sit back and think, he cherished the preciousness of their quiet stolen moments in a time of turmoil and destruction.

A minute passed. Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan saw two men in Gestapo black enter the establishment and work their way around the room, demanding papers in hushed voices and asking questions before moving on. He felt a prick of tension as they moved closer to him, but he did not show it outwardly; rounds were fairly commonplace now, and as long as his papers were in order—which, thanks to RAF Corporal Peter Newkirk's flair for forgery, they were—he would simply be thanked and allowed on his way. The uneasiness spiked a little when he saw a young man sitting three tables away being led away, and it intensified a lot when he saw yet another, older gentleman being escorted out of the pub. But Hogan continued to drink, glancing only fleetingly at the scene around him. That wouldn't seem out of place in Nazi Germany; you minded your own business, to avoid becoming an unwelcome part of someone else's.

A few more sips of the beer he was nursing, and Hogan looked up to see a man in black standing beside him, staring down.

"You will come with us."

Hogan blinked casually at the Gestapo officer standing above him, his glass mid-way to his lips. "I beg your pardon?" he asked politely.

"You will come with us, now," the man in black repeated.

Hogan frowned—a natural reaction, he concluded, which was a good thing, because inside he was doing much more than that. "What seems to be the problem, Captain?" he asked. "I have my papers."

"I do not care about your papers."

Hogan arched an eyebrow. "Then I do not understand what the issue is. Have I taken your favorite table?"

The German officer cocked his head. "You will wish it was that simple if you do not do as you are told." Hogan's brow furrowed more deeply. "Stand up. Now."

"Very well," Hogan said, rising. The Captain took a step back to allow Hogan to move. "But you're making a mistake."

"The Gestapo does not make mistakes."

The large German pulled Hogan impatiently by the arm, and, outwardly calm, Hogan shot a look of disdain at the officer before moving along. His eyes scanned the pub, and he let himself take comfort in the fact that his contact had not yet entered the building. Moving outside into the cold, he wondered how she would ever know what had happened to him when she turned up and found him gone.

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Her eyes studied and then disregarded each of the two men as they were led from the pub and into the shiny black cars. The appearance of the Geheime Staatspolizei had stopped her, as well as several people around her, in their tracks, and she could only stare across the street, as fear gripped her heart and prayers sprang to her lips. Thinking she had seen the last and that she could finally relax, she lowered her head and let out a breath of relief. But then a murmur from beside her made her look up, and her heart caught in her throat.

There was another one. Though not handcuffed, the tall, dark-haired man in the light-colored trench coat was clearly being arrested, and she could only watch, anguished, as he was pushed roughly into the car. The person she had come to Hofberg to see was now in great danger, in all probability facing interrogation and possibly death. She tried to reassure herself that he was strong both mentally and physically, and that the men of his covert operation would free him before long. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she doubted it, and she felt sick inside, knowing that what he would soon be suffering would wound him for life, if it didn't kill him outright.

She closed her eyes only briefly as the car disappeared around the corner, and in her mind's eye she could see his dark eyes looking deeply into hers, revealing to her a heart both genuine and vulnerable. She could feel his hand cupping her cheek, his lips brushing hers ever-so-softly, his breath whispering across her brow. Her own heart reeled.

Robert…

She pulled away from the sanctuary of the building and ran through the shadows to find someone, anyone, who could stop this terrible turn of events from becoming a tragedy.