Author's Note: Once again, I own none of the awesomeness that is Hogan's Heroes. I mean no offense, and imply no ownership with this story. Thank you to all who read and reviewed the first chapter - your encouragement is wonderful!

Chapter 2: A Visit to the Cooler

"Peter Newkirk?" Hogan repeated.

"Yeah," Kinch confirmed. "An Englishman, a corporal, and one heck of a troublemaker, Colonel."

"Oui. He is always stealing from the guards and the other prisoners. Every time something goes missing, we know exactly who look for. He is behind every prank, and is always in the Cooler for one thing or another…mouthing off the Bosche, usually." LeBeau added darkly, though he was unable to keep himself from smiling at that last.

"Aw, come on, guys." Carter came to the Englishman's defense. "He's just bored. He can be nice, too. Taught me how to play poker and gin and –"

"And how much money has he won off you so far, Carter?" Kinch reasoned. "Colonel, I don't know if you wanna trust him with this sort of thing. He's kind of a loner. Really only looks out for himself."

LeBeau nodded vigorously, while Carter frowned slightly and looked down at his hands.

"Lots of guys here do that…."

"Not like he does, Carter. And if his civilian life is any indication…" Kinch trailed off.

Hogan looked at him expectantly. Before the radioman could clarify, LeBeau jumped in.

"Oui. Colonel, he is from London, from the East End. He can pick pockets, carries a knife with him that not even the Krauts know about, knows card games and curse words no one else here has ever heard of…and there is talk, Colonel," LeBeau lowered his voice, clearly doing his best to enhance the natural tension. "There is talk he has been in prison, mon Colonel."

Hogan nodded in some wonder, taking in the vast rap sheet LeBeau and Kinch had just described. The colonel considered for a moment, then asked, "Is he the best there is?"

Kinch looked Hogan in the eye, and stated baldly, "Without a doubt, sir."

"Then I think I'd better meet with him, anyway. I may be able to work with him. Get him to behave himself a little better."

"If you can manage that, Colonel, you are a miracle-worker." LeBeau shook his head, smiling in wry amusement.

Hogan shrugged. "Where can I find him?"

"The Cooler, sir. Naturally." Kinch gave an apologetic half-smile.

Hogan sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. "Guess I shouldn't be too surprised…All right, Kinch, you take inventory of the radio parts we've got and what we'll need. Try to assess what kind of range we have, and how far underground we can place it without blocking the signal." Kinch nodded eagerly, his dark eyes flashing in anticipation.

"Carter, you and LeBeau draw up a map of the camp and what tunnels we've got going so far. I wanna know where they begin, where they end, how deep – all that. We're going to need a pretty complex system, eventually, with at least two leading in and out of camp. So make the map as accurately scaled as you can. We're going to be drawing up the new plans based on your measurements." The two men nodded, grinning at each other excitedly.

"In the meantime, I'm gonna go have a chat with our English friend and see if I can't cure him of his wicked ways." Hogan grinned and grabbed his crush cap from off the table. The men all stood, nodded quickly in recognition of their new pact of shared friendship and responsibility, then headed off in their separate directions.

Hogan stepped into the dank Cooler hallway, congratulating himself on being able to gain access to the solitary prisoner. Just a little bluster about the "senior POW's rights to meet all men under his command", and some well-placed references to the Geneva Convention had done the trick with Klink. Hogan was quickly gaining confidence and skill, and – through them – the belief that he would be able to make this assignment a success.

Armed with a chocolate bar, Hogan convinced his escort – Schultz once again – to give him some time alone with the Englishman. With the promise of ten minutes, Hogan was allowed into the man's cell.

As he entered, Hogan's eyes flew immediately the blue uniform seated on the tiny cot, and the man who filled it.

"So this is Peter Newkirk." Hogan thought. There was a studied nonchalance to the English corporal's slouched position, and an amused cleverness in the green eyes that returned his own stare.

The Briton raked his eyes over the colonel, coolly appraising Hogan with a wry expression. Unlike the three non-coms Hogan had already met, this man did nothing to acknowledge Hogan or his rank. He didn't salute, he didn't offer to shake hands. Hell, the man didn't even bother to stand up.

Hogan raised an eyebrow in annoyance and took a step toward the RAF flyer. As if sensing he had pushed his limit too far, the corporal languidly raised himself from the cot and offered Hogan a sloppy salute. Hogan's somewhat frosty and regulation return brought a sardonic smile to the Englishman's face, and he cocked his head sideways, speaking at last.

"Reckon you're the new senior officer, then?" It was more a statement than a question, and expressed a world of disdain. The way he said "officer" made it clear there was no love lost between him and authority figures.

"That's right." Hogan responded, evenly. Already it was clear he'd have more luck with this man if he defied his expectations, rather than lived up to them. "And you are?"

"Peter Newkirk…sir. Corporal, RAF."

"Good to meet you. What are you in here for, corporal?" Hogan began slowly.

"Oh, the usual, sir. Disturbin' the peace, and generally makin' a nuisance of myself to the Krauts." Newkirk answered proudly.

Hogan grinned a little at the man's spirit. "Well, that's no crime…Heard you spend kind of a lot of time in here, though, Newkirk."

The Briton's face darkened momentarily, before it broke out in a defiantly cheery smile. When he spoke there was a hard edge underlying his words. "Me mates been tellin' tales about me, 'ave they?"

"They have." Hogan knew it would do no good to lie. Newkirk was too astute and observant a con-man to fall for any snow-job Hogan could devise. "They also say you're the best at what you do."

Clearly aware of the appeal to his pride, Newkirk met Hogan's eye squarely. "Well, sir, that is true."

"In that case," Hogan dropped his voice, "I have a proposition for you."

Newkirk frowned, casting his sharp and surprisingly piercing glance at Hogan. Satisfied that he was not being taken in, Newkirk nodded slowly. "And what might that be, sir?"

"A chance for you to stay in practice, and cause the Krauts a significant amount of trouble all at the same time."

"Sounds too good to be true, sir." Newkirk responded, cautiously. "And under just what circumstances would I be doin' all this?"

"I'm going to lay this on the line, corporal." Hogan looked directly at Newkirk, imparting the utter seriousness of the situation to his subordinate. "I've been sent here with orders from London to establish an underground sabotage unit."

Newkirk's eyes widened. "Right 'ere in the stalag, sir? You're 'avin' a bath if you think you're gettin' away with that!"

"Oh, I don't know, Newkirk. Klink and Schultz'll make things a little easier for us—"

"Now 'old on, sir! There is no 'us' yet. You'll still 'ave the Gestapo to worry about. Not all the Germans are as stupid as the Kommandant 'ere!" Newkirk cut in.

"Yes, I'm aware of that, corporal, but these are my orders. Now, I'm trying to put together the best team I can, and we need someone of your considerable…talent to help us." Hogan appealed.

Newkirk's face had darkened once more. "Talent, sir? Don't you mean 'experience.' I know what the others 'ave told ya 'bout me."

"Newkirk—"

"No, sir. If I guess correctly, they probably told you what a self-centered little rotter I am. An' if you 'ad listened to 'em, you'd know the only thing I want is to get through this war with me own 'ide intact." Hogan sighed inwardly, as Newkirk recoiled himself back onto the cot. "I'm not about to go riskin' me life for some barmy plan what'll get me killed."

Hogan tried one last ditch effort. "How long have you been here, corporal? A year? Two?" He went on, though Newkirk looked firmly away from him. "Your countrymen are still fighting and dying. You can still do something to help them. This mission could save lives. Help the war end sooner. You have a real chance here, Newkirk, to do something great. Something people won't have to talk about behind your back."

Newkirk turned his head slowly to look at Hogan, venom in his eyes and shame making its unbidden way across his face.

"So he has a conscience, after all." Knowing he had struck a nerve, Hogan decided not to go any further. "The choice is yours, Newkirk. This mission is volunteers-only."

Newkirk simply glared grudgingly back at him.

"It was good to meet you, corporal." Hogan turned to leave, but spun to face the Englishman once more. "Please think about it."

Newkirk's mouth pressed into a thin line, and he quickly cast his discerning gaze to the floor. He gave Hogan a nearly imperceptible nod. Satisfied that Newkirk was actually going to do as requested, Hogan nodded and left the room, calling for Schultz to return.

As the colonel made his way back to Barracke 2, he felt a mix of emotions. Faint disappointment at having failed to secure Newkirk's help right away, but an even greater sense of satisfaction at having stirred the hardened Englishman's conscience. The anger and arguments for self-preservation, Hogan suspected, were just as much masks disguising a solid sense of morality as they were by-products of having spent a life on the London streets.

Hogan allowed himself a small smile, hopeful that he was correct in his assessment of Newkirk's character, and that the Brit would make the right decision in the end. Buoyed by these thoughts, Hogan reentered the barracks and prepared himself to receive Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau's reports.