A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love. First posted in 2011.

A Christmas Eve spent far from home...

Ah, I remember it well...

It was December 24, 1940, at Stalag 18, somewhere in Germany. We had all gathered round the common room table in our barracks, and I was listening to the usual give and take among the lads.

Potter came through the door, letting in a swirl of snow. He spotted me sitting at the table and came to attention. "Sir!"

I put him at ease, and said, "Yes, yes, I have indeed returned, Potter. As you can see, the Kommandant let me out of the cooler a day early."

He went over to the stove and started to warm his hands. "How far did you get this time, sir?"

I had to think about that for a moment. "Only about two or three miles, I fear."

Gower looked at me and shook his head. "Pardon me for asking, sir, but since you've tried to escape twice so far, and been recaptured both times..."

I chuckled. "Kept Jerry busy for a while, though, didn't I? I must admit that I am not good at this escape business, but I shall continue trying. The Jerries think I'm the worst kind of duffer: very well, let them think it. While they're laughing at my poor attempts, other fellows will be planning escapes in earnest!"

Gower was a little taken aback. "Oh! And here I thought you were a bit barmy, begging your pardon, sir. And, uh, sir, I've been meaning to ask..." he hesitated.

"No need to be shy," I said kindly. "Out with it, man!"

"Well, there's one other thing I've been wondering, sir...why do the Germans call you Colonel?"

"Been wondering that meself," said Hatch.

I sighed; a touchy subject, this. "A bit of a misunderstanding, don't you know. When I was taken prisoner, the Jerry who interrogated me didn't seem to have a proper grasp of British military rank at all. Couldn't understand the concept of Group Captain, and kept leafing through a book he had on various military designations. Finally he decided that I must be a colonel, and once he put it in the record, well, there it was! You know how methodical the Jerries are."

The others all nodded glumly. Yes, they knew very well how methodical the Jerries were.

There was a silence for a time, then Wainwright said, "It's Christmas Eve, you know."

"Don't remind me," muttered Bailey.

"I wonder what my family is doing right now," said Potter.

"I've 'ad no mail yet," said Hatch. "P'raps they've all forgotten me."

"It's hard not to feel forgotten," admitted Gower. "They're still fighting a war back home. Who would have the time to remember us blokes?"

"We're not forgotten, chaps," I said with conviction. "We must all keep that in mind." I had to smile as a thought occurred to me. "That was the idea behind the Crittendon Plan, actually."

Wainwright looked up. "The Crittendon Plan, sir?"

"Why, yes," I said. "Part of it—but only part, mind you—involved planting crimson geraniums along all the runways, so returning airmen would feel welcomed home."

Some of the fellows started to snicker, but Hatch nodded. "I should 'ave liked to have seen that, meself," he said. "A bit o' normal life, you might say. It would remind the fellows of what we are fighting for—ordinary, simple things like flowers in the garden, and Mum, and plum pudding."

"Taking my girl to the pictures," Wainwright put in wistfully.

"Summers at Blackpool," added Gower.

I smiled ruefully. "A decent cup of tea."

Potter nodded. "Afternoons on the cricket pitch."

"Fish and chips." Hatch had a faraway look in his eye.

"Ah, belt up, will you?"

Everyone turned to look at Bailey. True, the chap was pugnacious by nature, but his contribution to the rather innocuous conversation took us all by surprise.

"Is there a problem, Sergeant?" I enquired mildly.

"I can't take it, sir," he burst out. "Talking about 'ome just makes it worse! Sitting 'ere in this bloody camp day after day, not knowing what's 'appening at 'ome..."

I regarded the fellow thoughtfully. It was time to rally the troops, by Jove!

I said with a bracing tone, "Jerry didn't succeed in invading Britain, did he? Thanks to you lot, and to our lads who are still flying. And thanks to people like my sister Kay and her family and your families, who are all keeping the home fires burning."

Gower sighed. "But Britain stands alone now. How long can we possibly hold out, all alone?"

"What about the bloody Yanks, eh?" growled Bailey, and the others murmured agreement.

"Ah yes, the Yanks." I thought for a moment. "Actually, old Winnie said it best: 'You can always count on Americans to do the right thing—after they have tried everything else.' "

"But when will they do the right thing?" complained Potter. "What the hell are they waiting for—an engraved invitation from Jerry?"

I shook my head. "Don't forget, my dear fellow, that they're still neutral. They might speak English—after a fashion—but they have a large immigrant population, don't you know, and many are sympathetic to the German cause. Plus, I fear the Americans listen far too much to Joseph Kennedy. An excellent fellow in many ways, no doubt, but perhaps not quite the right person to be Ambassador to Britain. And, of course, there was that rather unpleasant business in 1814 when we burned down Washington."

"Served 'em right for invading Canada," grumbled Wainwright, who happened to be an RCAF flight lieutenant from Nova Scotia.

"Well, we'll let bygones be bygones, shall we?" I said. "But I trust that the Americans will see the light eventually. They are sending aid, don't you know, in spite of their avowed neutrality. God willing, by this time next year they will have joined our cause in earnest."

Hatch frowned. "But for now..."

"For now, let us remember tonight is Christmas Eve," I said. "It's a time to think of dear old England, and the ones we left at home. We're still fighting for them, don't forget. It's a different fight than before, and in many ways a more difficult one. But I know we shall prevail. And I know our people would like to think of us celebrating this occasion, just as they are at home. So, anyone for a carol or two, what? Who should like to start?"

"I will," said Bailey.

We all turned to look at him again. I felt quite certain that the last time he had darkened the door of a church he was wearing his christening gown. However, far be it from me to discourage the fellow.

"Splendid!" I said heartily. "Which one do you choose?"

Bailey looked down, shuffling his feet. "Actually, sir, I'd like to 'ave the Nine Lessons and Carols. Like we 'ad at 'ome."

A little to my surprise, all of the men in the barracks agreed with enthusiasm. And so a Bible was brought forth from its hiding place, and we all gathered round for the traditional service of Scripture readings and hymns.

When it came time for the lesson from the second chapter of Luke, Bailey put aside the Bible, and stood up straight, hands behind his back, and recited from memory:

And there were in the same country
shepherds abiding in the field,
keeping watch over their flock by night.

And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them,
and the glory of the Lord shone round about them;
and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them,
Fear not: for, behold,
I bring you good tidings of great joy,
which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day
in the city of David a Saviour,
which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you:
Ye shall find the babe
wrapped in swaddling clothes,
lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel
a multitude of the heavenly host
praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Peace on earth, I thought to myself as I looked round at the serious, absorbed faces of the lads...young men who had seen more of death and suffering than any human being ought. Young men who had no idea what the future would bring.

Yet still they believed that someday there would, indeed, be peace on earth and good will toward men. They would keep the faith.

And so would I.