MAY 1945

A knock on the barracks door. "Come on in, Schultz," Hogan called. There was nobody else it could be. Schultz was one of the few people left in the entire camp these days, and the only one with the insecurity to knock. A lot of things had changed in the past few days, but Schultz still tended to show up when he smelled LeBeau's cooking.

Schultz's sizable head appeared around the edge of the barracks door slowly, tentatively. "Excuse me, Colonel Hogan... but may I...?"

"You're always welcome here, Schultz," Hogan nodded.

"Danke, Colonel Hogan," the heavyset sergeant said with sincere gratitude as he came through the doorway.

"You want some brioche, Schultzie?" LeBeau asked.

"Thank you, Cockroach... but... I'm not very hungry."

"Sounds serious," Kinch quipped.

"Have a seat," Hogan offered.

"I..."

"You're worried about the Allies," Hogan nodded. "Schultz, really... you'll be all right. You can even leave, you know. Everyone else did yesterday."

"Thank you, but..." His round blue eyes glanced around the familiar barracks. "I feel safer here."

"Suit yourself,"

"Do you know... when...?"

"From what we hear, the Allied tanks will probably be here by the end of the week."

Schultz looked apprehensive but said nothing further on the subject. "And, Colonel Hogan... do you hear anything about..." His glance strayed to the empty top bunk to the right of the door, where the cuff from a pair of long underwear dangled over the side. Nobody had been sleeping up there. It was pointless to count the men anymore, but one that was supposed to be there was missing, and everyone was keenly aware of the fact.

Now Hogan wasn't hungry either. "Not yet," he said evenly. "We've got some feelers out; something will come in soon."

"I'm so sorry about the Englander."

"He'll be back," Hogan said.

"But the Gestapo..."

"He'll be back."

Saying it didn't make it true. It didn't even make anybody at the table feel any better. Newkirk was gone. Shots had been fired in the woods that night. The Krauts were so disorganized there didn't seem to be any way of even finding out for sure if he was still alive. The only thing they knew for sure in the waning days of this war was that he'd been taken to Gestapo headquarters in Berlin. Okay, maybe not too many people came back from there... but Newkirk was different. Tough, and smart, and resourceful, and just cocky enough to take long odds and make them pay off.

"He'll be back," Hogan said a third time. Third time was the charm.

00o00

The gate was open.

Bluebird understood why, had expected it even… and yet, how strange to see it wide open, no guards on the perimeter or even in the towers. Was she too late? Was everyone gone? She didn't see a living soul at Stalag 13.

Well, she had to find out for sure. She entered the camp and made for Barracks 2. If there was anyone around, she knew where to look.

She could smell something cooking as she approached the building… something wonderful. She was in luck; not everyone had already left. She pushed open the door to the barracks and then stopped in her tracks.

The roomful of men were momentarily taken aback as well… but only momentarily. "Hey, look who's here!" Carter was the first to speak. "It's Bluebird!"

She didn't know who to hug first… then she recalled something about rank having its privileges. "Well, well, well…" Hogan said with an admiring glance.

"I'm so glad you're still here."

"So are we, now… but it was getting kinda dull just hanging around waiting for the Allies to show up and liberate us already."

LeBeau was next to embrace her, with a kiss on each cheek. "Bienvenue", he said. "We're so glad to see you're all right."

"I'm fine," she assured them. "Is everyone else gone?"

"We were ordered to stay until the Allies arrive," Kinch explained. "But with LeBeau's cooking and nothing but good news on the radio, so far it hasn't been too tough on morale."

"You'll have some coq au vin," LeBeau said in a way that made it not optional. "Sit down. That is, if you don't mind…"

What, sitting down at the same table with Colonel Klink? The uniform gave her the same unpleasant jolt to her nervous system as always, but this was obviously a man defeated who posed no threat… not even as feeble a threat as Klink ever had, on his best day. She hugged Kinch and Carter, then took the seat LeBeau had indicated. "Colonel," she acknowledged him cordially.

Klink peered at her halfheartedly through his ever-present monocle. "I know you… from somewhere…"

"It's a long story", Hogan assured him. "Let's not get into it now; we'll meet for a schnapps after the liberation."

"Long, long, long after…" Klink sighed. "Oh, Hogan… what do you think they'll do to me…?"

"I dunno… maybe Eisenhower could use someone to carry his overnight bag."

"Not funny, Hogan."

Schultz, standing next to the stove making short work of a plate of coq au vin, gave her a little wave but wasn't willing to divert much more of his attention from his lunch. "Colonel Hogan has been very kind; he said that if we stay here with him, he will talk to the Allies when they arrive and tell them…"

"Tell them what?" Klink cut him off in a voice that was little more than a whine. "That we held these men prisoner? Denied them electric lights, white bread? Sent them to the cooler? Threatened to shoot them? I may just take my chances on the road to Hammelburg."

Schultz looked worried. "Colonel Hogan… were we that bad…?"

LeBeau gave his fork hand a friendly pat. "No, Schultzie," he smiled. "Remember… we could have left anytime, but we didn't."

"I am so glad you didn't, Cockroach… you make such a marvelous strudel…"

"Strudel…" Klink grumbled. "We just lost the Second World War, and all this dummkopf thinks about is his stomach."

"You gotta admit, Colonel, that's a pretty significant subject", Hogan teased.

Next thing Bluebird knew, there was a plate in front of her and the chef was awaiting her opinion. "I didn't have a shallot."

She had a taste. "Oh… vraiment magnifique! Mes compliments au chef!"

He beamed at her. "Hey, your French is getting very good."

"I've been on Hitler's language immersion program… two years in France with the Resistance."

"Better than the Berlitz system, where you just get the records," Kinch grinned.

Bluebird took a moment to really look around. Everything was just as it had been two years before; her assignment there felt like a lifetime ago, but no one would ever be able to tell it by the looks of the place, which had barely changed at all. Even the girlie pictures were still the same. "Is the tunnel still operational?" she asked.

"We moved guys out less than seventy-two hours ago," Kinch said proudly. "Colonel Hogan thinks it'll make a great war museum."

There was still one thing that belonged here that she wasn't seeing. "Where's Newkirk?"

Carter's smile faded. And LeBeau had gone silent and somber. She looked from one to the other. Then she looked to the person she had always looked to when she had needed an answer… to Colonel Hogan. "Something happened to Newkirk…?"

Hogan dropped his shoulders, looking deflated. That look had always filled her with dread. "He was working outside the wire and he got picked up… Gestapo."

"When? Where did they take him?"

A long pause… so things were even worse. "Berlin. As far as we know, he's alive," he added quietly, sounding unconvinced.

Alive with the Gestapo in Berlin? Not for long! "Why are we just sitting here?" She got to her feet. "We need to…"

What we need to do is stay here, as ordered, until the Allies liberate this camp and officially relieve us of duty," he interrupted her in that no-arguments way she remembered not liking… about the only thing she had ever disliked about him. "We've sent urgent messages to all of our Underground contacts in and around Berlin, and hopefully one of them will be able to spring Newkirk."

"With all due respect, sir, 'hopefully' isn't good enough!" She felt Carter's hand on her arm, and she knew what he was trying to do but he didn't have a chance at making her feel any better.

"I realize you just got here, Bluebird, but it's been three days and the rest of us have already gone through what you're going through now and realized that we have no choice!"

Just because he felt bound to obey orders didn't mean he had to like them… she knew very well that no part of Colonel Robert Hogan felt the least bit apathetic about the fact that one of his command was in mortal danger, and his frustration preyed on his usual level-headedness. She had never seen him so torn. But just because he was between a rock and a hard place didn't mean they all were. "Sir, those orders don't apply to me… I'll go to Berlin."

"You can't!" LeBeau protested. "You'd never make it through!"

"I made it here." She pulled off her light jacket. "I need a uniform… Gestapo… high but not too high; make sure nobody's ever heard of me."

"Bluebird…" Hogan began quietly.

"Papers… transportation… I saw Klink's staff car outside…"

"Take it…" Klink groaned. "What do I care? The guards ran off with everything that wasn't nailed down…" He clutched his riding crop in a shaking fist. "And some things that were."

"Bluebird…"

"Bothsides will be taking pot shots at you," Kinch protested.

She checked her own sidearm. "Okay, then, we're evenly matched."

"Bluebird!"

They all fell silent and all eyes turned to Hogan… even Schultz's. "Sir…" she began.

"I can't order you not to go… I would if I could. Newkirk's a big boy and he knows how to take care of himself."

"I can take care of myself too, sir."

"I know that… you're a good agent; I know your work and I respect it. I don't want to be responsible for losing another operative."

"Colonel, what happened to Newkirk wasn't your fault," Kinch began.

"I'm responsible for every man… I mean, all personnel… under my command. What happened to Newkirk falls on me."

"I make my own decisions…" Bluebird began.

"In conjunction with my command here… I may not have any direct control over you, but I do have the responsibility to ensure that your actions don't compromise the safety of this outfit."

"What are you saying, sir?"

"I'm saying…" He folded his arms and sighed. She wasn't here under orders. She'd do as she pleased anyway. If they refused to help her and something happened to her, that would be on his head as well. And yes, he wanted his corporal back… after all these years, he had no intention of breaking up the set. "LeBeau, just be careful on the ladder when you go down to get her that Gestapo uniform."

LeBeau brightened. "Oui, Colonel!" He sprinted towards the tunnel entrance without even bothering to remove his chef's hat.

Bluebird managed a faint smile of her own. "You won't regret this, Colonel."

"Yeah, well, I'd just better not." He obviously wasn't a hundred percent convinced he was doing the right thing. "I don't think you've got any idea what kind of danger you're walking into."

"The Germans don't scare me, sir."

"I'm talking about Newkirk… he hasn't seen a woman in a while." He lifted an eyebrow. "And you're more of a woman than he remembers you as."

Soon a hard-eyed Gestapo major in a tightly-wound blonde coiffe was staring back at her through thick black-framed glasses, in the mirror above the sink. Meticulously organized as ever, they had been able to effect her transformation in less than a half-hour. The ink wasn't even dry on her papers, but Carter was blowing on them to hasten the process. "I guess you'll need to reheat the coq au vin," she told LeBeau as he finished pinning on her wig.

"You cannot reheat coq au vin!" Then he put it into perspective. "But we do it anyway… one plate for you and one for Newkirk." Maybe he'd even see if he could prepare something else… a steak and kidney pie, perhaps… that would be more of a fitting 'welcome home' for their British friend. Those English, they ate things that only alley cats in France would be willing to consume, and only the scrawniest and most desperate of alley cats at that. Still… Louis acknowledged that he'd cheerfully eat a whole plate of it himself, if only Newkirk could be there to share it.

Klink's car sat idle in the motor pool area. It would have made a tempting prize for the fleeing guards, but Hogan had foreseen that it might come in useful and had had Kinch pop the distributor cap and a couple of other vital components which they had then hidden in the tunnel. "I think this is how my mechanic at home makes all his dough," Kinch commented as he finished tightening the last clamp. "Break it, then fix it… that's double the labor charge, and add in the cost of new parts on top of it. I drive a '37 Packard; that guy's got this year's Cadillac in every color." He dropped the hood. "Okay, that does it."

LeBeau held the driver's door open for Bluebird. "Be careful."

"I will," she nodded.

"We'll see you back here in…" Hogan checked his watch. "About nine hours if all goes according to plan."

"Both of you," Carter stressed. He looked like he wanted to say something else but couldn't decide what it should be.

Newkirk was his best friend… she sure hadn't forgotten that. "Both of us," she told him with absolute certainty.

She started the engine and LeBeau closed the door. She had never liked driving, and it was going to be a long trip… she was too short to be able to see well over the hood of the big car, and her uniform jacket wasn't a comfortable fit either. LeBeau had started to apologize for that earlier, then had stopped himself.

Of course it didn't fit. The Gestapo had Newkirk.

A few minutes, a few pins, a little chalk, a flash of a tape measure, and Newkirk could make anything fit. Escaping defectors had taken the time to compliment him on their way out the emergency tunnel. He was the best.

How could she ever forget the first time he'd tried to fit something on her?

APRIL 1942

It was hard to tell who was enjoying this less, Newkirk or Bluebird. "Colonel Hogan…" Newkirk began with thinly-disguised impatience, scratching the back of his neck, "I'm not sure what you think I can accomplish here. A gentleman's tailor is just that… and this is not a gentleman." He narrowed his eyes at the equally-dissatisfied Bluebird, who stood on the chair in Hogan's office with her arms folded tightly across her chest.

"Do your best," Hogan instructed. As orders went, it wasn't much... he himself wasn't sure how much could be done about Bluebird's 'nonconformity'. She would never be able to mingle with the rest of the population, since not even Schultz would be able to "see nothing" when it came to having a girl in the barracks, but it would be nice if she at least had a change of clothes while she was stuck here.

For Bluebird's money it looked like Newkirk had never held a tape measure in his life, and she was uncomfortably aware that her being a girl had gotten in the way… okay, she admitted grudgingly, he was right about that much. She took the tape from his hands and held it up where he needed to measure but wasn't able to bring himself to approach, and he stepped behind her to hold the ends together and get the number. "Twenty-eight," he read off to Carter, who wrote it down. "And I think the last time I got that figure was measurin' Schultzie's neck." He lowered the tape to her waistline. "Twenty-four and a half."

"Twenty-four and a half," Carter repeated.

Another few inches down to her hips. "Twenty-five," Newkirk said, shaking his head.

"And your point is?" she challenged.

"Just that if we only had an extra-large sock, we could pull it up to your neck and that'd be it all said and done."

She snatched the tape out of his hand, flung it to the floor, jumped down off the chair and stalked out of the office. "I'll wear what I came here with!" she yelled over her shoulder on the way out.

"That doesn't fit either!" he shouted after her.