Common Enemies, Uncommon Friends

by Remingtonkeys

(A re-post by request of a full-length novel that was removed during adaptation into a screenplay.) When Hogan's operation is compromised and his secret identity is about to be revealed, his team-and his closest enemies, are endangered. How far are each willing to go to save the rest? Full novel posted here. (Sorry!) I will break into chapters again soon. Author aka Hotcorner.

251

COMMON ENEMIES, UNCOMMON FRIENDS

A Hogan's Heroes novel

By Laurie Bryant

PROLOGUE

Hammelburg, Germany, 1945.

The three men moved silently through the woods, their every step well-orchestrated against the cover of darkness. A sense of urgency in the air, they knew that more than the clock was against them as they wordlessly went about their business. Cloaked in black, their faces obscured, the trio froze momentarily at the approach of two sentries in German uniforms.

The taller man, an officer, waved his pistol as he spoke. "How much longer?" He may have been wearing the insignias of the Third Reich, but the language was English and the accent was unmistakably American.

The response from the crouched man in black was also in English, placing him from somewhere in the American Midwest. "Just another minute, sir."

"That's what you said five minutes ago," another frantic whisper from the darkness, this one clearly British.

"Well, some things can't be rushed," the Midwesterner countered defensively. "My mother always said, 'Rush the grapes, spoil the wine.'"

"And what would Americans know about wine?" This time it was the other uniformed man who spoke, but his speech betrayed his Parisian homeland.

The deepest voice came from the darkest man. Dressed fully in black, he needed no grease to hide his face in the moonlight. "The same amount the French know about baseball."

"Look, if you guys are finished," interrupted the officer. "I'd like to get out of here before our friend Major Hochstetter and his Gestapo goon squad join in this little debate. This area is crawling with patrols and grabbing us out here like this would really make his night…and ruin ours."

"Ready, sir."

With that, the five packed up their gear and set back out into the woods. It wasn't as long as it seemed before the little group was within sight of the barbed wire fences and searchlights of the place they called home. Their final approach was illuminated by a magnificent explosion, which happened to be from precisely the direction from which they had come.

"Another bridge, another dollar," whispered the officer in the German uniform as he watched the other four disappear into the hollowed-out tree stump that would take them safely below ground. With one last look around, he dropped down after them, successfully escaping back into the toughest prisoner of war camp in all of Germany.

CHAPTER ONE

"Hogan, I just don't understand it. I've taken every bit of your ridiculous advice and still have nothing to show for it."

"Look, these things take time." Standing in the middle of the office, Colonel Robert E. Hogan casually helped himself to a cigar as he spoke to the kommandant of his Luftwaffe prison camp. "I'm sure you're making progress. Who could resist the Iron Colonel?"

"Liesl can, apparently. She has no trouble resisting."

Colonel Wilhelm Klink struck his silver lighter, and offered the flame to his American senior prisoner, who lit his cigar and nodded his thanks. Hogan crossed to the bookcase bearing the schnapps bottle and poured two glasses. After handing one to Klink, he quickly downed his own and took a draw on the cigar.

"I cannot understand the woman, Hogan. I'm trying to be the perfect gentleman."

"There's your problem," Hogan smiled. "You've got it all wrong. Women don't want the perfect gentleman."

Klink squinted through his monocle. "They don't? But you said…"

"I said to make an impression. 'Perfect gentlemen' only impress a girl's mother. Now you want to impress the girl—you've got to show her a little of your dangerous side."

"My dangerous side?" Tall, slender, balding and sporting a monocle in his one bad eye, it was difficult to imagine that the middle-aged Klink had any side that could be considered even remotely dangerous.

"Sure, keep her off balance. Let her wonder what you've been up to between visits…Let her think you're nothing but trouble." Hogan raised a mischievous eyebrow above the experienced glint in his eyes.

"But I want a nice girl, Hogan. Someone I can listen to music with, go to the opera…"

Hogan grinned as he strode to the window. Some fifteen years younger than his kommandant, his boyish good looks and abundant charm had often enabled the captured pilot to successfully ingratiate himself with both the opposite sex and his German captors. His qualities certainly helped Hogan in his tenure as the covert leader of the local underground resistance, an unlikely operation he managed from inside the prison camp. The man secretly known as Papa Bear looked out at the grounds of the camp over which he wielded considerably more power than the naïve warder standing beside him. Hogan made sure that Klink remained delightfully unaware of the spying, sabotage, and other elicit activities carried out by the most notorious underground unit in Germany. The American colonel's eyes drifted out to the quiet compound; the resident prisoners were all inside their barracks, with the men of his barracks busily preparing for their next foray into sabotaging the German war effort while their unsuspecting kommandant planned his next date, secure in his belief that his was truly 'the toughest POW camp in Germany.' "Nice girls love bad boys, Colonel."

"You really think so?"

"Trust me…" Hogan's response was cut short as he looked out the kommandant's window and saw a truck entering the gates. "Hey, we've got company."

Klink stepped to the window and watched as a tidy, blonde Luftwaffe officer exited the truck and spoke briefly with his driver. Several guards dismounted the back of the truck and stood nearby.

"You order replacement guards?" asked Hogan.

"No, I believe that is Major Eisenmann, the new kommandant of Stalag 10. I haven't met him officially, but I saw him at a reception once. I tried to introduce myself but he was too busy chatting up General Burkhalter. The major has made a reputation of something of a young hotshot out to impress." Klink frowned, knowing that his own career, once on the fast-track during the Kaiser's war, was now hopelessly mired in the paperwork and bootlicking of a pilot-turned-desk jockey. "I wonder what he wants with us." He set his glass down and made for the door, with Hogan right behind him. Klink extended his hand in a falsely enthusiastic greeting as he bounded down the steps.

"Major Eisenmann, I am Colonel Klink, welcome to Stalag 13."

Ignoring the offered hand, Eisenmann turned his ice-blue eyes instead to Hogan, who was now standing between Sergeant Schultz and Corporal Langenscheidt who were standing guard on the porch beyond Klink's right shoulder. "Colonel Klink, do you make a habit of turning your back on your prisoners?"

"Turning my back?" Klink responded, clearly missing the meaning of the remark. "Oh, forgive me, Colonel, my manners…May I present Colonel Hogan, my senior prisoner of war."

Hogan stared evenly at the officer before him, knowing exactly what he had meant. He decided not to wait and chose to begin disliking Eisenmann immediately.

"Since we are making introductions, perhaps Colonel Hogan would like to meet my senior prisoner of war." Eisenmann nodded at the sergeant at the back of the truck, who immediately reached up and pulled a bloodied American major into view. Shackled, he landed in a heap at the sergeant's feet, conscious but clearly injured and frightened. Hogan instinctively made a move toward the fallen officer, but was stopped short by the raised weapons of all of Eisenmann's guards. Stalag Thirteen's guards themselves tensed, though it was difficult to tell whether they were demonstrating aggression toward Hogan or protecting him.

"Major Eisenmann, what is the meaning of this?" Klink stepped forward, indicating the man now struggling to get to his feet unaided. "Who is this man? Why have you brought him here? I have received no transfer orders."

Ignoring Klink, Eisenmann approached Hogan and looked him up and down disapprovingly. He spoke directly to Hogan. "This is Major McCall, American Air Force. He foolishly attempted an escape from my stalag last night. We tracked him down near here."

McCall. Damn. Hogan had heard of a planned escape from Stalag 10. The four men were to work their way to Stalag 13 for processing and a ticket home. Was this the only man to get out? Hogan looked at the visiting guards. Or perhaps he was the only one to survive? Hogan noted that McCall looked as if he had been on the run far longer than one day. His clothes were filthy, he was sporting at least a few weeks' growth of beard, and he looked terribly thin. Hogan guessed that if a lengthy time on the run was not responsible for the man's condition, a lengthy time in the cooler might be.

"Kommandant," Hogan firmly addressed Klink. "That man is in need of medical assistance. May I offer the services of our medic…"

Eisenmann laughed, cutting Hogan off mid-sentence. "In need of assistance? The only thing that man is in need of is a firing squad." Turning to Klink, he said, "We don't yet have your fine record, Kommandant, but we are working on it. Four men tried to leave us last night, two are dead, and this one…might as well be. He will of course be held responsible for their actions." He shrugged indifferently and glanced over at the truck as the remaining prisoner, and American sergeant, was roughly removed and stood unmoving near his guards. Nodding toward Hogan, Eisenmann again addressed Klink, but was clearly baiting Hogan. "I don't suppose your senior scum has ever tried to escape? He doesn't look like he has the stomach for it."

Hogan stiffened, wanting very much to take the German's head off his shoulders. But before he could respond, Klink intervened, saving Hogan from whatever wrath would befall him once he opened his mouth.

Somehow the tension in the air told Klink that this was not the time to taut his perfect record and tamed prisoners. "Major Eisenmann, I still do not understand why you are here."

"Curiosity and necessity, Colonel. I had the opportunity to have a little talk with one of my escapees before he expired. He volunteered some interesting information. It seems that our lost sheep were heading in this direction, and I was wondering why?" His intense stare again fell on Hogan, who met the stare with equal intensity. "Stalag 13 is the only notable landmark in the immediate area, and of course there is a local reputation as something of a hotbed of underground activity. We suspect that McCall here was trying to lead them to the Underground for assistance."

Eisenmann moved beside McCall and spoke directly into his dirty face, yet the American made no move to look him in the eye and continued staring blankly ahead. "He obviously failed, again. He failed as a leader as he had failed as a pilot, and once again he is responsible for the deaths of men in his charge. He failed as all Allies fail in the face of a superior opponent." Eisenmann looked for a moment as though he would spit on the American, but he turned abruptly to Klink. "As for the necessity, Herr Kommandant, we respectfully ask for fuel for our truck for the return trip back, and some rations for our guards as they have not eaten since last night."

As Klink and Eisenmann negotiated for the food and fuel, Hogan forced himself to steal a casual look at the American officer, trying not to give himself or his operation away. The man's dark eyes were vacant. Hogan wondered about more than his physical well-being. McCall had the look of a broken man, and Hogan knew he was McCall's last best hope.

"What about Major McCall?" Hogan voice was sharp as he tried to assert some measure of authority to secure protection for his fellow American. "He's a POW and an officer and entitled to proper treatment under the Geneva Convention." He turned to the prisoner. "When was your last meal, Major?"

McCall continued to stare blankly ahead and Hogan's inquiry was greeted with only silence. "Don't be afraid of him, Major," Hogan snapped, unable to resist targeting the visiting Nazi. "He's only a junior monster, if he were a real threat he'd still be fighting the war."

Eisenmann reddened and moved so he was nose to nose with Hogan. "Colonel Klink, my prisoners speak only when directed to do so by their guards. Now, I suggest you put a muzzle on your man before I do." Eisenmann fingered the leather holster at his belt, releasing the snap on the top flap and caressing the pistol within.

There was a long pause. Klink briefly shut his eyes, willing Hogan to hold his tongue. He had always worried that the American's mouth would be the death of him, but now Hogan had grown eerily quiet and his icy gaze was fixed on Eisenmann. Somehow whatever was brewing within him now seemed worse than a flippant remark. Klink decided not to wait for a second threat or Hogan's response. "That will be all, Hogan. Dismissed."

Hogan's eyes widened. "Are you kidding? You're giving in to this…"

"I said, dismissed, Hogan." Klink ordered. "I will handle our guests. Sergeant Schultz, escort Colonel Hogan to his barracks."

Schultz came forward and gently grabbed Hogan's elbow to turn him away from Eisenmann. "Come, Colonel Hogan. There is nothing but trouble for you here."

As Schultz tugged at the senior prisoner, a small sound came from McCall. Hogan turned back, to see the major shuffle tentatively away from his captors and head slowly in his direction.

"No, Colonel Hogan, please. Help me. I can't go back—I can't." Just as McCall broke in to an ill-advised, awkward run toward Hogan, a single shot rang out, echoing through the compound. McCall fell forward, a dark crimson stain spreading on his back.

After a moment of shocked silence, Hogan jerked away from Schultz and moved toward Eisenmann, his voice a low growl. "You son of a…"

"Hogan! Silence!" Klink stepped between his prisoner and the visiting kommandant with the smoking gun. "Schultz, sieze him. Now!"

Schultz struggled to restrain the squirming Hogan until he received unsolicited help from Langenscheidt. Together they managed to calm the officer in their grasp. Still held firmly in place by the arms, any forward progress toward Eisenmann was impossible, but visibly seething, Hogan resisted any move toward the barracks and planted his feet in the compound.

Exploiting the fact that Hogan was still a captive audience, Eisenmann smirked and walked to his other prisoner, the American sergeant, who stood impassively beside the truck, showing no response at all to the shooting of his commanding officer. "You see, Colonel Klink, disciplining the Top Dog keeps the other dogs in line." His tone became patronizing as he lightly traced the man's jaw line with his pistol. "But then, with your impeccable record here, I assume you already know that. Perhaps that is the reason for your record? Still, I'd like to have your Top Dog in my cage for a while. I would teach him to roll over and play dead like his friend there."

Klink cringed inwardly, repulsed by the behavior he had witnessed, but he refused to show his weakness to the junior officer before him. "Major Eisenmann, I do not approve of your methods, but as this man was in your charge I have no authority over him. I will, however, be making a full report to General Burkhalter. Now, get out of my camp."

"As you wish, Herr Kommandant." With cool detachment, Eisenmann indicated the body on the ground to his guards, who converged on it instantly.

"Leave him!" Hogan ordered, knowing he could see to it that the body would be at least respectfully handled in his own camp.

Eisenmann laughed. The guards continued their cleanup duties. "Your authority went down with your plane, Colonel. He is my prisoner, shot while escaping."

"Escaping? You lying piece of…" Hogan struggled against the grip his guards had on his leather jacket.

"Schultz, Langenscheidt! See him to his barracks or see him to the cooler, but do it now!" Klink could do nothing for the dead American, but he could certainly try to keep the live American in front of him out of harm's way, no matter how difficult Hogan made it.

Eisenmann watched with amusement as the guards gained control of the man in their charge and finally began the forced march toward Hogan's barracks. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Herr Kommandant, I have my own report to make. Remember my offer, Colonel Klink. I'd be happy to housebreak your dog for you."

Klink glanced across the compound just as Hogan was shoved into his barracks for his own good. He looked Eisenmann squarely in the eye. "As there has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13, Major, I don't believe I need your assistance. Good day." And good riddance. Mein Gott.

CHAPTER TWO

Inside the wooden structure that housed the prisoners of Barracke 2, Hogan's trusted inner circle waited. The four men, representing three of the allied armies, were more than a military unit. Aside from supporting their camp's only allied officer in the day-to-day operation of Stalag 13, each man contributed his unique talents to their covert operation by night. RAF corporal Peter Newkirk, an expert pickpocket who dabbled in safecracking also had a street performer's talent for accents and voices. Louis LeBeau, a feisty Frenchman whose heart belied his diminutive size, was also an accomplished chef, a talent that often allowed Hogan and his crew access to visiting officers and dignitaries. American Andrew Carter, the ranking sergeant of the group, had more than a boyish interest in chemistry and had become a competent demolition expert despite his tame nature and mid-western naiveté. Rank aside, the unquestioned leader among the enlisted men, was Sergeant Ivan Kinchloe, the communications expert of the group. Kinch, as he was known to all, was a loyal soldier and capable leader held back from further advancement by the official, and unofficial, racial segregation of his own army. Nonetheless, it was he who served as Hogan's second-in-command and trusted confidante. As their colonel was escorted across the yard by his German guards, the four men stood clustered around the drafty window that had allowed them an obstructed view of the activity at the far end of the compound. They all turned expectantly as Hogan was deposited into their barracks.

"What in bloody hell happened out there, gov'nor?" Newkirk broke away from the group and approached his commanding officer, who stood the way the guards had left him—just inside the door with his back to the room, practically trembling from adrenaline.

"Yeah, who were those guys?" asked Carter anxiously. "We couldn't hear much of anything…except the shot."

"Animals," cried LeBeau. "I'd like to see how tough he is without a gun."

"And what about Klink?" Newkirk continued talking to Hogan's back. "Just standing there like a flippin' statue, letting him shoot that poor bastard in the back, and then haulin' you off because you stood up to…"

"Leave him alone," Kinch interrupted and crossed to stand between Hogan and the rest of the team. He could tell Hogan wasn't ready to talk about it, and left Hogan a clear path to his office if he needed it.

The room fell silent. Hogan just stared at the closed door for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to get his rage under control. He turned around and faced his men, knowing they wanted, and deserved, answers to their questions. But he found himself uncharacteristically speechless. What could he tell them? That their secret operation may have just contributed to three deaths? That his smart mouth probably caused a man to be murdered right at his feet? Could he just blurt out that McCall died begging for help that the great Colonel Hogan was powerless to give him?

He said nothing. Instead, he angrily smacked the coffee pot off the stove, sending the hot contents spraying around the room, and walked to his office and slammed the door.

"He could have at least told us what happened out there," LeBeau said quietly as he picked up the pot and replaced it on the stove.

"Too right," said Newkirk, still angry, though not with Hogan. "An unarmed man gets shot in the back not fifty yards from here and we're not supposed to ask any questions?"

Kinch turned on them quickly. "He doesn't owe us anything. In case you've forgotten, he's in command here. He was the one out there alone and surrounded by German guns, not you. He'll tell us when he's ready." He bent over and started to help mop up the mess on the floor. Slowly, the rest of the guys pitched in to help.

It was some time before the door to Hogan's office and private quarters opened again. Hogan emerged still looking angry, but more approachable than before. He grabbed his coffee cup and headed for the stove. LeBeau reached for the pot and filled his mug.

"Just in time, mon colonel. I just made a fresh pot, the other one was too weak anyway—Carter made it." LeBeau smiled, trying to draw his commander out.

"Hey!" Carter cried. "My coffee is just as good as yours!"

Hogan allowed himself a small smile. "Thanks" He sat at his customary spot at their table. "I know you all are curious about what happened this morning. There really isn't much to tell. The kraut was kommandant of Stalag 10, the prisoners were the escapees we were supposed to help get back to London. The escape went bad, they recaptured the men, and…the senior officer was shot in the back when he tried to get to me for help." Hogan's voice cracked just a bit.

"You?" asked Kinch. "It was too late for that. What could you have done? He was already captured." He saw the flash of helplessness in Hogan's eyes. "You couldn't have helped him, Colonel."

"Yeah," agreed Newkirk. "The poor bugger was already done for. But why make a break for it here like that? I mean he was inside a prison camp and surrounded by armed guards! He could have given the lot of us away."

"Yeah, Colonel," added Carter. "It doesn't seem too bright."

"He was desperate," Hogan said flatly, staring at the bottom of his coffee mug. "He said he couldn't go back."

Newkirk laughed cynically. "Well, all things considered, I'd rather go back than take one in the back!"

"Yeah, me too," Carter nodded.

"Oui," agreed LeBeau.

Hogan slapped his cup on the table and stood up. "It's easy for you guys to consider your options. You have them! That guy knew he was a goner either way. They'd broken him, he was better off dead and he knew it."

LeBeau shrugged sympathetically. "It's not easy for anyone, being in prison…" He was abruptly cut off by Hogan.

"You have no idea! We sit around here complaining about drinking lousy coffee and thinking up ways to harass the enemy. McCall and his guys were starved and beaten by a sadistic nutcase using them to further his own career. It's easy for us to forget that those men with guns in the compound are guarding us. We sneak around, but they hold the power. And they can shoot any one of us whenever they want and some crooked kraut officer would just file it away under 'shot while escaping.'"

LeBeau snorted. "I bet that's what Klink is doing right now, filling in his little report to General Burkhalter telling him how tame his prisoners are, and taking credit for capturing the escaped men from Stalag 10."

There was a general mumbling of discontent from the other men in the room as Klink became the resident symbol for unchecked German authority. But the room quieted as the door suddenly opened and the frame was filled with the formidable outline of Sergeant Schultz.

Schultz was a good sort, like a kindly uncle who seemed to have fallen into the wrong line of work. Now into his second war, the only cause to which he seemed loyal was his own effort to survive and return to his former life as a well-fed husband and doting father of five. It was that cause that Hogan and his band exploited for their own benefit countless times, and Schultz usually complied and looked the other way or served as an informant. Though he often acted the part, Schultz was no stooge. He knew enough to remain in the relative safety of Stalag 13, to do his job well—but not so well as to get noticed for it, and to keep himself comfortably below the Luftwaffe radar. In fact, the burly sergeant-of-the-guard was a successful toy maker before the government appropriated his factory for the German war effort. Toys suited him, as did his philosophy of neutrality in the present conflict. Constantly surrounded by men in a variety of uniforms, and disliking conflict of any kind, he felt no need to take sides. Still, he had a job to do.

"Excuse me, Colonel Hogan," he spoke quietly, respecting the loss of the Allied man, and feeling a bit guilty about having to physically restrain Hogan earlier. "Kommandant Klink wishes to see you."

"Tell him to get lost." Hogan's uncharacteristic snide comment was met with approval from his men.

"Colonel Hogan, please. I can tell him no such thing. The kommandant sent me to get you because…"

"And I'm supposed to jump through hoops like a trained seal because he says so, right?" Hogan suddenly got up, slammed his cap on his head and made for the door. "Come on, Sergeant. I'd hate for you to have to shoot me." Hogan marched out of the barracks toward Klink's office, angry, frustrated and looking for a fight.

Schultz looked injured. He sadly eyed the men left behind. "What a thing to say. I would never shoot him." He inadvertently uttered his next thought aloud. "I would never shoot anybody." When he received nothing but icy stares from the Allied soldiers in Barracks 2, Sergeant Hans Schultz of the Luftwaffe quietly made his exit.

CHAPTER THREE

"Colonel Hogan, please, come in. Sit down."

Hogan stood stiffly just inside the office door. "Thank you," he said curtly. "I'll stand."

Are we back to day one, Hogan? The kommandant walked out from behind his desk, understanding the reason for his senior prisoner's state of mind; it couldn't be that far from his own. He, too, was disgusted by what they had witnessed earlier that day. He wanted to talk about it, to tell Hogan how sorry he was about what happened. It would have been an easy conversation to have with a friend, but how would it sound to an American coming from the mouth of a man in a German uniform? But surely, after all this time, Hogan knew…

"Hogan," Klink sounded almost paternal as he resisted a fleeting impulse to use Hogan's first name. "I know how you must feel about this unpleasantness…" In a rare physical gesture of compassion, Klink tentatively touched the shoulder of Hogan's bomber jacket.

In an instant Klink was pinned against the wall, with Hogan's right forearm firmly across his throat, exerting just enough pressure to let Klink feel the rage behind the action. In Hogan's left hand, also fixed snugly against the wall, was the wrist that had reached out to him a moment before.

The suddenness of the action took Klink by surprise, but the emotion behind it did not. Immediately defensive, his frustration and anger at his own impotence bubbled to the surface. In spite of the unmistakable threat in Hogan's posture and eyes, Klink made no move to escape his grasp or call for help. His voice was raised, but held no malice.

"I did not kill that officer! And there was nothing you or I could have done to stop it." He ignored the slight increase of pressure on his throat and continued, his own anger fueling his bravado. "You think I like having his blood spilled in my camp? I live by the rules, Hogan. I run my camp by the rules. And I have never had even one prisoner die violently in my camp. Until now. Eisenmann is a trigger-happy bully, just like Hochstetter. I am just an officer trying to do my job. You want to hate me for not stopping it, go ahead. I don't even blame you, not after what I saw today. But I am not Eisenmann."

There was a long pause. Klink could feel Hogan slowly regaining some semblance of self-control and there was a slackening in Hogan's tensed muscles.

"Now unhand me, Colonel Hogan or I will put you in the cooler myself." He didn't really consider exactly how he would make good on his threat from his present predicament, hoping instead that a simple reminder of their respective positions would suffice now that Hogan had blown off some steam.

Knowing such an assault against the camp kommandant should certainly have earned him a lengthy hitch in the cooler, or worse, Hogan released Klink and walked slowly across the room. Full of conflicting feelings, he stopped at the window overlooking the yard and crossed his arms, staring thoughtfully out at the activity in the compound. Although the mood was still somewhat somber, some of the prisoners were now milling about, tossing balls and chatting with a few of the guards.

It was some time before either officer spoke again.

If Klink was waiting for an apology, it never came, at least, not verbally. Hogan simply reached down and poured two glasses of schnapps. Without a word he turned and handed one to Klink, holding his own glass high in a salute. "To men who aren't Eisenmann, may they inherit the earth."

Klink nodded in agreement and studied his own glass as it tapped Hogan's. "May there be something left to inherit."

CHAPTER FOUR

"Did you give him a piece of your mind, gov'nor?" Newkirk greeted Hogan at the door, hoping the colonel had spoken for all of them.

"I bet you really let Klink have it. Right, Colonel?" asked LeBeau, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of a good story. "The dirty kraut might not have pulled the trigger, but they are all the same."

"Knock it off," shouted Hogan. "They're not all the same. Isn't that how we get things done, with the help of partisans who aren't murderous bastards?"

He sat down at the table and lowered his voice, wondering where his self-control had gone. "Let's not forget what we're doing here. Have you forgotten all the defectors we've helped out of Germany because they don't agree with Hitler, or how many guys in the German military who have either helped us outright or looked the other way while we went about our business. Some of these guys are as much afraid of the nuts in charge as we are, maybe more.

"And as for Klink, much as I hate to admit it, he probably saved my hide out there today." Hogan looked around the room at his men knowing they deserved the whole truth, no matter how hard it was for him, so he gave it to them. "I lost my head and tried to show up an arrogant kraut with an itchy trigger finger. He shot McCall to show me who was boss, and if Klink hadn't intervened he probably would have dropped me, too."

The men exchanged surprised looks, uncomfortable with Hogan's honest revelation, but sensitive to the pain he was feeling.

Kinch sat beside Hogan. "God, Colonel, why didn't you tell us this before?"

"There's nothing you could have done." The officer tried to brush off the incident and the pity he saw in his friends' eyes. "What happened was my fault and I'll deal with it. Besides, it's over." Hogan stood, signaling the end of that line of questioning.

"So what did ol'Klink want?" Carter tried to change the subject.

"Nothing." Hogan didn't feel like discussing more behavior he wasn't proud of. "We just talked. You may not believe it, but he didn't like what happened any more than I did. And he's right. He's no Eisenmann."

Though it felt odd to defend Klink to his prisoners, especially when he was still so angry himself, Hogan felt they all needed a reality check. He had already had his.

"And for all the rotten conditions we have to live in here, it's a lot worse elsewhere, like at Stalag 10 for instance. I sit in Klink's office and talk about girls and swipe cigars and drink his liquor. McCall probably sat in the cooler alone and took the rap for everything that they chose to pin on him. This place is a country club compared to other camps, and it isn't because Klink is inept. We stay behind because we can. They escaped because they had to. Staying was just as dangerous as running."

Hogan stood up and looked each of his men in the eye. "In every army enlisted guys resent officers because they're in charge, officers resent the big brass for the same reason, and we all resent Klink because he's in charge of this camp and an easy target. Believe me, he may have his faults, but he is no Nazi."

As the weeks passed, the incident in the compound was pushed further into the backs of the minds of all residents of the camp. Routine once again became the norm, and the somewhat chilly interaction between the prisoners and their guards, and even between Hogan and Klink, once again warmed to normal standards. And after an initial rather spiteful flurry of sabotaging anything that looked remotely connected to the German war effort, Hogan and his men having gotten most of the anger out of their systems, returned to a relatively normal schedule of sabotage and espionage. And, during the cooling off period between Hogan and Klink, when no impromptu evening chess matches were likely, Hogan did manage to slip away as his presence was requested in England as plans were made for a final push to sabotage what was left of the German infrastructure. There is something about a plane ride that does wonders for an airman's disposition, and a pat on the back from the big boys didn't hurt either.

So it was the Hogan of old who was out of camp with his men on a reconnaissance mission disguised as a work detail when Hilda announced a visitor to Colonel Klink's office.

"A Captain Hoffman is here to see you, Kommandant." She stepped aside and allowed a young officer to enter. He was carrying a large brown envelope in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

"Heil Hitler! I hope I am not disturbing you, Herr Kommandant. I only wish a moment of your time." He stood ramrod straight and waited for Klink's response.

Klink stood and returned the captain's salute. "Very well, Captain. What can I do for you?" Klink hoped he wasn't collecting donations for another shady, and very expensive, cause to support the glorious Third Reich.

The captain placed his briefcase on the floor and reached into his envelope and pulled out several grainy photographs. "I am working on an Intelligence operation, Colonel. We are investigating the possibility that foreign enemies of the Reich have infiltrated certain areas and are posing as German civilians or military in order to carry out Underground activities." He handed the photos to Klink. "We have an agent working for us in London. These were taken by a hidden camera at a secret high level meeting of an Allied Intelligence unit there not too long ago. Our contact was unable to secure the names of those involved in the meeting, but we believe some of the men and women in these photos may be in Germany right now, planning acts of sabotage or espionage."

Klink shrugged. It sounded like a safe busywork assignment for a well-connected captain hoping to avoid combat on the eastern front. "That is very interesting, Captain. But what has it to do with me? I run a prisoner of war camp."

"You are an important man in this area, Herr Kommandant. As you are active in local military and social functions, I was hoping you would check for familiar faces."

Soaking up the flattery, Klink looked at the photos. They were dark and grainy, but showed about a dozen people of various ages around a conference room table, some in allied uniforms, some not. Klink gave a cursory glance through the images. The likelihood of a German local drifting back and forth to England during wartime unnoticed was remote to say the least. As expected, he saw no faces that appeared familiar.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I see no one I recognize." He handed the photos back and watched as the captain slid them back into the envelope.

"Ah, well," the captain tried to hide his disappointment. "Perhaps I will have better luck on my next stop. I am confident that something will turn up in this investigation. Thank you, Colonel."

"Good luck. I am always happy to assist in our glorious cause. May I offer you a little drink before you go on your way, Captain?" Klink poured two glasses and held one out to the junior officer.

Thrilled to be so well received by a Colonel, Hoffman eagerly placed the envelope on the desk and took the offered glass and offered a passionate toast. "To victory and our beloved Fuhrer!"

Klink raised his glass and returned the salute, though it was missing some of the conviction as his guest. "To victory." He emptied the contents of his glass quickly, as did Hoffman.

"Thank you, Herr Colonel. I must be on my way." The officer again saluted sharply, picked up his briefcase and left the office.

Klink poured himself another drink and watched the man drive off. Another young man, so eager to serve, committed to Hitler, to his plan for the world. Thinking of the young Captain, Klink reluctantly saw himself not that long ago. He shook the vision from his consciousness and settled back down at his desk. He immediately realized that Hoffman had left his envelope behind. Klink leaned back in his chair and pulled out the photographs once more, absently shuffling through them, wondering what it would be like to be on the other side in this war. Imagine, working to rid the world of Hitler and his bully boys instead of aiding them.

Klink stopped cold as one slightly obscured face in one grainy photograph caught his eye. It can't be. He looked closer at the man, taking in his branch of service, his rank, and his decorations. Donnerwetter!

CHAPTER FIVE

Klink had spent the night prowling the grounds, a habit he had taken to whenever he felt preoccupied by some ultimately trifling problem. On many of those occasions, especially the more recent ones, Klink had found himself beside Hogan's bunk, visiting his problems with his senior prisoner, the only officer of equal rank in camp. Of course, this time his problem was neither trifling nor one he could easily share with Hogan, at least not without an armed escort.

"Frauline Hilda, please send for Colonel Hogan at once, and have Sergeant Schultz relieved on guard duty at the motor pool so that he can report to my office as well."

As he stared at the photos in his hand, Klink was forced to confront the stark reality of Hogan's true identity. Despite the fact that he had grudgingly come to enjoy his senior prisoner's company, Klink had always been suspect of Hogan. For his own benefit, he had even turned a blind eye to some of the more outrageous coincidences that occurred during Hogan's stay in his camp, including a few in which he had, for his own benefit, played along. He was also well aware that Hogan had some outside contacts, and suspected at least a radio, though Klink had never found it.

Klink was even aware that Hogan occasionally manipulated him, but could he really be, as Hochstetter had taken to calling him, 'the most dangerous man in Germany'? Certainly Klink had brushed aside countless previous allegations and suspicions, but just as certainly he had spent many nights alone in his darkened quarters wondering if this would be the night that Hogan would be brought back through the gates by the Gestapo. Yes, he had to admit he had come to accept the likelihood that Hogan was at the very least moonlighting as a saboteur. And oddly, perhaps born of his overwhelming desire to be liked, Klink also had to admit some slight, irrational disappointment that the camp's resident saboteur had not seen fit to confide in him.

His odd relationship with Hogan had taken many turns over the years they were together, not quite adversaries and not exactly friends, the two men had still managed to coexist, collaborating on the efficient running of the Stalag. Much of the daily routine around a prison camp was an exercise in boredom for all sides. Klink and Hogan had been most often more than civil, with their differences usually minor. And there had been many instances, especially in dealing with some of the more zealous German officials that had come through the camp, where Klink had even confessed how easy it was to forget that Hogan was the one on the opposing side.

And now, realizing that his senior POW must have felt his life on the line every moment, Klink couldn't help but marvel that Hogan had still managed to maintain an informal atmosphere, with little conflict even between opposing factions. In fact, in light of Hogan's apparent extracurricular activities, Klink considered how frequently Hogan chose to place himself squarely in front of those hunting for him. Hiding in plain sight, Hogan? Amazing.

The man was impossible to truly dislike, even as an enemy. And just as Klink knew that most discipline in the current German military was based as much on fear as on loyalty, he had come to admire, even envy, Hogan's easy manner of command. The prisoners, regardless of nationality, obviously held him in high regard and they rarely disobeyed him, no doubt shielding him from the scrutiny of German authorities. Yet, Klink had seen him quickly take complete control of the rare potentially dangerous confrontations involving frustrated prisoners and short-tempered, ill-trained guards, defusing the situation and reaming out the men under his command for jeopardizing their own safety and that of others. Deep down, Klink had slowly come to know it was Hogan who kept the Allied prisoners in line, which kept his camp safe for all involved, and that was probably why he had allowed the American so many liberties himself. And why he had, until now, willingly disregarded any notion of Hogan's involvement in covert activities.

But what was he to do now? It had been easy to dismiss vague allegations about Hogan, especially when Klink himself could truthfully claim no first-hand knowledge, or at least not much first-hand knowledge. There had been so many times others had been confident of finally catching Hogan in the act, and Klink had willingly supported their efforts. Klink's attention to duty, especially when under scrutiny of fellow officers, was unshakable, and at times his desire for recognition overwhelmed any other impulse. Although he wasn't proud of it, Klink knew he was prone to abandoning his principles in favor of the approval of others and a desire to be on the winning team. But, he did always carry with him a nagging feeling that the effort in Hogan's case was futile. And lately, despite the suspicions of those outside the stalag, Klink took care never to look too closely at the actions of the American and his men, preferring instead to accept at face value Hogan's ready explanations and incredible excuses. And though Klink questioned Hogan's motives, he hadn't forgotten that his senior prisoner had helped him out of some tight spots with his special brand of creativity.

As the months had turned into years, with Hogan successfully evading every attempt to thwart him, Klink secretly applauded him for it, knowing that it was ultimately a reprieve for himself as well, for if Hogan was indeed a saboteur their destinies would be inextricably linked. In his more honest moments, Klink knew that the end of Hogan could very well be his own end as well.

But now that he held in his hands unmistakable proof he was compelled by duty to take official action. But what? And what would Hogan's reaction be when faced with the ultimate peril? Was he even the man the kommandant thought him to be? How much of his easy manner had been a rouse? Klink flashed to Hogan's brief violent outburst at him after the incident with Major McCall, and recalled the swiftness of his actions, the look in his eyes. The most dangerous man in all of Germany.

Even though he expected it, Klink jumped slightly at the token knock on his office door and could feel his heart pound as the American officer entered as usual, without waiting for an invitation.

"You wanted to see me, Kommandant?"

"Yes, Hogan, please come in. Sit down." Trying to sound casual, Klink motioned to the chair situated in front of his desk. Somehow Klink decided he would feel less threatened if Hogan were in a sitting position. Klink himself remained standing behind the desk.

Hogan sat, mischievously tossing his cap onto the spike of Klink's Prussian helmet. Normally, the action would cause Klink to immediately, and pointedly, remove the cap. It was a predictable game, but they both had come to understand that it was their small way of teasingly taking sides in this war. Hogan was surprised as Klink ignored the bait altogether and simply stared at him from across the desk.

"What's up, Kommandant? Hitler need help with his paint-by-number map of the Fatherland?"

Again, there was no reaction to Hogan's instigation. Hogan squirmed in spite of himself, trying to decipher the serious look on Klink's face. He tried again, sincerely curious. "Colonel, is something wrong?"

There was another knock on the door.

"Come in." Klink knew who would be there. He stood nervously behind his desk, glancing quickly to the pistol visible in the half-open drawer in front of him.

"You sent for me, Herr Kommandant?" It was Schultz, who entered and nodded a silent acknowledgement to Hogan.

"Yes, Schultz," Klink's voice was slightly hesitant as he turned to Hogan. "Hogan, would you please stand for a moment."

"You just told me to sit down..."

"STAND UP, Hogan!" Klink bellowed.

Taken slightly aback, the confused Colonel obediently complied and stood, covering his embarrassment at being ordered around by hitching his thumbs casually into the pockets of his flight jacket.

Klink took a deep breath. "Sergeant Schultz, search this man."

Schultz's eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Search me? What for?" Hogan looked genuinely offended. I just got here. I haven't even had time to steal anything yet.

Schultz hesitated, although in other camps this would have been a routine request, especially for a prisoner having contact with the kommandant. But at Stalag 13 Hogan had free access to Klink, and Schultz suspected that despite his blustering over the uninvited interruptions, Klink actually liked it that way. And besides, the sergeant was afraid he would find something.

"Schultz!"

"Jawol, Herr Kommandant." He leaned his rifle against the front of Klink's desk and dutifully approached Hogan. Only Hogan noticed Klink quickly move the rifle behind the desk, out of reach.

"Will somebody tell me what is going on?" Hogan tried not to show his humiliation at being patted down.

Schultz stood to attention, visibly relieved. "The prisoner is clean, sir."

"Thank you, Schultz. You may go. Dis-missed." He snapped off a quick salute.

Schultz saluted smartly in return and reached for the door, but not without an apologetic shrug toward Hogan.

"Schultz!" Klink called him back, handed him his forgotten rifle and watched as he sheepishly departed the room again.

Hogan rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated and embarrassed at being ignored and handled in this manner, as if he were a common prisoner. He was also unsure what had precipitated Klink's uncharacteristic treatment of him. Even during their most adversarial times, Klink had maintained some measure of deference to Hogan, either from personal or professional respect. Certainly more than Hogan had ever shown to him.

Hogan's indignation was barely restrained. "Colonel Klink, I demand…"

Klink cut him off, firmly but quietly. "I'm sorry for that, Hogan. But under the circumstances, I believe it was a necessary precaution." Slightly relieved that Hogan was at least unarmed, he seated himself at his desk, making sure his own pistol was within reach, but still out of sight to the American. "Please, sit down," his words were cordial but his manner quite authoritative. "We have something to discuss."

"You bet we do. What was that all about? What 'circumstances'?"

Slouched comfortably into the chair, Hogan casually crossed his legs and watched as Klink deliberately pulled out several photographs from a large brown envelope on his desk.

Klink absently flipped through them, silently hoping he would find reason to dispute their content. "These photographs were brought here by Captain Hoffman, German Intelligence..."

"There's a contradiction..."

Klink ignored the remark and the smirk on the face of the man who said it. "Apparently Captain Hoffman was hoping to identify any Allied military personnel who may have infiltrated the area posing as Germans to aid and abet the Underground."

Hogan felt himself tense as he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward to try and get a look at the photos.

"...At first I didn't notice any familiar faces because I was looking for people I knew as civilians. But then, the Captain accidentally left without them and I had a second look." He tossed the photos across the desk to Hogan. "These pictures were taken at a secret high-level Allied Intelligence meeting in London about two weeks ago."

Without even looking, Hogan understood the big picture. The krauts had somehow infiltrated the clandestine meeting, which meant there was a double agent working in London. He picked up the pictures, quickly realizing that there was an even more pressing issue. The precautionary search, Klink's distant manner, it all made sense. Hogan felt the color drain from his face as his mind raced to find an explanation for the obvious problem. He was there.

"Colonel," Hogan tried to force a laugh as he examined the photos, having decided, as he usually did, that the best defense is a good offense. "I don't know who your sources are but you've been had. I remember these pictures. They were taken before I left England over two years ago." Thinking quickly, he wrote them off as best he could. "There's nothing secret about them. They're publicity photos... for Stars and Stripes. See, that's me." Flashing his best patiently reproachful look he handed the photographs back across the desk and started to rise, reaching for his hat on the helmet spike. "Well, I'm glad that's cleared up...and don't worry about the search. I forgive you."

"Sit down, Hogan. I did not dismiss you." It cannot be that easy this time, Hogan, thought Klink. I deserve more. I have earned it.

Hogan leaned back into the chair, struggling to appear relaxed. "Okay, what else do you want from me?"

"An explanation, Colonel Hogan. I want an explanation." Klink calmly folded his hands in front of him, giving him the look of a principal disciplining a mischievous schoolboy.

"I told you, Kommandant." Hogan's voice climbed an octave, as it often did when trying to make something sound utterly ridiculous. "The pictures are old..."

Klink exploded. "Perhaps you would prefer to explain your presence in these photographs to Major Hochstetter?" Visibly angry, Klink reached for the phone.

"No!" Hogan quickly reached out to stop him, firmly holding the receiver on the cradle. Hogan pulled back slightly as he realized that Klink took his action as one of aggression. He raised his hands slightly as he caught sight of the pistol in Klink's other hand. Again, he forced a chuckle and tried to keep his tone light and unthreatening. "Kommandant, come on. It's me. What is all this?"

The gun held firmly in his grasp, Klink's eyes locked on to Hogan's. "I was hoping you could tell me, Colonel Hogan. Tell me how a prisoner of war held in Germany manages to attend an Intelligence meeting in London, England. It obviously wasn't an escape because you came back. Now, what am I to make of that?" Klink found himself wishing that Hogan had simply escaped.

"Would you believe I'm twins?" Hogan offered, buying time to think.

"God forbid."

Hogan sighed, realizing that this was the confrontation he had expected since the day began his activities with the Underground. He was exposed and had no lies left with which to save himself. He knew the time had come to take a chance, to see just how well he knew his kommandant. Klink had, as Hogan had always hoped, decided to confront him privately. He could have gotten word to the officer who had brought him the photographs, or he could have chosen to call in Hochstetter and let him handle the whole thing. He had even dismissed Schultz despite the fact that he had obviously felt threatened. But here they were, apparently the only two people in Germany, besides Hogan's own men, who knew of Hogan's side trip to England.

"Okay," with a slight nod, Hogan calmly threw his hands up in defeat. This is really it. The time had come for the conversation Hogan had played over and over in his head for months. He would lie awake some nights, rehearsing it, knowing Klink's part as well as his own, anticipating, redirecting, defusing. Now, all he could do was hope that Klink followed the script.

"It had to happen sometime, and I guess this is really it." Hogan concentrated on every syllable, trying to steady his voice and his rapid breathing. "Let's just say I was there. The important thing is that now I'm here. And I'll always be here." There was a promise in the pilot's words.

Klink hesitated. Shaking his head and exhaling slowly, he lowered the gun and carefully replaced it in his desk drawer. Somehow Hogan's quiet admission put him at ease. He had prepared himself for a vehement denial, perhaps even a fight, but now realized they were beyond that. He looked up at Hogan with tired eyes, his expression showing his irrational feelings of betrayal, anger and more than a hint of disappointment that it had come to this for Hogan to confide in him. The two men eyed each other carefully, each realizing the significance of their conversation.

"I don't know what to say to you, Hogan. You have placed me in a very difficult position." Unlike the dozens of other reprimands full of empty threats the kommandant had issued to the American, there was no pretense of menace in Klink's words this time, and he took no satisfaction in saying them. "I should notify Berlin.

"But you won't."

"Why won't I?" Klink lowered his head, squinting through his monocle, wanting very much to hear Hogan's answer.

"Simple, because you don't want to. Because if you did want to, I'd be on my way to Berlin right now." All Hogan could do was hope he had Klink figured right.

Not wanting to consider the reasons for his reluctance to turn Hogan over to the Gestapo, Klink rose and walked across his small office. He stopped at the local map posted on the wall. He studied the map and the vast collection of red pins indicating unsolved acts of local sabotage, seeing what he had refused to publicly recognize all along. That the incidents had all taken place in the area surrounding Stalag 13, and that the likely suspect was not only in his camp, but was in his very office. "So, it is all true." Klink's words were more for his own benefit than directed at Hogan, and did not reveal surprise as much as sadness. Perhaps he knew that both of their charades were over. "Major Hochstetter was right all along."

Hogan said nothing, refusing to admit to anything specific. His training and mechanisms of self-preservation pushed any twinge of guilt from his mind. He tried to concentrate on Klink, to look for an opening.

"All of this, and yet you never missed a roll call or a bed check." He couldn't hide the reluctant admiration in his voice. "It is impossible! Tell me, Hogan, how did you do it?"

Hogan quickly got up, seizing the opportunity to go for the kill, to draw Klink in beyond the point of no return. He approached the kommandant, standing close, just behind his right ear, his voice low and dripping with conspiracy. "Do you want to know, Colonel? Do you really want to know? The sabotage, the espionage, the defectors and escapees that have waltzed right through those gates outside…"

"Stop!" Growing paler and more rigid with every syllable, Klink turned on Hogan, bringing them face to face and bringing an abrupt halt to Hogan's bombardment of unwanted information. He turned defensive, waving a long finger in front of Hogan's nose. "There has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13!" At least he had that.

Hogan looked Klink square in the eye. "And as long as I'm here, there never will be."

Klink's composure crumbled, his face slowly registering his worst fear. "As long as you are here?"

"You? Me? What difference does it make?" Hogan couldn't help but feel some sympathy for Klink, but he knew he was working to save the lives of himself and his men, and he had to be at his persuasive best. "We're a good team, like…like Burns and Allen."

"Burns and Allen?"

"Yeah. Sure, George writes the gags, but Gracie gets all the laughs." Hogan grabbed a cigar and put on his best Burnsian pose, pointing the butt end of the cigar at Klink. "You're Gracie." He popped the cigar into his mouth and folded his arms across his jacket.

Klink snatched the cigar from Hogan's lips. "I don't know what in the world you are talking about. You are creating one of your confusions again!"

"Let's just say we both benefit from your perfect record, and together we can make sure we keep it that way."

"Together?" Klink could hardly believe the insinuation. He stepped away from Hogan as if to distance himself from the very idea. "You expect me to keep this secret?"

Hogan shrugged, a small playful smile tugging at his lips. "No harm, no foul."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that we are the only two people who know about my little visit to London." There was no need to bring his men into this as yet. Hogan prodded for more, "Unless you've told someone…"

"I have told no one."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to tell anyone. So," he paused for effect, "…we should both be fine."

"Both?" His insecurity rising quickly, Klink became defensive. "This has nothing to do with me!"

"Would you bet your life that Hochstetter feels the same way? Or Burkhalter?"

"Of course," Klink replied with false confidence. He began to pace nervously, heading back to his desk, speaking quickly, defiantly. "I knew nothing of your activities. Spying, bombing trains and factories and God knows what else, midnight trips to London…all of it was done without my knowledge!" Then, a sudden, terrifying realization. "I see what you mean. Hogan, what have you done to me?" He collapsed into his chair, put his elbows on the desk and buried his head in his hands, the very picture of misery.

Hogan studied the German in front of him. Telling himself he had no reason to feel guilty, Hogan still couldn't shake the welling sympathy within him. Klink was a pawn, sometimes even a willing one, but nearly always harmless. Hogan had purposely infiltrated the German's life and had gained some measure of his personal and professional confidence. They had always held at least one thing in common, a mutual mistrust of German authority. Hogan knew Klink was terrified of the whims and fancy of his superiors, and he also knew he had used Klink's fears to his own advantage many times. Knowing Klink as well as he did, he knew that at this moment the kommandant certainly felt more threatened by his own side than by Hogan himself. He also knew that it was in this moment that the so-called Iron Eagle had discovered just how vulnerable he was to both sides. But Hogan had too much riding on this to waver.

"Well, Kommandant? Now what?"

"Ha! What, indeed?" Klink shrugged. "You seem to be the one with all the plans. What do you think?"

Hogan approached Klink's desk, leaning across to speak in confidence. "I think that you're going to let me walk out of here and get back to work. I think that as long as I keep you out of it and keep up appearances as a good little POW, you want me to get back to work."

Klink thought it over. He was both impressed and horrified that Hogan knew him so well. He did not even attempt to proclaim himself a loyal officer of the Third Reich. Hogan was not the only one now stripped of his cover. The fact that he did not immediately arrest Hogan spoke volumes. Still, tempting as it was, it was hopeless in the end. Klink saw only danger in this alliance, for both of them. "You'll never get away with it. The Gestapo…Hochstetter…they will close in on you. You saw the photographs, others will too. It is only a matter of time. It's a risky business, Hogan."

"Maybe. But then it's a risky war." Hogan knew that discussing risks was not exactly the best way to get a skittish Klink's assistance. He tried changing the subject, appealing to Klink's basic nature. "Just think of all the good we can do until then. We're doing our part to shorten the war."

Hogan saw the dark look on Klink's face and again knew exactly what he was thinking. "Colonel, we're the good guys in all this. Germany can't win."

Klink wasn't sure if Hogan meant that the Fatherland was incapable of victory, or that Hitler simply could not be allowed the global domination he so desperately wanted. Silently, Klink knew that both were probably true, although he also knew it meant the end of Germany as he knew it. But then, that had been a foregone conclusion since the end of the last war. Klink's war.

Klink rose and poured himself a very large drink, placing the bottle on his desk. He admonished himself for ever thinking of Hogan as anything more than an enemy. To think that he had once confessed the suspicion that in other circumstances the two men might have actually been friends! Taking a long draw from his glass, he looked at Hogan, trying to see his enemy, his prisoner. He tried to think like Eisenmann.

Perhaps he had been too long removed from the fight, or had become so suspect of his own countrymen that the Allied threat seemed diminished, or perhaps he was simply a poor judge of character. But, there, as usual, stood the same Colonel Robert Hogan he had shared meals with, played cards and chess with, even laughed with on occasion. This time, however, Hogan had gotten the last laugh.

"Come on, Kommandant. Things aren't that bad."

"Not for you. It seems you have had quite a time at my expense."

"Well," Hogan defiantly folded his arms. "There is a war on, sir."

"Yes. I suppose I had forgotten." Forgotten that we were enemies. "But you never forgot, did you, Hogan?" Klink poured another drink and handed it to Hogan.

"I can't afford to forget it."

Klink nodded. Both men understood that Klink had relaxed his guard because, unlike his sadistic counterpart at Stalag 10, he failed to see an incarcerated Hogan as a personal threat. And although outwardly cool, Hogan himself was always on edge and knew that virtually everyone he came into contact with represented a grave danger to himself and his men. Unlike Klink, Hogan was well aware of the existence of men like Eisenmann, and the peril of getting too close. But there was one question Klink had been fairly itching to ask ever since the suspicions about Hogan first surfaced.

"Why, Hogan? Why? Everything was going along so nicely. We had our little bumps, of course, but we were safe. When you first got here I told you that for you the war was over. That's not such a bad thing, is it? The thing is, it was over for me, too. We could have both stayed here until this dreadful war was over. I just wanted to survive it, and I hoped that was what you wanted, too. I thought that was what everybody wanted. And now…thanks to you, and your activities, it would seem we are both condemned men. At least we have something in common. When this comes out, we can share a firing squad."

Klink tapped their glasses together in a morbid toast and downed his in one gulp. Feeling utterly defeated he slouched down into his chair, staring into the bottom of his glass. He wondered if he was at all like Eisenmann. After all, he had always aspired to the role of the Iron Colonel, reveled in the notion that his prisoners feared him. Now, although he had been used and manipulated by Hogan, Klink did still feel the need to know whether his senior POW felt the same way about him as he did about Eisenman. "Do you really hate me that much?"

"I'd say it's more the company you keep, Kommandant." Hogan placed his untouched glass down on the desk beside the envelope containing the photographs. "This isn't personal, Colonel."

It is for me, Hogan. This war has just become all too personal. Klink leaned forward and refilled his drink.

It was time to close the deal. Hogan mustered all of his self-confidence and exhaled deeply, knowing what his gut told him to do went against training and convention, but then that was how he made his living these days. Klink was the only one who could give him up; Hogan knew he should simply kidnap him or even kill him, take the photographs with him, and leave. Overpowering Klink would pose no problem, and Hogan and his men had learned the fine art of silencing the enemy swiftly and efficiently and without much noise. With the tunnel under Klink's adjoining quarters, he could remove Klink in whatever state he happened to be in, leaving only another mysterious disappearance behind. It would buy enough time for whatever he determined the next step would be. It would be easy and correct. It would be his duty. Still, Hogan chose another route.

"Colonel Klink, I'm willing to trust you. Are you willing to trust me?"
Klink nearly choked on his liquor. "Trust you? Hogan, you amaze me. After today, why in Heaven's name should I trust you even to give me the correct time?"

"Because you have to trust somebody. Colonel, in my line I have to trust my life to people I don't even know, just because we share the same purpose. At least with each other you and I know who we're dealing with. I can protect you and…"

They were interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. Klink picked it up, impatient at the interruption. "Yes, hello? Klink here…"

Klink paled and suddenly stood to attention, turning his back on Hogan. He stammered slightly as he cradled the receiver. "Captain Hoffman? How nice to hear from you again…"

Hogan felt his pulse quicken, this was the first test. He tried to read the kommandant, but Klink's familiar fawning nervousness gave Hogan cause to doubt his future. He cursed his failure to take Klink out when he had the chance. He wondered if perhaps his men had listened in and if they could get away in time. Still, there was a chance…

"The photographs?" Klink asked offhandedly. "Of course, I remember them. You think you left them here?" Klink spun around and looked quickly at Hogan, then dropped his eyes, scanning the desk. His paperwork was piled neatly to one side. His cigar box, framed photographs and telephone were in their usual places, as was his prized helmet, with Hogan's cap still resting casually on the spike. And in the center of his desk, lay the schnapps bottle and two glasses…and nothing else.

The pause seemed interminable, Klink looked as if even he was unsure of what he would say, but finally his eyes again met Hogan's as he spoke. He swallowed hard. "Yes, Captain, I'm still here…No. I don't actually see them anywhere, Captain Hoffman…Yes, Captain. I will notify you at once if they turn up." He tried not to notice the small victorious grin on the face of the American in his office. "Oh and Captain, you really should be more careful with sensitive material…What? Oh, yes. Heil!" Klink gave a token salute and hung up.

Klink stared at the phone for a moment, unable to believe what he had just done, and how unbelievably easy it had been.

"Lose something, Colonel?" Hogan's expression and tone were all innocence.

Klink narrowed his eyes, taking Hogan's lead and also falling back into character. "None of your business. Get out, Hogan, can't you see I have work to do?" He sat at his desk, fumbling awkwardly at his pile of paperwork.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Hogan adjusted his jacket, deftly making sure the envelope containing the photos was securely tucked inside, under his left arm. He grabbed his cap and made for the door. He stopped just long enough to salute. It was the most formal salute he had ever offered his German counterpart. He was just about out the door when he suddenly turned back, leaning casually on the doorknob as he looked around the room. "Kommandant, does the office suddenly seem bigger to you?"

Klink looked up, squinting through his monocle. "Bigger? No. Why should it seem bigger?"

"Oh, I don't know, getting rid of the elephant kind of opens things up, don't you think?" Hogan smiled.

"Out!"

CHAPTER SIX

Hogan entered the barracks obviously deep in thought, unsure if his men would think he was the bearer of good news or bad news. After all, his decision affected all of them and, although he may not know it, Klink now held more than Hogan's life in his hands. He was barely in the door when they crowded around him.

"Hey, mon Colonel, what took you so long?" LeBeau prodded gently. "We were getting worried…"

"Yeah," said Carter, showing no restraint at all. "Schultz told us Klink had you searched!"

"Carter!" Newkirk elbowed him in the ribs, hard. He rolled his eyes. "The soul of tact."

"What's up, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Hogan crossed his arms across his flight jacket. "Klink knows."

The men exchanged looks. Kinch spoke for all of them, obviously afraid of the answer. "Knows what, Colonel?"

"About us. Well, about me anyway." Hogan poured himself a cup of coffee, just to give himself something to do as the inevitable reaction set in.

"What?"

"Impossible!"

"Holy cow!"

"We have to get you out of here, sir."

"Yeah, Hochstetter will have this place crawling with Gestapo any minute…"

"Wait a minute," Hogan called for order. "Nobody's going anywhere yet. I said Klink knew about me, I didn't say he turned me in to Hochstetter or anybody else."

"So," LeBeau beamed with pride. "You talked your way out of another one, eh, Colonel?"

Newkirk placed his arm around Carter's shoulders. "That's our gov'nor, mate. Charm the skin right off an eel, he could."

Hogan shook his head. "Not this time, he had me dead to rights."

"Who tipped him off, Colonel?" asked Kinch, trying to see the big picture.

"He spotted me in a photograph taken by a hidden camera during that meeting in London last week." Hogan pulled out the envelope from inside his jacket and tossed it onto the table, then he slid one foot onto the bench and leaned on his knee while LeBeau opened the envelope and passed the contents around. "He figured the rest out himself."

The group of men quieted as they looked at the photos, trying to come to grips with the fact that their leader was truly exposed, and considering the ramifications that could have on each of them.

"So that's why he had Schultz search you," Kinch deduced. "He knew if you could come and go at will, you might really be dangerous."

Hogan nodded absently, already past the situation with Klink and mentally onto his next task. "It also means that the krauts have a mole somewhere in London. We'll have to work on that one."

"I don't get it, Colonel," Kinch came closer, at the moment concerned more for his senior officer than for the folks in London. "If he had you figured, why didn't he have you arrested or at least thrown in the cooler? Why'd he let you go when he knows you could escape?'

"Because I promised I wouldn't."

"Oh, that explains it." Newkirk said, heading for the tunnel. "Well, so much for promises made in the dark and in war…Off we go, mates. Carter, set the explosives, I'll get me toothbrush…"

"Hold it. I said nobody is going anywhere and I meant it. I don't think it's necessary. Klink and I came to a kind of…understanding."

Carter's mouth dropped. "Wow, you mean old Klink is on our side?"

Newkirk wasn't having any of it. "Lord, I hope not, not if we're going to win this bleedin' war. Beggin' the colonel's pardon, but don't it seem a bit daft to try and get a waffler like Klink on our side? He changes directions like a daisy in a windstorm."

Hogan tilted his head in thought, more satisfied with Klink's response to him than he would let on just yet. "I'm not sure he's thrilled with either side right now, but he seems to be leaning our way. He let me leave with the evidence. I think that means we're safe, at least for now. And I have a feeling he may come in handy someday…"

CHAPTER SEVEN

Col. Robert Hogan sat alone at a corner café table in German civilian clothes, casually drinking his coffee, his practiced eyes darting to all of the patrons in the quiet restaurant. He quickly wondered how long it would be before he was able to again enjoy an evening out in public without suspecting everyone. How long until he could stop listening for lies in the words of those with whom he was speaking, or expecting to feel the cold nose of a Gestapo machine gun in his back. He wondered if he could ever relax that much again. He wondered if he would ever get the chance.

The burden of his command increased with every impossible assignment London had given him, and their assignments had grown in frequency and daring with each successful mission over the last two years. And although there had been many close calls, even several times when members of his elite team had been picked up by authorities, they had always managed to come away safely one way or another. Hogan worried that his men had begun to feel invincible. He even struggled with his own ego at times, especially when he had now become so familiar with his physical surroundings and so adept at manipulating Klink.

His most recent victory was still fresh in his mind, though he was well aware that the events of the past few months could easily have had different outcomes. His own aura of self-assured confidence was rarely shaken, even in the face of the many dangers that came with his team's extracurricular activities. Of course, this was no doubt the reason why he was successful in this command. A secret operation in sabotage and assisting travelers through the Allied Underground was ambitious enough, but to be based inside a Luftwaffe prison camp was positively brazen. Hogan had known from the first that he would have to be the one to convince the others that their assignment was plausible. He knew that they would have to follow his lead into situations saner men wouldn't read about. He knew they would have to follow him, the brazen, supremely confident, resourceful Colonel Hogan. And in two years, Hogan's men had become a tight-knit and finely tuned unit, wreaking enough havoc on the infrastructure and wartime industry in their little corner of Germany to have caused their leader, the infamous Papa Bear, to become one of the Gestapo's Most Wanted men.

At this moment, Papa Bear was feeling most distinctly unwanted, his appointment was nearly fifteen minutes late, an eternity in the precise world of the Underground. A late contact usually meant trouble. He casually checked his watch again, knowing that if he rose to leave so soon he would risk attracting unwanted attention. He had just decided to cut his losses and depart when a young man appeared at his elbow, he was wearing a baggy yellow shirt and an oversized brown cardigan sweater, correctly displaying the code colors which identified him as tonight's contact. Looking into the nervous youthful face, Hogan silently cursed his need to rely on civilians, many of them women and old men, to complete his assignments. Tonight he was expecting an old man, but now, he stared into the face of a boy who looked as though he should have been playing small forward on his high school basketball team. But the boy seemed to be wearing the old man's clothes and Hogan needed to know what went wrong, and what had become of the information that was to be passed. He motioned for the boy to sit. Airmen and agents; are they getting younger, or am I getting older?

"Karl, how nice of you meet me," Hogan began the scripted conversation. "It has been a long time since Vienna."

The young man stammered nervously, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, obviously fumbling for the correct response. "Ja, but the orchestra was so memorable, was it not?"

Hogan nodded affirmatively, acknowledging the authenticity of the contact, but wondered what had become of the senior citizen he was supposed to meet. "How is your grandfather? I was expecting him to dine with us." He hoped the kid could take a hint.

The teen swallowed hard. "He is ill, Uncle, but nothing too serious. He fears the weather is getting to him. Old age, you know. I expect he will recover soon. He sends his regrets." Obviously coached, the jittery boy tried to smile as he toyed with the water glass nearest the table edge, rolling it back and forth in his fingertips.

Hogan understood that the old man feared he was being followed. "No trouble, we will see him at your dear Aunt's birthday party, I trust." Hogan glanced across at him over the rim of his coffee cup as he pulled it in front of his mouth. He dropped his voice, "You have the present?"

"Nein," the teenager quickly shook his head, his eyes never leaving the wobbling water glass as he mumbled. "He would not risk me getting caught with it." The boy's embarrassment was evident on his fresh face. "He said I was too young for such things."

Hogan noticed Karl's feet fidgeting nervously beneath the table. Your grandfather is right, kid. I've got to get you out of here.

Their conversation stopped as the waitress poured Hogan more coffee, topping off his cup. He smiled appreciatively at her, and watched as she offered young Karl a cup. Last thing he needs is caffine, thought Hogan. Maybe I should offer him a milkshake instead. He was relieved when the young man politely refused the coffee and the waitress departed.

"We need to reschedule our trip," Hogan spoke quietly, but tried to sound calm and matter-of-fact, for the boy's sake as much as any eavesdroppers. "Perhaps when the weather improves."

"Ja, thank you, Uncle." Karl stood quickly. Too quickly. His movement upset the table enough that his teetering water glass lost the battle to remain upright and spilled the contents on to the white tablecloth and the floor beneath.

Hogan closed his eyes and grimaced as the room quieted as others noticed the activity at the corner table. Trying to minimize the damage and the attention the mishap brought, he forced a smile and some casual humor at the boy's clumsiness while he stooped over and helped the waitress sop up the water with his dinner serviette. The other patrons gradually returned to their meals and conversation in the café returned to its previous level. Hogan leaned over blotted the last drops from the floor and handed his dripping cloth to the waitress, who took it and placed it on her tray.

"Danke," she nodded at Hogan, and then indicating the boy, she asked if he'd like another glass of water.

Karl, obviously flustered, shook his head quickly, his face flushed. "I must be going. Grandfather will need his medicine." He bowed his head quickly at Hogan, but did not meet his eyes. "Uncle."

Hogan stood, and grasped Karl by each arm as if saying a fond farewell. "My best to your grandfather. I hope to see him soon."

Still not meeting Hogan's eyes, Karl quickly muttered, "I'm sorry."

"No harm," the American colonel felt for the boy, he wondered if he was ever that green. Nah, suave from the cradle.

Karl pulled away and walked out of the café without looking back. Hogan reseated himself, desperately wanting to leave but not wanting to look obvious. He absently sipped at his now cold coffee and checked his watch. After an agonizingly long minute or two, he stood, again smiled at the pretty waitress, tipped her a little extra for her trouble tonight and sauntered out the door into the night.

Hogan glanced over his shoulder as he ducked off the road and into the woods that would take him home, to Stalag 13. In spite of the damp cold he was sweating profusely, he could feel the shirt beneath his overcoat sticking to his back, making him shiver even more. He silently chided himself for letting the incident in the café get to him. You're getting old, Hogan. You've had closer calls than that, and here you are shaking like a little kid. That kid. Hogan hoped he had gotten home safely. He also made a mental note to chew out who ever it was that sent the young man out in the night to meet Papa Bear. A boy to do a man's work.

He wiped the edge of his already wet sleeve across his brow again, trying to ignore the dull ache growing in his muscles and the persistent throbbing in his temples. God, I feel awful, he thought. If I get sick, LeBeau will never let me hear the end of it. The diminutive Frenchman had told his commanding officer that he looked tired, and had volunteered to meet tonight's contact in his place. Hogan had playfully admonished LeBeau, insisting that if anyone deserved a solo night on the town it was "…the ringmaster of this three ring circus!"

In reality, Hogan hated those nights where members of his team ventured out without him. He worried and paced like an expectant father, his mind racing to the worst possible conclusions. No, in this command he was much the same as he was while in command of his bombers a lifetime ago. He was always more comfortable while in formation, with his men visible off his wingtips. Those times where he was on the ground waiting for overdue planes were positively torturous. His oft-present cocky sense-of-humor was noticeably absent in those moments, and his fliers had learned, just as his new team had, to give him a wide berth until all were present and accounted for.

Of course, there were times when the planes did not all return, times when he'd stand on the tarmac squinting upward at the distinctive sound of approaching Fortress engines, realizing with a pit in his stomach that there was a hole in the formation. A missing man, another round of letters he had to write to another round of mothers and wives.

It was why he now chose to assume whatever risk he could himself, to accompany them as often as possible, even on routine missions. Being the senior prisoner in camp had its advantages and disadvantages. It gave him certain privileges but also made him the Stalag's most recognizable resident. Guards who would hardly give the rest of the inmate population a second glance could easily pick out Colonel Robert Hogan, pick him out or notice him missing. While the others were unlikely to be missed until roll calls, and even then were regarded as no more than bodies in a uniform, any number of matters could cause Kommandant Wilhelm Klink to send for Hogan at any time, placing certain limits on the time he could spend on the outside-especially in daylight hours. Even with the recent arrangement with Klink, Hogan's absence from camp was dangerous for all if the business-as-usual illusion was to be maintained. Fortunately, most of their work was done under cover of darkness, after lights-out in the barracks, allowing him freedom to participate as needed. Perhaps it was ego, or his paternal nature, or the confidence success brings, but he always felt his team had better odds if he were present.

As he reached the entrance to the secret tunnel just beyond the fence line he ducked low to avoid the sweeping searchlight from the tower. The compound visible beyond the trees, he felt the same relief he always did upon return to a quiet camp. No frantic patrols in the woods, no barking dogs, and there was not a sign of chaos inside the gates. It all meant that his absence had not been detected. He looked up as the light passed him by, blinking away the sweat that had dripped into his dark eyes. He quickly stood to open the tunnel hatch and instantly had to grab the familiar tree stump to balance him. His knees suddenly felt too weak to bear his weight and he had difficulty focusing on the guard tower. The sweeping lights seemed to come from all directions, disorienting him. His breathing labored, he dropped back to his knees, using the stump as cover and tried to gather his wits. This is a hell of a time to get the flu. After several minutes, he had focused his eyes as best he could and mustered enough strength to stand and give it another try. This time he stood slowly, timing the lights had become second nature to him, and with unsteady hands he opened the hatch and descended deliberately, gripping each crossbar with all his might to save himself the indignity of falling down the ladder.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kinch was in the tunnel. He told himself it was to monitor the radio, but in reality he simply liked to be there when Hogan returned. Like Hogan, Kinch hated it when anyone was out of camp alone. But his commanding officer never had to wait for himself to return from what were inevitably the team's most dangerous missions. Kinch always felt that somehow Hogan seemed more at risk, more in need of protection to avoid falling into the hands of the Gestapo. And Kinch knew it was more than Hogan's military value to the Allies and his work with the Underground that concerned he hated that he could rarely accompany the colonel on his missions and watch his back. After all, every look in the mirror reminded Kinch that he could hardly blend into a German crowd. All Kinch could do was wait. So wait he did.

He heardfootsteps on the ladder behind him and immediately knew something was amiss. The pace was all wrong. Too slow. Too deliberate. The colonel always moved quickly. Kinch moved toward the sound, not sure what or who he would find at the bottom of the ladder.

"Colonel?" Kinch rushed over to where Hogan was sitting, leaning awkwardly against the bottom rungs of the ladder. "What happened? Are you wounded?" He squatted beside Hogan and scanned the officer for signs of blood or gunshots.

Hogan looked up. His face was pale and dripping with sweat. He was shivering and struggling for breath. "I'm not feeling so good, Kinch." He gasped as he grabbed his stomach in pain. "I must have the flu or something. Hit me on the way back."

"Sit tight, Colonel. I'm going to get some help." Knowing Hogan was not one to admit illness, Kinch ran to the ladder to the barracks and activated the mechanism. LeBeau was the first to poke his head over into the opening, expecting to see Hogan bounding up the ladder. Instead, he was greeted by the concerned face of Kinch.

"Louis, set a lookout and get some help down here. The colonel's real sick."

"Right away, Kinch." LeBeau turned to the men in the barracks. "Olsen, watch the door. Come on fellows, le colonel needs us." He hopped over the railing and onto the ladder with Newkirk and Carter following close behind.

They surrounded Hogan in the tight confines of the tunnel. Kinch had gotten him up on his feet, but he was struggling to stay there, clutching the ladder with both hands.

"Carter, get his clothes, it's almost time for bed check." Kinch was always on top of things.

"Right," Carter answered quickly and darted around to the makeshift locker area.

Hogan tried to put their concerns to rest. "I'm all right. Just give me a minute. Mother Kinchloe is over-reacting."

"Over-reacting?" cried LeBeau. "You can't even stand up! I told you, you should never have gone out tonight."

"Come on, Colonel. Let's get you into uniform and up into bed." Newkirk opened the colonel's overcoat to reveal a sweat-soaked shirt. "Blimey! He's drenched." He reached up and felt Hogan's forehead.

"Fever?" asked Kinch.

"Will you knock it off," Hogan protested, trying to swat away Newkirk's hand.

Newkirk shook his head, ignoring him. "Don't think so. He's cold."

"Here you go." Carter handed Hogan's army issue t-shirt, uniform shirt and pants to Kinch. He held tight to the bomber jacket himself.

"Get his shirt off, Louis." Kinch tossed the khaki uniform shirt on the radio table. "No need for that right now, he'd soak right through it." They slipped the t-shirt over Hogan's head and steadied him while he awkwardly got his trembling arms in.

"Will you guys stop talking about me like I'm not here," Hogan ordered hoarsely. "And I can handle my own pants, thank you." He did manage to get his uniform more or less on, but stopped fighting the help he needed to stay upright while he did it. Finally, he stepped into his shoes and could at least pass for dressed.

"Come on, Colonel. Let's get you upstairs." Kinch gently took Hogan's left arm and placed it over his shoulders to allow Hogan to lean on him while he walked.

The ladder was a struggle, but Hogan managed to do most of the work himself, save for the final step over the railing, but Newkirk and Carter were able to bear most of his weight and help him over the hurdle. When Hogan was finally settled on his bunk, his friends gathered at his side. They watched as he shivered uncontrollably, and drifted in and out of sleep.

"He said he thinks it's the flu." Kinch's face radiated his concern. Many prisoners and guards alike had it, and the epidemic was becoming serious.

LeBeau nodded. "Could be. Chills, dizziness, nausea, weakness…sounds like what some of the others have."

"Yeah," agreed Carter, still holding tight to the colonel's bomber jacket. "It's going around."

"It's odd he has no fever, though, isn't it?" asked Newkirk. "He felt cold and clammy, not warm. I thought the flu came with a high fever."

"It usually does." Wilson's voice came from the doorway behind them. The camp medic's presence was welcome, though no one could recall sending for him. One of the other guys in the barracks must have gone to get him. He moved in close to Hogan.

"Colonel? Colonel Hogan?" He tried to rouse the officer, and shook him gently by the shoulder when he received no response.

Hogan stirred and tried hard to stay awake. "Yeah? Who's that?" His speech was slurred and his eyes struggled to focus on the face connected to the voice.

"It's me, sir, Wilson. What are you feeling?" He had to shake Hogan again to get a response. "Sir, I need you to talk to me."

"Okay," Hogan whispered. "I'm dizzy and weak all over. Nauseous. Vision's blurry."

Wilson pulled over Hogan's desk lamp and shined it directly into his commander's eyes and then moved it away. He turned to Kinch. "His pupils are like pinpoints, they don't change with light like they should."

"What's that mean?" asked Kinch.

Wilson shrugged. "I'm not sure. Could be the flu. Everybody else has it. Still…"

"Still what, mate?" demanded Newkirk. "Is it the flu or isn't it?"

"I don't know. Some of the symptoms are right, some aren't." He felt Hogan's forehead. "If it was the flu and he was this bad off, I'd expect he'd be burning up by now. But he has no fever, and his eyes wouldn't be affected by flu."

"So, what do we do?" LeBeau asked.

Wilson shook his head. "Let him rest. Check on him once in a while, see if he starts running a fever. Force fluids on him, especially if he starts vomiting. Don't want him to dehydrate."

The call came from the other room that Schultz was on his way for bed check. Wilson bolted for the tunnel back to his barracks, knowing he didn't want to be found missing when his guard came calling.

Schultz burst through the door. "What are you boys doing up? Lights should be out. Are you trying to get me into trouble or something?"

LeBeau met him at the door. "Quiet, Schultzie. Le colonel is sick."

"Yeah," said Newkirk. "We're all here, Schultz. Thanks for stopping by and we'll be sure to see you at morning roll call if we haven't all escaped." He did his best to shove Schultz toward the door, only to be met with resistance from more than the guard's ample girth.

"Jolly joker. Colonel Hogan is ill? What is wrong with him? Is this more of your monkey business? Where is the colonel?"

"No, Schultzie. It's true. Colonel Hogan is in his bunk, all tucked in for the night. See for yourself." LeBeau quietly opened the door to Hogan's quarters.

Schultz peered around the corner and chuckled softly. "Oh, he sleeps just like a kinder, all curled up. All he needs is a teddy bear."

"He's already got one, Schultz," laughed Newkirk. "A great big papa bear is right in there with him. Now if you'll let us baby bears get some sleep…"

"But he is breathing funny." Schultz sounded concerned, almost fatherly.

"We told you, Schultz." Kinch stepped up. "He's sick. He's got the flu and he needs his rest. So, count us and get out so we can take care of him, okay?"

"Ja, okay. I hope he feels better. Goodnight, boys." Schultz was on his way out, when he suddenly turned around, remembering to count the 'boys.' He did a quick count and went on his way.

CHAPTER NINE

Kinch was dressed and sitting on the stool beside Hogan's bed when Carter crept in the next morning. "Kinch, roll call is in a few minutes. How's he doin'?"

"Still sleeping." He bent down on one knee beside the colonel and reached up to feel his forehead. He had repeated the action so many times during the night, he had lost count. Clammy, sweaty, still no fever. He checked his watch. "Colonel?" Kinch touched Hogan's arm.

Hogan rolled from his side onto his back, trying to shake himself awake. Kinch could see that his shirt was dark with perspiration.

"Kinch?"

"Yeah…Um, you feel up to roll call, Colonel?"

Hogan hesitated, and then nodded slowly. "Better give it a try." The colonel hated missing roll calls. It was his small way of showing the men in the camp that everything was okay, and that he had to stand and be counted just like the rest of them. He sat up and swung his shaky legs over the side of the bunk. "Get me a clean shirt, will you, Kinch?" He pulled off his wet undershirt and tossed it on his bunk.

Kinch grabbed a fresh t-shirt from Hogan's locker. Hogan slowly pulled it on and slipped into the uniform shirt Kinch held out for him. He concentrated on each button as he fastened them. Schultz could be heard yelling for roll call in the compound.

Hogan took a deep breath and tried to stand so he could tuck in his shirt tails. He didn't remain standing for long, though, as the color drained from his face and the room began to spin. Kinch grabbed his arms to steady him and set him down on the bunk, making sure he didn't hit his head on the bunk frame above him.

"Sir, you don't look so good." Kinch offered his suggestion as firmly as he dare to his stubborn commanding officer. "Maybe you should sit this one out." He waited for the expected argument. Instead, Hogan ran his hands through his damp hair and sighed heavily.

"I think you're right, Kinch. Give the Iron Colonel hell for me, huh?" Hogan tried to smile as Newkirk poked his head into the office. "Tell him I've escaped." He closed his eyes and lay back down as he fought the rising nausea.

Kinch smiled back at him. "Sure, Colonel. We'll be right back. Get some sleep."

"Report!" Klink stomped purposefully down the steps of his office, riding crop in his hand. His eyes were drawn, as they always were, to Hogan's spot in the ranks. When Hogan first arrived in camp, Klink silently feared he wouldn't be able to contain the man. Hogan's reputation for impudence had preceded his arrival and Klink feared that if any prisoner were likely to escape it would be Hogan. As time wore on, Klink came to simply look to that spot for reassurance that God was in his Heaven and Hogan was still in his stalag. But lately, as Klink faced the home-truths of Hogan's other life, his real life, Klink feared that one morning the American's customary spot would be empty and Hogan himself would be lying dead in the woods someplace or sitting in a Gestapo cell awaiting a firing squad. And either way, it would be up to Klink to explain it. It was with this in mind that he pulled up short at the sight of the hole in the formation.

"Herr Kommandant, I beg to report that all prisoners are present…with the exception of Colonel Hogan."

"I can see for myself that Hogan is not here, Schultz," Klink made no attempt to hide the impatience in his voice. "Where is he?"

The answer came from somewhere within the ranks. "He's escaped! He's probably back droppin' bombs on Berlin by now!" It sounded like Newkirk. Laughter and cheers broke out among the men from Barracks 2. For you, gov'ner.

"Schultz! Where is Colonel Hogan?" Klink was red-faced. Though he knew now that Hogan wouldn't really escape, his absence could never mean good news.

Schultz stepped closer to Klink and saluted again. "Kommandant, I beg to report that Colonel Hogan is feeling under the weather today. The boys say he is in his quarters, sleeping. I saw him myself last night."

Klink turned to Kinchloe. "Is this true?"

"Yes, sir. The Colonel seems to have the flu. He tried to get up for roll call, but couldn't make it." Kinch smiled slightly. "He sends his regrets."

Klink pondered. Were they buying time to cover for some of Hogan's late night shenanigans? Was he even in camp? Still, if Hogan were truly sick with the flu, Klink was understandably concerned for his senior POW. "Schultz, I will inspect Colonel Hogan myself." Klink waited for the stalls, excuses or misdirection from Hogan's men. When none came, he walked toward the barracks, hoping he would indeed find nothing more than a sleeping colonel.

The door to Hogan's quarters was half-open and Klink cautiously pushed it the rest of the way, unsure of what he would or would not find there. As he peered toward the bunk, he did find Colonel Robert Hogan, sloppily dressed and fast asleep.

Schultz and Kinch followed Klink into the room.

Klink quietly addressed Kinch. "This came on suddenly. He seemed fine at evening roll call. Has he been seen by the medic?"

Kinch was unsure how to respond. Saying no seemed uncaring; yet saying yes could indicate that the prisoners were running around after lights out. Kinch chose evasive honesty. "Yes, sir. He seems to have the flu, not much we can do for him except let him rest."

Klink nodded and glanced back at Hogan, who seemed to be struggling to breathe comfortably. It was odd for Klink to see Hogan so…quiet. He rarely saw him resting, and even when Klink paid surprise visits to Hogan late at night, the man seemed instantly awake, almost expecting him. Klink had even seen Hogan in the cooler, after long interrogations by various visiting officers, and he still seemed indefatigable. Even during their odd and (now understandably) ill-fated expedition to London to steal a plane, while they were roommates and together nearly every moment, Hogan always seemed to be the last one to fall asleep and the first awake. And with knowledge of his 'moonlighting,' Klink wondered if he ever slept at all.

"Keep me posted on his condition, Sergeant Kinchloe." Klink turned to leave, and then he hesitated for a moment. Dropping his voice so only Kinch could hear, "Have the medic check him again when he wakes. And tell Schultz if you need anything for him." With that, Klink turned and abruptly swept out of the barracks, with Schultz following on his heels.

The morning progressed uneventfully in the kommandant's office. No Hogan barging into his office with ridiculous demands or complaints just so he could rifle through the morning mail. No Hogan flirting with Hilda or dispensing dating advice. No Hogan at all. It was damned odd. And a bit lonely. After a brief knock, the office door opened and Klink looked up hopefully.

"Excuse me, Kommandant," Hilda stepped partway into the room. "Major Hochstetter is on the phone for you." With a touch of a sympathetic smile, her blonde head withdrew into the outer office, leaving Klink to face the Gestapo man's call alone. He picked up the receiver and tried to sound cheerful.

"Good morning, Major Hochstetter. Always a pleasure…"

"Klink! Shut up and listen. I have one question for you and one question only. Where is Hogan?"

Klink had to bring the phone back to his ear before responding. He had been holding it at arm's length to lessen the decibel level of Hochstetter's voice. "Hogan? He is here, Major, where else would he be?" Klink forced a laugh.

"Are you sure?" Hochstetter didn't even try to hide the surprise and desperate frustration in his voice. "You've seen him then?"

"Of course I've seen him, Major Hochstetter, this is a prison camp. I see him at every roll call. Well, not every roll call. This morning, for instance, he wasn't feeling very well, so I actually saw him just after roll call, but I did see him…"

"What?" The voice rose in volume once again. "What do you mean he wasn't feeling well? What's wrong with him? I want details."

"Oh, I don't know, Major," Klink tried to sound conversational. "You know how things are in a camp with so many people, one sneeze and the whole camp is sick, but between you and me I think half of them are just malingering…"

"Klink, shut up! What is wrong with Hogan?"

"I told you, Major. He did not fall out for roll call this morning," Although he could not even begin to guess what had precipitated Hochstetter's newfound concern for his senior POW's health, he could guess that it wasn't out of the goodness of the Gestapo officer's heart. Klink found himself trying to protect both Hogan and himself, but as usual when nervous, Klink's mouth ran away with him and he began to ramble, and as usual, it was to Hochstetter's eternal frustration. "And as you know I run a tight camp, so I personally inspected Colonel Hogan in his barracks, and found that he was indeed unwell. In fact, he looked terrible. So, he couldn't possibly have done whatever you think he did."

"What is wrong with Hogan?"

Snapped back to attention, Klink answered quickly. "I think it's the flu. You know, chills, headache, general malaise…I'm sure he'll recover soon, but I remember an aunt on my mother's side had the flu once, oh, she was dreadfully sick for weeks, and then my uncle…" Klink recounted in great detail the story of his Aunt Frieda's bout with influenza, but Hochstetter would hear none of it, he was already in his staff car speeding toward Stalag 13.

CHAPTER TEN

"Arrest this man!" Two burly men in black quickly pulled a groggy Hogan from his bunk and threw him face-down to the floor. Hogan grunted in pain as he felt a boot on the back of his neck, pinning him securely. He felt the pin of his command pilot wings digging into his chest beneath the combined weight of himself and the soldier now kneeling on top of him grabbing for his arms. His heart pounded while his clouded mind raced unsuccessfully to try to find a way out of this one.

Hochstetter anxiously snapped his leather gloves into the palm of his free hand as his henchmen secured Hogan's arms behind his back and handcuffed him. Of course, they were unnecessarily rough with the prone officer who offered them no resistance. After a nod from Hochstetter, they pulled the American colonel to his feet, the two guards grasping firmly him by the arms.

Although he had prepared himself for this day, Hogan wondered what had gone wrong. He couldn't believe that Klink had turned him in. And if not Klink, then who? And, above all else, why did it have to be Hochstetter?

"The honor of your presence is requested in Berlin, Colonel Hogan," Hochstetter sneered. He pulled closer, and continued with mock secrecy. "Or perhaps you would permit me to call you Papa Bear now, eh?"

Hogan shrugged and forced his best sarcastic grin. "Only if I can call you Leibchen."

Hochstetter grabbed the front of Hogan's shirt, near the open neck, and pulled him lower, so that his thin mustache was inches from Hogan's ear, his words full of venom. "You will call me God before I am through with you, because I will say whether you live or die."

"Actually, Major, I never much cared for pet names."

To the surprise of all, Hochstetter released Hogan and smiled. "I have long awaited this day, Hogan. We'll see how long your famous sense of humor holds out under my questioning. It seems, Colonel, that your unfortunate illness is related to a poison administered last night by an ambitious young man posing as an underground contact. What do you think of that, hmmm? The great Papa Bear done in by a lone young cub."

The kid. Hogan closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep, ragged breath. The timing was right. It all fit together. Damn. "You're crazy, Hochstetter. I have the flu, I've been right here, sick, since yesterday." I need an alibi. Where the hell was the kommandant? Had he sold him out? Confessed? "Ask Klink."

"I am not interested in Klink's medical observations." Hochstetter turned to his men, "OUT! Schnell! Take him to the truck. We leave immediately."

The stunned Allied prisoners lined against the far wall in the outer room looked helplessly at their leader as he was roughly escorted out of their barracks by an armed guard detail, his hands cuffed behind his back, trying hard to stand upright and walk away from them under his own power.

Feeling the eyes of his concerned friends on him, Hogan tried his best to sound flippant as he yelled over his shoulder. "Don't bother waiting up for me, fellas, Wolfie here will walk me home."

To a man they winced as he was quickly silenced by a hard poke in the back by the tip of a sleek black automatic weapon. They knew their colonel had just given his last order. It had always been their plan, and Hogan had drilled them over and over. When they come for me, boys, don't wait. Get out, blow the tunnels and head for home. They always knew it could come to this, they just never thought it would. Somehow they all liked to think that they would go out together, one way or another. They stood perfectly still, nearly at attention, for what seemed an eternity before the silence was broken.

"I knew the Colonel was balmy to trust Klink," spat Newkirk. "The ruddy Kraut must have dobbed him in to save his own skin."

"Dirty Bosche. What do we do now?" asked LeBeau. "We've got to help him! He is in no condition to deal with the Gestapo." His voice was desperate, almost pleading.

Kinch shook his head slowly, realizing he was now in charge of their group. "No. We got our orders. We know what he wants us to do."

Newkirk turned on him. "Orders be damned! That's Colonel Hogan out there with those bastards!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Kinch's deep voice boomed throughout the room, his gaze locked on his friends. "Do you think there's a man here who owes him more than me?" The others dropped their eyes, knowing how much Hogan's unconditional acceptance of the black sergeant meant to him, and how much it eased his subsequent dealings with the rest of the camp population-guards included. "I don't like it any more than you guys, but we know what we're supposed to do. And you know as well as I do that he's going to take a beating trying to buy us time to get away. He's held out before, sure, but in his condition we have no idea how long he'll hold up this time." The room was filled with silent grief as each man contemplated the truth of Kinch's words. "Besides," he dropped to sit heavily on the bench beside the wooden table in the center of the room, "if they really do have evidence or an eyewitness this time, I can't think of anything else to do."

Newkirk angrily ran his hand roughly across the top of his head. "Bloody Hochstetter! We should have taken care of him a long time ago."

LeBeau offered his only suggestion. "Maybe we could intercept them, attack the truck…"

"There's no time!" answered Kinch. "We can't do it in uniform and they'll be long gone in a minute. Besides if Klink did tip them off, they'd be expecting us. They're Gestapo, remember? If they believe they've finally got the real Papa Bear, we'd never get near the colonel." Of course, that also meant it would be a matter of time before the men in black came for the rest of them as well, even if it was just for interrogation because of their connection to Papa Bear. Kinch shuddered at the thought of being forced to give up information on Hogan. Besides, he had given the colonel his word; he'd get the boys home safely. "First the photos, now this. We should leave. Now."

Carter listened to the conversation quietly, still staring at the closed barracks door, still not believing what he had seen with his own eyes. "But it could just be the flu, right? If there is no poison, then they'd have to send him back…" His voice was small, almost childlike, and directed at no one in particular.

The other men watched Carter, each feeling his own personal grief at the turn of events, but knowing that Carter's feelings were somehow different than their own. The American airman worshipped Hogan the way the scrawny kid in school worships the football hero who inexplicably befriends him in gym class. Newkirk walked over and gently put his hand around Carter's shoulders. From where he stood he could see through the window. Hochstetter's staff car and a small truck parked in front of Klink's office, he looked up expecting to see his senior officer and friend being placed inside for transport to Berlin.

"'ere, hold on a minute. They've stopped outside Klink's office."

"Probably congratulating each other on the magnificent arrest," mumbled LeBeau without looking up from where he was pulling at loose threads on his blanket.

Save for Kinch, who stood apart alone with his thoughts, the others slowly gathered around, with the unpleasant curious feeling onlookers get while watching the aftermath of a car wreck. Judging by the gestures, Hochstetter was obviously being confronted by Klink. Hogan was still firmly in the grasp of the troopers. Sergeant Schultz stood at his Kommandant's side looking stricken, his concern for Hogan genuine.

"Hey, they're going inside! Klink stopped them." Carter's voice held the hope they all shared, that as long as Hogan was in the camp, they might be able to do something, anything, to save him.

Kinch raced to Hogan's quarters and set out the coffee pot which held their link to the bug in Klink's office just in time to hear Klink throwing regulations at Hochstetter.

"…As you know, Major Hochstetter, I am always willing to cooperate with the Gestapo." Although he knew Hochstetter had long despised his senior POW and had suspected him of Underground activity, Klink did his best to hide his shock at actually seeing Hogan under formal arrest, shackled and in the hands of the volatile Gestapo man. "However, I must protest you arresting one of my prisoners without at least informing me…"

"Informing you? Klink, it is you who should have informed us!"

A brief moment of panic registered on the Kommandant's face. He tried to remain calm, telling himself that if Hochstetter had truly suspected him of complicity, he'd have surely arrested him as well. He also knew that even if he himself was not yet implicated, he was still Hogan's last hope of staying in camp, and although he found it strange, it was a responsibility he did not take lightly. He heard Hogan's recent words to him: Are you willing to trust me, Kommandant? I'm willing to trust you. He tried to muster what little courage he had under the circumstances.

"Major Hochstetter, you have given me only circumstantial proof that Colonel Hogan is this…this underground operative you seek. You believe he was poisoned because he has a headache and an upset stomach? Really, Major, you could arrest every man on sick call, including some of my guards!" Klink forced a small chuckle, which brought only an icy stare from Hochstetter. With his attempt at humor failed, Klink swallowed and drifted into his confident Kommandant routine. "In two years here Colonel Hogan's presence has been accounted for at all times. He would have to be Houdini to be responsible for all you say."

Klink nervously glanced at Hogan and tried not to appear visibly disturbed by what he saw. Handcuffed, his pale face was matted with sweat and the dirt from the barracks floor, and he was obviously having trouble standing unaided. His shirt tails were un-tucked and his cuffs unbuttoned. And, worst of all, he was completely silent. Poison or illness, something was definitely wrong. Robert Hogan had never looked more like a prisoner, even on the day they first brought him in.

"Klink!" Hochstetter thrust a pointed finger firmly into Hogan's chest causing him to sway uneasily. "This man has been operating as an underground agent right under your nose!"

The kommandant sensed trouble when the Major turned his finger in his direction.

"And, Klink, that makes you either an incompetent fool or an accomplice!" Hochstetter's tone dripped with accusation.

The taller man sat down behind his desk, not liking the sound of either of the choices. He was in over his head now. Once more he looked at Hogan, expecting, imploring him to say something in his own defense. I don't know how to help you, Hogan. I don't know how to help either of us.

As if on cue, Hogan spoke for the first time since leaving the barracks. The words were familiar to Klink, but the usual indignant edge was absent from his senior POW's weary voice. "Colonel Klink, I must protest my treatment. I am a duly classified prisoner of war and an officer. I have my rights." Hogan's eyes focused unsteadily on his kommandant.

Yes, Hogan, by the book. That I can do.

"Major Hochstetter, this man is under my command. He is my responsibility. If he is to be transferred from Stalag 13 I will need proper written authorization so that I can account for his whereabouts to my superiors, the protecting power and to the proper Allied authorities."

Hochstetter grabbed the sides of Klink's desk and leaned toward him threateningly. "If you had been more concerned about his whereabouts before, we would not be here!" He quickly turned on Hogan, his face beet-red. "And you, you dare to speak of 'rights'? Is it your 'right' as a prisoner of war to carry out cowardly acts of sabotage? Is it your 'right' to take German lives?"

"That's funny. I was going to ask you the same thing."

The blow was swift and accurate, catching Hogan across the lower lip and jaw line, snapping his head back and to the right. The weakened officer collapsed into backward into the arms of the guards, who secured him but allowed him to fall to his knees. Blood flowed steadily from Hogan's split lip. He bent forward, trying very hard to control his urge to vomit. And so it begins.

"Major Hochstetter!" Horrified, Klink was on his feet even before Hogan hit the ground. "It is against regulations to strike a prisoner..."

"Shut up, Klink!" The Gestapo agent stood over the slumped Hogan, obviously working himself into a pretty rage. "The Geneva Convention offers no protection for spies and saboteurs. The Gestapo, however, makes them our business. Colonel Hogan and I obviously have some things to discuss, and he seems rather anxious to get started." He made a show of putting on his black leather gloves.

Back in the barracks, the four men crowded around the speaker had gasped at the sudden smack of fist to flesh. They knew instantly what had happened, just as they knew it was only the beginning.

"Jeez, mates, we gotta do something," Newkirk said. "Hochstetter sounds ready to kill the Colonel right now."

"You don't think Klink would actually stand by and let him do it here?" asked Carter.

"Klink hates violence," said LeBeau hopefully. "And if he is not the one who turned in le colonel, he might be our best hope to buy him time."

"Don't get too excited, mate, Klink may not be a rat, but he's a weakling," Newkirk said with disgust. "The kommandant is no match for Hochstetter, he'd back down from an angry Girl Scout."

Kinch raised his eyebrows in thought. "I'm not sure, but for some reason the colonel took a chance that he could trust Klink, and he's never been wrong yet. Right now he needs help, and we can't give it to him." He crossed his arms across his chest and indicated the coffee pot. "This would be a very good time for Klink to decide which side he's really on."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Wilhelm Klink had rarely felt so conflicted. He knew that if his allegiance was based solely on nationality, his sworn duty was to Hochstetter's side. But privately, were it not for the uniforms, he knew which man with whom he would choose to fight. And now here was Hogan, a man he secretly admired-even liked, on his knees before a commissioned representative of the devil himself, his violent death now virtually assured. Even the serious charges at hand and potential danger to himself did nothing to lessen Klink's sympathy for Hogan. What he couldn't put his finger on was whether it was entirely personal or political, or both.

"Major Hochstetter, with all due respect, Hogan is a prisoner of war and it is against regulations to strike a prisoner while in custody. He has shown no aggression and he is obviously in no position to offer you any resistance. As kommandant of Stalag 13 I am still responsible for him, so if you want to question him…"

"I'm not here to question him. He is under arrest, Klink. This man is my prisoner now," he again grabbed a handful of Hogan's shirt, "and I will do with him whatever I please!" He released Hogan with a shove.

From his knees, Hogan steadied his aching head and now focused on the seething man in black in front of him. He wished he were at least in better condition to put up a good fight. No, it's better this way. It will be quicker. Even through the haze in his mind, Hogan knew that Hochstetter had become increasingly desperate to prove his allegations against Hogan as the war seemed to be nearing its end, and that this interrogation would be intensely personal. That meant the volatile Nazi could probably be goaded into losing control. This was as good a place as any, certainly better than Berlin where Hochstetter would have the home field advantage—and superiors to answer to.

While the thought was unpleasant, Hogan knew his fate was sealed. After more than two years of cat-and-mouse, he would be Hochstetter's greatest prize. All that remained was to maintain his dignity and his silence, for although Hogan had carefully avoided learning unnecessary information, there was no doubt that he knew enough about the inner network of the Underground to place many lives, and the entire local network, in jeopardy. I will not give up my men. He felt some measure of victory in that they were probably long gone by now, assuming they had followed orders. No, Kinch would not let him down. They were on their way home right now. But, unlike them, he was now determined not to leave Stalag 13 alive, not in Hochstetter's hands. It's over. Just push the right buttons.

For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to think of Tiger. Pilot or spy, the odds were against him surviving this war from the start and it was better for both their sakes that he had, for the most part, kept his emotions in check. For the most part. The feisty French underground agent had found the crack in his armor the first time she lifted her chin in defiance and her eyes had exposed his soul. He wished he could have told her everything, but he knew he had been right not to. He hoped she knew what he had never said. I'm sorry, Tiger. We weren't meant to be.

"I assure you, Hogan," the Gestapo officer sneered. "One way or another you will make me a happy man today."

Klink shuddered at the promise in Hochstetter's words. He let his gaze drift briefly to Hogan and took in the bloodied American kneeling across the room. He was still expecting Hogan would get to his feet and deny everything, to fast-talk his way out of this one as he had every other time someone accused him of something incredible. Klink refused to recognize the resignation he saw in the man's eyes as he watched a weary Hogan suddenly blink and sit back on his heels, apparently facing the inevitable. Are you out of lies, Hogan? Or simply too ill to think clearly?

Hogan took a deep, ragged breath, steeling himself for what he had to do, his last act as a soldier. "All right Major, exactly what is it you want from me?"

"For a start, I want to hear you say it, Hogan." Hochstetter's voice was sweet with false pleasantry, but increased in hostility as he continued. "I want you to admit for the record that you are Papa Bear, and then, Hogan, I want a full accounting of all, and I mean all underground activities in this area, including names and descriptions of operatives and sympathizers."

The last comment induced an imperceptible blanch from Klink. Hogan, you said you would protect me.

Hogan smirked at Hochstetter, sincerely insulted that he would think Papa Bear would crack so easily. "Anything else, Major? I mean how about the secret telephone number for reservations at Sally's Pizzeria back in Connecticut. You know, they only give it out to…"

Hogan was silenced by another crack across the face, this time by the back of Hochstetter's gloved hand, which caught him just below the right eye. He expected it, but with his arms still bound behind him, Hogan was unable to break his fall and was knocked backward into the tangle of legs of the troopers standing behind him.

That didn't take much. Hochstetter's wound up. This will be over quickly.

Hogan looked up at him and shook his head with mock disappointment. "You put your gloves on for that?"

Hochstetter was on him in an instant, pulling him back to his knees and toward the center of the office. Holding the American by the collar with one hand, Hochstetter drew his pistol from the holster on his belt with the other, and placed it at Hogan's right temple. The uniformed Gestapo men in the room awkwardly backed away from their commanding officer, removing themselves from the line of fire. Hogan suddenly wished he had been able to give Kinch his eagles and wings to give to his father with an explanation when the time was right.

Klink rose from his chair, beginning to feel something very close to panic. The sight of a drawn weapon in his office was disturbing enough, but to have it in the hands of a madman bent on murdering the closest thing to a friend Klink had had in years… How can I stop this?

"Any more jokes, Colonel Hogan? Eh?" He jammed the gun harder into the man's temple. "I will not play games with you, Hogan. Now, say it! SAY IT!"

Hogan swallowed hard, trying to find enough air for his voice. It's over. He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if every sound was a struggle. "I am…Colonel Robert E. Hogan…"

"Nein!" Hochstetter began yelling over Hogan's rote recitation, drowning out the injured man's soft voice.

"…United States Army Air Force,"

"A confession, Hogan, to save your life!"

"…serial number 0876707…"

"Say it! 'I am Papa Bear!'"

"Major Hochstetter, please!" Klink frantically begged for order.

"SAY IT!"

"Major, for God's sake!"

A single gunshot silenced the chaos in the room. In another instant, the door burst open as an alarmed Schultz rushed in, his rifle held in trembling hands. His large face registered his reaction to the shocking sight of Colonel Hogan at the mercy of Hochstetter's deranged actions. Hogan was still held fast, kneeling and breathing heavily from shock, trying to maintain his failing composure, with the Gestapo major's smoking gun just inches from his sweat-soaked forehead. There was a neat hole in the wall to Hogan's left, just above the height of the colonel's head.

"Herr Kommandant," Schultz's voice was practically a whisper. "What happened?"

"Major Hochstetter was…making a point." Klink forced himself to breathe again. He reseated himself at his desk, and leaned his head on his fist both relieved and appalled by the scare tactic. He tried to push away a nagging image of himself in Hogan's place.

Feeling the thrill only a sadist knows Hochstetter laughed in Hogan's face. "Well, Colonel, have you anything more useful to say now?"

"Yeah," Hogan, himself feeling an odd mix of relief and disappointment, shot a weak smirk at Hochstetter, who was looking at him expectantly. "You're a lousy shot."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gathered around the small table in their Colonel's quarters, the four men had heard the rising tension in Klink's office through the tinny speaker. At the sudden sound of the gunshot, they all jumped back in horror, as though the coffee pot itself had fired the round.

Louis LeBeau crossed himself and began to pray in French. Newkirk and Carter instinctively grabbed each other by the arm, and Kinch wrapped his arms around his head as if to protect his ears from further assault. Nobody dared move again, until at last they heard their commander's unsteady voice. An unspoken common thought filled the room. At least he's still alive.

"Vicious, bloody bastard." Newkirk spoke for all of them. "He's off his chump, he is."

"I've heard enough," said Kinch. "Like it or not, we've got to clear out just like the Colonel ordered." Never feeling more useless, Kinch walked away, back into the common room of the barracks. Out of habit, he glanced out the window, and saw the unmistakable figure of General Alfred Burkhalter crouched awkwardly behind his staff car, his gun drawn. The portly officer was approached by a camp guard who helped him to his feet and led him up the stairs to Klink's office. "This is turning into a lynch mob, now Burkhalter's here." Klink's immediate superior, the general was in charge of the local Luftwaffe prison camps.

As his friends followed him out of the Colonel's room, Kinch desperately tried to think like Hogan. Since he first met the colonel, the radioman knew that Hogan was the leader Kinch himself would want to be. And now, he was in a position to put into action all Hogan had taught him since their improbable operation had begun. What would he do if it were one of us in there? Pack up and bug out? Not likely. He'd probably just waltz right in there and play those krauts like a fine piano. "Wait a minute. That's it!"

"What's it, Kinch?" LeBeau was just happy someone had an idea.

Newkirk snorted dismissively. "You expect Burkhalter to save the colonel, do you?" Newkirk was hardly ever the voice of optimism.

"I don't think that's very likely," said Carter, missing Newkirk's sarcasm as usual. "He probably hates Colonel Hogan almost as much as Hochstetter does."

"Maybe," Kinch said, still working it out. "But I bet he hates Hochstetter more. If we can play them off one against the other, it might buy us some time, give us a chance to get to the Colonel and get him out of here." He walked back into Hogan's empty office to listen to what the future held for his commander and friend.

Burkhalter was still huffing and puffing from the excitement when he arrived in Klink's inner office. "I demand to know what is going on here! What was that shot I heard?" Catching sight of the bound and bloodied Hogan, shrinking from the menacing Gestapo agent, whose hand still brandished a pistol, the now-ranking officer in the room moved to defuse the situation. He motioned to Schultz, indicating Hogan. "Pick him up, Sergeant."

The burly Schultz leaned his rifle against Klink's desk and stepped toward Hogan and Hochstetter. He stopped when Hochstetter failed to yield to the General's request.

"Release him, Major," the general commanded.

"Bah!" Hochstetter complied, albeit with disgust, and pushed Hogan into Schultz's waiting arms. He holstered his weapon, removed his gloves and began to pace the room.

The Sergeant gently assisted the exhausted officer to his feet and stood at his side, allowing Hogan to lean on him slightly for support. Feeling a temporary reprieve, Hogan tried to gather his wits about him again and considered how best to take advantage of Burkhalter's timely arrival. Maybe he could survive this. He'd worry about whether his men were already gone later.

"Now," Burkhalter began, "what is this all about?"

The responses all came at once.

"General Burkhalter, Major Hochstetter came bursting in here, with no written orders…"

"This man is my prisoner. You have no right to interfere with a Gestapo matter!"

"General, I am a prisoner of war and a colonel in the United States Army. I demand my rights under the Geneva Convention…"

"You forfeited your rights the day you joined the Underground!"

"I'm in prison!"

"SILENCE!" Burkhalter raised his voice as he raised his hand for attention. He looked at each of the officers in the room in turn. Slowly, he walked over to Hogan, eyeing him carefully, assessing his condition. The wobbly man was very pale, still bleeding from the mouth, a small, reddened mouse was visible under one eye, and powder burns were visible at his temple and forehead. His disheveled khaki shirt was soaked with sweat and spotted with blood. Definitely not the image of the irritatingly glib American the general was used to finding under foot in this office, but reminiscent of the mouthy pilot he had taken custody of at the Dulag interrogation center several years before.

Of course, Hogan had been cleaned up before Burkhalter dropped him into Stalag 13 as the camp's only officer, hoping that separation from other officers would put a damper on the man's irrepressible spirit. The general had seen enough of Hogan since then to recognize his own folly. And though at the time, the general was sure Hogan would not accept his role as a POW, even with command responsibilities, he had not escaped nor been killed in an attempt. Perhaps that was due to the fact that Burkhalter had chosen Klink as Hogan's kommandant, knowing that he was the least likely to have the man shot for being disrespectful. The Luftwaffe wanted Hogan alive as a living symbol of it's dominance over the allies and there was hope that a man with Hogan's background and knowledge could someday prove helpful. But despite the camp's order and impeccable record since Hogan's arrival, Burkhalter found the American's cowed prisoner routine curious at best, and devious at worst.

He addressed Hogan slowly and firmly. "Colonel Hogan, I am not yet sure what it is you are supposed to have done, but whatever it is I am reasonably sure that you did it."

Turning away before Hogan could form a reply, the general purposely ignored Hochstetter and turned to Klink. "Klink, why is this prisoner in shackles? Has he behaved violently?" Even Burkhalter knew that would be out of character for Hogan, but Hochstetter could push anyone to violence.

Klink was reluctant to show up Hochstetter, or to appear to be favoring Hogan, but as Burkhalter was his direct superior he felt he could safely state the facts as he knew them. "On the contrary, Herr General, as you can see Colonel Hogan is quite ill and I have no charges against him."

"Then why was someone shooting at him?" Burkhalter's tone was flat and direct. He cocked a disapproving eyebrow at Hochstetter, who was pacing the rear of the room, slapping his gloves impatiently against his leg. He whirled around, insulted at being addressed as 'someone.'

"This man is an agent of the Underground, responsible for acts of sabotage against the Third Reich!" Hochstetter's voice was barely restrained.

Burkhalter nodded knowingly. It was the usual Gestapo charge. Intrigued, but not surprised, he asked, "And you now have proof, of course, Major Hochstetter?"

"Oh, yeah," interjected Hogan, regaining some of his edge. "He caught me red handed, in uniform, asleep on my bunk. It seems I caught the Gestapo flu. You better watch out, General, it's a nasty bug. Fever, chills, followed by a punch in the mouth and a bullet in the head…"

"It is not the flu!" Hochstetter was furiously defensive. "You were caught in a trap! And this time there will be no escape!"

"Major," Burkhalter considered the key question, "was this man picked up outside camp?"

"No," Hogan answered quickly. "I was picked up out of my bunk!"

"Silence!" Burkhalter ordered, "Or I will trade those handcuffs for a gag!"

"General," Hochstetter tried to capitalize on having Burkhalter momentarily on his side. "Last night Hogan was poisoned by the grandson of an Underground agent who was, shall we say, detained for questioning by my men. The boy tried to negotiate the release of his grandfather by claiming to have killed the agent known as Papa Bear." Hochstetter approached Hogan, sneering up at him. "I had my doubts, but it would seem the boy was telling the truth about the poison. He was just a bit premature in reporting Papa Bear's death, wasn't he, Hogan?"

Burkhalter listened with interest and studied Hogan with narrowed eyes. "Is this true, Hogan?"

"True?" Hogan tried to process Hochstetter's information while forming his defense. "He's off his nut! I have exactly what two-dozen other guys in this crummy camp have, the kraut flu!"

"We do have quite an epidemic here, General," offered Klink weakly.

"More lies!" Hochstetter spat, "Klink, you should have known from the beginning! How can this man come and go from your camp all this time without your knowledge? You must have been in on it, too! No one can be that stupid…"

"Me?" Klink stammered, "I assure you, Major Hochestetter, I am that stupid. That is, what I mean to say is…"

"Klink!" Burkhalter, although mildly entertained, was developing a headache. "Major, why can't you have this boy brought in to see if he can identify whether Colonel Hogan is the man he met last night?" It was the next logical step, though Burkhalter doubted the veracity of any statement made while in custody of the Gestapo, especially if one is trying to save the life of a family member.

Hochstetter dropped his eyes to the floor, slightly embarrassed. "He is already en route to Berlin for questioning. The officers on duty at headquarters last night failed to believe his story, thinking he was desperate to save his grandfather, but he did have some knowledge of some of the man's activities, so he was taken for further interrogation before I arrived this morning."

"What about the grandfather?"

"He was a sick, old man." Hochstetter smiled. "He died last night…of natural causes."

The general nodded knowingly. "Did he give up any information on Hogan?"

Hochstetter shook his head reluctantly. "No, but we have the boy's story, and Hogan is obviously ill…"

Burkhalter sighed. "Sgt. Schultz, have a detail escort Colonel Hogan to the cooler, where he is to remain under guard until I release him."

"General, this man is my prisoner! You are interfering with a Gestapo investigation. He goes nowhere until I say so!"

"Then I suggest, Major, that you say so. Hogan may be irritating, but he is a prized prisoner of the Luftwaffe until it is proven otherwise. I will conduct my own investigation of this matter. So far, all you have determined is that Klink is stupid and Hogan has the flu."

"You have not heard the last of this, General. I will not leave here without my prisoner, and he will not leave our sight." With that, Hochstetter turned and left, ordering his own guards to the cooler to watch Hogan's every move.

"Klink, if what Major Hochstetter says is correct, you will have some explaining to do."

Klink swallowed hard. "Explaining, General Burkhalter? I can assure you…"

Burkhalter held up his hand. "I have a headache. Save it for your letter."

"My letter?"

"The letter of explanation you'll be sending FROM THE RUSSIAN FRONT!" His round face turning a bright shade of pink, he slammed out of Klink's office.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The men of Hogan's barracks watched through the window of Hogan's office as their commander was escorted to the cooler by several Stalag 13 guards as well as Hochstetter's men. It seemed like overkill as an escort for a single ill, unarmed officer already in handcuffs. But it did reinforce to everybody on both sides the importance of this particular prisoner.

"They're taking him to the cooler!" Carter announced unnecessarily.

LeBeau watched with pride as Hogan pulled away from Sergeant Schultz, who had him supported by the elbow, and insisted on walking unsteadily under his own power. "And he's still on his feet! Vive, Le Colonel!"

"Yeah," mumbled Kinch. "But, he's behind on all the scorecards. Now, if we can just keep him here at least he'd have a puncher's chance of scoring a knockout before the end of the fight."

"What do you have in mind?" asked the Frenchman.

Kinch hesitated. God, I hate making these decisions. What if I'm wrong? How many times had they looked to Hogan for an idea that would somehow save someone's life or simply change the course of the war? It seemed a terribly unfair burden to place on any man.

Kinch thoughtfully rubbed his mustache. "From the look of those guards, I don't think they'll let us near Colonel Hogan, and he wouldn't want us to chance using the tunnel anyway, not with the Gestapo here. My guess is Hochstetter will try to call and get authorization to take the colonel. What if we beat him to the punch and order him to keep Hogan here?"

"Oh, and he'll listen to us, of course," Newkirk said sarcastically.

"No," said Kinch, slipping into his best Nazi accent. "But, perhaps he'll listen to General Kinchmeyer. Come on, we have work to do."

Kinch tried to slow himself down as he went about sending the radio messages to the appropriate parties. He could afford no mistakes. The colonel could afford no mistakes. His were no trivial tasks; notify London of the situation, ask for help in identifying whatever it was that was surreptitiously given to Hogan. They'd need a doctor willing to enter camp under the guise of loyalty to the Gestapo in order to assess the commander's condition and get word back to the Underground. And finally, Kinch had to figure a way to get Hogan out of Hochstetter's hands before it was too late, and before whatever it was that was making him sick did any more damage. It seemed impossibly complex. And all of this had to be done without the input of the man known for his creativity and execution of the impossible.

The radio came to life with the response Kinch was waiting for. He decoded the transmission and read it aloud to LeBeau, Newkirk and Carter, who were hovering around his small station in the bowels of the camp.

"Acknowledge arrest of Papa Bear with regrets. Doctor Weiss of Hammelburg is awaiting instructions. Permission granted to mount reasonable rescue attempt. Advise of further needs."

"What do they mean 'reasonable'?" asked LeBeau suspiciously.

Kinch frowned. "Look, London wants him out of Gestapo hands, but they probably don't want us to tip off the fact that Hogan is operating with military cooperation. We're supposed to be renegades, remember? Allied command will deny knowledge of us if we're caught."

Newkirk tossed his cigarette to the floor and ground it into the dirt. "Ungrateful twisters. How many people have we rescued 'at all costs'? The colonel has completed enough missions and sprung enough of their other agents to have earned a full military campaign just for him."

"Yeah," added Carter. "And I bet there would be hundreds of downed flyers we sent back willing to volunteer for the job, too."

LeBeau nodded. "Not to mention every man in this camp."

Kinch carefully folded the paper, not really knowing why. "Having hundreds of guys wouldn't really help us unless we could get near the colonel, which we can't. Even a direct assault wouldn't guarantee he'd walk out alive. Hochstetter would shoot him as soon as he knew something was up, just for spite. No, we need to think like the colonel and not lose our heads."

"So, what do we do now?" Carter was eager to do something, anything, to help.

"Well, we have a doctor on our side," answered Kinch. "First thing we need to do is make sure Colonel Hogan is okay. We need to get this Doctor Weiss in to examine him to figure out how serious this poison was and how much danger the colonel is in because of it. I'll get a message to him, and then I'll make a call to Hochstetter and tell him Weiss is coming, sent by Berlin, and tell him to keep Hogan here. Newkirk, monitor all calls out from Klink's office. He'll probably try to call someone and confirm General Kinchmeyer's orders. Be sure he gets confirmation that Weiss is on the level and will favor the Gestapo's investigation. He has to allow the doctor in to see Hogan."

"Right, Kinch."

The sergeant went on, thinking on his feet. "Then, maybe the doc can convince Burkhalter that Hogan does just have the flu. I think Burkhalter and Klink will buy it because they seem to want him here anyway. We'll leave it to them to keep Hochstetter away from the colonel."

"And after that?" asked LeBeau.

Kinch sighed. "I have no idea…yet."

Newkirk grinned. "Blimey, you sounded just like the colonel then."

Kinch looked hopeful. Your words to God's ears.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The German officers were again gathered in Klink's office. Burkhalter, of course, sat behind Klink's desk, while Klink sat uncomfortably on the chair beside it. Hochstetter paced furiously, regretting every second Hogan was not in his presence.

"General, Hogan belongs to me!" Hochstetter's voice was full of frustration. "Why can't you see what is so obvious? He is a victim of a murder attempt."

"Yes, Major." Burkhalter squinted with sarcasm. "I saw it when I arrived."

Klink sat up, seizing an opportunity to both join in and support Hogan somehow. "I did, too. Completely appalling, I mean the man was in handcuffs…"

"Shut up, Klink." Burkhalter snapped.

Klink sank back into his chair, wishing Hogan were in the room so someone could get off a snappy comeback in his defense. He wondered how this day had gone so wrong, how the war had gone so wrong.

There was a knock on the door to Klink's office. Hilda appeared, and Klink noticed the look of disdain on her features as she addressed Hochstetter. The kommandant assumed she had been almost as disturbed by the sight of Hogan paraded out under guard as he was.

"There is a telephone call for you, Major."

"I am much too busy to speak to anyone," Hochstetter responded brusquely.

"It is General Kinchmeyer, sir, from Berlin." Hilda closed the door firmly behind her as she departed the office, knowing the major would take the call.

"General Kinchmeyer? What could he want?" Hochstetter took the call at Klink's desk while Klink and Burkhalter listened in to the major's end of the conversation.

"Hochstetter here…Oh, yes, of course, General Kinchmeyer…What? You heard about the prisoner Hogan? Yes, sir. I was on his trail every minute. I knew it was only a matter of time…"

Burkhalter rolled his eyes as the major boasted of his quarry. Klink just sank further into his chair, not realizing that the call was being placed not from Berlin, but from someplace beneath his feet.

"Hochstetter, are you alone?"

"No, sir. I am with the kommandant and General Burkhalter."

"We must speak privately."

"Yes, sir. Privately. Just a moment." Hochstetter held the phone to his coat and addressed Klink and Burkhalter. "I must speak to General Kinchmeyer in private." He clearly expected the other officers to leave the room.

Klink politely rose from his chair. "Yes, of course…"

Burkhalter interrupted him, just to be difficult. "Stay where you are, Klink. If he requires privacy, he can step outside." He turned to Hochstetter. "You forget yourself, Major."

Hochstetter looked at the two ranking officers in the room. "Bah," the Gestapo man thrust the receiver into Klink's chest and stormed out into Klink's reception area. Klink waited for the phone to be picked up in the outer office before hanging up the one he held.

Having successfully excused Hilda, Hochstetter stood stiffly as he listened to the voice on the other end of the telephone.

"Hochstetter, I want you to listen carefully. We must be very sure about this Hogan. We have had our suspicions about him for some time and have collected a complete dossier of evidence against him. We were just about to move in when you called. If you really have Papa Bear then we must use his capture to our advantage."

"Our advantage, General?"

"Yes, Hochstetter. Yours and mine. Or don't you want any of the credit?"

"Yes, Herr General. Of course, it must be to our advantage. I will deliver him to you personally, Herr General…"

"Nein! You will hold Hogan there until I send a special unit to escort him to Berlin. I will send my personal guard detail. If word gets out that Papa Bear is in custody, there will be attempts to rescue him. My guards are trained to counter any Underground attempt to free Hogan. Under no circumstances is Hogan to leave Stalag 13 with anybody else, is that clear, Hochstetter?"

"Yes, sir. Hogan is to remain at Stalag 13." Hochstetter dropped his voice. "But, General Kinchmeyer, there is a General Burkhalter of the Luftwaffe here who is also claiming the rights to Hogan because he is a prisoner of war and was not captured outside the camp."

"Hochstetter! The Gestapo surrenders prisoners to no one! You will personally see to it that Hogan is delivered to my guards alive and well. Do you understand?"

"Alive and well. Yes, sir!" Seeing the opportunity to get his hands on Hogan slipping away, the major tried once more to maintain control. "Of course, there is the matter of Hogan's illness. He may not even survive the trip to Berlin. Perhaps it would be best if I interrogated him right here and report back to you. I would enjoy the chance…"

"This man is the biggest prisoner we have ever had. Interrogating him will be my job, Major! You job is to keep him alive until I can get my hands on him. He has more information than you can imagine. Get him a doctor and find out for sure if he has been poisoned as you say. I used a doctor in Hammelburg once, a Doctor Weiss. He is supportive of our efforts and most discreet. I will send for him myself. You are then to wait for my instructions. Speak to no one about else at Gestapo Headquarters about this, Major. There will be many that want to share our glory. You have done well, Hochstetter. There will no doubt be a promotion waiting for you when you return to Berlin. Perhaps I will even invite you to witness Hogan's confession and execution. Heil Hitler!"

"Heil! Thank you, sir!" Hochstetter hung up, visibly pleased that he would finally get the recognition he craved. Even sharing the credit with a General he had never personally met paled in comparison to the victorious knowledge that he, Wolfgang Hochstetter, had finally gotten his man. The most dangerous man in all of Germany.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hogan stirred when footsteps were heard in the corridor leading to his cell. Despite the fact that he was sitting up, he had been drifting in and out of a light sleep since being left in the stark cell. His vision still blurry, he also had difficulty seeing in the dim light of the windowless room. It had been several hours, and the adrenaline rush from the incident with Hochstetter long gone, he had found himself unfocused and cramping up in the damp chill.

He checked his watch, knowing that if Kinch had kept his promise there would be more than one empty space at the next roll call. The longer he sat in the cell, the more time his men had to put some miles between them and Stalag 13. He tried to balance the grief he felt knowing he would never see his friends again with the satisfaction he felt as a commander knowing his men were safe. Of course, it also meant that his own survival would be short-lived, as nothing would sway Burkhalter over to Hochstetter more quickly than the escape of the men closest to Hogan. Seeing no way out, the colonel began to believe that maybe he and Klink would share that firing squad after all.

He looked up as he heard commotion in the corridor, wondering whether Burkhalter or Hochstetter had come away with the big end of his wishbone. Hogan was not pleased to see it was the man in black who had come, and did not know what to make of the tall, grey-haired civilian with the medical bag who accompanied him.

Hochstetter pushed his way into the cell, riding a swell of victory. "Well, Hogan. The end is near. This is Doctor Weiss, personally assigned to your case by Berlin. You may have created doubt with the others, but you will not be able to hide the truth from him."

Weiss didn't miss the look Hogan shot him that clearly announced that there would be no cooperation coming from the famous Papa Bear, not as long as he believed the doctor was on the Gestapo's side. He briefly wondered if he was in any danger from the notorious Underground agent. Weiss turned and addressed Hochstetter, trying to sound disinterested and professional.

"I will need time for a proper examination. I will report to you when I am finished. Leave a guard outside. I will call him if my patient becomes uncooperative."

Hochstetter sneered. "The prisoner was born uncooperative, and he is to remain under guard at all times."

Weiss shrugged. "He will be, Major, unless your guards are not up to the task. I am a medical man, and unlike your prisoner here, I am not used to working in such close quarters with machine guns." He approached Hogan and lifted his chin to examine the welt under his eye, but made sure to take note of the oddity of the colonel's pupils. "I must say this man hardly looks worthy of all the fuss, he doesn't look very formidable." Hogan snapped his head out of the doctor's hand, fire alighting in his eyes. The doctor decided to let Hogan in on it before he decked him. "Besides, General Kinchmeyer trusts my ability to handle his prisoners."

Hogan's head shot up and his mind once again shifted sluggishly into overdrive, trying to process another unexpected reprieve. Kinch! My god, are they still here?

The doctor continued, knowing he needed time alone with Hogan. "That reminds me, Major, General Kinchmeyer asked for confirmation of my arrival. Please notify him that I am with the prisoner and will report as soon as possible."

Hochstetter hesitated for a moment, and then answered quickly, seeing the advantage of staying on the general's good side. "Yes, of course. I will call him personally and be back to check on you." He left, stationing his guards outside the cooler building.

Weiss nodded and waited until he was sure the Gestapo man and his guard detail were out of earshot. He quickly sat down beside Hogan and opened his bag while he introduced himself.

"Weiss, Colonel. We must act quickly. Are you injured?" He once again examined Hogan's bruised face, this time sincerely.

Hogan shook his head and brushed off the doctor's hand. "No, it's nothing. There is another problem, though."

"I heard. London sent a message that you ingested a foreign substance. Do you know what it was, Colonel?"

Hogan shook his head, and then regretted it immediately. "The kid must have put it in my coffee when I was distracted. He spilled a glass of water. I cleaned it up." Foolish, Robert, foolish.

Weiss spoke as he did a cursory check of Hogan's vital signs. "Did it have an odor, a peculiar taste, perhaps? Something to help us identify it?"

"Nothing." He rubbed his aching head, still angry with himself for letting his guard down at all while in that café. What had it cost him? "I couldn't have had much of it, I left right after the kid did. Didn't even finish the coffee."

"Well, from the look of you, it's a good thing you didn't ingest more." He listened to Hogan's chest with the stethoscope, concern on his craggy features. "You have difficulty breathing, ja?" Hogan nodded.

Weiss tapped the colonel's arm lightly and reached into his bag for a syringe. "I'll need a blood sample."

Hogan stopped himself from wondering if it was worth the effort. He wasn't sure what his men had planned, or if they were even still in camp, but if they did try something he would need to be as fit as possible. No glory in rescuing a corpse. He rolled up his sleeve to expose his forearm. "Weiss, are my men still here? Are they safe? What is going on?"

Ignoring Hogan's wince, Weiss spoke as the needle pierced the exposed bare skin and the trickle of blood began to fill the vial. "I know nothing of your men, Colonel. My orders came direct from British contacts. I'll get this sample on the road to London and have it analyzed. If we can keep you here until tomorrow, we might be able to get you an antidote…"

The doctor froze in fear as he became aware of a presence just outside the open door to Hogan's cell.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Klink stood quietly in the doorway taking in the proceedings in the cell. Even knowing of Hogan's connections did not prepare him for actually witnessing covert activity in his cooler. His shock dissipated as Hochstetter was soon heard in the distance, barking orders to his troopers.

Unaware of how long Klink had been present, Weiss looked at Hogan, terrified that his own cover had been blown, but to his surprise Klink said nothing and Hogan seemed nonplussed.

Hochstetter brushed past the kommandant and entered the cell, addressing the doctor. "What is going on here? What are you doing?"

Caught with the syringe still in his arm, but believing that Klink was the only one to have heard anything damaging, Hogan tried to maintain the doctor's cover without sacrificing Klink's. Although Hogan did wonder what his kommandant would do once it was obvious Hogan was beyond salvation. How far would he go? "You're wasting your time, Doc, that's standard American-issue blood there. You won't find a thing except traces of mom's apple pie."

Slightly flustered, Weiss completed the sample. "Ja? Then you have nothing to worry about."

"A blood test?" asked Hochstetter. "Who ordered this?"

Weiss closed up his bag and stood up, holding the vial in his hand. "It is routine, Herr Major. It is difficult to tell only by examination, but the test will prove beyond doubt that the American has been poisoned as you say."

"Excellent!" Hochstetter was genuinely pleased at the thought of irrefutable proof of Hogan's guilt. "I shall see to the testing personally." He held his hand out to take possession of the sample.

Hogan sighed, quickly losing hope. Oh, swell. We're doing his job for him. Should I save him the trouble and shoot myself, too?

Weiss had to continue talking to find a way out of the mess he had just caused. "We will need a well-equipped and secure laboratory, Herr Major. I will need to properly seal and label the sample to avoid the risk of…" He fumbled for an excuse, "…contamination. Perhaps you could arrange an escort to the hospital for security purposes?" The doctor knew he needed more time with Hogan.

"My personal guards will accompany you, Doctor, the best men I have. I will phone the hospital to tell them you are coming. I will also arrange for another doctor to observe your test. I take no chances."

"You are free to use my office, Major," Klink suddenly offered helpfully, knowing Hochstetter would do it anyway. He caught himself feeling more than a little guilty as he glanced at Hogan. He found he could not take his eyes off the prisoner in front of him who seemed to be sitting so calmly while plans were made to end his life.

Before leaving the cell, Hochstetter leered at the American sitting on the cot. "Hogan, when the doctors finish with you, not even Burkhalter will be able to keep you here. By tomorrow you and I will be in Berlin!" Hochstetter turned on his heels and stalked out, again brushing roughly past Klink, who stood perfectly still, staring blankly at Hogan.

Weiss's eyes darted from Hogan to Klink and back again, unsure of what to say or do. He looked an apology. He knew he had just aided the Gestapo in gathering evidence against the very man he was sent to save.

Hogan understood the man's position, and refused to allow him to further compromise his safety in a futile effort. Like many in the Underground, the doctor would no doubt take any risk to save the famous Papa Bear. There would be no chance now of fudging the test results, not with Gestapo and a second doctor observing. He rolled down his sleeve, and wished he had his familiar leather jacket to help ward off the uncontrollable chills he suffered.

With Hochstetter now involved in testing his blood, the last flicker of hope was extinguished. Hogan was alone, and out of miracles and he knew it. He had always known that if he were arrested, he wouldn't have time to say a proper farewell, to tell his men how much he thought of them. Hogan had always tried to keep himself apart from the strong emotional ties that had grown within his team, but he knew that every decision, every gesture, every time he leaned affectionately on an enlisted man's shoulder he was trying to let them know. He could only hope that they got the message.

Hogan lifted his head, determined that no one else would be endangered because of him. "Do whatever Hochstetter wants, Weiss. Protect yourself."

"But, sir...It will mean your life!" Weiss kept glancing toward Klink as he spoke, unsure if he could be trusted, but decided to risk revealing more, for Hogan's sake. After all, if Papa Bear spoke freely in front of him, there must be a reason. "There must be a way. Perhaps one of your men could give another sample to give to the Gestapo, I could switch them. Of course, it would have to be the same type. Hochstetter would probably check if the results came out in your favor. " He reached inside Hogan's collar and pulled out his dog tags, examining them closely. "Your blood type is quite common…O positive. It would be possible…"

Hogan tugged gently on his tags, pulling them away from the doctor and tucking them back inside his shirt. "No dice, any contact with my men would only make Hochstetter even more suspicious of them. Besides, they might be long gone already anyway, and if they aren't they should be as soon as they realize this is hopeless." Leaning back against the cold wall, he grabbed the doctor's arm and looked him in the eye. "I want you to make sure of that, Weiss."

"Colonel, we must do something! We could find them, find someone…"

"Forget it, there's no time. I won't risk it. There are already too many people in danger." Hogan tried to mentally prepare for interrogation. I can't let them break me.

Klink listened to the exchange without any outward reaction. Inwardly, he was amazed at the American's selfless concern for others and the apparent scope of Hogan's operation. German doctors, couriers to London, prisoners capable of escape at a moments notice, God knows what else. Incredible, and all of it occurring under his nose. Could Hogan's men really be gone? Had they left him, believing his was a lost cause? Klink didn't even consider the loss of his perfect record. He heard Hochstetter's words ringing in his ears. 'That makes you either an incompetent fool or an accomplice.' He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to run to his superiors and tell all, to try and reclaim some measure of the honor and respect due him and salvage what was left of his career.

Weiss threw up his arms in desperation. "Colonel, I don't know what I can do to help."

Hogan exhaled heavily. "Got any cyanide in that black bag of yours?"

Weiss could see that Hogan was not kidding. "Colonel Hogan, please…"

"Then get me a gun, a knife, a scalpel…anything."

"You are hardly up to a fight, Colonel. You would never get away."

"I'm not trying to get away. I just want something to draw on Hochstetter, something to get his men to open fire…"

"But that would be suicide, Herr Colonel! I am a doctor…"

Hogan's tone was flat and decisive. "I'm not going to Berlin."

Before Weiss could respond, their conversation was interrupted as a bare arm was thrust between them. Looking up, Hogan could see the arm belonged to Kommandant Wilhelm Klink. In their exchange, they had nearly forgotten his presence in the cell.

"O positive, Hogan," Klink said quietly. "Something else we have in common."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Hogan sat up straight, trying to focus his eyes on Klink, torn between salvation and surrender. "Colonel, you don't…"

Klink cut him off and looked at Weiss. "Quickly, Doctor. There isn't much time." His left shirtsleeve was rolled up past the elbow and he held his uniform jacket in his free hand

Ignoring his surprise, Weiss dutifully set to work drawing a small tube of blood from Klink's outstretched arm. The three men were silent while the doctor went quickly about his business, each alone with his thoughts regarding his own role in the proceedings, and listening intently for approaching visitors to the high security cell, not wanting a repeat of the previous interruption.

Hogan watched as Klink's blood slowly filled the vial. He tried to tap down an irrational feeling of resentment that it had come to this; that he would need Klink to save his life. And although he knew that the kommandant's blood would likely be spilled either way now, Hogan was never comfortable with anyone taking risks for him. The colonel was not pleased that his own men, his friends, would risk all for him, but seeing Klink and Weiss, two German citizens, working on his behalf mere yards from the Gestapo only intensified Hogan's fears for the well-being of those closest to him.

Wilhelm Klink tried to will his vein to work more quickly. Somehow he was both terrified and exhilarated by his own impulsive actions on Hogan's behalf. Listening to his senior prisoner of war admitting that he would prefer suicide to interrogation, Klink found his respect for the man rise as quickly as his distaste for the business practices of his comrades in arms.

Hochstetter's many threats toward Hogan in the past seemed to be just words, words that Klink himself had occasionally echoed in an effort to be one of the boys, never really considering the true consequences of them. We have ways of making you talk. Seeing Hogan, bloodied and injured, fully prepared to die for his cause stirred not only the personal regard he had come to feel for the American, but recognition that unlike so many officials of the Fatherland, he was a leader worthy of being followed. But Klink lived in a world of Hochstetters and Eisenmanns, and if his actions were discovered, he would be no safer than Hogan, and he would have the added stain of being executed as a traitor. At least Hogan would die a doubted he could face death as honorably as his prisoner. The kommandant wrestled with his pride at his actions as a humanitarian—no, as a friend, and the opposing forces of a soldier's shame and a coward's fear. What have I done? Say something, Hogan.

As Weiss finished his sample, Klink quickly rolled down his sleeve and replaced his uniform tunic. He was just fastening the last of his buttons as they heard Schultz greeting Major Hochstetter and General Burkhalter at the end of the hall. Weiss stood, pocketed Hogan's sample and held the tube of Klink's blood in his hand.

Hochstetter scurried into the cell, with the hefty General plodding behind, obviously winded from trying to keep up with the smaller man as they crossed the compound. "General Burkhalter and I have arranged a test on Colonel Hogan's blood at the Luftwaffe hospital in Hammelburg," said Hochstetter. "I will personally deliver the sample and oversee the procedure."

"As you wish, Herr Major." Weiss bowed his head in deference to the officer.

"How can we be sure there will be no funny business, Major?" Burkhalter wheezed slightly as he spoke, the mistrust quite evident in his voice. "The Gestapo is well known for its…creativity. This man is a pest, perhaps even a dangerous pest, but he is also an important officer. By your own admission Hogan was taken from his bunk. The Allies will ask questions that I will have to answer. I'm afraid I must insist on a Luftwaffe physician witnessing the procedure." He didn't much care about Hogan's plight, but the general obviously did not like losing the lead on this investigation to Hochstetter, and was going to antagonize him in the name of protocol whenever possible.

Hochstetter waved off Burkhalter and punctuated it with a growl of disgust.

Weiss attached a small label to the tube, and scribbled Hogan's name and the date. He then sealed the cork with the paper and handed the tube to Hochstetter. Indicating Klink, he said, "The sample was taken before a witness, and is now labeled and sealed in your presence, Herr General. Major Hochstetter, General Burkhalter, I am sure the integrity of the test will not be questioned, and I will attest to your mutual cooperation myself."

His heart racing, Klink added, "As will I, Major Hochstetter…"

The reply came from both Hochstetter and Burkhalter simultaneously.

"Shut up, Klink."

Wounded, Klink shrank back into the shadows of the dingy cell, suddenly feeling great personal satisfaction at the throbbing pinpoint in the crux of his arm.

Hochstetter took the sample, tucking it into one of his breast pockets and leaned in to where Hogan sat on the sparse bunk. "I will carry the sample myself so there can be no doubt. It seems you are out of miracles, Colonel Hogan. I will be back for you, I promise you that."

"I'll be here. Bring an apology. I told you, it'll be pure as apple pie!" Emotionally and physically exhausted by the roller coaster of preparing for life and death, Hogan lay down on his back and stared at the ceiling and waited for the next precipitous drop.

"Bah!" He waved a stubby finger in Klink's face. "Keep him locked up, Klink! It will make a nice change for both of you."

Hochstetter and the Gestapo guards cleared off.

Burkhalter watched him go and then gave Hogan a long look. "If that test does show something besides apple pie, Hogan, I may shoot you myself." He raised an eyebrow when he noticed the kommandant clinging to the wall. "In fact, I may shoot both of you myself." He paused. "Klink, set a guard rotation. I want camp guards posted at the door at all times. No one goes in or out without my permission, including Hochstetter. "

Klink stood to attention. "Yes, Herr General. I shall speak to Sergeant Schultz about a rotation right now."

Burkhalter departed quickly, not trusting Hochstetter to make arrangements alone. He called over his broad shoulder, "Come Doctor Weiss, we have a test to conduct."

As he departed, the doctor discretely patted the pocket which held Hogan's blood, and nodded a silent promise to get it through to London.

Hogan nodded in return, an appreciative gesture and farewell. He couldn't help but wonder if it was worth the risks that Weiss and Klink had just taken. And what were his men planning? When would it happen? They obviously had tried to keep him in camp, but for what? And what would be the cost? So many risking so much, just for him. It seemed that half of Germany was trying to kill him, while half was trying to save him. He closed his eyes, crushed under the responsibility.

When his eyes finally blinked open, Hogan found Klink at his side. He stared up at Klink in silence. The magnitude of the gesture the kommandant had made was not lost on him. Still, he struggled with conflicting feelings for the officer in front of him. Not only was Hogan in a difficult position, one which could ultimately cost him his life, but in addition to the realization that his team had probably disobeyed his direct orders and remained in harm's way he was now also forced to confront both the doctor's and Klink's overt assistance. This went beyond Klink conveniently ignoring evidence that Hogan was with the Underground. Klink had just committed treason to save him. More lives in jeopardy just to try and save his. More responsibility for a poisoned man.

Hogan lifted his head slightly. "I guess I owe you a thank you."

"Among other things."

"What, you want an apology for me doing my duty?" He dropped his head back to the bunk and stared at the ceiling. "Forget it."

"Nor will I apologize for being a loyal German…until now."

"Yeah, so why'd you do it? I thought you liked sitting on the fence."

"Was I supposed to let them kill you?" Klink snapped, frustrated that he had to explain his actions. Yes, I was. So why didn't I? He continued, more formally, but honest. "I was raised to love my country, Colonel Hogan, just as you were raised to love yours." He slowly paced the small cell before turning to speak again. "But I fear that with the Fatherland in the hands of men like Hochstetter and Eisenmann," he dared not invoke the name of Hitler, even in relative privacy, "there will be no Germany left to love. Hochstetter is right. I have been a fool, Hogan… for you, for them. Who else but a foolish man finds himself in a land full of his own countrymen, yet the only man with whom he can speak honestly is an enemy."

Klink silently recalled the many previous instances where he had confided personal thoughts or fears to the American in front of him. It was odd how Hogan embodied his vague concepts of friend and enemy at the same time. "And only a fool willingly places his life in the hands of an enemy."

His sharp mind clouded by a mysterious poison and fatigue, Hogan found it difficult to determine exactly which one of them Klink was referring to as the fool. He lifted a heavy arm and let it droop over his eyes, shutting out the burden of the truth. Too many lives in my hands.

Klink walked across the cell and grasped an iron bar of the cell door in each hand. He looked into the hallway, staring vacantly into the dim light, seeing something that wasn't even there.

"I am not as dumb as you all believe, Hogan."

"I know that, sir." Hogan's tired voice was muffled beneath his arm.

"Hochstetter, Burkhalter, they treat me like a fool. They walk over me, humiliate me, bully me, but they have left me at Stalag 13 because of my perfect record. Or should I say our perfect record? And you…you have used me perhaps more than anybody."

"Then why did you help me?" Hogan tried not to sound defensive. "This is my problem. I wouldn't have sold you out. I gave you my word."

Klink hesitated, trying to find the words to explain something so personal. "It is not only your problem, Hogan. Hochstetter said I was either a fool or an accomplice. For some time I suppose I was content to play the role of the foolish, but efficient, colonel. It was safe, until you arrived. Even after our conversation about your little activities, all I had to do was continue being played for a fool. Even that was easy because it was safer than explaining why it took so long to catch you. Today, there was no safe choice, you saw to that by bringing the Gestapo to my door."

He sat heavily beside Hogan and stared straight ahead. "Today I had to decide who I wanted to be; who I wanted to follow." He sat up very straight. "Like you, I am a decorated pilot, you know. From another war, yes, but I was brave once—when I believed." He fingered his medals and pins as he looked at Hogan, who just stared quietly up at him. Klink frowned and waved his hand in disgust, his composure breaking. "You were right. I don't like the company I've been keeping either." Klink shrugged at the American beside him. "Until now."

Hogan said nothing for a while, struggling with his instinct to keep his distance from Klink, from anyone he was ultimately responsible for.

When he received no response to his sincere proclamation, Klink turned away, hoping he hadn't misdirected his loyalty. Will I be a fool in another man's army, too?

Finally, Hogan sighed and pushed himself up to a sitting position. "There's no going back now, you know that?"

His gaze still averted, the kommandant closed his eyes momentarily, then took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

"Colonel Klink?" Taking command, Hogan called the German's attention back to him. He extended his shaky hand toward the kommandant. "Welcome to the war, fly boy."

Klink firmly shook Hogan's hand and finally exhaled, already feeling safer as a participant in Hogan's war then as a bystander in Hitler's.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

With all prisoners confined to barracks after Hogan's arrest, Kinch had spent the last half-hour watching the flurry of activity in the compound through the window of the common room. He tried to read the expressions of the Germans who came and went from the cooler, hoping to find Hochstetter in a blistering rage after the doctor from the Underground announced that Hogan was merely down with the flu. Eventually, the Gestapo major did emerge from the cooler, but without the doctor he brought in. He was also wearing an expression of triumph instead of defeat as he scurried across to Klink's office, something that could only mean bad news.

"Something's wrong," Kinch shook his head as he spoke, hoping the doctor was not now also under arrest.

LeBeau and Carter came closer and looked over the sergeant's broad shoulders. Well, Carter looked over his shoulders, the diminutive LeBeau was forced to peer around the taller man's midsection.

"Hochstetter looks happy," observed the Frenchman. "And if he is happy, le colonel is in trouble."

Carter frowned in confusion. "The doc was supposed to tell them Colonel Hogan had the flu. Why would Major Hochstetter be happy to hear that?"

Kinch closed the window shutter. "He wouldn't. Come on, let's find out what has Major Nutty so cheerful." He led them into their commander's empty office and plugged in the bug to Klink's office.

Hochstetter's nasal voice was the first to come through the speaker. "General, this blood test Doctor Weiss has suggested will show conclusively that Hogan has been playing you and Klink for fools ever since he arrived."

Carter's eyes widened so that his brows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "Blood test? He ordered a blood test?"

LeBeau was instantly ferocious. "That Bosche doctor must be working for the Germans! He knows le colonel cannot pass a blood test!"

"Quiet!" Kinch called for order. The outburst had muffled the general's response. "I need to hear this."

The men once again focused on the conversation being broadcast by the coffee pot as the major continued speaking.

"Fraulein Hilda, get me the Luftwaffe hospital in Hammelburg."

Kinch jumped. Intercept the call. "Where's Newkirk?" He tore open the door to Hogan's office only to find the British corporal on the other side, his hand reaching for the handle.

"I'm right here. What's going on?" Newkirk could see Kinch's dark face fall as Hochstetter's voice was heard once again on the speaker.

"Yes, is that the hospital? Good. This is Major Hochstetter, Hammelburg Gestapo. I need to arrange a test on the blood of a prisoner…Yes, we are looking for the presence of an unknown poison…No, the prisoner will not need to be present. Doctor Weiss is drawing the sample now. It will be transported to you under heavy guard for immediate analysis."

All eyes in the room fell on Newkirk, who was instantly defensive to cover his feelings of guilt for leaving his post. "Hochstetter already confirmed that the doctor was here not ten minutes ago! How did I know he would make another call so soon? That wasn't in the plan. I've been in that ruddy tunnel for hours watchin' the switchboard."

Kinch exhaled, trying to calm everyone, himself included. "You couldn't have known. We can't stop them from getting to the hospital anyway. It's almost time for roll call."

The small room fell silent.

LeBeau looked up at Kinch, beginning to lose hope. "Now what?"

The sergeant sighed, catching sight of the brown leather jacket hooked over the top bunk post. Colonel, it looked so easy when you were the one who had to hit the curve ball. I'm striking out.

It was only minutes after Hochstetter's call to the hospital that Sergeant Kinchloe had again found himself watching as Hochstetter and Burkhalter visited the cooler together. And a short time later he watched them leave again, this time with the doctor in tow. He wondered what it was that the doctor was playing at.

Why would an agent sent to rescue Papa Bear suggest a test that would doom him? A double agent was the only answer Kinch could come up with. But London had sent him. Kinch frowned as he recalled that London had recently had its own problems with security, as evidenced by the photographs taken at the midnight meeting Hogan had attended. Hogan had thought that mole had been neutralized, but it would seem that there were more cracks in the foundation of the Underground.

Kinch took note as Hochstetter and Burkhalter arranged mirror-image armed escorts and both got into their respective staff cars and drove off, presumably to the hospital.

From his now familiar spot at the window he saw the civilian doctor look around the quiet compound. For an instant, the doctor met his intense gaze, then got into his own car and followed the motorcade out the gates.

Kinch tracked the vehicle with his eyes, and then turned his head to the cooler. What went on in there today, Colonel? Did I send you a doctor or an executioner?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Hogan tried to clear his head, thinking now about survival for himself, and for everyone involved. So many people had now committed to saving him, that Hogan was determined not to let them down. He would believe that it could be done. He would trust his team until it was time to trust himself again. He checked his watch. Minutes to roll call. Minutes until he knew for sure that there was a plan for him, that he wasn't alone.

Conversely, Klink looked furtively down the corridor outside the cell to assure they were indeed still alone. At the far end, he could see Schultz, but no one else. It was time for him to have his own questions answered, and Hogan was perhaps the only man whom he would trust with both the question and the answer. When he spoke, his words were barely audible. "Hogan, a man so connected must hear things. Things…about Germany."

Still deep in anticipating what the next hours would bring, Hogan pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "Well, I've heard that you're losing the war, but that's old news."

The kommandant ignored the evasive barb. He continued speaking very quietly, his manner serious, "I mean things, Hogan, unspeakable things…"

Hogan winced. He didn't want to go in this direction. He couldn't save the world if he couldn't save himself first. "Yeah, well, war is never pleasant."

The older man nodded knowingly. "Hogan, have you ever heard a man play a violin so that it brings tears to your eyes?"

"Just you."

Klink half-smiled at the jab at his musical ability. "I have. When I was a young officer, on my parents' street was a little man who ran a tailor shop. His wife was a shrew and she never gave him a moment's peace. You could hear her nagging at him day and night to work harder, but whenever he was alone, he would play his violin. It was his only pleasure. In fair weather, with the door open, you could hear his music up and down the street. Whenever I visited, I would stand outside and listen to him play. You could hear the joy he felt when he played.

"The last time I was on that street I passed his shop, it had been closed." Klink looked away from Hogan, knowing he didn't have to explain further. "I heard that he had his violin with him when they put him on the train out of town." He faced Hogan again, with a look of infinite sadness, for the man, for the music, for his country. "I don't suppose anyone will ever hear him play again, will they, Hogan?"

Hogan squirmed uncomfortably, still feeling somewhat ill at ease with Klink's sincere manner, this particular topic, and Klink's now active role in their alliance. Robert Hogan wasn't comfortable with being on either end of personal revelations of any kind, except with very few people. And since assuming command responsibilities during this war, he had become especially adept at using his humor—and his temper—to cover his own emotions and keep others at bay. Losing his first few bomber crews had warned him against getting too close to anyone. A few people had occasionally managed to breech the walls he erected, Group Captain James Roberts back in England, Kinch…and Tiger, but mostly he succeeded in talking his way out of emotional situations. But as the American looked at the grieving German before him, he found he had no chipper remark for this situation. "No, I don't suppose they will."

Hogan rubbed his eyes with his hands, wishing he could give in to the sleep that threatened to claim him. But there was work to be done, and he needed to concentrate, to think along with Kinch and his boys who were going to risk all to avoid leaving him behind. He hadn't time for Klink's feelings of nationalistic shame, however sincere.

"Colonel," he looked at Klink, trying to sound authoritative. "One way or another, this is going to be over soon. When it goes down, be ready."

"Ready?" asked the kommandant. "Ready for what?"

"To leave. For good. Get some things together, money, civilian clothes, things like that. And your gun. Leave a small bag in your quarters near the stove."

Klink hadn't yet considered the fact that he might have to run. He quickly turned Hogan's offer over in his head, dismissing the notion that he was being played with again. "But…"

"Just do it. If something happens it will happen in a hurry. Just go along with it and don't improvise, no matter what. You just have to trust us."

"Hogan, if you don't mind my saying so, you are in no position to help yourself much less me. We just bought some time, that's all. I don't have the authority to release you. You are under arrest by the Gestapo. That blood test may not prove you were poisoned, but Hochstetter will never let you go free. Not with an eyewitness who can identify you sitting in Berlin."

"You may be right, but I think we'll have help. Just trust me. Unless you haven't made up your mind yet…"

"About what?"

"Whether to remain here or come with us."

Klink harrumphed. "I'm afraid you haven't left me much of a choice, Hogan. If you get away, they will still hold me responsible for your actions. I can remain as a criminally inefficient loyal fool or flee as a traitorous accomplice."

"Traitor?" If it was time for honesty, honesty it would be. "To what? To them? You aren't one of them, Colonel, and you and good men like you have stood on the sidelines the last ten years talking in whispers instead of shouts, scared to death that they'd figure you out."

Klink cocked his head in confusion. "I'm not even sure I am who I was when I got up this morning, Hogan. How can you be so sure?"

"I wasn't at first, but I am now. You said it yourself. You made your choice, and proved it—twice. You're one of us now."

Klink nodded and looked away, happy to belong to somebody but still somewhat pessimistic. Hogan's confidence was inspiring, however there was so much to be done just to escape, and Hogan couldn't help while sitting in the cooler. "What if I am? It probably won't help either of us now. I see that the Allies will win this war, and good for them, but it seems we will lose this battle. Look at you, you are so sick and even if you survive your illness, if Hochstetter wants people to believe you were poisoned, he will make them believe it no matter what the test says. He has already spoken to a general in Berlin…"

"…who sent Doctor Weiss, right?" Hogan finished, waiting for Klink to catch on.

"Yes, but how did you know…" Klink stopped when he saw the familiar smirk on Hogan's face. Slowly, a look of understanding crossed his features. Weiss was with the Underground. But General Kinchmeyer? He has called my office before…Papa Bear strikes again.

"Ho-gaaan…"

The American colonel flashed a genuine smile for the first time that day as the first sounds of roll call were heard in the compound. "I don't give up so easily, and if you knew my men you wouldn't give up either."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Klink exited the cooler and allowed his eyes to adjust to the last of the afternoon sun. He had nearly forgotten that there was a prison camp to run and that he had other duties besides committing treason. He couldn't help but focus on Hogan's barracks, waiting to see if the faces of his most trusted men appeared as expected or if they had abandoned him as he had asked. Klink cocked his head with vicarious pride when the four allied soldiers took their places in formation at Schultz's urging. They did seem subdued, but that was to be expected. In fact, the whole camp seemed somewhat somber. The main thing was that they were there.

Schultz dutifully counted off the men as he worked his way down the line.

"Hey, Schultzie," whispered LeBeau. "How's the colonel?"

With the presence of other guards in camp, the sergeant wore his best good soldier face. "I know nothing."

"Yeah, you can tell us," Carter urged. "What's going on?"

Schultz relaxed a bit, but couldn't resist chastising them under his breath. "I know nothing other than he is under arrest because of your monkey business."

Kinch grimaced at the hefty guard. "Come on, Schultz. Is that the best you can do? What about that doctor?"

Schultz looked quickly around. "He took some of Colonel Hogan's blood to the hospital. I heard the Gestapo guards talking."

Kinch pressed on. "Whose side was he on?"

"Well," Schultz considered the question carefully, weighing both sides. Things were not always what they seemed in Stalag 13. "If Colonel Hogan's blood shows he was poisoned, I think he is on Major Hochstetter's side, if not, then I think he is on Colonel Hogan's side."

"Gee, thanks a lot." Carter pouted.

"Yeah, that's our Schultzie," Newkirk added, "always willing to take a stand—right on the fence."

"If you did not want my opinion, why did you ask me?"

"Report!" Klink marched over to where Schultz stood trying not to be seen whispering to Hogan's men. He knew Schultz truly knew nothing of what had transpired inside Hogan's cell, but he hoped that the guard could at least tell them Hogan was uncomfortable, but functioning…and waiting.

Schultz stood to attention and saluted sharply. "Herr Kommandant, I beg to report all prisoners are present or accounted for." He adopted a pained look. "Colonel Hogan is in the cooler."

Klink stared at his sergeant a moment before responding with sarcasm. "Thank you, Schultz. I don't know what I would do without you."

Schultz clicked his heels and stood proudly to attention once more. "Danke, Herr Kommandant."

Kinch tentatively stepped forward. "Kommandant? Can you tell us how Colonel Hogan is?"

Klink felt for the men, but could say nothing in front of the mass of humanity in the yard. "Your colonel is under arrest for suspected underground activity. He is to remain in isolation under guard until the investigation is complete. Dismissed." Klink spun on his heels and walked briskly to his office, trying not to be hurt by the snide comments being hurled at his retreating back.

"All right, back in the barracks," Schultz gently herded the men back inside. "Everybody back into the barracks. Everybody is to remain inside, anyone outside may be shot." He dropped his voice again as he departed, "Please, boys, do not do anything foolish. The Gestapo is here, and they have bullets in their guns and everything. I would hate to see anyone else get hurt…including myself."

The men slowly filtered back into the building. Once inside, Kinch set a lookout and an eavesdropper at the coffee pot and took to the tunnel with Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter. Whatever plan they hatched, he would have to at least notify London, and perhaps ask for outside help.

Newkirk paced angrily. "Yeah, well I say we find that ruddy doctor and show him just how much we appreciate all he's done for our colonel."

"Oui, I'm with Newkirk." LeBeau nodded affirmatively. "We can stop and take care of him on the way out, after we storm the cooler and rescue Colonel Hogan."

"Now you're talkin' my language, monsieur." Newkirk wrapped his arm around the Frenchman's shoulders.

Kinch shook his head in disbelief. "A direct assault? Are you guys serious?"

Carter joined Newkirk and LeBeau facing Kinch. "What else is there to do? I have a lovely little explosive that would take out the cooler guards just like that." He snapped his fingers in front of his face. "And I could fix one up to take out the krauts' barracks in no time. The towers, too."

LeBeau continued, working out the plan as he talked. "Now would be the time, while Hochstetter and Burkhalter are out of camp with most of their goons. All we'd have to do was take out the camp guards. We cut the phone lines, steal a truck from the motor pool and we could be gone before the krauts knew what hit them."

"And if something goes wrong?" Kinchloe stood his ground; someone had to be the voice of reason in Hogan's absence. "You guys forget that we're disobeying orders just by staying in camp this long. Sure, we're all willing to lay it on the line, but it's different when we're all in danger together. How do you think the colonel will feel if one of us is hurt or killed trying to spring him after he told us not to? And what about the thousand other guys in this camp we'd have to leave behind to fend for themselves? Colonel Hogan is responsible for them, too."

Newkirk dug his heels in. "Well, we can't leave without him. I don't care what his bloody orders are."

"Newkirk is right." said LeBeau. "After all we've been through together, le colonel is a friend first, an officer second."

The radio came to life behind them. Thankful for the interruption, Kinch took his place at the desk and slid on his headphones. "Message coming in from London."

Kinch silently decoded the message and tossed his headphones onto the desk, a look of incredible relief evident on his face.

Newkirk practically exploded with impatience. "Come on, come on! What's it say?"

LeBeau snorted. "Probably an apology for sending us a rat fink doctor."

Kinch's hands shook slightly with excitement as he read the message:

"Doctor reports visit compromised during extraction of blood for diagnostic purposes. Gestapo wanted control of test. Non-tainted blood sample provided by friendly, test will not incriminate Papa Bear. Actual sample en route this location, will advise of results. Monitor situation, act as necessary. Good luck."

Kinch looked up as the message sank in to those in the tunnel. There was a noticeable drop in tension among the men.

Carter's face radiated the surprise and hope they all felt. "So, the doctor was on the level the whole time?"

Kinch nodded. "Seems that way."

"Well, gee, then killing him would have been wrong."

Newkirk shot him a look. "Carter!"

"I mean it. And boy, what a break. I'd hate to think what would have happened if Hochstetter had gotten hold of the colonel's real blood and it really did show he was poisoned by that kid."

Newkirk grabbed the paper and re-read it. "But 'non-tainted blood provided'? Provided by who? The doctor?"

Kinch shrugged. "Doesn't say. Doesn't matter, either. The main thing is that test won't bury the colonel, which means Hochstetter can't prove he's Papa Bear yet, which also means we still have a chance to get him out of this—without getting anybody killed."

"Blimey, that man isn't a bear, he's a cat. Always lands on his feet."

Kinch was still concerned. If he knew Hochstetter, this wasn't over even with a test in Hogan's favor. "Let's hope he doesn't run out of lives before we get to him."

He patted Newkirk and Carter on the back and gave them a friendly shove toward the ladder. "Let's get upstairs. I don't want Hochstetter or Burkhalter sneaking into camp without us knowing. We need to know what they're going to do now that the test is clean."

LeBeau hung back, letting Newkirk and Carter complete their ascent to the barracks. He turned thoughtfully to the man who was, for the time being, in charge of their group. "Kinch, who do you think gave that blood sample?"

Kinch sat on the edge of his radio table. "There aren't many choices if it came from here. We were all locked up. It certainly wasn't Hochstetter or Burkhalter or their guards, Schultz was out in plain view the whole time. There are only two other possibilities."

"The doctor and Klink."

Kinch nodded.

LeBeau folded his arms across his sweater. "What do you make of that?"

"The way Hochstetter tore out of here under guard, he had the sample with him. It's not likely it got switched at the hospital if he carried it himself. It had to happen here, maybe when Hochstetter left to make that call to the hospital. Even if he didn't do it, Klink would have to be aware of it. I didn't take my eyes off that cooler. He was in with the colonel pretty much the whole time the doctor was, and no one else went in."

LeBeau shook his head. "I don't believe it. My money is on the doctor. Klink is a too much of a coward. He can play stupid, yes. Play hero? No way. Why would he risk his neck for a prisoner?"

Kinch checked his watch, got up and began to head for the branch tunnel that led to Klink's private quarters. "Maybe we should find out. Our kommandant should be eating dinner about now."

"What are you doing? Are you crazy? What if he's turned back to their side? He wouldn't tell us anything at roll call."

"He couldn't, not in public and he isn't exactly going to stop in to the barracks for a chat with us enlisted guys, not with Hochstetter's goons in the compound. We need to know exactly what happened in that cooler today to be prepared for what happens next."

"I still don't like it. How can we trust Klink?"

"Look, he hasn't told anyone about us yet or we'd all be in the cooler. We also know he wasn't the one who turned Hogan in to the Gestapo, and he did help keep the colonel in camp when he was arrested this morning." God, was it only this morning? "If it comes to where we've got to get Colonel Hogan out of here in a hurry, we'll need someone upstairs on our side. The colonel took a chance on Klink once. Now it's my turn."

"Playing a hunch, Kinch?" LeBeau smiled.

Kinch nodded and into the darkness of the tunnel, hoping for the same luck as the master of playing hunches.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Klink disinterestedly pushed his food around his dinner plate. He had missed his noon meal and had instead choked down the indigestible Hochstetter and his menu of physical and mental abuse of Hogan in the office. The hours that followed passed as if in a vacuum, without tenable concept of whether the passage was hurried or eternal. As he now waited for news of the test he found himself oddly on edge. Although he knew the result was not in doubt, he couldn't help but anticipate Hochstetter's reaction. Thinking back to the sight of Hogan with the major's pistol at his temple, facing death with honor, Klink wondered if the next hours would see the scene repeated. He again saw himself, this time beside Hogan. He tried to tally the number of times he had himself feared death at the hands of his countrymen, and weighed it against the same for the man now sitting in the cooler planning to live, not die. What is it they say, 'A coward dies a thousand deaths, a brave man only one'?

It suddenly occurred to him that he had not arranged for Hogan to have eaten at all that day. Having missed the morning roll call due to illness, and been otherwise occupied for the afternoon, it was likely the already weakened man hadn't now eaten for twenty-four hours. Twenty four hours, perhaps slightly less since he ingested whatever it was at whatever place he was, that started this unfortunate chain of events. How many lives would that one moment change forever? How changed was the German war effort because of other single moments in Hogan's life the last few years? Klink had never believed that one man could make a difference. Hence, he thought he was happy being but a cog in the wheel. A good man, sitting on the sidelines speaking in whispers instead of shouts.

He set his napkin aside and stood, intending to arrange a meal to be brought to Hogan before what was likely to be a long night got under way. He turned for the telephone and suddenly found himself face to face with Kinchloe. Startled, the words came out in a rush.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in? All prisoners are confined to the barracks. I could have you shot!" Klink was used to Hogan turning up anywhere at any time, but somehow being alone with Kinch unnerved him. Fear turned to indignation when he spied the hole in the floor where his stove had been shifted. He grabbed his dinner fork and waved it at the burly sergeant as threateningly as possible. "A tunnel? To my quarters! You hooligans have gone too far…"

"Shhh!" Kinch tried not to panic. "Relax, kommandant. Someone might hear you."

Calming somewhat, Klink wanted to ask what the soldier was doing in his private sitting room, but both the question and the answer were obvious. He tossed his fork back onto the table. "At least Hogan has the courtesy to come through a door without knocking."

Kinch shifted apprehensively on his feet. "Yeah, um, I'm sorry about that. I've come about the colonel, sir. How is he?"

Still nervous and testy, Klink looked out his window to make sure they were alone. "How do you think he is? He is under arrest. Hochstetter wants him dead, and there is a boy in Berlin who can identify him as an agent of the underground."

"Yeah, we know that much." Kinch hesitated. "Kommandant, what about the blood test?"

Klink didn't bother to ask how Kinch knew what he knew. It seemed little went on in his camp without the awareness of Hogan and his crew. They are spies, after all. "Hochstetter saw the doctor taking blood. Weiss said it was for a test to prove Hogan's guilt. Hochstetter thought that was a marvelous idea."

"And so you gave him a sample of your blood to test instead?"

"Shhh!" How did Hogan face the enemy so fearlessly while living the life he led? Although Klink swelled with pride at his heroic actions, hearing the words aloud terrified him. A coward dies a thousand deaths. He took a deep breath, but his voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Your colonel's blood test won't show poison. He is unwell, but doesn't seem to be in immediate danger. Now get back into that hole and do whatever it is you do before someone sees you."

Kinch regarded the man who had been his jailer for more than two years as if seeing him for the first time. The man they all knew as a bumbling coward had very likely saved Hogan's life. Was this why his commanding officer saw fit to trust Klink with his life a month ago? There had been much private debate among the enlisted men on the team as to the soundness of that particular decision. The end result had been a commitment to do as they always had, to trust Hogan's judgment, though not without reservation. "I need to talk to him, sir."

"Impossible. Gestapo is guarding him. Burkhalter's men are guarding him and the Gestapo. And no one is to go in or out of the cooler without the general's permission. And I expect they will return shortly with the test results."

With all the guards hovering around, Kinch knew using the tunnel to the cooler was out of the question. "When the results show no poison, can you get Burkhalter to convince the Gestapo to let him go?"

Klink shook his head. "Doubtful. Hochstetter claims there is a witness, the boy who tried to kill him. He will want to take Hogan to Berlin to be identified as Papa Bear. I can't see how we can prevent that. And once he leaves here…" He left the thought unsaid. "He said you might have a plan."

"Me?" I'm workin' on it, Colonel.

"Yes, isn't that why you stayed here after he ordered you to leave? You do have a plan?"

"Yeah, well," Kinch found himself fumbling. "We didn't exactly have much to go on, Colonel. We only just found out that the blood test would go his way. That changed the plan we were considering." He shuddered at the thought of the camp needlessly in shambles. "We don't want to do anything rash, but we'll need to come up with a way to get him away from Hochstetter if he insists on taking him out of camp tonight. But, we may need help, sir."

Klink looked helpless. "I don't know what else I can do. Burkhalter outranks me and the Gestapo thinks they outrank everybody." He noticed Kinch's hopeful face. "If you do come up with something, let me know how I can help."

Kinch tried to find a tactful way to ask for what he wanted. "Just getting timely information is helpful in our business, Colonel. We'll only use this tunnel in an emergency. If Burkhalter and Hochstetter come back with results, maybe you could be sure to arrange for them to fill you in on it in your office. And if you need to get a message to us, your office would be a good place to pass it along, you know if you kinda think out loud."

"My office?" Of course. Klink was getting used to following the cryptic signals of Hogan and his men. "Bugged?" Incredible.

Kinch nodded. "You handle the information, we'll handle the creativity. I just wish we could talk to him. Colonel Hogan is usually our idea man."

"I'm sure you are up to it. Isn't that how you achieved such a high rank, General Kinchmeyer?"

Kinch gave an awkward smile and a shrug. "Hey, wait a minute. That's it!"

"What's it?"

"General Kinchmeyer ordered Hochstetter to release Colonel Hogan only to his personal guard detail. That's how we kept him in camp this morning. If we actually send a detail for the colonel to take him to Berlin before Hochstetter does, we can get him out of here before Hochstetter is any wiser."

"How are you going to organize a Gestapo guard detail from a prison camp…never mind, I don't want to know." The kommandant pressed his fist to his lips.

"We'd need a truck, Colonel."

"I can arrange that."

Kinch smiled. "So can we, but it would save time if you can do it." He moved to the tunnel, "Um…thanks, Kommandant. We'll be in touch." He began his descent.

"Sergeant?" Klink waited for Kinch to look up again. "You know, Colonel Hogan thought, hoped, that you and the others had left him."

"He's very protective of us, sir."

Like a bear. "But he ordered you to go."

Kinch shook his head. "We would never leave him, sir. We're a team."

Klink tried to wrap his mind around an army that can choose whether to follow orders, no matter the reason. "He must be quite a man to inspire that kind of loyalty."

Kinch smiled again. "He's one of a kind, but you seem to know that as well as we do, sir."

The kommandant's eyes said that he did.

"Keep us informed, sir. And tell the colonel," Tell him what? "Well, just tell him."

Klink watched him go and reset the stove, leaving no sign that he had ever been. Very much like Hogan, that sergeant. Perhaps lacking the brashness that comes with rank and confidence. Klink now better understood why the two seemed to gravitate toward one another despite their obvious differences. He couldn't help but admire them all, working as they had, forming friendships that transcended the boundaries of military discipline. He also realized with a chuckle that after a disciplined army career that was exactly what he was doing, except with someone else's military. 'You're one of us now,' Hogan had said.

His thoughts were interrupted as Burkhalter's car pulled into camp at a considerably slower speed than it had departed, and minus the Gestapo escort. Klink wasn't sure if Hochstetter's absence was a good sign or a bad one. He bounded down the steps and met the general as he exited his vehicle.

"General Burkhalter, you're back."

"Thank you, Klink. You have an astute grasp of the obvious."

As Klink led the general to his office, the kommandant once again glanced nervously toward the gate. "Where is Major Hochstetter?"

"Elsewhere, which is all that matters." The big man sat heavily behind Klink's desk and poured himself a drink. "And I thought spending the entire day with my wife was difficult."

Klink forced a laugh and nervously asked the big question, a little too loudly—for the bug's sake. "Herr General, have the tests on Hogan's blood been completed?"

"Yes." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his large boots on the top of Klink's desk. "The test came out in Hogan's favor."

Klink couldn't tell if Burkhalter was pleased for Hogan, for himself, or simply that he had proven Hochstetter wrong. In any event, Klink had the answer he wanted. "Then Hogan is simply suffering from the flu."

Burkhalter nodded. "It would seem so."

The kommandant continued his reasoning, out loud as Kinch had asked. "And if he has the flu and wasn't poisoned, then he isn't with the underground."

Burkhalter tilted his head noncommittally. "It would seem not."

Klink clapped his hands together in gleeful satisfaction. "I knew it, Herr General. I knew it. Hogan is a just a prisoner, and I have kept a close eye on him from the very beginning. Like an eagle!" How easy it was to say the words. Believing them now was a different story.

"Klink, shut up."

"Yes, sir."

The general rubbed his ample stomach. "I have not yet eaten. Please have something sent over for me before Major Hochstetter comes back. I prefer to eat in peace, without him or my wife."

"Yes, sir. In fact, I was just about to send a meal to Hogan. I don't believe he has eaten at all today…"

"He can wait, Klink. A little discomfort is good for reminding a prisoner that he is indeed a prisoner. And Hogan is a prisoner that needs a little reminding now and then." He refilled his glass. "I, on the other hand, need no reminding. I will eat now."

"Yes, Herr General." Klink squinted through his monacle. "Hogan will wait. You will eat now."

Soon, Burkhalter sat at the table in Klink's quarters, casually enjoying his evening meal.

Klink paced behind him until headlights appeared in the window. He crossed to the window with a feeling of dread growing within him. "Someone is here."

Burkhalter grunted. "Hochstetter. I knew it wouldn't be long."

The Gestapo major swept into Klink's quarters without knocking, his mood was even darker than usual.

Klink tried to follow Kinchloe's instructions. "Gentlemen, perhaps we can take this to my office. I'm sure we'd be more comfort…"

Hochstetter cut him off and immediately approached Burkhalter, continuing a heated conversation that had obviously begun some time earlier that afternoon.

"General, I do not understand what went wrong. I demand another chance to interrogate Hogan, tonight, right now. Alone. I will prove once and for all…"

Burkhalter stood, looking purposefully down his nose at Hochstetter. "You have had your chance and you have proven nothing, Major. Three doctors and three separate tests, all with the same conclusion; Hogan ingested no foreign drugs or substances within the last 24 hours. He is not the man you are looking for."

Hochstetter shifted his reasoning. "So the witness was mistaken about Hogan actually drinking the poison."

The general would have none of it. "He never said Hogan was poisoned at all, Major. He said the agent known as Papa Bear was poisoned. Have you considered that while you have been here focusing on a prisoner of war suffering from the flu, that the real Papa Bear may be out there somewhere, dead or dying from the same substance you couldn't find in Hogan?"

"No, because the man we seek is right here in this camp. The witness can still identify him as Papa Bear. I insist on taking Hogan to Berlin for further interrogation. General Kinchmeyer is expecting him. I expect confirmation that a special guard detail will arrive in the morning to transport him to Berlin."

"Hogan stays here." Burkhalter's voice was raised and sharp. "You have no reason to remove him. Aside from being a great waste of my time, your test has proven your so-called witness was nothing more than a desperate child trying to save his grandfather, who by the way may actually have been able to identify Papa Bear if your men hadn't murdered him. As it is, I would hesitate to believe anything that boy says now that he has been treated to the hospitality of the Gestapo."

Burkhalter turned to Klink and Hochstetter. "I have lost my appetite. Come. We have business with Colonel Hogan."

The three officers made their way across the compound, this time with Klink and Burkhalter in the lead, and Hochstetter following reluctantly behind. The guards at the door stood aside as they entered the cooler.

Hogan lay on his back in the near darkness of his cell, having unwillingly drifted in and out of fitful sleep since Klink left him late in the afternoon. However, he was instantly awake at the sound of footfall in the corridor. Here we go. Showtime.

He turned his head to face the three officers who entered the small space. He could tell by the look on Klink's face that the test had worked in his favor as expected. He could tell by Hochstetter's face that this was not necessarily good news for everyone now in the cell. He tried to look nonchalant and tucked his hands behind his reclined head.

Burkhalter spoke, but directed his comments more to Hochstetter than Hogan. "This investigation is finished. The blood test was negative—for apple pie and for poison." He turned to Klink. "Release Colonel Hogan to his barracks."

Klink enthusiastically stood to attention. "Yes, Herr General."

Hogan rolled onto his side and slowly stood up, eyeing Hochstetter snidely. "What about my apology?"

Klink nearly fainted, but the general simply narrowed his eyes and answered quickly. "Don't push it, Hogan. I can just as easily order you to stay right here for the duration."

Fuming and humiliated, Hochstetter pushed past Burkhalter and grabbed the American roughly by the shirt front with both hands. "I swear to you, Hogan. If it is the last thing I do, I will discover the trick you used to defeat this test."

"Trick?" Hogan didn't shirk. Not this time, pal. Though his own eyes were still somewhat unfocused, he did his best to stare the shorter man down. "It's no trick, Major. I can fill you in. We're issued spare blood in our Red Cross packages. The crooked guards prefer the chocolate and cigarettes, but the extra red stuff sure comes in handy at a time like this."

Hochstetter released Hogan with growl and a violent shove that sent the already dizzy colonel sprawling awkwardly across the floor of the cell. Although he desperately wanted to stay where he landed to recover, Hogan immediately struggled to his feet, gasping for air, but defiance gleaming in his eyes.

Hochstetter waved his finger at them all. "You have not heard the last from me, any of you. I will get to the bottom of this."

Smirking, Burkhalter watched the exchange with interest. And for not the first time, considered two things: first, what a shame it was that Robert Hogan was not fighting for the Fatherland, and second, how it was that Wilhelm Klink managed to keep him under lock and key.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As he studied the group gathered in the crowded isolation cell, Klink relished the chance to once again assert some authority in his own camp. "Hogan, you may return to your barracks. See the medic if you need assistance for your illness."

Hogan, still tense from his standoff with Hochstetter, tucked in his uniform shirt before sliding wordlessly past the three German officers on his way out of the cooler, a sign to all he was ready to return to his command despite the events of the past day. He couldn't do anything about the blood stains or accumulation of the day's dirt and sweat on his uniform, but he would return to his men at least appearing to be in better shape than he left them.

Klink, Burkhalter, and Hochstetter watched him cross the compound. Though still unsteady on his feet, they saw little weakness in his eyes as he set his jaw and set off for what had become his home.

Burkhalter broke the silence among the remaining officers. "Klink, I am tired. I will take my leave of you in the morning." He cocked an eyebrow at the man in black standing to his left. "Well, Major. It would seem your presence is no longer needed in Stalag 13. We'll call you immediately if anyone else comes down with the flu."

Hochstetter's face radiated disgust as he waved his gloves, his voice clear as he marched toward his waiting staff car. "I will return, and you will all regret obstructing the Fuhrer's justice!"

Hogan's hand was barely on the door handle before it opened and he was greeted enthusiastically by his allied comrades.

"Welcome back, Colonel." LeBeau was the first to reach Hogan and he protectively led his commander to a seat at their table. "Step aside, fellows. Give le colonel some room to breathe."

Carter and the others gathered around, patting Hogan's back and shaking his hand, while Kinch sat beside Hogan, trying to silently assess his condition.

"Boy, Colonel. You had us worried," Carter admitted. "I was afraid we'd never see you back in here again."

"Thanks, everybody. It's good to be back. It's dumpy, but it's home." Though obviously still preoccupied, Hogan's reaction was somehow just a little more cool and distant than was warranted, something that was not lost on Kinchloe.

LeBeau handed Hogan a cup of coffee. He knew better than to address the blood and the bruises inflicted by Hochstetter, but felt that Hogan's illness was fair game. "How are you feeling, Colonel?"

The colonel rubbed at his stiff neck. "Not good, but not as bad as this morning." Hogan sipped tentatively at the coffee through the clotted cut in his lower lip. He relaxed a bit as the warm liquid made its way down to his empty stomach. "Any word on what the stuff I drank was?"

Kinch spoke for the first time since Hogan returned. "Not yet, London said they'd be in touch."

"We've got to tell you, sir," Carter gushed. "When we heard Hochstetter had taken the blood out of here himself, we worried whether that doc was on the level. But he got it through to London okay."

"Yeah." Hogan's response was flat. He stared into his coffee mug, trying to decide whether to do what he felt he needed to do.

"Oui, we were a bit worried, but it worked out all right after all." LeBeau beamed with pride. "It was Kinch's idea to get that doctor to come in the first place. He set the whole thing up."

Bingo. "Yeah, that reminds me." Hogan deliberately set his mug on the table and walked to the door of his office. "Let's go, Sergeant." He stood, waiting for Kinch to follow.

Every man in the room knew what was on their colonel's mind.

The two entered the smaller room and Hogan stood staring at his second in command.

Kinch shrugged, knowing the answer before he asked the question. "Let's have it, Colonel. What's wrong?"

"I ordered you to leave. Ordered."

"Come on, Colonel. You don't really believe we'd just pick up and run and leave you behind?"

"Yes. I have to believe it. It's the way armies run, sergeant." Hogan stood so that the two were nose to nose. "Officers give orders and expect them to be followed."

Kinch didn't back off, but spoke at a considerably lower volume than his commander. "And soldiers are trained not to leave a man behind, including officers…and especially friends."

"This operation is different and you know it." Hogan moved to his desk and held unsteadily on to the sides with both hands. "We're not talking about dragging an injured guy off the battlefield."

"That's right, I do know it. And so does every other guy out there. And if this unit was supposed to operate solely according to military protocol, you'd be in here having this conversation with somebody else, wouldn't you?"

"Don't throw that up to me. I trusted you."

"And I didn't let you down, Colonel. We did what you've trained us to do since the day you got here, think on our feet."

Whether because of the validity of Kinch's argument or the uncharacteristically dull state of his own mind, Hogan was having trouble getting around his second man. "You could have all been caught if this went bad, you know that? What then? It still may not be over."

"Then I guess we'd all get shot together, Colonel."

"Great. That's just great. Just what I had in mind."

"Look, we know that Klink went to the mat for you. We'd be some friends if we bailed out and left you to be saved by your enemies."

There was a knock on Hogan's office door. LeBeau and Carter entered without waiting for an invitation. They took their places by Kinchloe's side.

"Colonel," LeBeau began. "We want to say that we encouraged Kinch's decision to disobey your orders."

Carter held his hat in his hands. "Yes, sir. We all wanted to stay. To try to help."

Hogan did his best to remain angry. "Yeah, well…it wasn't your decision to make. It was mine." Looking at the three loyal faces before him, he softened. "But I'm grateful. To all of you." His small smile of surrender spoke volumes to his men, and they eagerly returned the sentiment. "Say, where's Newkirk?"

"Right here, sir." Newkirk appeared in the open doorway and eagerly shook Hogan's hand. "May I say a hearty welcome back, Colonel."

"Thank you, Newkirk."

"Now get the bloody hell out of here."

"What?" Hogan pulled his hand back before the Englishman shook it right off his arm.

Newkirk caught his breath and explained. "I was just babysitting the switchboard, you know just in case." He shot a quick satisfied glance at Kinch. "I just intercepted a call from Berlin. It was one of the Gestapo goons, looking for the major. He said to tell Hochstetter that the kid they escorted to Berlin last night just viewed the photo lineup that he ordered from the hospital. Seems the kid picked out the photo from your dossier in Berlin and tagged you as Papa Bear right out of the box."

Hogan massaged his own temples, trying to clear his head. "Well, that was only a matter of time. Did you tell him Hochstetter had already left camp?"

"No, sir. I didn't even know if he had. I just said I'd be sure and give him the message and came up here straight away."

"Good work. OK, so we have some time until word catches up with him. The way he flew out of here, I knew he was up to something. It won't be long before he's going to be straight back here looking for me."

Carter was concerned. "So what do we do, Colonel?"

This time Hogan was ready, he wouldn't be caught by surprise again. "We leave. All of us. Tonight. Carter, get ready downstairs. The rest of you guys do what you should have done this morning. Pack up shop."

"Right, Colonel." The four men began to file out of the room, with Kinchloe trailing the pack.

"Kinch?"

"Yes, Colonel?"

Hogan placed his arm on the sergeant's broad shoulders. "Thanks, friend." He gave the big man a warm pat on the back.

Kinch smiled. "No problem." He started to leave, and then turned again. "Say, Colonel? What about Klink? You're not going to leave him behind?"

"You're experienced at making decisions now, Sergeant. What do you think we should do?"

Kinch twisted his mustache in thought. "He's paid his dues to us, Colonel. I can't believe I'm saying this, but we owe him."

Hogan nodded, equally uneasy with Klink's new role as friend and co-conspirator, but recognizing that like it or not, he had another cub in his den. "I agree. I owe him. Say, how did you know the switched blood sample was his?"

"I guessed at first," Kinch admitted. "Then he confirmed it himself."

"You managed to talk to him with this place crawling with Gestapo?"

"Yes, sir." Kinch shuffled his feet a bit. "In his quarters. I, ah, used the tunnel…"

"You what?"

"I had to. We had to know what went on in the cooler today." He indicated the men in the outer room. "Those guys were planning a direct assault until we heard about the switch. I had to know where we stood and if we could count on him for help. You trusted him, so I figured I'd give him a chance."

Hogan smirked. "Any other major decisions you'd care to let me in on?"

Kinch shook his head innocently. "No, sir. That's about it."

"How did he take it?"

"After the shock wore off, not too bad." Kinch chuckled, remembering Klink's brief outrage and his weapon of choice; the dinner fork. "I still don't get why he helped you, though. It must have been dangerous."

Hogan walked to the window of his office and peeked out the shutter into the darkness and tried to forget the hopelessness that had overcome him just a few short hours before. "It was. And lucky." He gave a small shrug of one shoulder. "Maybe he just got tired of being a decent guy in a lousy outfit."

"Take more than that for a career guy to commit treason." He caught Hogan's eye and held it. "I bet it had a lot to do with you."

"Yeah, maybe. Anyway, it won't matter unless we can get out of here with all hands. Let's get to work."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

There was already considerable activity in the tunnel when Hogan and Kinch joined their mates to prepare for departure from camp. Kinch had helped Hogan steady himself as he began the descent to the bowels of the camp, and the colonel's pace was painfully slow. Hogan cursed Hochstetter under his breath as he realized that the spill he had taken in the cooler just prior to his release had sapped what remained of his fragile energy reserves. Once on firm ground, Hogan stood hunched momentarily as he caught his breath, ignored the recurring wave of nausea, and wicked away the sweat from the exertion of the ladder. Kinch exchanged quick glances with the other three team members, as their concern for their commander was evident on their faces, but they dare not verbally acknowledge Hogan's lingering weakness. Finally, Hogan stood upright and began to survey the situation.

"Okay, fellas. We need a meeting." The team gathered around Hogan, who sat on the edge of Kinch's radio table. "Kinch, make arrangements with the local underground units to get as many prisoners out of here as possible, then contact the sub and arrange a pickup for us. The rest of you, gather up any documents, maps, or photos we need to take along, and destroy everything we can't safely carry. Get uniforms, weapons, and travel papers for everyone ready, including Klink and Schultz."

"We'll need photos and their military papers, Colonel." Newkirk suggested.

Hogan pursed his lips for a moment. "And I guess since this involves them, they should be here. LeBeau, scoot upstairs and invite our intrepid kommandant and stalwart sergeant down to Wonderland."

"Right away, mon colonel." LeBeau set off down the tunnel toward the ladder to Klink's quarters.

It was not quite a quarter-hour later when LeBeau returned to the dark branch tunnel, trailed by a reluctant sergeant of the guard and an overwhelmed colonel.

Schultz could be heard long before he was seen emerging into the forbidden land, covering his eyes with one hand and feeling for the walls with the other, and being dutifully herded along from behind by the Frenchman yapping at his heels.

"Colonel Hogan, men of my size are not comfortable in confined spaces such as tunnels."

"We could always leave you behind," Hogan quipped. "They'd probably use a wide open space for your firing squad."

"Jolly joker." Schultz paused and peeked through his fingers. "I shall try to make the best of it."

Wilhelm Klink sheepishly peered into the labyrinth and stood unmoving, mouth agape. Although he had now known for weeks of the certainty of Hogan's operation, seeing the scope of the elaborate setup with his own eyes still came as quite a shock. It took him a full minute to recover his voice. He approached the man he now knew as Papa Bear with a purpose.

"All this has been going on beneath my feet all this time? Hogaaann…"

"Ah, Colonel?" Newkirk sidled up beside the Kommandant and spoke furtively from behind his hand. "Don't look now, but your kraut is showing…"

Catching himself and self-consciously adjusting his uniform tunic, Klink changed his tune. "Yes. Well, it is, ah, most impressive." Then turning to Schultz, he said sotto voce, "How long have you known about this?"

Schultz was all innocence. "I assure you, Herr Kommandant, I knew nothing. Nothing!"

"Nothing. Yes, of course." He turned to Hogan, who was in spite of himself mildly amused by the presence of Klink in his tunnel, an observation the kommandant found mildly irritating. "Hogan, why have you brought us here? I assume it wasn't to show off?"

Hogan turned serious. "No. Hochstetter's men in Berlin have gotten positive identification that I am Papa Bear. They called here to tell him not too long ago."

Klink was confused. "But I received no telephone call."

"You didn't, but we did." Hogan showed him to the communication switchboard. "Our friendly telephone operator Newkirk kindly took a message."

Newkirk looked up and smiled. "I hate to interrupt a kraut when he's busy torturing a prisoner."

"He's thoughtful that way." Hogan placed a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "But it's only a matter of time before Hochstetter comes for me again." He looked directly at the two Germans before him. "We're taking off, and we are willing to take you both along, assuming you want to leave Germany. It won't be safe for either of you once we're gone."

Klink held his breath. He had been told to prepare to flee, but somehow thought he would have more time. Hochstetter had only just left, defeated by Klink's grand gesture with the blood test. Klink had thought he would at least have some time to gloat, or share a celebratory cigar with Hogan—now that they were firmly on the same side. Comrades. The kommandant had no reservations about following Hogan, but the immediate uncertainty of his future weighed heavily on his mind. What changes the last twelve hours had brought to his formerly ordered life.

Schultz however was uncharacteristically sober and decisive. "Thank you, Colonel Hogan. But I have a family. I cannot leave. I will manage."

Hogan stood and regarded the family man respectfully. "I can have your family moved to safety, Schultz. Just say the word."

The sergeant considered the offer carefully before responding. There was no doubt in Schultz's mind that Hogan could do exactly as he claimed. "Ja. Thank you, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan shook the sergeant's hand. "Gentlemen, we have a plan for departure. We will rely on our contacts to get us to safety and then we'll rendezvous with transportation to England." He didn't want to divulge any more than was necessary at this point. "We will need your absolute cooperation at all times."

Klink stood to attention, a little too enthusiastically. "Of course. Sergeant Schultz, you will follow Colonel Hogan's orders at all times."

Hogan was already certain Schultz would do what was necessary, especially if his family's safety was involved. After all, he was somewhat experienced in Hogan's schemes and had proven himself a capable, if somewhat less than willing, accomplice. The American walked unsteadily to where Klink was standing. He had one more job to do before setting the final wheels in motion for the end of his operation. With so much at stake, there could be no doubt about who was in charge.

"Colonel, may I have a word?" Grabbing him gently by the elbow, Hogan pulled Klink aside. He spoke in a lowered tone of voice, but directly and firmly. Klink would now meet Colonel Robert Hogan, the commander.

"Before this goes any further, there is something I have to say, and then I am not ever going to mention it again. As much as I appreciate what you have done so far, these men are my responsibility and their safety means everything to me, even more than my own. If you so much as put one hair on any one of their heads in any kind of jeopardy, either intentionally or by accident, I will personally put a bullet in that bald skull of yours. Do you understand me?"

Klink swallowed hard and nodded. He recalled Hogan's actions following Eisenmann's murder of Major McCall and the flash of anger in his eyes, but there was something else there as well—ability. Hogan could easily have killed him. The most dangerous man in all of Germany. "Ja. I understand. You are in command."

Hogan released him and his manner brightened immediately. He even tried to smile. "Good. Welcome to the team."

Not a bear, a chameleon, Klink thought. No wonder he survived all this time as a spy.

Hogan patted Klink on the back and turned quickly away, clearly dismissing the kommandant. Before he could get very far, dizziness overcame him and he was forced to brace himself with one hand on the dirt wall above the radio set. He brought a trembling arm up to his eyes and wiped away the sweat dripping into them.

Klink made a slight move to assist Hogan, but retreated, knowing he was still an outsider here—a man without a country. He'd leave Hogan to his men, his friends.

It was Kinch who was immediately beside Hogan. He handed him a small towel so the officer could wipe his face and hair. "How are you feeling, Colonel? Maybe you should sit down."

"I'm fine," snapped Hogan. "I'm just tired."

It was the usual refusal to place his needs before those of others. Kinch backed off, he knew the tone.

Klink didn't. The kommandant came slightly forward. "He hasn't eaten today. I think…"

Hogan stopped Klink cold with one look. "We've got work to do."

The radio came to life and Kinch turned his attention to it. He sat down and began taking the message. He happily acknowledged it and tossed his headphones down on the table. "They've got it, Colonel. They've identified the poison and an antidote is on the way. It should be here any minute."

Hogan pulled the towel across his face and then wrapped it around his neck. "Good. I'd like to get the rest of my senses back. What is it?"

"It was a good old fashioned morphine overdose, Colonel."

"Great," he said sarcastically. "When we need morphine we have to sell our souls to get it. When we don't want it, it comes free with a cup of coffee. At least, that explains why I was so out of it when Hochstetter came for me."

"Yeah, but it was a damn good thing you didn't get more of it or there wouldn't have been anything left of you to arrest. That stuff really packs a wallop. The drop has been made and a volunteer picked it up and is bringing in some activated charcoal and naloxone to counteract the morphine and help you get your strength back. It should take about a day or two for the nausea and dizziness to subside completely, and the trouble breathing should continue to ease up as it works its way out of your system."

As if on cue, there was activity at the outside entrance to the tunnel. It took a while for the object of the attention to emerge from the sea of multinational uniforms, but eventually a familiar form bearing medicine appeared.

Tiger. In an instant all the thoughts and feelings Hogan felt as he faced the business end of Hochstetter's gun came flooding back. He struggled with his emotions and his reeling balance, trying not to give too much away. Nothing has changed. Stay in control. Too many people around anyway.

She approached him slowly, as if making sure he was all right. She stopped before him, her eyes searching his for permission to show her incredible relief. Hogan smiled weakly, and suddenly he found himself with his arms full of underground agent.

Klink's jaw dropped. He recognized her as Marie Monet, an underground operative he had presumed blown up along with the Berlin Express after an all-too-short stay in his camp. It didn't take him long to deduce that the train had exploded because Hogan wanted it to. He spoke to Schultz, his voice low and full of both envy and admiration.

"Incredible! I can't get a woman to give me time of day, and he manages to have a beautiful girlfriend in a prisoner of war camp?"

Schultz laughed knowingly. If you only knew, Herr Kommandant. What am I saying? If she only knew! Oh, boy! He grinned approvingly at the couple still locked in an embrace. "I think that one is my favorite, too. Look how nice they fit."

Klink squinted through his monacle. "I guess Hogan was right."

"About what, Herr Kommandant?"

"That the girls really do love the bad boys."

Trying to get some privacy in the busy underground area, Hogan pulled Tiger off to the side. She lightly fingered the blood on Hogan's shirt and then ran her soft hands over the bruises and stubble on his smudged face. She was somewhat taken aback. Aside from concern for his injuries and the effects of the overdose, she knew he was always so meticulous about his appearance, especially when he knew she would be there. It was a small gesture, but she appreciated it. This time, though, he didn't know she would be coming and obviously had other things on his mind. Still, he looked so tired.

"It's been a long day," Hogan voice was hoarse, but he tried hard to sound in control.

"Oui, I can see that." Tiger smirked at him playfully, teasing.

He straightened and turned his face away from her, suddenly self conscious and grateful for the mood to be broken. "I'm sorry. I'm a mess."

"You are alive," Tiger corrected. She stepped close again and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I was not sure what I would find when I came here."

He reached up and grasped her wrists and pulled them down in front of her. "And that's another thing. You shouldn't have come. It isn't safe for you here. The Gestapo knows who you are and they'd love to get their hands on you again. Anyone could have delivered that medicine…"

Tiger didn't like being chastised, but they had been down this road before. She knew he didn't like anyone taking chances on his behalf, especially her. And it was difficult for the commander in him to allow anyone else to make decisions. Still, understanding didn't mean agreeing, so she lifted her chin and stood her ground. "I volunteered to come tonight. Many in the Underground wanted to help you, but I insisted and they would not deny me." She shrugged, softening. "I needed to see for myself." She didn't finish her thought, but she didn't have to.

"Yeah, well…didn't you ever hear that curiosity killed the cat?" He regretted his tone and choice of words immediately. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her to him, but she resisted.

She was a cat, and her name suited her in so many ways.

Tiger frowned and pulled away from him, angry and disappointed at his chilly response to her presence. "You need to stop protecting me. I am not a child and I don't report to you and if I want to risk my life to see you, I will do it until you tell me that you don't want to see me again. And as for my curiosity, it is as much a part of me as being French."

He hadn't forgotten that it was her curiosity about him and his operation that caused her to volunteer for the mission that brought them together in the first place. Looking into her eyes now, he recalled the moment in his quarters when he first allowed his guard to slip in her presence. Her honest admission that she had risked her life just to meet him, and the way she faced the danger and his disagreeable, sexist attitude with spunk and class had worn him down. They had stood close as she got ready to leave and he found himself suddenly unable to tear himself away from her. The unspoken feeling of newly discovered mutual desire and imminent loss had hung in the air as they prepared to part before they had even begun. She had kissed him, thank God, before departing and he had held on to that wonderful, painful moment many nights as he lay alone in his bunk or stared unseeing at some loosely organized volleyball game in the compound.

They had each thought that would be their first and only meeting, but they did cross paths again, perhaps fate or even Tiger herself had seen to that—and Hogan was grateful. After his initial reluctance, he came to look forward to working with her. She was capable and determined, and he enjoyed their stolen private moments more than he wanted to admit. But that changed after she was betrayed to the Gestapo and arrested. He no longer wanted her to have such an active role in Underground or Resistance activities. Still, she insisted on carrying out her missions and leading her team as before, which often coincidentally led her into his arms. It did, however, put Robert Hogan at odds with his desire to remain single-minded and, well, single. He wasn't above having a little fun, but love during wartime only led to heartache and poor judgment. Since their relationship started, they had both endured the former, and both committed the latter. Tiger's courier duty tonight exemplified that.

"Tiger, it's not that I'm not grateful. I am. And I am very happy you showed up. I just wish you didn't have to dodge the Gestapo to help me. It's a long story, but they've identified me in Berlin. They know who and what I am, and it's only a matter of time before Hochstetter comes for me again. I want you far away from here before he does."

"You want?" Anger flashed in the woman's eyes. "You are not responsible for me. You have risked your life for me in situations much more dangerous than this. You have even defied orders to do it. You would not listen to your superiors, so would you have listened if I had said not to help me?"

He surrendered, too tired and with too much to do to continue this particular battle. He had others still to fight. "Okay, truce?" He smiled and held his arms out to her.

"Truce." She melted into him with an impish grin. "But I would do it again."

"Tiger!"

Hogan became aware of a presence nearby in the tunnel. He looked into the shadows to see Kinch hesitantly approaching.

"Sorry, Colonel. We may have a new problem."

"What now?"

"Another call coming in to the camp switchboard, intended for Klink's quarters. It's Hochstetter."

They moved toward the communications hub.

"Colonel Klink?" Hogan called the kommandant forward. "This call is for you. Our friendly Gestapo monster. Take it here." He handed Klink the mic and headphones with a warning. "And remember, don't improvise." Hogan used the spare headset to listen in.

Klink found himself more self-conscious than usual as he tried to act nonchalant while having a conversation with a Gestapo major while in a secret underground tunnel beneath his prison camp. "Colonel Klink speaking."

"Klink, get out of bed and get back to work. I want Hogan placed back into isolation immediately."

Klink stammered slightly, but remained calm despite his pounding heart. "Place Hogan in isolation? But, why? Major, I thought that he was cleared of all charges."

"He was cleared of nothing. He merely delayed the inevitable. I am at this moment on the trail of our dear Doctor Weiss. I stopped by his home for a little chat about Hogan's blood test and just discovered a secret radio. My men are out right now placing a ring of steel around this area. When we have him, we will have Hogan."

Klink shot a stricken look at Hogan, who motioned for him to continue on.

"We will have Hogan. Yes, Herr Major."

"Put Hogan back in chains and leave him there! I will return for him shortly, when I am through with the good doctor. And then, Klink, both you and General Burkhalter will have a lot to answer for."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Hogan stood with his arms wrapped around him, deep in thought, unaware of the burning eyes of everyone in the tunnel focused squarely on him. Neither Klink nor Hogan had spoken since terminating the connection with Hochstetter.

"What is it, Colonel?" Kinch asked. "Hochstetter hear from Berlin?"

"No. Not yet. But he found Weiss's underground radio. I should have known that would be the first place he'd go when he left here. Damn." Still a step too slow.

"He grab Weiss?"

Hogan shook his head, still preoccupied. "Not yet, Kinch. We've got to get word to him somehow, if he goes home or to the hospital he's walking right into a trap."

Kinch appreciated the colonel's concern for the doctor, but had other things on his mind. "Let the underground locate Weiss. First things first, Colonel. We've got to get you out of here."

Hogan appeared not to have heard the sergeant's words. He looked up, a decision made. "Kinch, I want you to get everybody out of here. Rendezvous with the sub as planned. I'll try and catch up with you later."

Now it was Tiger's turn to step forward. "How? Hochstetter wants you in the cooler. How do you plan to get away from there? Don't be foolish. You must leave now."

LeBeau stood beside his French compatriot. "She is right, colonel. Let's get out of here as we planned. All of us together. The local underground can help Weiss. He is probably already in a safe house anyway."

A murmur of agreement could be heard as the men tried to believe LeBeau's words.

Hogan moved away, feeling a need to place some physical and emotional distance between him and the rest of the group in the tunnel. "Look, the Gestapo is on the way here, probably sooner rather than later. At the very least Hochstetter will send guards to babysit me. If they arrive to find an empty cell and we're all gone, they'll shut down the borders and the roads and shake every tree in Germany until I fall out. I have a camp to evacuate. That means hundreds of guys who deserve a shot at getting away. He wants me. If I let him have me, he won't notice the rest for hours. That should give you guys enough time to get to the sub. That includes you, Colonel, and Schultz. As long as I stay locked up you are free to join the boys tonight. No one would come looking for you until morning roll call anyway and by then it will be too late."

"Too late for you," said Klink. "What do you think Hochstetter will do when he arrives to find the camp empty of prisoners and the kommandant and sergeant of the guard gone?"

Hogan's response was flat. "The same thing he's going to do anyway."

"No, sir." Newkirk protested, getting support from LeBeau and Carter. "Either we all go together or not at all."

Klink stood tall. "I agree." He paused a moment, unconsciously waiting to be told, as he always was, that his opinion didn't matter.

Instead, Kinch gave a small smile. "There. It's unanimous. We didn't come this far to separate now."

Hogan angrily threw up his hands. "Is there anyone here who can follow orders? Anyone at all? We've got nearly every army in the war represented down here, and no one can follow orders!"

"It is surprising," said Carter. "And Germans are usually pretty good at following orders. Right, Schultz?"

"Most definitely."

Kinch ignored their banter and decided to offer the only plan he could think of, the only one that might satisfy his commander's desire to protect the men in his charge while at the same time providing an opportunity for survival for him as well.

"How about we let Hochstetter worry about following orders, Colonel? Our plan was to let General Kinchmeyer come for you all along. We can still do that. How about we hold you in the cooler until that phony detail from Berlin gets here? It would also give us time to get to Weiss tonight and clear out as many guys from here as we can with a few hours under them to get away. Even if he gets word of the ID in Berlin, Hochstetter will think you're safely tucked away under guard. By morning, the truck comes, takes custody of you and off we go, together. He'll think we're off to Berlin, we head to the sub."

Hogan arched his eyebrows, making sure Kinch's plan covered all the bases. "It might work."

Tiger frowned. "No. I don't like it. What if Hochstetter gets to Weiss first and he cracks? I don't like leaving you in the hands of those Gestapo animals. What if Hochstetter decides not to wait for this general's guards to take you to Berlin, and decides to take you there himself so he can get all the credit? Or what if he interrogates you here or at his headquarters? He is mad, unpredictable. He could kill you."

Hogan shrugged. "We just have to hope that Hochstetter wants glory more than revenge, or at least that he's willing to delay revenge to get his glory."

Klink spoke up confidently. "He would wait. To bring in Papa Bear alive would be a feather in the cap of any German officer, and would guarantee him promotion and fame. Hochstetter would not pass that up after waiting this long."

Tiger relented, her quick mind already working on her part of the plan. "All right. Then I will help the underground find Weiss and alert them that your prisoners will be on the run tonight. And if you can arrange a vehicle and uniforms I will organize some men for the detail to come for you. We cannot chance Hochstetter recognizing any of you."

Klink looked at his sergeant, "I will have Schultz get you a truck." Schultz nodded his complicity.

Tiger smiled at both of them. She gently squeezed Klink's hand. "Thank you." She turned back to Hogan and Kinchloe. "How long do you need to evacuate the camp?"

Kinch gave it some thought and answered before a shell-shocked Hogan could. "At least several hours. We'd need most of the night."

"Then I will arrange the truck to come by dawn, hopefully before Hochstetter comes."

Hogan finally recovered his voice and tried to recover his command. "Wait a minute, everybody hold on! Tiger…"

As Hogan finally formed his protest, Tiger placed her hands on his cheeks and her mouth firmly against his. After a long moment, she broke the kiss and looked him in the eye.

"Quiet, Robert, we're saving you."

Kinch cleared his throat to announce the arrival of Wilson. Hogan excused himself and followed Kinch down the tunnel away from the crowd. Wilson was seen off in the distance preparing the medicines.

"Uh, I'm sorry about the interruption, Colonel. You have an appointment with your antidote."

"Don't be. You saved me." Hogan removed the damp towel from around his neck and tossed it onto the nearby table. "She's impossible."

Kinch chuckled. "Yeah, well, she cares about you and we all know that ain't easy." He ignored Hogan's pained look and continued, "And I've seen you flirt with everything in a skirt that's come through here, but you don't look at anyone the way you look at Tiger."

"That's the problem. She drives me crazy, in every sense of the word." Hogan shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed by revealing himself, even to Kinch, but he was just tired and vulnerable enough to want to talk. "I might…actually…be in love with her."

"You just decode that message, Colonel? We could have let you in on that one a long time ago."

"You know, instead of being a wise guy, you could help."

Kinch grinned. "What do you want me to do? Pass her a note in gym class?"

"Well, if you were a pal, you'd talk me out of it."

The sergeant turned serious. "Are you kidding? Why?"

"Why? She's stubborn and arrogant and bossy, that's why. She's irritatingly overprotective and yet has no regard for her own well-being, and she is a little too used to getting her own way."

Kinch raised one eyebrow and stared at his commander and friend with just a hint of a smirk on his face. "What, you never looked in a mirror before?"

"Very funny, corporal." Hogan frowned and folded his arms.

"I wasn't trying to be funny. Tiger is exactly what you said, and that's exactly why she is perfect for you. She isn't going to let you get away with anything, and she would follow you into any crazy situation you think up. She'll challenge you, and you need that."

Hogan harrumphed. "I've had enough challenges to last a lifetime, believe me. If I manage to somehow get out of here alive, I just want to forget all this and go home to a normal, quiet life."

Kinch laughed out loud. "Now you are kidding. After all you've done here, you think you're going to go home and slip into a quiet retirement? You didn't even live a quiet life before. Being in the air force at home wasn't enough for you. You went to England because that was where the action was, and you weren't inside these gates five minutes before you were working on a plan for this operation. Even now, when you could get safely away, you're still here. You think after all this you're going to go back home and find some rich chick from Connecticut looking to marry a general—because you know you're leaving this war a general—and settle into a quiet life of paperwork and dinners at the officer's club? You'd be steppin' out on her before the honeymoon was over, looking for some excitement. She'll be talking in her sleep about the price of eggs at the PX and you'll be dreamin' about running from the Gestapo and you may not even be allowed to tell her about it because this is all classified. That sound like the life you want after the war?"

Hogan took a deep breath and tilted his head in thought. "I like the rich chick part."

Both men laughed.

"No, you don't. You want a woman who will sit on the back of that motorcycle you have back home and ask you to go faster around the curves. Tiger is that woman."

Kinch paused as Tiger, a determined blonde vision in a tight sweater and slacks, came around the corner into view and headed toward them. "And if you don't want her, can I have her?"

Hogan rolled his eyes remembering Tiger's dissatisfaction with his unshaven face. "You'd have to lose the mustache."

Kinch straightened and eyed Tiger in mock indignation as she approached. "Forget it. She's all yours." He made a hasty exit and left them alone.

I guess so. If we get that far.

Tiger watched Kinch retreat. "And what was that all about?"

"Nothing." Hogan leaned against the wall with one shoulder. "You ever been on a motorcycle?"

"Oui, many times. When I was young, I dated a boy who rode on one."

"Why did you break up?"

She shrugged, a sly smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "He always wanted me to ride in the side car. I wanted a chance to drive."

Hogan leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "Oh, swell."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"Gestapo at the gate, Colonel."

The message relayed from the barracks upstairs echoed through the tunnel. Slowly, the eyes of all once again found Robert Hogan, who having taken the ministrations of medic was seated beside Tiger on one of the small benches near the dressing lockers. He gave her a grim smile and a wink as they stood up.

"I guess that's my cue." Hogan turned to Klink. "Get back upstairs. Meet the goons in your office and come for me. I'll be waiting."

Klink hesitated, though the plan sounded right when it was bantered about and finalized a moment before, he dreaded the thought of having to be the one to lock Hogan up and once again place him at the mercy of the Gestapo—especially now that his identity was confirmed. Still, Hogan had spoken, and Klink had his orders. And while he had spent more than two years working up contempt for them, the German somehow now trusted these men with his life. He gave a quick look around at the men in the area, caught Kinch's eye for a long moment, and headed for the ladder to his quarters with Schultz in tow.

Hogan faced Tiger and grasped her by the arms, wondering if this would be the last he would ever see of her. "Tiger, you be careful out there tonight."

She looked deep into his dark eyes, her voice soft and full of emotion. "You are ordering me again?"

He shook his head and smiled. His own voice was barely a whisper. "I'm asking you. Please."

Tears filled Tiger's eyes as she embraced him and mumbled into his ear. "I will do as you ask." They kissed as if it were the last time. Though they each had something more to say, neither could get the words out.

Hogan pulled away from her and walked toward his men. Still, unable to speak, he shook hands with each of them in turn and stood at the bottom of the ladder momentarily, wondering how it was he ever bounded up and down with so much energy.

"Kinch?" His voice was shaky and weak.

The sergeant was instantly beside him, though Hogan didn't turn to face him. Don't you dare say goodbye, Colonel.

"No orders," the commander said softly. "A favor. Get my friends out of here…"

"We'll see you soon, Colonel. Don't worry about a thing. We can do this."

Hogan nodded and worked his way slowly up toward the barracks.

Knowing he would spend the night in the aptly named cooler, Hogan stepped into his office to grab his jacket. Looking around he spied his dress uniform in his locker and it suddenly occurred to him that no matter what transpired this night, he would never again set foot in the room. It wasn't that he would miss it. It was instead the realization that the room represented his command. I've lost my command. One careless moment. One unfocused moment of arrogance and weakness, worrying more about some nameless German kid than the safety of hundreds of men who depended on me, and I've lost it all.

He hadn't had the opportunity to know that when he left the air base on his last sortie that he would never return to that command. Of course, he had come to learn that he was more than targeted that day; he had been hunted, that General Biedenbender had earned his rank by drawing the blood of Hogan's crew. Over-elaborate planning, he had said. And now once again, Hogan found himself hunted by a German nemesis. Would he again fall victim to over-elaborate planning? He considered all the people beneath his feet who were already implementing an impossibly elaborate plan. He fought off a nagging feeling that they should have simply run when they had the chance, when his eyes once again settled on his dress tunic. Didn't get the decorations for running, Robert. Stay in formation, hit the target, then take evasive action.

He was just zipping up his leather jacket when the door opened and Klink, Schultz and a matched pair of burly Gestapo sergeants entered, machine guns at the ready.

"Colonel Hogan," Klink began, "I have orders from the Gestapo to place you under arrest for suspected complicity in underground activity. You will be held in solitary confinement until Major Hochstetter completes his investigation and returns to Stalag 13."

Hogan flipped up the collar of his coat and grabbed his cap. "I've seen this movie. The guy is innocent, remember? I hate to ruin the ending, but the blood test cleared him."

"Silence!" Klink shouted, playing his part to perfection. "Take him."

Though Schultz reached for Hogan, the men in black were quicker and more eager, grabbing him roughly by the arms and shoving him through the barracks door and out into the dark compound.

Klink stationed the Gestapo guards at the outer door and he and Schultz escorted Hogan into the cell. Once inside, Schultz leaned his rifle against the wall and reached inside the deep pockets of his outer coat. He pulled out a small thermos of coffee and a loosely wrapped sandwich and left them on the bunk. With a wink, the sergeant picked up his rifle and left the building.

Klink watched him go. He knew he should also leave, but felt he should stay, though he wasn't sure if it was because being there made him feel better or Hogan. "Hogan," he stalled. "The girl. I've seen her before, haven't I?"

"Tiger." Hogan nodded. He was so tired, but grateful for the company and distraction. "The Gestapo had her, brought her here once."

So Klink's memory was correct. "An important figure in the underground, presumed dead when the Berlin Express exploded."

"That was the idea, yes." Hogan rubbed his face with his hands, trying to shake off his concern for her out there now running around working on his behalf. "You would think being a guest of the Gestapo twice in one lifetime would be enough for any girl, but…"

"Twice?"

"Yes." Hogan decided to fill him in. It didn't matter now anyway. "They arrested her in Paris once, a while back. Coincidentally, it was right around the time you were named Kommandant of the Year."

Klink winced at the memory. "Oh, that was the worst trip of my life…You were there! I knew it…" Seeing the smirk on the American's tired face, Klink realized that his prisoner's influence extended beyond international borders. "Hogan! You stole my car? You had me arrested?"

"I got you out of it, didn't I? You kept snooping around!" Although this felt like old times, Hogan also acknowledged the change in their relationship with a bit of playful honesty. "Come on, kommandant. Man to man, you've seen Tiger. Would you have tossed me in jail if you had a chance to be with her?"

Klink considered, very briefly. "In a minute. What am I saying? You are in jail. Maybe I should go try my luck." He couldn't resist a bit of teasing now that he knew Hogan finally had a weakness. "I think I have a dangerous side now, eh? Did you see the way she held my hand?"

Hogan laughed in spite of himself. "Yeah. You're irresistible. But Tiger's a little out of your league, maybe you should start with a kitten and work your way up."

Bested again, Klink nodded and turned to leave. "I should return to my quarters. You'll be all right here?"

Hogan sat down and leaned his back against the cold stone wall. "Yeah, sure."

Klink hesitated at the door. He didn't know what to say. "Hogan…"

A seemingly confident Papa Bear cut him off. "It's OK. It's going to work out. My guys are the best."

Klink nodded and tried to smile. They both looked up at the sound of a lone truck rambling through the gate and knew Schultz was on his way to meet Tiger as planned. The mission was well underway and all the two ranking officers in camp could do was wait. Klink turned and left Hogan to face the darkness and uncertainty of the night alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Kinch had spent the night in the tunnel, checking and rechecking, making sure that the escaping prisoners knew procedure and routes. Hogan had mapped out every detail in case of need, and things had progressed as uneventfully as a mass escape could. Of course, Kinch had always assumed that the colonel would be there directing traffic himself, so although his commander had prepared him for the possibility that it would have to be done in his absence, the sergeant wrestled with the responsibility for every man now walking out of camp. Certainly the knowledge that thanks to Klink, there were no patrols outside the wire and that there would not be a surprise bed check or roll call lessened the anxiety of the process. As the allies were pushing closer and closer each day, the men who weren't heading to the coast would be hidden or delivered to advancing units for protection until arrangements could be made for the trip home. Kinch knew that this was the part of the plan Hogan disliked the most, but the sheer number of escapees limited the options. London's orders were that Hogan and his team were first priority, and their route was directly to the sub for evacuation. At this point, they would be in the most danger in the event of recapture and they possessed information that both sides would consider most valuable. And, as Hogan frequently reminded them in other situations, rank has its privileges.

Newkirk and Tiger had met Schultz and the truck outside the gates as planned, and after dropping Tiger, with an armful of Gestapo uniforms, near her contacts to make her arrangements, the truck had worn out the road ferrying prisoners away from camp. Throughout the night, Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau had escorted various groups of prisoners to safe houses or handed them off to underground escorts who would see them to their next stop. Luftwaffe uniforms provided security in case of checkpoints, but it had been a relatively quiet night. Hochstetter's office had been told that General Kinchmeyer's detail was on the way and would arrive at Stalag 13 by morning. Of course the plan was to be long gone before he arrived.

Kinch met Newkirk and LeBeau as they dropped down the ladder and began to remove their German uniforms.

"That's that, Kinch," reported Newkirk. "The truck is safely tucked away where Tiger's mates can find it, and it is also safe to say that we've got so many of our boys running around tonight that every haystack from here to the coast speaks English."

LeBeau laughed. "Who cares what language it speaks as long as it comes complete with a farmer's daughter!"

"You know I've found that to be something of a myth," interjected Carter. "I mean I know lots of farmer's daughters where I come from, and most of them aren't girls you'd want to be in a haystack with. No sir, in fact most of them look like our cow, but that could be from eating all that beef…"

Newkirk, having removed his uniform jacket, draped it over Carter's head.

Carter, of course, kept right on talking.

Kinch rolled his eyes. He was about to chastise them, but his response was cut off as a voice message came in to the radio behind him. The voice was unmistakably Tiger's. After a brief exchange of identities and pleasantries, Tiger delivered her message.

"The medical package is safe."

Weiss. Kinch sighed with relief. He didn't care how or where he had been found. Hogan could now leave with the fate of one less man on his mind. All that remained was the final piece of the puzzle, a successful removal of their colonel from Gestapo custody. "Great. All clear this end, ready for pickup."

"Confirmed. The team is ready. See you at the rendezvous. Bonne chance."

"Yeah, you, too," reminded Kinch. "Remember, I have a promise to keep."

"So do I. Au revoir."

Schultz slipped into the darkened barracks without being seen. He called for Kinchloe through the open bunk.

The sergeant's dark face peered up at the guard. Guess nobody is sleeping tonight. "Schultz, what is it?"

"Major Hochstetter is at the gate. He wants to see Colonel Hogan. The kommandant is going to meet him, but…"

"Yeah, well, the colonel will just have to hold out for a little while longer. Tiger's contacts should be on their way now to take him out. We're just about done down here." Kinch looked around. There were several bags stacked up against the wall, and after the final conversation with Tiger and a quick update for London the radio equipment had been dismantled and packed away. Another few minutes and they could be clean away. "When the truck leaves with Hogan, you and Klink head for his quarters so you can get to the tunnel. We'll meet you down here and all head outside through the emergency tunnel together. We meet the truck, Newkirk and Carter take over as Hogan's Gestapo guards, and then we pick up Tiger at the rendezvous point and take off to meet the anyone stops us and asks questions, you and Klink are coming along since Luftwaffe should be present at interrogations of airmen, and the rest of us are prisoners. It can't fail." 'Get my friends out of here.' Good as done, Colonel. We're almost home. Don't let him get to you.

Hogan heard the staff car skid to a stop near the cooler and closed his eyes. More trouble. He had been tuned in, trying to listen for the inaudible sounds of his men drifting away into the night. He had heard nothing since Schultz left with the truck several long hours ago. But no news had been good news. No alarms, no shouts from the woods, gunfire or dogs. Things had been going according to plan. Of course, he had no idea whether Tiger was safe. Or Weiss. As dawn approached, he hoped that he would soon hear the rumble of the returning truck, this time bearing the 'guards' that would signal the end of the mission and his famed operation.

But the lone staff car and rodent-quick steps in the middle of the night could only mean Hochstetter. Adrenaline again pumping through his veins, Hogan stood to meet the major as he came through the cell door. Fight or flight, and Hogan could effectively do neither. His intensity and agitation settled in the one place it usually found an outlet—his mouth.

Flanked by two sturdy henchmen and an aide, Hochstetter swung open the door and drew his pistol. "Where is Weiss?"

Hogan shrugged indifferently. "It's not my day to watch him, Major."

Hochstetter almost smiled. "I would think as the leader of the underground in this area you watch everyone you employ."

Hogan stared icily at him.

"You are the leader of the underground, Hogan. I have you this time. You have been positively identified by our eyewitness in Berlin."

Hogan laughed. "You mean your people bullied a scared child into saying what you wanted him to say?"

Hochstetter shoved Hogan in the chest, causing the colonel sit awkwardly on the hard bunk behind him. "He is not a child!"

"You remember children, Hochstetter? When you were young they used to beat you up." Hogan regained his feet and stood toe to toe, trying to dwarf the man in black. "Look at you now, though, huh? Murdering civilian grandparents, taking little boys from their homes in the night. Congratulations, major. Your mother must be so proud."

"I would not be so concerned with my mother right now if I were you, Hogan. I would concern myself with the Fuhrer."

"Another short guy with a complex."

Hochstetter swung, catching Hogan flush across the side of the head with the butt of his pistol. This time Hogan couldn't get up. He pulled himself to a seated position and leaned his back against the edge of the bunk. His hand covered the cut on his head, just below the hairline near his left eye. Blood dripped slowly between his fingers.

"Get up!" Hochstetter stood over him, pistol aimed at Hogan's head.

"Major Hochstetter!" Klink rushed into the cell and stood between the two, not wanting a repeat of the scene in his office. He would not stand idly by this time, not when they were so close to escaping this madness together. If all he had to do now was buy Hogan time, he would do it.

Hochstetter turned his weapon on the kommandant, gesturing as he spoke. "Stay out of this, Klink. You are in enough trouble as it is. This man's identity has been confirmed in Berlin. He is no longer the concern of the Luftwaffe. I have proof positive that Hogan is Papa Bear. He will be moved, under guard, to Berlin as soon as possible. He will be interrogated and then executed as an enemy of the Fatherland. And then, Klink, I will begin my investigation of you. Stupidity may not be a crime, but gross incompetence is."

Klink stiffened and tried not to panic. Where is the truck? He needed to play kommandant for a while more. "You have said that General Kinchmeyer is sending guards for Hogan. Any word on when they will arrive?"

Hochstetter frowned, disappointed. How he wanted Hogan for himself. But, Berlin meant the name of Wolfgang Hochstetter would be immortalized as the man who brought in Papa Bear. Still, it was hard to resist tearing the arrogant American apart himself. He watched the blood trickle down the colonel's face. He would have enjoyed breaking Hogan, and would have hours ago had Burkhalter not interfered. Perhaps General Kinchmeyer would reward him by allowing him to show off his interrogation skills. Yes, he would wait, but he didn't have to like it.

"They are en route and will be here any time now, though I would rather not wait for them." Hochstetter kicked at Hogan's leg, trying to get his attention. "Perhaps Colonel Hogan would like to entertain me until they arrive."

Hogan sat unmoving, head in hands, trying to collect his wits and regain his strength. Finally, he shook himself and looked up, ready for more. "I could tell you the story of the three bears. You seem to like that one…

"Hogan!" Klink yelped. "Don't be insolent!" His tone was sincere now. They were too close to let the American's ego to get in the way. For God's sake, let him have the last word, Hogan. We will have the last laugh.

Hogan stared coldly at his kommandant. Although it was easy for Klink to revert to playing his role as camp authoritarian, the emotional and physical strain of the day prevented Hogan from fully embracing the role of submissive prisoner again. His nerves were raw and his body exhausted and hundreds of men were now in danger because of his actions, and besides, he simply hated the fact that Hochstetter had truly found him out.

Klink watched Hogan struggle with himself. He looked away as Schultz appeared in the corridor.

"Herr Kommandant, the guard detail from Berlin has arrived."

Klink closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What is it the Americans call it? The cavalry. Thank you, dear Tiger. He was impressed with the demeanor of the 'guards' who had come to collect the most dangerous man in Germany. A colonel and three troopers, the four certainly looked the part, rougher and colder even than Hochstetter's best men, and the uniforms certainly looked authentic. Klink didn't want to think about where Hogan and his men got them. Marching arrogantly down the cooler corridor, weapons raised, they pushed their way into Hogan's cell, ignoring both Hochstetter and Klink.

The Gestapo colonel didn't identify himself to Hochstetter, instead took the offensive with Hogan. "Up against the wall."

Trying to switch gears, Hogan wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve. Though it was a struggle, he complied with their request, with a little help from two of the new troopers. They roughly pulled him to his feet and began affixing handcuffs. As they did, he recognized the 'colonel' as one of Tiger's team, a man known as Berg. He appreciated the fact that they chose to cuff his hands in front of him instead of behind, his shoulders and wrists were still sore from being restrained that morning.

Though Berg was doing his best to dismiss Hochstetter as soon as possible, the major was looking for his pat on the back and forced himself on the detail leader. "Herr Colonel, may I introduce myself, I am Major Hochstetter…"

Berg cut him off curtly. "You captured this man?"

"I did, Herr Colonel," he puffed himself up. "You see, I have been onto him since the beginning…"

"Yes, General Kinchmeyer is pleased," said the colonel, though his tone suggested anything but. "Take him." He motioned for his guards to move Hogan and they immediately shoved him toward the door.

Klink watched the new arrivals with concern. Whose side are you on? He resisted the urge to reach out to the unsteady Hogan as he passed him on his way out of the cell.

As Hogan stopped to regain his balance, Berg reluctantly regarded Hochstetter. "We will make note of your cooperation in our report when we get to Berlin." He moved to leave but was stopped by the major.

"When you get to Berlin? Herr Colonel, I was hoping to accompany my prisoner and present him personally to General Kinchmeyer."

"Your prisoner? This man is a prisoner of the Gestapo, Hochstetter, not your personal property."

Hochstetter bristled, but recognized that he was outranked. "Er, I didn't catch your name, Colonel."

"I am not required to identify myself to small town policemen, Major."

Hochstetter reddened. "Colonel, I respectfully refuse to surrender my prisoner." He had come too far and was too close to glory to give in now. "I insist on accompanying Hogan to Berlin."

Catching the quick inquiring glance from Berg, Hogan looked at the major through the blood now dripping into his eye, the smallest smirk playing at his lips. Sure, why not? One more for the road. Maybe Biedenbender needs a cellmate. "I'd love the major's company on the way to Berlin."

"Silence, prisoner!" Berg snapped. "You will hold your tongue or I will cut it out." He turned back to Hochstetter as if considering the request. "Very well, Major, if you insist. It is a very long trip, though I suppose you have earned the right to claim your prize."

"Yes, it is a long trip." Hochstetter focused momentarily on Hogan, still arrogant and defiant even on the way to being executed, and the full impact of what he had accomplished hit him. Looking past the personal antagonism between them, he had captured Papa Bear, infamous spy and saboteur. The most dangerous man in Germany. And it was Hogan. Hogan! Bombings of factories, bridges and trains, sudden disappearances of prisoners, scientists, and loyal soldiers, countless disrupted convoys, and failed military operations; and all engineered by this obnoxious American. Papa Bear. A man with such a powerful reach would undoubtedly have operatives willing to try to save him at all costs. And add the fact that Hogan was himself a respected military commander before being shot down, and Hochstetter suddenly was very aware of the sheer number of people, in and out of allied uniforms, that would like to see Hogan freed from his grasp. Yes, the trip to Berlin was long…and was likely to be dangerous, fraught with attempts to rescue one of the most prolific underground leaders in Germany. No, he could not lose Hogan now that his identity was confirmed. Special guard escorts or not, Hogan was his man.

Hochstetter thought out loud. "There might be attempts by the underground to free Papa Bear along the way."

"We are prepared for every possibility," Berg stated with confidence.

Suddenly inspired, Hochstetter snapped his fingers. "We will fly. The sooner I deliver him to General Kinchmeyer, the better. I will arrange a plane at the local air field immediately and increase patrols on the roads and surrounding areas to ensure there will be no trouble along the way." He signaled to his aide, who immediately departed to make the arrangements. "If the underground is out there, we will find them. My personal guards will accompany us. I may be a small town policeman, Colonel, but this is my town. I take no chances."

Hogan froze. He bent his head as a wave of nausea staggered him. Patrols on the roads and in the woods? There would be no safe route out for the men remaining in camp. And even if Hogan and Berg's men could take control of the truck without drawing attention to themselves, escape from Germany was still a tall order. The air field was in the opposite direction from the planned rendezvous with the boys and Tiger with patrols in between. Tiger. Over-elaborate planning. Will I lose another crew?

At the far end of the cell, Klink's eyes widened. "Fly?" He mumbled. "Did you hear that, Schultz? They're going to fly Hogan to Berlin."

"I heard it, Herr Kommandant. I just don't believe it."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Berg came to attention. "That is not necessary, Major. Our orders were to escort Colonel Hogan…"

"We will all escort him" Hochstetter cut him off. "After all, he is a very popular man right now."

Hogan struggled for breath. How popular would he be when his plane took flight and he was on his way to his execution, leaving his closest friends to theirs? He had to get word to Kinch that there would be no rendezvous on the road to Berlin. Even with the phony guards in the truck, with Hochstetter and his men along there would be little chance for survival. The major would never willingly surrender Hogan. It would be a fight to the death, with at least four more lives—strangers—endangered on his behalf. If the underground quartet opened fire, the noise and chaos in the still night would bring Gestapo and soldiers from all over, cutting off possible escape routes for the prisoners already in hiding. And Hogan's team, his friends, would be left holding the bag in an empty prison camp, or standing by the side of the road waiting for a truck that wasn't coming. Hogan knew Kinch was right—soldiers don't leave men behind, especially friends. He had no idea what would occur once they left Stalag 13, but he now knew in his heart that they all had to leave through the front gates, together.

While Hochstetter and Berg negotiated for custody and transportation of the prisoner, Klink watched Hogan, who was obviously deep in thought. Although his experience with this Hogan was limited to less than one full day, Klink knew the man was feverishly testing the limits of his command decision-making ability, and doing so while battling impairment caused by illness and fatigue. The kommandant recalled how Hogan was so willing to sacrifice himself to ensure the safety of the men in his charge. He recalled how Hogan, Papa Bear himself, had said that he was willing to trust him, Kommandant Klink, bumbler and coward, with their lives. He recalled the conversation with Kinchloe in his quarters just hours before, and how Kinch said they were a team and would never leave Hogan. And these foreign soldiers, for whom he had served as enemy and jailer, had readily accepted him as one of their own simply because Hogan did. And now they were all still in danger, himself included, and watching it all unravel Colonel Wilhelm Klink began to feel a small share of Hogan's responsibility for them. We must do something. The German found himself astonished by the unfamiliar emotion; not duty or fear, but loyalty. We? Yes, I am an officer, too. He drifted over to Hogan and whispered so that only his fellow colonel could hear. There was desperation in his voice, but conviction as well. "Hogan, what are we to do?"

Hogan seized the opportunity and with his bound hands shoved a surprised Klink up against the wall shouting loudly. "Quiet, Klink! You're going to talk yourself into a punch in the mouth. Leave my men out of this." And then into his ear, "Arrest them."

"Restrain him!" At Hochstetter's order, his sergeants pounced on Hogan and roughly pulled him away from Klink and held him fast. The major circled the visibly angry American. "No more jokes, Hogan? Perhaps you are losing your famous cool, hmm?"

Arrest them? Having complete trust in Hogan's thinking was not new to Klink, so he played along as he had many times. He arrogantly adjusted his uniform, buying time to summon his courage and after a quick glance at the leader of the phony guards, eyed Hogan with disdain. "Major Hochstetter, if Colonel Hogan is really with the underground, then shouldn't you also take the men who have been helping him all along? I can identify the four men closest to Hogan. They must at least have knowledge of his activities and might prove useful."

"No!" shouted Hogan as he pulled against the hold his guards had on him.

Hochstetter considered this for a moment. He had been so focused on Hogan and his outside underground contacts for the last twenty four hours that he hadn't recognized that his large network likely began inside the wire. A local doctor manipulating test results was certainly the least of it. "Yes. Believe it or not, Klink, you may have just had your first good idea. I would enjoy interrogating them…and I am sure Colonel Hogan would enjoy witnessing it."

Hochstetter enjoyed the flash of protective anger he saw in Hogan's eyes, but Klink tried not to let his fear and his disgust show. He cleared his throat and turned to Schultz, who was still standing, speechless, in the far corner of the cell. "Sergeant Schultz, bring Newkirk, LeBeau, Carter and Kinchloe immediately. They will accompany Hogan to Berlin for questioning."

The sergeant came to attention. "Javol, Herr Kommandant." Then Schultz, slightly confused, hurried off through the early morning darkness to Barracks 2.

"What?" Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter practically leaped at the sergeant.

Schultz was distraught. "Major Hochstetter is insisting not only that he accompany Colonel Hogan to Berlin, but that they will fly there tonight. He's placing patrols on the roads and in the woods. They are getting ready to leave with him now."

"Fly?" Kinch sagged. Another curve ball.

LeBeau shook his head. "What are the underground guys supposed to do now? Goons in the woods and on the roads? They didn't plan on a fire fight with Gestapo."

Newkirk paced. "And how do we get out with all them ruddy patrols running around? We can't even help ourselves escape, much less Colonel Hogan."

"Even if we could get out of camp," said LeBeau, "if they get to the air field we'll never break the colonel out of there, that place is lousy with guards."

Kinch blinked away a dizzy feeling. The camp was cleared of prisoners as he promised Hogan it would be. Get my friends out of here. Now, he realized, only the colonel's friends remained to answer for it.

"There is one more thing," added Schultz hesitantly. "Kommandant Klink and Colonel Hogan had a fight, and the kommandant sent me to arrest all of you and bring you to the cooler."

Carter turned red. "I thought he was on our side! What a dirty thing to do!"

"Carter, he is on our side," explained Kinch, thinking along with Hogan. "They're trying to make sure we leave with the colonel in the truck, so we all stay together."

"But we won't all be together, will we?" said Newkirk angrily. "I mean Tiger is out there alone waiting for the truck at the rendezvous point, and if we leave with Hochstetter, that still leaves Klink and Schultzie here on their own guarding an empty camp with Burkhalter sleeping in the VIP hut."

"He's right, Kinch." LeBeau couldn't keep the frustration out of his voice. "Even if we got away with the colonel, when first light comes and this camp is empty, Schultz and Klink are dead ducks. The krauts flood the woods with troops looking for prisoners and round up everybody, including Tiger."

"I know, I know," Kinch held up his hand for quiet. "Look, Hogan is trying to fix it so we all go out the front gates together, so that's what we'll do, but we'll have to get word to Tiger."

"How?" asked LeBeau. "She is sitting in the woods, waiting. And we can't get a message to her through the underground because the radio is in pieces."

Schultz nodded, understanding how complicated things were getting. "And the kommandant and Major Hochstetter are waiting for all of you right now in the cooler."

Kinch took a deep breath. "Okay, I've got an idea, but we'll need your help, Schultz."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The four allied men were led into the cooler by Schultz. Due to the rather crowded condition in the vicinity of Hogan, the newest arrivals stood outside their colonel's cell in the dimly lit corridor. Kinch worked his way to the front of the pack and stared at Hogan, hard.

Something's up. Hogan cocked his head, setting aside his own vague ideas for their final exit. Okay, Kinch. I'll play. I got you here, now it's your game. He gave his second-in-command an almost imperceptible nod.

Hochstetter stood before the foursome with a false smile. "Ah, Papa Bear's cubs come to visit him in his cage. How nice." He turned caustic. "You are all under arrest for suspicion of complicity in the sabotage activities of your commander. You will be taken to Berlin for intensive interrogation, and I remind you that you are no longer protected by the Geneva Convention." He lifted Hogan's limp hands up by the handcuffs. "Hogan's identity has been confirmed, and when we are done with him he will be executed." Smiling, he let the colonel's hands drop. "However, I will go easy on any man who gives up information on other underground operatives and sympathizers in this area."

Newkirk immediately spoke up. "Why not ask Schultz? He's the crooked-est guard in this place."

"Quiet, Englander!" The hefty guard's voice was harsh and he pushed the corporal further down the hall and away from the cell.

Hogan raised an eyebrow and exchanged quick looks with Klink, who looked about to swallow his monocle. Don't improvise, kommandant. Wait it out.

Newkirk pressed on. "Old Schultzie's looked the other way for years, hasn't he? And the colonel's paid him off in chocolate bars and nylons for the birds in town."

"Newkirk!" Hogan snapped, trying to get on the same page of the script. "That's enough!"

Hochstetter examined the men before him, processing the unexpected turn. "Is this true, Sergeant?"

"Nein!" Schultz answered hotly. "He is a liar and a thief. I am a loyal soldier."

"Loyal?" cried Newkirk. "Loyal to whoever has the deepest pockets! Go on, Schultz, tell 'em. No use us going down alone."

Schultz pulled his pistol out of his holster. "Quiet, Newkirk. I am warning you. You go too far."

Newkirk laughed. "Warning me? Too far? Look what your goon friends did to our colonel. Beating up on a sick man? I ought to take your ruddy head off, you bleedin' kraut coward…"

The Englishman lunged at Schultz, who fired once into his chest. The shot echoed through the building and out into the night. The corporal crumpled to the ground in the shadows of the corridor.

Schultz looked panicked. "I…I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan," he stammered.

Carter rushed to Newkirk's fallen form. "Peter? Peter, speak to me." He looked up at Schultz with his naturally crestfallen face. "Aw, you didn't have to kill him, Schultz. He was just mad that you and the kommandant didn't protect the colonel like you promised."

Got it. "Shut up, Carter!" Hogan threw gasoline on the fire. "There are enough people in trouble."

"Protect the colonel?" Hochstetter looked as if all his birthdays had come at once. "It seems, Klink, that you have been in on it all along, just as I suspected. I knew nobody could possibly be that stupid, even you." He drew his troopers forward. "No one can protect you now, Hogan. Place them all under arrest! We will all go to Berlin together."

Berg stepped forward again, having watched the proceedings unfold with curiosity. He trusted Papa Bear and his team without question. And besides, leaving together meant reinforcements on the road, and since the original scheme had already gone awry, he was all for the company and a new plan. "As you wish, Major. We will leave when you are ready. My unit prefers to work in darkness."

Trying to make sense of leaving Newkirk behind, Hogan shrugged his left shoulder so he could wipe the still dripping blood off his face with his shirt. His movement attracted Kinchloe's eye and the colonel held it. Well played, Kinch. Thinking on your feet. We all stay together. Hogan's heart dropped. Almost all…Tiger. Patrols in the woods.

The group turned as one as a small noise came from Corporal Langensheidt, who had entered the building upon hearing the gunshot and stood invisibly in the crowd observing in shocked disbelief.

"Ah," he mumbled, not really sure who he should address as the ranking officer of his camp now. He decided on Hochstetter, but intended his question for Klink—or Hogan. "Excuse me, Herr Major, should I wake General Burkhalter?"

"NO!" Hochstetter shouted. "It is too late. He will act only to protect himself. Let him sleep, he has been sleeping since Hogan arrived here anyway. We will call him from Berlin in the morning."

"But, sir," stumbled Langensheidt. "What about the camp?"

"For all I care, you can run it, Corporal," said Hochstetter. "You couldn't do any worse." He turned back to Berg. "Colonel, I believe General Kinchmeyer is waiting."

Berg smiled slyly, anxious to hit the road to begin phase two of the rescue of Papa Bear. "Yes, Hochstetter, I believe he is. Let's go."

Berg's men disarmed Schultz and herded Klink, Hogan and the rest out to the waiting truck. Stepping past the still form of Newkirk lying in the darkness, the prisoners walked single file out of the cooler building.

Hogan took a long look at the English corporal lying still on the floor, silently wishing him luck in whatever mission Kinch had for him. He then made a brief prayer that they would all find success and freedom outside the gates. But, he knew, they would have to earn it.

Once outside, Hogan stopped momentarily beside the truck. He took one last look around, picturing the now-vacant bunks inside the various barracks. At least they're on their way. He wondered how many would find their way home. Home. He suddenly became aware of Klink's presence beside him. Watching the kommandant survey his camp for the last time, Hogan realized that he was not the only officer losing his command tonight.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The passengers boarded the truck in the troubled silence that uncertainty brings. The next several minutes would determine the fates of all involved in this operation. Two of Berg's men got into the front seat of the truck. In the rear, on one side sat Schultz, Klink, and Hogan, and on the other LeBeau, and Kinch. Carter sat on the floor with his back to the front cabin. The third guard in Berg's detail sat beside Kinch.

After shepherding the prisoners into the truck and recognizing that they would perhaps need to divide in order to conquer, Berg turned to Hochstetter.

"My men and I can handle these prisoners, Major. Perhaps you would like to lead us to the air field in your car."

"With all due respect, Hogan does not leave my sight, Herr Colonel. I will ride with the prisoners. One of my men will take my staff car, the other will follow on his motorcycle. I take no chances."

Hochstetter chose to sit beside the phony guard, directly opposite Hogan, pistol in hand, smugly staring through the darkness as if to bore a hole right through the colonel. Berg himself deftly sat beside Hogan, facing Hochstetter, his own weapon in his lap, loosely pointed at the major's chest, ready for action at any signal from Hogan.

At the sound of the revving of the truck engine, Newkirk rolled over. He slipped down the empty corridor and watched the truck head slowly out the gate followed closely by Hochstetter's men riding in his staff car. At the cooler cell that held the tunnel entrance, Newkirk felt someone behind him. He turned to see the surprised face of Langenscheidt standing dumfounded, having witnessed far more in the past few minutes than he could effectively process.

"Newkirk! What…?"

Exasperated, Newkirk drew a pistol from his waistband. "No time for explaining, mate. Schultz's gun had blanks, this one doesn't. Come on." After taking his weapon, Newkirk led the German corporal down into the tunnel. Too focused to feel much of a threat from the benign enemy corporal, he worked quickly, pulling out one of the remaining Gestapo uniforms and began changing into it.

Eyes wide, Langenscheidt stood off to one side, his terror and confusion real. "Newkirk, what is going on here? What happened to Schultz and the kommandant?"

"They've left. And if you have any sense at all that is exactly what you'll do."

"Leave? I cannot leave." He stood to attention. "Major Hochstetter put me in charge."

Newkirk chuckled sarcastically. "Congratulations on the promotion, but you're currently in charge of a prison with no inmates." If it had been anyone else, Newkirk would have simply killed the guard and been done with it. He looked as patiently at Langenscheidt as he was capable under the circumstances. "Look, you're a nice kid, if I were you I'd take off and find yourself a frauline and sit out the rest of the war in a nice little pub someplace."

Frantic, Langenscheidt innocently grabbed Newkirk by the arms. "What are you talking about?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes, rushed and frustrated. "Do I have to draw you a picture? They're all gone! You couldn't get a good checkers game going in this place. And in a few hours, old Burkhalter's going to rub the sleep out of his eyes and expect to see a roll call, and when you two are the only ones to show up, who do you think will take the blame?"

"But…"

Newkirk pulled on a boot. "The way I see it, we have three choices: One, I can kill you now. Two, I can let you go so you can blow the whistle on me, but then have to explain everything you see here now that you and your friend Schultz didn't want to see before. And then you can explain how every prisoner in the place is out on holiday, including Papa Bear Hogan and his friend and accomplice, your kommandant."

Langenscheidt looked sick. "What is my third choice?"

Newkirk shrugged indifferently and tugged at the other boot. "You can run like hell."

The young corporal thought it over. "I will run."

"Good for you." Newkirk affixed his mustache, adjusted his Gestapo hat and hopped up the ladder to the barracks. "You don't mind if I borrow transportation do you, Karl?"

Langenscheidt absently shook his head.

"Good. Come on then, off to the motor pool. You can sign one out for yourself, maybe something in a nice family sedan, you know, for you and the fraulein after the war."

In the interest of expediency, Newkirk chose the remaining Gestapo motorcycle/sidecar tandem that Hochstetter's men had left behind. Leaving the gates with an arrogant Gestapo wave, Newkirk saved the accompanying obscene gesture for the darkness of the road. He headed in the opposite direction from the convoy bearing his friends, and struck out in search of big game—Tiger.

Damned Gestapo efficiency. The roads were already well-traveled with patrols, in vehicles and on foot. Tiger won't last long alone out here. Not wanting to be the one to have to tell Hogan they'd lost her, he silently hoped he wasn't too late. When he was sure he was safely out of sight, he tucked the motorcycle off the road and moved slowly into the woods.

Crouched behind a large rock, eyes fixed on the dark road before her, he found his quarry. Relieved, he slowly inched up behind her, remaining silent so as not to draw attention from any nearby troopers. Blimey, she's pretty in the moonlight. Officers have all the luck. He crept closer. Just as he was about to reach out to her soft shoulder, she turned and punched him squarely in the eye. His attention diverted, he then found himself on his knees gasping for breath, recovering from a well-placed kick.

"Tiger!" he groaned. "Bloody hell!" He grabbed at her leg to keep her from running straight into the arms of a real patrol.

She flopped beside him, and recognizing him stopped struggling. "Newkirk?" she whispered. "I'm sorry. What are you doing here alone? Where is the truck?" Where is he?

They stood, though he remained bent over slightly at the waist, trying to maintain his dignity in the face of a pain she couldn't relate to. He kept his voice low. "Change in plan, luv."

They both froze at the sound of weapons being readied behind them. "Don't move! Turn around. Slowly." Hands raised, they complied.

One of the troopers, a lieutenant, addressed Newkirk. "Are you all right, Herr Major?"

Newkirk turned, and dropped his hands as he realized he was one of the boys. "Ja," he forced a laugh, "though she fights like a tiger." He winked. "Most action I've had in some time."

Tiger frowned, but the Gestapo boys all shared a good laugh. Newkirk decided to take the offensive.

"I am Major Newman, assigned to Berlin, one of General Kinchmeyer's aides."

The junior troopers exchanged looks, obviously impressed. They came to attention. "Major Hochstetter told us you were here, Herr Major. He ordered more patrols to be sure Papa Bear gets to Berlin without interference from the underground. We are proud our section has captured him."

Newkirk nodded. "Yes, I suspect this woman may have information on Papa Bear and the local underground. I am taking her to Berlin. I must meet Major Hochstetter and the rest of my detail at the air field immediately."

The other officers came again to attention. "Of course, Major. Do you need an escort to the air field?"

An escort? That would be marvelous, but we're already over our limit of unwanted krauts. "Not necessary, Lieutenant. I can handle this little feline." He sarcastically stroked Tiger's face and hoped that she didn't scratch his eyes out in return. "I have a vehicle nearby. I had to abandon it to chase her into the woods." He tugged firmly at Tiger's arm. "Come, my dear, we don't want to keep General Kinchmeyer waiting." Without another word, and hoping they wouldn't be shot in the back, they marched off into the woods.

When they reached the motorcycle, Newkirk gingerly affixed himself on the saddle and started it up. "Come on, darlin'. The woods are already full of my Gestapo brothers, and when the alarms go off at Stalag 13, you won't be able to swing a dead calico without hitting a patrol."

Tiger stood beside him, confused and concerned. "Newkirk, what happened? Where are the others? Why are we going to an air field?'

Newkirk smiled. "I'll explain on the way. If all goes well, you've got a date with a handsome pilot. Now, come on, hop in and look like my prisoner."

Tiger hesitated, frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Tiger twitched her lips slightly and sat down. She crossed her arms and mumbled to herself as they sped off in the direction of her Papa Bear. "I hate riding in the sidecar."

CHAPTER THIRTY

The convoy bearing the most wanted man in Germany slowed to a stop at one of the many Gestapo checkpoints that had been set up along the road. Hochstetter dismounted as his aide drifted away from the group of troopers he was addressing at the front of the truck and appeared at the rear, offering to debrief the major on recent events. The two Gestapo men walked together back to the other officers and stood talking, illuminated by the truck headlights.

Berg nodded to his guard. The man also got off and stood weapon in hand, appearing to guard the prisoners, but serving as a lookout for Hochstetter's return.

Klink's whispering voice cut through the darkness. "Hogan, what is going on here? How do we get out of this?"

"Quiet." Hogan knew time was limited. "Kinch, where's Newkirk?"

"Gone for Tiger, sir."

Thank god. His brief flash of hope dimmed considerably as he was fully conscious of all the patrols on the roads. He closed his eyes for a moment and wondered if he would see either of them alive again. Then again, even though dawn was fast approaching he wondered if any of them would live to see the light of the coming day.

Kinch continued filling his commander in on the plan. "They'll meet us at the air field."

Klink's face fell. "The air field? Are you mad? If we get on that plane, we will all get the firing squad!"

"We needed a place to meet," answered Kinch defensively. "We didn't have a lot of time to think this one out. It seemed like the obvious choice."

Lost in thought, Hogan ignored them. If anyone can survive out here tonight, it's Newkirk. But can he get to Tiger before the Gestapo does? And can they get to the airfield in time? And if they do make it to the plane, what then? "Kinch, are you guys armed?"

Kinch nodded and hitched up his pant leg to reveal a holstered pistol. "Yes, sir."

LeBeau and Carter inched closer.

"What's the plan, Colonel?" asked Carter.

LeBeau pulled his pistol out from beneath his sweater. "Do we take the truck?"

Klink answered before Hogan could, his whisper bordering on hysteria. "Of course you take the truck! You can't let them put us on that plane."

Hogan shook his head firmly. "No. Don't you see the patrols on the roads? One shot fired and we'd have every goon squad in Germany on us." He rubbed his forehead, stopping suddenly when he hit the open wound from Hochstetter's pistol butt. Hochstetter. "Our friendly Gestapo man has been kind enough to arrange a plane. It would be bad manners not to take him up on it. Besides, a plane is a better environment to do it, no one can get in from outside to help them. And if we're successful, it's the quickest way out of here."

The kommandant scoffed. "And if we're not successful?"

Hogan took a deep, ragged breath and exhaled slowly, feeling responsibility even for the manner of death of the men in his charge. "It's still the quickest way out."

"But," Klink persisted, "what if we can get away without shooting…"

"We'd be left to move everybody in broad daylight, and with all of Germany looking for us." Already short-tempered due to illness, fatigue, and stress, Hogan was in no mood to have his orders questioned. Trying to remain cognizant of Klink's situation and sacrifice, he forced himself to remain reasonable. "Look, now is not the time to panic. We've come this far, so just leave the escapes to us, okay?"

Schultz piped up, trying to be helpful. "They are very good at escapes, kommandant. Colonel Hogan's ideas are wunderbar. If he says we should wait until we are on the plane, I think we should wait…but, please, Colonel Hogan…no more parachutes."

LeBeau poked at the big man's stomach. "Maybe if you would lay off the strudel you wouldn't have to worry so much about falling like a rock from a cliff."

"He's right, Schultz," added Carter. "After all you are in the air corps."

Klink looked curiously at Schultz. "Parachutes? When would a foot soldier in a prison camp need a parachute?"

"I know nothing about parachutes, Herr Kommandant. Nothing."

Kinch interrupted their nervous banter. "How do we take the plane, Colonel?"

Hogan shook his head. "I don't know. We'll play it by ear. We'll wait as long as we can for Newkirk and Tiger. But with Hochstetter and his thugs aboard, we can expect it won't be easy." He forced a small, dark chuckle. "You guys should have taken off when you had the chance." He turned to Berg. "And you guys shouldn't be involved in this at all. This is way more than you signed up for."

LeBeau shook his head. "No. We are with you all the way, Colonel."

Berg agreed. "We will see this through to the end, Colonel Hogan. My men and I will wait for a signal from you before we act."

Hogan shrugged helplessly. When did I lose control? "We may have to wait until we're in the air…"

Berg smiled and shrugged. "I've never seen London, Colonel."

Outside the truck, Berg's guard suddenly came to attention, signaling the return of Hochstetter.

Smiling, the major reappeared at the rear of the truck and spoke to Berg. "The patrols report all is secure in this area, Herr Colonel. And my men also report another arrest has been made tonight; a woman, found in the woods."

No. Hogan dropped his head and tried to concentrate on his breathing. Over-elaborate.

Also grieving for Tiger, but knowing Hogan had a man out looking for her, Berg asked the question Hogan couldn't, "Was she alone, Major?"

"I believe so. I don't yet know the details, but she is suspected of being with the underground." He narrowed his eyes and focused on Hogan.

Hochstetter boarded the truck and again sat before a downcast American colonel. "So, Hogan, are you not going to congratulate the Gestapo on a successful evening? In one night, we have shattered your entire network, eh?"

Refusing to meet Hochstetter's eyes, Hogan stared intently at his handcuffed wrists, tugging against the taut chain. My hands are tied. He tried to focus on creating an escape plan and not the major's taunting words. He knew his duty was with the group that accompanied him, and he had to stay with them to fly them home if he could. But his heart, his heart ached to mount his white horse once again and pull his girl from danger. Quiet, Robert. We're saving you.

"You will watch them all die, Hogan. And then it will be your turn, proving once again the superiority…"

"Major," Berg mercifully cut him off. "My detail works best in silence. So we can hear anyone approaching without distraction."

Hochstetter stopped his crowing and sat back, though his triumphant smirk never left Hogan. "Yes, of course, Herr Colonel."

The remainder of the ride to the airfield was completed in a deafening silence. Klink swallowed his fear and allowed himself a sideways glance at Hogan beside him. Worn, unshaven, bruised and huddled deep into his jacket, his name patch spotted with recent drips of blood, Hogan suddenly looked so much older than Klink recalled. I counted slices of bread while you carried the weight of the war on your shoulders. And although he had seen it only rarely, he recognized the cold look of determination grow on Hogan's face. You were powerless to stop Eisenmann. How will you deal with Hochstetter?

Recognizing the final turn into the air field, Klink looked away, believing in his heart that Hogan would get them out of Germany, but hoping that his American friend would not carry the loss of the Englander and that dear girl home with him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

With most of the remaining few able aircraft away on defense missions, the convoy pulled into a near-empty airfield. The roads and runways were littered with debris and craters from a recent allied bombing attack, and the wreckage of several charred planes were visible in the distance. After bouncing through the smaller potholes and around the larger ones, the truck jerked to a stop. From their vantage point in the rear of the truck, the group could see a twin engine bomber in the final stages of being readied by a ground crew.

Hogan caught the small grin on Kinch's dark face when they realized the plane was a Heinkel 111, the same type Hogan had used to successfully bomb a refinery before sending his former nemesis, General Biedenbender, on his way to England. He gave his second in command a small nod of acknowledgement. A good omen, Kinch?

Before dismounting the truck, Hochstetter stood over Hogan, unable to resist another dig at the man he would finally bring to justice.

"So, the famous pilot finally returns to an airfield, Colonel Hogan. I'm afraid this trip will prove as unpleasant for you as your last one."

Hogan smirked up at him through the stray black hairs that sat matted to his forehead. "Actually, Major, my last mission was a complete success." Just ask Biedenbender.

The allied soldiers in the truck nodded approvingly, but before Hochstetter could decipher Hogan's cryptic message, the major was approached by a young Luftwaffe lieutenant. Hochstetter hopped off the truck and returned the salute of the nervous soldier before him. Obviously the importance of this particular flight was not lost on the young man.

"We have a plane ready as ordered, Major Hochstetter. We are awaiting only the flight crew. They have been called and are en route..."

"Excellent," Hochstetter cut him off before he was even finished speaking. "We want nothing to delay our departure. I am most anxious to deliver my prisoners to the Fuhrer."

The lieutenant stiffened at the mere mention of their leader. "Understood, Herr Major."

Berg stood and dismounted, wanting to control their environment as much as possible, and knowing of Hogan's desire to seize control of the aircraft itself. He made a show of examining the surrounding area. "We will wait on board the plane. It is more secure."

"Of course, Herr Colonel," the lieutenant agreed. "If you'll just step this way…"

Ignoring him, Berg abruptly turned to the men in the truck and ordered them off. "Come."

Joining the two other underground men who had exited the cab of the truck, Berg's last guard got off first and held his weapon at the ready as the others worked their way to the tailgate. Kinch immediately slid to the end of the bench across from Hogan and protectively placed his hand on Hogan's knee, holding him down until the sergeant himself hopped effortlessly to the tarmac. Once on the ground Kinch stood off to the side nearest Hogan while his commander pushed himself to his feet and considered his options for dismounting. Not physically strong enough to simply jump off, Hogan ignored Kinch's offer of an outstretched hand and elected to crouch down and use his own bound hands for support as he awkwardly threw his legs over the side of the tailgate. Unable to maintain his balance upon landing, the colonel stumbled into Kinch's waiting arms. Wordlessly, the sergeant quickly righted his unsteady friend and released him to walk under his own steam toward the plane. The others followed suit, with Kinch remaining at the truck's rear end more to cover for his assistance of Hogan than to be of any real aid to the others. Younger and more agile, LeBeau and Carter jumped without help, but Klink and Schultz allowed the sergeant to steady them as they stepped off. The group worked its way over to the waiting plane.

Hochstetter led the way with his personal guards. "You two stand watch outside. Shoot anybody that approaches this aircraft without orders." He then quickly disappeared into the fuselage.

Newkirk's motorcycle sped onto the airfield runway and pulled to a halt beside the Luftwaffe lieutenant. The junior officer saluted smartly as the Englishman and Tiger scoured the area for their friends. Spotting the empty truck Newkirk turned his attention to the lone airplane nearby.

"I am Major Newman of General Kinchmeyer's staff. Is that the plane Major Hochstetter is taking to Berlin?"

"It is, Herr Major," the lieutenant explained. "We are awaiting the pilot, he should be here…"

Newkirk took off before the officer finished.

The lieutenant rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust. Gestapo.

Aboard the aircraft, the prisoners settled along the bulkheads. Berg and his three men stood strategically placed to keep Hogan out of the line of fire in case trouble erupted.

Hochstetter spoke to Berg as he paced anxiously. "Where is that pilot? Every second we delay Hogan's execution gives hope to the enemies of the Fatherland. The sooner we can crush their spirits, the better."

From his seat, Schultz looked up hopefully, trying to aid in this mission. "If you need a pilot, Herr Major, I am sure Colonel Klink would be happy to fly the plane. He said he used to fly a Heinkel…"

"Klink?" Hochstetter's nervous energy narrowed into a thin vein of venom. "Our Iron Paper Pusher couldn't manage to fly his desk successfully." He crossed to where Klink sat and aimed a stubby finger at him. "No, the glorious kommandant of the toughest prisoner of war camp in Germany was nothing but a stooge for the underground." He bent so that he was nose to nose with the German colonel. "Tell me, Klink, why did you do it? Did Hogan blackmail you? Threaten you? Were you afraid of the big, bad Papa Bear? Is that why you betrayed your country and helped him?"

No," Klink suddenly stood up, both literally and figuratively."My country betrayed me!" Having nothing more to lose fueled the colonel's honest anger. "And I helped Hogan because I wasn't afraid of him, but I wouldn't expect you to understand that."

Hochstetter poked Klink in the chest. "You are a disgrace to your uniform!"

"And you, Major, are a disgrace to the human race!"

Hochstetter shoved Klink back down in his seat. "I wonder if your newfound bravado will remain when you come face to face with your firing squad."

The heated argument among the Germans was cut short as the sound of the arriving motorcycle was heard outside.

"Finally, the pilot is here." Hochstetter rushed toward the doorway, shouting out to his men, "Let him pass."

The major pulled up short as Newkirk poked his head into the cabin.

Hogan froze in anticipation.

After a quick look around to size up the situation, Newkirk stood in the opening and saluted Berg. "Major Newman reporting, Herr Colonel. I am under General Kinchmeyer's orders to accompany you to Berlin." He stood aside and pulled Tiger into the plane. "As you can see I have captured the female suspected of assisting Papa Bear."

Hogan's composure crumbled. His eyes welling with tears, he slouched against the bulkhead, practically shaking with relief. All hands. No holes in the formation.

Hochstetter, misreading Hogan's reaction, slowly circled Tiger, an unmistakable expression of satisfaction on his face. "It disturbs you, Hogan, to see her in our grasp, eh?"

Looking past Hochstetter, Tiger's gaze never left Hogan's bruised head. More blood. What you have been through. She desperately wanted to run into his arms and hold him, but she knew he was at this moment a soldier, with more responsibility than she could fathom. As they always have, their feelings for each other would have to fit into his military schedule and be on his emotional terms. I will be ready when you are.

Hochstetter narrowed his eyes and examined her closely, trying to place her. "Herr Colonel, I know this woman."

Berg stared at Tiger with a raised eyebrow. "Indeed, Major?"

"Yes, she is French, a leader with the resistance and the underground, though we had received word that she was dead." He grabbed Tiger by the elbow and spun her around to face him, almost knocking her off her feet. "Talk. What were you doing tonight?"

Hogan tensed and made an instinctive move toward Hochstetter. "Hands off, pal. Mess with me all you like, not her."

Hochstetter spitefully pulled Tiger closer to him, wrapping his arm around her waist, and sneered at the American colonel. "You are in no position to give orders to anyone, Hogan."

Silently disagreeing, Berg and his men raised their weapons in the general direction of Hochstetter, ready for Hogan's command to begin their final battle for escape.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Hogan defiantly eyed Hochstetter and the armed men behind him ready to act at his word. "Maybe I'm in a better position than you think."

Newkirk recognized the stubborn set of his commander's jaw and the icy glare of paternal anger directed at the man who held his Tiger. Bad move, Hochstetter. He's a protective sort.

The Englishman exchanged quick looks with Kinch. Having just passed the guards on the tarmac and Hochstetter's armed men just steps away, he knew the time wasn't right. Besides, direct firefights were not exactly the preferred style of operations of Hogan's team. Not yet, Colonel. Clearing his throat loudly while his mind worked on a lie, Newkirk stepped between Hogan and Hochstetter. "Ah, Major Hochstetter, I received word earlier that a suspect of yours was being detained at the hospital in town; a doctor…I think his name was Weiss. A call was made to your office, but it seems all of your agents are out wandering the roads."

Seeing an opportunity to avoid a fight and to rid themselves of their legitimate captors, Berg joined forces with Newkirk. "General Kinchmeyer will not be pleased that you have let an accomplice of Papa Bear roam free because you did not trust his personal detail to escort unarmed suspects to an airplane, Hochstetter. I suggest you unhand that woman and pick up your suspect, Major."

Hochstetter self-consciously released Tiger and stammered. "I…I will send my best men immediately, Herr Colonel."

He leaned out of the hatch and ordered his two troopers to go and pick up Weiss. "Hold him at headquarters. Question him, but do not go too far. I want him alive. I will call later…after Hogan's execution." And my promotion. He watched as the men got into his staff car and disappeared into the darkness of the adjacent road. After another long moment, he turned back to the group in the cabin of the Heinkel.

Although still tense, Hogan stood down, his mind now seeing the pieces fall into place. Breathing deeply, a familiar smirk grew on his tired features.

Understanding the situation was now well in hand, Berg sighed contentedly. "Well, it seems that all of Colonel Hogan's cubs are now aboard, are they not?" He looked at Hogan for an answer.

Hogan straightened and gave a nod as he took a deep breath. "That's everyone."

"Yes," interjected Hochstetter confidently, unaware that he was now the only authentic German authority on the plane, "and I would hate for you to be late for your date with the Fuhrer. Now, where is the damned pilot?"

Newkirk gave his best arrogant Gestapo laugh. "Pilot? No need, Major." He suddenly dropped the German in favor of his native accent. "Colonel Hogan knows the way, don't you, sir?"

Relaxing a bit, Hogan smiled. "It's been a while, but I'll do my best." He faced Berg and let the underground agent remove his handcuffs.

Hochstetter watched, not registering what was happening. "Was ist los?"

Hogan rubbed at his wrists, and then offered a hand to Berg. "We can take it from here. Thanks for everything."

Berg tossed the handcuffs to LeBeau and firmly shook Hogan's outstretched hand. "Thank you. We will never forget all you have done for our cause."

Hogan hesitated before releasing Berg's hand, "Oh, and one more thing…tell London not to shoot us down, huh?"

"I will relay the message, Colonel. Good luck." Berg kissed Tiger on both cheeks, nodded at his detail, and they started for the doorway of the plane only to be cut off by a perplexed Hochstetter.

"What is going on here? Where are you going? General Kinchmeyer's orders…"

"…are to shut up and sit down!" Kinch's flawless and familiar German stopped Hochstetter in his tracks. The sergeant grabbed the smaller man from behind, pinning his arms behind his back and pulling him out of sight of the doorway, while Carter quickly pulled the plane door closed after Berg's departure.

"All sealed up here, Colonel." Carter announced.

LeBeau relieved the major of his pistol and cuffed his hands behind his back. "You will like London, Major. We've already sent some of your friends there and haven't had a complaint yet."

"Yeah," added Carter as he helped Kinch keep the struggling major still. "And there's a whole country full of people you haven't beat up yet."

The Frenchman pointed his gun at Hochstetter's head. "So you can sit back and enjoy the ride, or you can please resist, so I can blow your ugly Bosche head off."

Hochstetter's puzzled face went crimson and he fought helplessly against the hold Kinchloe had on him. "What is going on here!"

Now smiling broadly but still burning with pent up rage, Hogan slowly approached him and grabbed himself a handful of Hochstetter's throat and pinned him against the bulkhead. "Well, you wanted to hear it, so listen good." He bent his head so that he was close to the major's ear and tightened his grip with every deliberate syllable he uttered. "Leibchen, I am Papa Bear."

Hochstetter gasped for air beneath Hogan's grip. Tiger and the men of Hogan's team stood waiting, feeling that Hogan had earned the right the dispose of Hochstetter as he saw fit, but Klink and Schultz, being unfamiliar with the violent world in which the men and women of the underground lived and died, exchanged concerned looks.

Klink saw in Hogan's eyes the frustration and fear of the past day, the pain and illness that had wracked his tired body, and the burdensome weight of responsibility that the war had thrust upon his American counterpart. He knew that to Hogan, Hochstetter symbolized everything that was wrong with Germany—blind adherence to orders, an emotionless execution of a philosophy of hatred, and a disregard of the gentlemanly rules of warfare. He thought about how Hogan had accepted him as a member of his team, but he also hadn't forgotten his new leader's warning about leaving him to make command decisions or face the consequences. He also heard Hogan's earlier reproach of him and his habit of turning a blind eye to the distasteful actions of those to whom he had previously sworn loyalty. Forgive me, Hogan, but it was you who taught me to leave the sidelines.

"Colonel Hogan," Klink called softly as he hesitantly approached him from behind. He continued despite the fact that Hogan gave no outward indication that he was even aware that Klink had spoken. "You may be Papa Bear, but right now you are an officer of the United States Army. He is your prisoner now. He may be a perfect bastard, but he is your responsibility; an unarmed prisoner of war."

Hogan slowly turned his head and stared hard at Klink. He was about to accuse the man who had saved his life of again switching allegiances, but his eye caught sight of the eagle on the epaulet of his own jacket. He blinked and refocused his thoughts. Klink was right. He was not at that moment a spy or saboteur; he was not dressed in the anonymous black of the underground, but in the uniform of his country and he sported silver eagles and wings earned with honor and distinction. He was a pilot, with a plane to fly and a mission to complete.

Deciding to be satisfied with the fear he now saw in Hochstetter's eyes, Hogan released him with a dismissive shove, leaving him doubled over and coughing, but relatively unharmed. He spun on his heel and reached out toward Klink, who flinched slightly. Hogan suppressed a little grin at the familiar insecurity, but this time understood it—especially in light of recent events. He gave the German a gentle pat on the shoulder, and a nearly imperceptible nod of thanks.

Comfortably in command again, of his people and himself, Hogan then turned to Tiger, held her face between his strong hands and kissed her, long and hard, leaving her breathless. My turn, honey. I'll do the saving from here on in.

"Okay, fellas, let's go home. Prepare for takeoff." The colonel watched as Kinch moved in to the navigator's position while Carter and LeBeau stood guard over their recovering Gestapo guest.

"This isn't possible," Hochstetter rasped. "Hogan is my prisoner! I had him!"

Carter looked at him earnestly. "Oh, no, sir. You just thought you had him. A lot of guys have made that mistake. You see, one thing Colonel Hogan has always taught us is that it isn't over until the fat lady sings, that's an expression…"

"Carter!" Newkirk rolled his eyes, peeled off his mustache. He tossed his Gestapo hat aside and began to shed his overcoat.

Spying the mouse under Newkirk's eye and the slight limp in his walk, a concerned Hogan came for a closer look. "What happened? You run in to trouble out there tonight?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," cried Newkirk with mock anger. "Your girlfriend slugged me." He put hishand on his commander's back and spoke to him as if in confidence. "And if you don't mind a little friendly advice, don't ever sneak up on her while she's doing the dishes or there will never be any little colonels."

Amused, all of the men on board looked at Tiger, who suddenly bore a striking resemblance to a Brownie who had mistakenly wandered into a Cub Scout meeting.

Schultz shook his head in surprise. "Naughty, naughty," he admonished. "Such a nice girl, too."

"I said I was sorry," she pouted defensively. "It was dark and he was dressed as Gestapo. It was an understandable mistake…"

Kinch chuckled softly, "I hope the future Mrs. Newkirk understands."

"Oui, he could always explain it as a war injury," added LeBeau helpfully. "Right after he explains all the times he wore a dress in the line of duty."

The laughter from his friends almost drowned out Newkirk's response.

"Can I help it if I have great legs?"

"All right, all right, we're not out of the German woods yet. Let's get out of here before someone gets suspicious." Hogan cut them off. He spotted Klink now sitting quietly beside Schultz as the others tended to pre-flight duties. "Hey, flyboy?" The American sported a sly grin when his counterpart looked up at him expectantly. "You think you can still find the cockpit?"

With a triumphant glance at a smoldering Hochstetter, Klink eagerly stood to attention. "Ja…Yes." Only English now, Wilhelm.

Hogan walked over to Klink and slid an arm around his shoulders. This time Klink didn't shy away. "Start her up," Hogan ordered with a wink.

Klink headed to the cockpit with a purpose and was about to take the pilot's seat when he heard Hogan's exasperated voice from behind him.

"Right side!"

Corrected, but not offended, Klink jumped up and settled into the co-pilot's chair. Giddy to be riding shotgun again with the great Papa Bear. Colonel Wilhelm Klink, formerly of the Luftwaffe, turned over the engines of the Heinkel bomber. He had always fancied himself more of an airman than a paper pusher at heart, and the rumble of the twin engines pierced his flyer's soul, intensifying the excitement and anxiety he already felt about their impending escape from his beloved homeland.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Hogan and the others beamed when they felt the rumble of the Heinkel's engines. The colonel gave a quick look around at the men that had defied his orders and refused to leave him behind. "Well, boys, this is it." Never given to displays of emotion, Hogan hesitated. They already knew he was grateful for their actions in the last twenty-four hours. He didn't have to verbalize it. But that was not what was getting to him at this moment anyway. His emotions heightened by his fatigue, he couldn't help but build on the sense of separation and loss he had battled in the last hours. He knew this flight would likely be the final moments that his group would be together as a unit. If they managed to land safely in England, the men would be caught up in excitement of their return to allied soil. There would no doubt be debriefings, celebrations of some sort, and furloughs for all, but eventually they would separate back into their respective armies or civilian lives and move on. They would be forever linked by their exploits, but Hogan knew that most would be separated by lifestyle and distance—perhaps no one more than he would be. Still, the colonel couldn't bring himself to share his profound sense of loss for the team and the operation that would probably make him famous. Engaged in the usual brotherly banter, they were having too good a time escaping.

"Hey, Schultzie?" called LeBeau. "Are you sure you want to go to England? You'll be forced to eat English food. Maybe you should wait for an escape to France, at least there you can eat in the manner to which you have become accustomed."

"Yeah," shot Newkirk. "And look what that's got 'im. If his stomach had a door, we could all have stowed away right inside and just walked out of camp."

Schultz laughed along. "Jolly joker. Don't worry. When the underground gets my wife to England I will have to eat her cooking again. Soon I will look like Carter!"

Hogan simply smiled at them, but before heading off to the pilot's seat, he did feel he had to recognize the actions of one particular man.

"Newkirk," Hogan began offering his hand in gratitude. "I want to thank you for risking your neck out there tonight, and for bringing Tiger in safely."

"My pleasure, Colonel," Newkirk firmly shook his commander's hand. "Well, it was my pleasure right up until I was assaulted." He leaned over to accept the kiss Tiger planted on his cheek and wrapped his arm affectionately around her waist and gave her a playfully suggestive wink.

"Merci, corporal." Tiger gave the Englishman a tolerant hug and extricated herself from his grasp before he got any other ideas.

"Seriously, sir, Tiger's one of the family. Aren't you, luv?"

One of the family. Little colonels. Hogan glanced at the navigator's console and caught the self-satisfied gleam in Kinch's eye. "Don't you have a course to plot, Sergeant?"

Kinch grinned up at him, and nodded toward Tiger. "I think we both do, Colonel."

Exaggerating a frown, Hogan abruptly turned and found himself too close to her. Funny how she sneaks up on you. She reached up and laid a soft hand on his bruised cheek, running her thumb gently along the newest wound. Determined not to get caught up in her eyes in front of his men, he cleared his throat and tried to focus on the job at hand. A very private man, he had already given away too much. He took hold of Tiger's hand and held it for a moment. "I have to go to work."

Tiger nodded, excited by the prospect of watching him in action, doing what she knew he loved most. In one of their few intimate moments, he had talked about flying, about the peaceful sense of control he had at the helm of his airplane, and about the freedom of the wide-open skies. His expression and manner were completely different then, devoid of the underlying tension and responsibility that seemed to color his every thought and move. Most of their time together was spent as group leaders, working on one impossible mission or another, with lives hanging in the balance. But when he talked of flying, he was relaxed, unguarded; almost boyish in his enthusiasm to share it with her. And now it would be so. She held onto his hand as long as she could as he pulled slowly away from her to take his place at the front of the plane.

As he walked to the cockpit, Hogan passed a cowed Hochstetter, who seeing the hopelessness of his own situation, now began to backpedal. "Hogan, you must understand that pursuing you was never my idea. I…"

"Oh, shut up," Hogan snapped. He faced LeBeau and Carter. "Get secured back here. And shoot him if he opens his mouth again."

"With pleasure, Colonel." LeBeau sighed as he alternated looks between the departing Hogan and Tiger. "I love a happy ending, don't you?"

"Oh, ja," Schultz chimed in from his seat across the cabin. "It is like an American movie I once saw. So romantic."

"Yeah, it's kinda nice, isn't it, Major Hochstetter?" asked Carter. "I mean the hero gets away and he gets the girl."

The hero. Hochstetter emitted a depressed growl. So close. "Almost three years of work, and what do I get, eh?"

LeBeau smirked at him. "A trip to England, a nice drafty cell to wait out the rest of the war, and, if you're lucky, a fair trial for war crimes."

Newkirk lapsed back into his German accent. "After which you will be shot."

Adrenaline helping him up the ladder to the cockpit, Hogan took his place beside Klink and donned his headset. Shoulder to shoulder, the two pilots exchanged joyous grins as they went through the pre-flight routine. Klink didn't fail to notice that the wear and tear from the long ordeal seemed to melt away and Hogan once again seemed to radiate some of his youthful exuberance.

"Are we ready?" Hogan asked his copilot.

Klink nodded efficiently. "Yes, Colonel. We should have enough fuel to get us to England."

"Good. Let's get the hell out of here."

The plane jerked slightly as Hogan pulled it out on to the runway. As the aircraft taxied, they passed a utility vehicle bearing several men in Luftwaffe flight suits

The vehicle came to a stop beside the young lieutenant that had greeted Hochstetter's party upon their arrival. The junior officer came to attention and saluted as the long-awaited pilot, a major who radiated arrogance, exited and surveyed the area.

"Herr Major, I am sorry to have called for you so late…I mean so early…"

"Lieutenant, I was called to fly an airplane. Why is it leaving without me?"

The nervous lieutenant stammered. "Ah…ah, as I indicated earlier the Gestapo has commandeered it and is using it to transport important prisoners to Berlin, sir. Major Hochstetter has captured Papa Bear."

"Hochstetter," the pilot winced in distaste at the mention of the local Gestapo bulldog. "Is he aboard?"

"Ja, Herr Major. But it is most odd. They were waiting for a flight crew, sir." The young man seemed flustered, bordering on panic. "Then several of the Gestapo left the plane, and now the plane is suddenly leaving…without a pilot."

The two men watched as the Heinkel picked up ground speed and pulled effortlessly into the air.

"Of course they have a pilot! Do you think they could take off and fly away without one? Dumnkopf! I'm going back to bed."

The major turned on his heel and got back into the vehicle without another word, and without ever noticing the plane bank away from Berlin and head toward the English coastline.

Klink dutifully went about checking the various gauges and instruments. Like riding a bicycle. Satisfied with their progress so far, he faced his pilot. "You know, Hogan, for flying an unfamiliar plane for the first time, you are doing remarkably well."

Hogan gave a sly look out of the corner of his eye. "Thanks, but it isn't exactly my first time."

"No?" Klink's surprise was genuine.

Hogan shook his head. "Remember the Stuttheim refinery?"

"Of course, how could I forget? General Biedenbender bombed it just before defecting…" Klink paused in mid-sentence and suddenly looked back at the bound form of Hochstetter below them in the rear of the cabin, and then back to Hogan, who was now smiling broadly. "YOU?"

Eyes gleaming with mischief, Hogan nodded. "A guy has to have some fun on his birthday. You wouldn't let us bring in girls."

Klink's face lit up. So the eagle in my cage had the last word with the General after all. Is there nothing this man cannot do? "Ah ha! Hogan, you are absolutely diabolical." He clapped his hands together and laughed out loud. "Amazing. I am glad to now be on your side."

Hogan laughed with him, but asked a loaded question. "Weren't you always?"

Caught off guard Klink considered for a moment, and then nodded affirmatively. "Yes, I suppose I was."

Hogan gave the German colonel a direct look. "Good, then that's what you'll tell the authorities in England."

As dawn began to break, Tiger appeared up in the cramped cockpit and leaned in between the two pilots' seats to get a better look at the orange-streaked clouds signaling the start of a new day, and a new beginning for all of them.

"The view outside of the cockpit is lovely, no?" she asked.

Hogan glanced at her and nodded with pride, but Klink gave her a long, admiring look. "Not half as lovely as the view inside the cockpit, my dear."

Tiger blushed, but Hogan rolled his eyes. "Oh, brother."

"What?" Klink became defensive. "What did I say?"

Tiger gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Nothing. Do not let him bother you, Colonel Klink." She swatted Hogan lightly on the arm. "And you be nice," she chastised. "You would not even be here if it were not for him."

Klink eagerly waved a finger in Hogan's direction. "She's right, you know, Hogan." He looked back at Tiger, mesmerized. "Did I tell you what happened in the cooler, Fraulein Monet? You see, the Gestapo was taking Hogan's blood to be tested, but I realized we had the same blood type…"

Tiger listened raptly as Klink recounted his heroics, buoyed by the absence of anyone who was in a position to hang him for his deed. Hogan rested his head on his hand and endured the long-winded account as patiently as he could, wondering if he should have left his pompous kommandant back in camp.

When Klink finished, Tiger smiled at up at him and touched his arm affectionately. "I think you were very brave. Don't you think the kommandant was very brave, Robert?"

Hogan gave a sarcastic start and feigned surprise at being included in the conversation. "What? Yeah, very brave."

Klink devoured the attention and tried to hold his audience. "Well, in times of war, one has to…"

"Ah, Colonel," Hogan interrupted. "Why don't you go check on Schultz or Hochstetter or Carter or the landing gear or something." Simply wanting to be rid of Klink for a while, he made an obvious show of suggesting he wanted to be alone with Tiger.

Klink caught the gist and elaborately played along, pleased to be in on any scheme with Hogan. Overacting, he excused himself and made his way back to the rear of the aircraft.

Tiger eagerly slid into Klink's empty seat beside Hogan. She felt the powerful vibration of the engines and ran her hands along the instrument panel and yoke.

Hogan's voice interrupted her reverie. "Look, don't touch anything, huh?"

She gave him a small pout, but tried to rekindle their conversation. "It is beautiful up here."

Hogan almost reluctantly gave her a long look. He wouldn't be out-maneuvered by Klink on any front. "Yeah, it is."

Tiger blushed again, accepting his compliment, but she knew he wanted to change the subject. "So, you will fly planes again?"

Hogan shook his head, a sad smile playing across his lips. "I doubt it."

More introspective than the rest, Hogan knew his own days as a pilot were likely done after this flight. He would never be able to take to the skies over Germany again, not now that his identity was known. And it was even more likely that Hogan's successes operating in the intelligence side of the war would seal his military future. Kinch was right; Hogan knew he would leave the war a general. Had there been any doubt, that fact alone was confirmed with Hogan's contribution to the D-Day campaign. And with the inevitable discovery of the goings-on in Stalag 13, he would undoubtedly find himself in demand and with his fame would come protection. He might be able to choose his next assignment, but he would be grounded.

"No, I'll probably spend the rest of the war behind a desk some place. London. Washington. I don't know. Serves me right, though, it's my own fault."

Tiger's face contorted in confusion. "Your fault? What?"

Hogan became agitated, placing the blame for far too much on his own shoulders. "We're running because of me. We should still be in camp, working to end the war."

"The war will end whether you are in Germany or in England." Tiger leaned in closer and tried to read his eyes. "And it will end sooner because of the work you have already done."

He shook his head. "I knew it was possible, but when I imagined myself leaving Stalag 13, I never wanted to do it in handcuffs in the middle of the night. I wanted to walk out the gates and greet the liberating troops myself. We were so close. We should have made it. I got careless."

"Careless?" The Frenchwoman's ire rose. She didn't like being angry with him now, especially knowing that he still was not fully recovered from the overdose and his hours with Hochstetter, but she could not let this pass. "You were arrested! You live every moment of your life in danger for years, that doesn't make you careless, it makes you courageous."

"Don't you see? You're only as good as your last mission. I screwed everything up, and put everybody in danger, including you. Tiger, I failed."

"How dare you. You accomplished something that no one would have dreamed possible. You operated right under their noses for almost three years, and because you were found out you believe you were a failure? In the past I have been arrested, am I a failure? What about your men? Some of them have been arrested, too. Are they failures?"

"That's different. This was my operation, and I blew the whole ballgame all by myself."

"Oh, you are the Lone Ranger again, eh? You did nothing all by yourself. Your men were well trained, as were mine. They managed to get to you, and together you managed to get everyone out without firing a single shot. That alone is an incredible last mission." She made sure she had his undivided attention. "When a pig takes off and flies around in the sky, nobody says he is a failure if he misses the runway when he lands."

Hogan couldn't help himself. What was it Kinch had told him? She'll challenge you. Having blown off enough steam, he sighed and gave her the smile she wanted. "I'm sorry." How could he ever explain all that he was feeling at this moment? "I'm just…really tired."

He knew she was right, but he also knew he was right. He was grateful that he was leaving Germany with his team intact after several years courting danger. They would never again be in harm's way because of him. But then again, it was because of him that they would no longer be a team.

Klink worked his way back to the cabin of the aircraft and joined Kinch, who had also given way to his commander and Tiger and was now looking ata map onhe held in his lap."Sergeant."

Kinch nodded at the kommandant. "Colonel." Knowing they couldn't be heard over the roar of the engines, he pointed his chin toward the cockpit. "He doing okay?"

Klink shrugged. "He seems to be, though I doubt he would admit it if he weren't."

The sergeant chuckled. "Now you're getting the idea. That's what we've been up against the whole time."

"I must admit that I am surprised, though, that a man like Hogan could grow up so stubborn and determined, and willing to take such great personal risks." He sniggered. "And I thought privileged Americans were soft."

Kinch looked at Klink quizzically. "What makes you think the colonel has a privileged background? That can't be in his dossier."

Klink laughed and waved his hand. "Ha, there is nothing in his dossier; it is pages and pages of nothing but speculation and charges that couldn't be proven, and interviews filled with nothing but wisecracks and lies." Klink cocked his head, thinking out loud. He pointed up toward the cockpit. "That man is fairly young to be a full colonel with command responsibilities, and he was connected enough to have served with the RAF before America entered the war. Aside from being fluent in German, he is obviously well educated. He is as comfortable at formal dinner parties with visiting dignitaries as he is in the enlisted men's mess and save for being unable to control his mouth, his table manners are impeccable. He also enjoys the finer things in life—he only steals my best cigars and drinks only my expensive liquor. He also admits to being quite fond of caviar. And let's not forget that he possesses, shall we say, a supreme level of self-confidence. I am a career soldier myself, and I know that a man—even an officer—does not acquire all these experiences and tastes just by sitting in the cockpit of an airplane for all his adult life. Am I right?"

Kinch smiled, but revealed nothing.

Klink nodded knowingly. "You are a good friend, Sergeant." Small wonder Hogan trusts him so. "Hogan is so different than the senior prisoner of war I saw. The man I thought I knew."

"Different how?"

"Just different. Seeing him with you men, with Tiger…with Hochstetter these last hours. He's so serious, very much in command."

"He is in command, Colonel. And he's had a hell of a couple of days."

"I know, I know. I just mean to me he always seemed so carefree. I always thought I was the one with the problems. And to know he was in such danger all the time. I don't blame him for wanting to strangle Hochstetter, or me for that matter, or any German officer. Everyone was hunting for him, and for all of you. I just don't understand, he's so protective, yet took so many risks with all your lives. I still don't know what to make of him. He's not what I thought; even when I thought he was a saboteur."

"All pieces to the same puzzle, Colonel. We might say the same thing about you."

Klink nodded, ashamed of the man they must have thought him to be.

Reading Klink's thoughts Kinchloe shrugged thoughtfully. "Sometimes guys only let you see what they want you to see." When the kommandant agreed, Kinch continued his explanation. "The colonel kinda keeps his distance sometimes, but it's not because he doesn't care. It's just the opposite. He's the kind of a leader people want to follow. You're right, he's protective of us, but he always saved the biggest risks for himself. He'd never ask us to do something he wouldn't do himself. It's just that sometimes, because of who he was, he had to lay low so he wouldn't be missed or recognized. He knew he was the first guy the authorities would come looking for, and he still went about his business every day and had to go into your office with a smile on his face no matter who was there. I guess he's earned the right to be moody sometimes."

Klink looked admiringly toward the cockpit. "I suppose he has. He is a true hero, your colonel."

Kinch hushed him. "Don't let him hear you say that. He thinks he's just doing his job. But my guess is that he'll trade in those eagles for stars as soon as this bird is wheels- down in England."

Klink almost dropped his monocle. "Hogan? A general?" Everybody makes general before me. What am I thinking? I don't even have an army anymore.

"After what he's accomplished, they'll give him stars and anything else he wants. You've heard of the 800-pound gorilla that sleeps anywhere he wants? I'm betting that's him now."

Klink was impressed. "He's that important a man?"

"Colonel, you have no idea. As a matter of fact, I bet we all have no idea."

The two men were in silent thought for a moment, and then Kinch placed a guiding hand on Klink's back. "Come on, Colonel. It's time we got back to our posts."

The conversation up in the cockpit was interrupted as Klink comically cleared his throat upon his return. Tiger stood, leaned over and kissed Hogan softly on the lips. Smiling at Klink as she slipped past him, she quietly descended to the cabin.

Klink again assumed his place and glanced over his shoulder and watched Tiger leave. He turned back to Hogan expectantly. "Well?"

Hogan suddenly seemed very busy flying the plane, even though he could probably have done it in his sleep. "Well what?"

"Look, Hogan, for more than two years I have confided in you every sorry detail of my professional and private life…"

"Whether I wanted you to or not…"

"That's right. So the least you could do is to tell me some good news for a change."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

"Come, Hogan, you must have thought about it," Klink prodded over the drone of the Heinkel's engines.

Hogan rolled his eyes, again. This conversation had gone on too long, and Hogan was tired of dancing. "Thought about what?"

"About settling down, starting a family…"

"No."

"You've never thought about it?"

"Never."

"I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"Because when a man faces death as you have, he thinks of things." Klink waved his hand in front of his own chin. "Trust me, I know. Having been a coward through two wars I have considered my own mortality many more times than you have yours and I have also had considerably less luck with women, and even I have thought about it."

Hogan shook his head. "You know, it's bad enough that I needed you to save my life, I shouldn't have to listen to the Bald Eagle's advice on women, too."

"Suit yourself." Klink waited a beat, and then spoke again. "Can I ask you something?"

"No," he answered quickly. Then, feeling guilty, Hogan reluctantly agreed. "Go ahead."

"When you realized your plane was going down, who were you thinking about?"

"My crew," the pilot's answer was sharp and quick.

"And?"

Hogan shrugged, not seeing the point. "My family, same as everyone else."

"And yesterday when Hochstetter had his gun at your head, who were you thinking of then?"

Hogan's defenses went up instantly. "None of your business." It was too soon, and he was too raw.

Despite Hogan's rancor, Klink smiled and smugly waved a finger at him. "Ah ha, Hogan. I thought as much. You were thinking of that girl back there, weren't you?"

Hogan stared straight ahead.

Klink squinted through his monocle. "I don't understand you, Hogan, being in love is nothing to be ashamed of, you know."

Irritated that he could actually be in love, and worse, that Klink knew it, Hogan tried to turn the tables. "What happened to the soldier's heart only having room for duty and honor and sacrifice and all that stuff?"

Klink nodded firmly. "That's still true…but only if you are being pursued by Gertrude Linkmeyer. If that glorious creature back there ever looked at me the way she looks at you, I think I could somehow find room in my soldier's heart for her."

Again thrust deep into thought, Hogan sighed, pursed his lips and set his gaze firmly in front of him. They flew in companionable silence for a while, until Klink's frantic voice shattered the pilot's concentration.

"Hogan!"

The American groaned. "Look, I'm tired and I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"No, Hogan! Two o'clock. Fighters!"

The colonel narrowed his gaze on the horizon to his right, trying to get a fix on the approaching silhouettes. "Hey, they are fighters," Hogan agreed. "Mustangs if I remember correctly, lots of them." Hogan stifled a small grin, recalling his adventure to 'steal' one with Klink.

Klink sat up straight. "We must take evasive action! Prepare for battle."

"Battle? Let's not panic, okay? Just calm down."

"Calm down? Are you mad? You forget we are in a German bomber approaching the English coast! They will attack."

"Maybe," Hogan cocked his head and fingered the communication mic at his throat. "Kinch? Looks like fighters approaching and we're arriving at the party dressed as krauts."

"Right, Colonel. I picked up some of their radio transmissions when they came into range a few minutes ago."

Hogan hoped that Berg had been able to tip HQ off to their great escape. If not, the planes now speeding toward them would have to be convinced that the German bomber held friendly intentions. "They sound like they're looking for a fight?"

"Negative, chief. They're not interceptors, they're escorts. Seems like there was no shortage of air crews willing to see that Papa Bear gets home safely."

Hogan wouldn't acknowledge that he was worthy of special treatment. "Can you patch me through to them?"

"Sorry, Colonel, this stubborn kraut radio can barely send and receive static right now. Looks like it's running on harvested parts."

Hogan smirked. "Swell, one lousy plane to steal on the runway, and it has a balky radio. Doesn't say much for the state of the illustrious Luftwaffe."

Klink harrumphed defensively. "This lousy plane got you out of Germany, didn't it?"

Hogan ignored him. "Okay, do what you can to raise them, Kinch. Give them my regards."

Kinch worked diligently for several more minutes, repeatedly trying different frequencies and jiggling whatever would jiggle in an effort to get a reasonably clear channel through to the P-51s. A victorious grin settled across his strong features as he heard an American voice through the static.

"This is Colonel Edwards calling unidentified German aircraft. Is that you, Papa Bear?"

"Affirmative, Colonel. This is Papa Bear, Sergeant Kinchloe here, sir. You guys looking for us or just out for a joy ride?"

"Glad to see you, Papa Bear. We just thought we'd come show you the way home in case your celebrated pilot was a little rusty."

Kinch grinned at the fighter pilot's teasing. "Thanks. It has been a while. I've got to tell you, sir, even the clouds over England look good."

"Roger that. I heard from HQ that Colonel Hogan was ill. Are you in need of a medical team to meet the plane?"

Kinch almost laughed. Sure, he'd love that. Make a big fuss. "Negative, sir. We do have company, though. We'll need a security team to take possession of a prisoner who came along for the ride."

"I'll radio in and set it up. I hope you fellows aren't afraid of crowds. They're expecting you on the ground. A lot of flyers are waiting to shake your hands. Meanwhile, enjoy the flight…and welcome home."

Kinch glanced up toward the cockpit, envisioning the reception that was waiting for his unsuspecting friend, the celebrated pilot. He knew Hogan would do his best to deflect any praise or recognition to the rest of them, but ultimately it would be Papa Bear himself who received the bulk of glory. And he deserves every bit of it.

There was an outburst of joy from the rear cabin as the plane lightly touched down and decelerated. Hogan sat for a moment in silence as Klink went through the motions of shutting the plane down. He could hear the elated chatter from the cabin behind him, and he reveled in their happiness. Feeling more relieved than he could have ever anticipated, he pulled off his communications gear, leaned his head against the back of his seat and closed his welling eyes. Taking a shaky breath, he again found himself frustrated with his recent habit of teetering on the edge of losing his famed composure. We did it. We're home.

When Robert Hogan felt in control enough to open his eyes again, he found himself staring into the earnest face of his former jailer. Now uncomfortably quiet, the German officer wore the look of a man in an enemy uniform that had just landed on hostile foreign soil, homeless and alone. We may be home, but Klink and Schultz aren't. The American officer extended his hand to Klink, who grasped it firmly, hanging on as if for dear life. Like it or not, he owed these men his life.

"Don't worry," Hogan reassured him. He looked out of the front of the open cockpit at the rush of vehicles and people that were now approaching the plane. "It will probably be crazy for a little while, but remember—you're one of us now, not the enemy. Just do me a favor, don't say too much right away, no matter what guys shout at you when we get off. Wait until we are debriefed. I'll take care of things for you and Schultz. Just trust me, okay?"

His conversation with Kinch still fresh in his mind, Klink released Hogan's hand and nodded at him. He's that important a man. They'll give him stars and anything else he wants. "I trust you, Colonel Hogan. Thank you."

Hogan stood and patted his German counterpart on the shoulder. "No, Colonel, thank you." He adjusted his cap and zipped up his jacket to cover the blood-streaked uniform in an effort to make as tidy an appearance as possible, but in his current state he could hardly hide the adversity he had faced in the last hours. He ran his hand over the stubble and bruises on his face. "I wish I had time to clean up."

Klink looked out at the growing crowd, feeling anxious, but excited. "A little blood, a few bruises, it will make for a better story about the returning hero."

Hogan winced. He could now guess what was coming once they stepped outside, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He looked Klink up and down, envisioning the response he would get from the allied flyers assembling outside the aircraft. "That reminds me. It might be easier on you getting through that crowd of air crews if you took off your uniform jacket. You might look a little less, you know, like a Luftwaffe prison kommandant."

Always eager to fit in, Klink obediently removed his jacket and waited for Hogan's approval.

After a long look at the obviously German man in the monocle in front of him, Hogan shrugged. "Well, we tried anyway. Come on."

As Hogan and Klink descended from the stepped cockpit they found the four Allied soldiers—and Schultz, standing in formation, rigidly at attention. Tiger quietly stood aside, allowing him a final military moment with his men. Tears glistened in her own eyes as she was nearly overcome herself with the pride and emotion she felt at the obvious loyalty and admiration directed at the man she loved.

It was Kinch who called for the unit to salute the two officers before them, and as one they complied, raising their hands in crisp salutes each with the particular modifications of his native army.

With a glance toward Klink, who surprised him by also raising his hand in respect, Hogan returned the salutes. "You've all made a great sacrifice these last few years, and taken a lot of risks. I don't really know what is waiting for us outside this door, but that's nothing new. I just want you to know that nobody, and I mean nobody, will ever appreciate what you have done more than I do." He swallowed, making a futile attempt to keep his voice under control. "You are the finest soldiers I have ever known, and the finest friends a guy could ask for."

Perhaps it was because he was tired, or sick, or simply embarrassed that his famed operation had come to a screeching halt through his own carelessness and he was forced to run away from the very authorities he believed to be incapable of besting him, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that for him the return was somewhat bittersweet. Maybe it was simply because he knew he would probably never again enjoy the camaraderie of a close-knit, grass-roots unit, or the satisfaction of getting his own hands dirty while plotting victory for his side. He certainly liked being in charge, but he also liked being one of the boys as much as his rank allowed. But in looking at the men before him, he couldn't help but swell with pride. Tiger had convinced him to allow himself a measure of happiness in that he had avoided every commander's greatest fear; despite enormous odds he had not lost a man. He and his team had orchestrated a bloodless escape from both the Gestapo and Luftwaffe and had managed to get home unscathed. Hogan took great satisfaction in the fact that the only lingering discomfort and injuries were his own, and that it was his own body that had paid the heaviest price for their freedom.

General Alfred Burkhalter dressed and stepped out of the VIP quarters and took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp early spring air. Still pleased with himself for the way he had handled Hochstetter in the Hogan matter, he was halfway down the steps before he sensed something was wrong in Stalag 13. The uneasiness within him quickly transitioned into terror as the portly general surveyed the camp.

A quick check of his watch told him that the time for morning roll call had come and gone, and not a sound had been heard from the compound. No prisoners doing laundry or other morning chores. Hustling across the compound, Burkhalter mounted the stairs to Klink's office and stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He quickly turned, expecting to see the usual guard in place to salute him. Finding the porch empty, he again scanned the grounds. Not a single uniform was visible. No guards traversing the area, no one at the gate or even in the towers, and every vehicle in the camp was gone, including his own staff car.

"Klink?" He burst through the door and made his way into Klink's private office only to find it as deserted as the rest of the camp. His already overtaxed heart racing, he stumbled back into the compound. Neither the prisoners' nor the guards' barracks showed a sign of life. The showers, the mess and rec halls, the cooler were all eerily quiet-the cooler!

"Ho-gaaan!" A cold sweat began to bead on the fat man's neck.

The general raced to the barracks to which he had returned Colonel Hogan only last night. He threw open the door more, not really expecting to find the American there, but somehow knowing this was the place to begin. A quick pass through the common room led him into Hogan's private quarters. The room was as he expected; empty. Empty, that is, except for a few abandoned personal items and Hogan's Class A uniform, which hung neatly in Hogan's open wardrobe. Burkhalter swung his meaty hand and scooped up the coat in disgust. His hand pinched by the wide rack of ribbons on the left side, the general put his bleeding finger to his lips to soothe the wound.

He angrily tossed the offending garment onto Hogan's lower bunk, taking no notice of the red smudge that was now spread across several of the decorations. I need a drink. In fact, I need several. With a final glance around the dingy barrack, the general turned and walked back through the compound and into Klink's office. He went directly to the small tray that held the bottle and poured a generous amount into one glass.

A shrill ringing resounded off the walls and while the general was not usually one to answer his own telephone, in this case, with nary a man nor woman in sight, he had little choice. His swine-like features contorted into a thoughtful frown and, hoping against hope that it might hold a reasonable explanation for the absence of humanity in his luft stalag, he plopped the bottle and glass onto the desk and grabbed the receiver.

"Stalag thirteen, General Burkhalter here."

"Heil Hitler, Herr General, this is Captain Weinberg of the Gestapo. I am calling from Berlin. I was actually looking for Major Hochstetter. Is he with you, sir?"

Burkhalter raised an eyebrow and glanced out the window at the deserted camp and answered dryly. "No, Weinberg. He is not here. Should he be?"

"We don't know, sir. We have been trying to locate him all night. We left a message hours ago confirming the positive identification of Colonel Hogan as Papa Bear by our eyewitness. But we have received no reply or further orders. The Hammelburg office said that after discovering that Doctor Weiss was also with the underground, the Major planned to fly to Berlin with Hogan under the orders of a General Kinchmeyer. The local airfield has confirmed that the plane took off hours ago, but he has not arrived here. And sir, one more thing; it is most odd, but I cannot find anyone here in Berlin who is aware of the existence of a General Kinchmeyer."

Staggered, the general sat heavily on Klink's chair.

"General? Are you there, General?"

The color drained from Burkhalter's round face as the possibilities morphed into realities. Hogan is gone, and has somehow taken every prisoner with him. Hochstetter is missing. Klink, Schultz, the guards…all bolted or dead? General Kinchmeyer was a figment of someone's imagination. Hogan's imagination. Papa Bear's imagination. The most dangerous man in Germany, and I set him free last night.

Ignoring the pleas of the captain on the other end, he absently hung up the phone as Hochstetter's departing nasal threat rang in his ears. "You will regret obstructing the Fuhrer's justice."

With a shaky hand he picked up his glass and downed it in one gulp. His hand wandered back to the bottle and poured himself another generous serving. After considering the size of the portion in the glass for a moment, the general frowned and placed the glass back down onto the desk and instead picked up the decanter. Now sweating heavily, he choked down a mouthful and bottle-in-hand, he rose and firmly shut the office door. Taking another large swig from the bottle, the general removed his cap and military belt and placed them on the desk. He then removed his outer coat and hung it neatly on the coat rack before reseating himself and focusing again on the liquor.

It was barely fifteen minutes later when the general reached the bottom of the bottle, and barely another minute passed before a single gunshot echoed through the emptiness of the buildings, grounds, and tunnels of Stalag 13.

EPILOGUE

The American general watched the intimate group gathered around the pub table exchange excited banter for a long while before he called for their attention. The Allied men still wore the uniforms of their respective nations, though they sported new rank insignias and decorations as reward for their years of sacrifice and bravery. Though they would all now leave the war as officers, the two Germans at the table wore civilian clothes and the relaxed expressions of men whose lives had changed for the better by disassociation with their ruling military power.

Hogan had kept his word, and after nearly two months both Wilhelm Klink and Hans Schultz and family were now settled comfortably into life in London. The new general had pulled enough strings to allow both to gain clearance to work translating low-level documents and assisting in communications with German-speaking officials, prisoners, resistance leaders and civilians aiding Hogan's Intelligence unit. Not surprisingly, Klink was both efficient and loyal, and Schultz had become a popular character around the office, managing to get his work done, but specializing in what Hogan charitably called 'interpersonal communication' and ordering lunch. And as Klink claimed that since Schultz was already being paid for chatting and eating, he had only to include napping on the job to cover all of his previous duty responsibilities, to which the affable former sergeant promised to do his best.

And after the lengthy debriefings, endless meetings, and leaves for he and his men, Hogan had also managed to keep the rest of his small band together temporarily as a multi-national Intelligence task force of sorts. Of course, he knew it would be fleeting, however, as the war would last mere weeks and his team, save for Kinch who would remain with Hogan in London, would return as expected to their former lives. As he now watched his friends interact, he knew that time had come.

"Okay fellas," Hogan called over the din. "Pipe down."

"Hey, listen to the big shot." LeBeau elbowed the Englishman beside him.

"Yeah," Newkirk agreed. "Give a man a few stars and he thinks he rules the whole flippin' world."

"I wouldn't blame it on the stars, Newkirk," corrected Carter. "I think it's more of a lifestyle. After all, Hitler was only a corporal and he was pretty bossy."

"Aw, come on guys, let's give the general a break," pleaded Kinch. "He probably can't get a word in at home."

The men around the table roared in good-natured agreement.

"Yeah, poor bugger," Newkirk chuckled. "But if I was married to her I wouldn't waste time talkin' either!"

There was another outburst of teasing directed toward the newlywed officer at the head of the table.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!" chided a smiling Klink, joining in. "Let the man speak. We all know how generals love the sound of their own voices."

Schultz looked up from his beer, his mustache coated in foam. "That's because they practice talking so much as colonels!" He laughed harder than anyone at his own joke.

The general stood patiently. A broad smile on his face, his arms wrapped around his chest, he let them go on. If he could see himself, he would recognize the pose as one his father regularly adopted when the entire boisterous family gathered around the table on holidays. And as at home, the group did eventually quiet down enough that the head of the family was able to speak his piece.

"Now that I have everybody's attention," he turned his attention to the tall, slender German in civilian clothes seated beside him. "I'll probably regret this, but I have something for you." At that moment, a large box appeared in the doorway of the room, and behind it was the smiling form of one Marie Louise Monet Hogan. While the others called out affectionate greetings and admiring sentiments, Kinch relieved her of the package and placed it on the table in front of the former kommandant of Stalag 13.

Carter leaned over and listened to the box. "It's not ticking, is it?"

"Carter," called Kinch. "Must you always have explosives on your mind?"

"Hey," called LeBeau, "maybe your senior prisoner is finally replacing all the cigars he stole from you!"

"…And the liquor," tossed in Newkirk, "and the files, and the secret plans, and…"

"Okay, that's enough!" commanded Hogan. "You're spoiling the moment."

Klink ignored the men and examined the beautifully wrapped box, sincerely surprised. "A gift, for me? Hogan, what is this?"

Hogan shrugged. "Open it."

Klink tore into the package enthusiastically. "Oh, I can't imagine what it could be. Honestly, I never expected…" He froze as the contents finally revealed themselves to him and his hands caressed a familiar leather case. "Donnerwetter," he whispered. He pulled the violin case from the box and cradled it on his lap as if it were an infant. Opening the latches he ran his fingers over the smooth wooden body and plucked at the strings. The resulting notes brought a cringe from the general at the end of the table, but a smile from his new wife. From behind Klink's chair, she leaned over and kissed him on both cheeks.

"To show our appreciation, Wilhelm."

Unshed tears filled Klink's eyes as he clutched the only possession remaining from his former life. "But, how could you accomplish this?" It seemed the most unlikely caper of all.

Hogan smiled. "We still know a few people in the right places."

Dumbfounded, Klink tried to comprehend it all. "The underground rescued a violin?"

"Why not?" quipped the general. "It's been begging to be rescued for years."

Klink frowned. "Hogan, as usual your humor is not appreciated. The gift, however, is. How did you manage to get this?"

"With a little inside help. You might say I negotiated its release from camp right after we landed here, then Tiger called in a few favors to have it transported to England."

"I bet it was Hilda," blurted Carter. "She couldn't ever refuse the Colonel anything." He turned to Tiger, innocently filling her in. "Boy, you should have seen the way he…"

"Carter!" Hogan's exasperated voice rose along with his temper.

Newkirk gave Carter a friendly warning. "Blimey, mate, he's a general in your army! If he finds his pillow on the sofa tonight, you'll be peeling potatoes until the end of the next war!

Tiger slowly turned her attention to her now-flustered husband, who was anything but in command of this particular situation. "And who is Hilda?"

This time it was Klink's turn to smile, thoroughly enjoying seeing Hogan squirming under interrogation for the first time. Recalling all the times his senior prisoner 'helped' him deeper into trouble, he eagerly returned the favor. "Oh, my dear, Hilda was my secretary." He gave his eyebrow a suggestive wiggle for effect.

Tiger looked up, and gave Hogan the vulnerable brown eyes that never failed to melt the colonel's heart. "She was pretty?"

He wilted under her gaze, suddenly feeling an unwelcome twinge of guilt. He became childishly evasive. "I never noticed."

"Never noticed?" the enthusiastic young American just couldn't contain himself. "Boy, was she ever."

"CARTER!" This time his name was called by a chorus of four and he found himself bent over rubbing his shin at the precise spot where Kinch's boot had landed.

Hogan took a deep breath and tried to explain to his waiting wife. "Hilda helped us from time to time. Information, phone calls, diversions, chatting up visiting generals, stuff like that." He then turned to the rest of the table and updated them, "At my request, she cooperated with the underground about the violin. It seems that after our escape was uncovered the Luftwaffe kept her on during the investigation to help with paperwork and reports while they transitioned back to a real POW camp. But she did agree to continue to feed useful information to our contacts about the whereabouts of some important people."

The dinner guests murmured approvingly, including Tiger, though her pointed glace toward her husband told him he would face further interrogation—and she had ways of making him talk.

Hogan cleared his throat and drained his glass, eager to change the subject. "Let's not forget that we are here today to celebrate the official end of hostilities between the Allied forces and Germany."

Newkirk laughed and mumbled to LeBeau behind his hand, "Seems like the hostilities are just beginning if you ask me."

LeBeau shook his head furiously. "Are you kidding? She is French, and in France love triumphs over all."

"All except the Nazis," teased Newkirk. "You needed the Yanks to get Paris back for you. And that's the capital city of love, isn't it?"

"Ask the general," suggested Carter. "Isn't that where he spent his honeymoon?"

Newkirk scoffed. "How would he even know if he was in Paris or not? After nearly three years in prison, you think he went sightseein'?"

Another round of laughter broke the mood at the table, and Kinch took the opportunity to lead Hogan away for a private moment.

"Are you going to tell Klink about Burkhalter?"

Hogan shook his head thoughtfully. He looked at the man who was sitting among genuine friends for perhaps the first time since the war began. "No. He's dealing with a lot of unpleasant truths about his homeland lately, and we both know there are a lot more to come. He doesn't need to know about Burkhalter right now on top of everything else."

Kinch nodded in understanding. Still protecting the cubs.

Tiger appeared at Hogan's elbow and handed both men a glass of champagne and led them back to the table.

"Gentlemen," with his new wife nestled at his side, General Robert "Papa Bear" Hogan raised his glass high in salute as the others followed suit. "It was a common enemy that brought this unlikely group together and made us a family, and so now as the war with Nazi Germany comes to close, I offer a toast: To common enemies…and uncommon friends."

This is a work of fiction. No infringement on the ownership of the characters and other copyrights for Hogan's Heroes is intended.