As soon as night fell, the woods filled up slowly with Stalag 13 operatives. Camouflaged and black-clad men clambered out through the tunnel to plant the bombs at one end of the camp and saw through a tree trunk at the other. This job was too big for just the five main Heroes to handle, so they were currently employing some of the Barracks 3 gang, including Baker, Olsen, and a few other figures distinguished in the annals of Stalag 13. Carter was presently overseeing the bomb operation, hurrying to and fro and carefully christening each bomb as it was placed into the ground. He'd even devised a fake one to bury partway in the woods, to complete the illusion of a bombing raid from above, though that reminded Hogan of a certain incident he didn't want to remember.

Meanwhile, Kinch and several others were out in the woods, sawing busily at the trunk of a particularly large, half-dead tree. Kinch, as the resident mathematician, had figured out what angle would be required to make the tree fall straight on the fence and distract the attention of the guards. Hogan had decided that the tree should fall right before the bombing raid, so that instead of looking up at the skies as the 'bombs' began to fall, the guards would be rushing towards the fence. The detonation of the explosions was still at least half an hour away, though, so the men got halfway through the job, then set down their saws and found places in the woods to conceal themselves.

At present, Hogan was in Klink's quarters, being wined and dined as finely as possible, despite Klink's lack of finesse or taste. The wine tasted oddly akin to vinegar, and Klink had insisted on having it served before the men had a chance to slip the sleeping pills into it. Only LeBeau's expert cooking had redeemed the experience. The French chef had rejected Schultz's suggestion of wienerschnitzel and was planning on cooking something with delicately flavored chicken instead, though Hogan had forgotten the name of the dish by now. He ate the first course politely, occasionally glancing at Newkirk, who had been assigned waiter duty and was wearing one of the ostentatious red jackets distributed to whoever served food at Stalag 13's formal dinners. Newkirk gave him a nod and slipped off into the kitchen.

Back in the kitchen, LeBeau was working to keep Schultz distracted long enough to slip the sleeping pills into the wine. Hogan could surely arrange an accident that would necessitate replacing the wine glasses, but LeBeau had no idea what it would be yet, so he was stalling for time. He'd fed Schultz a few scraps already, but the bulky guard kept peering over his shoulder. "Be a good fellow and save some chicken for me, bitte."

"Stop begging. You're like a dog sitting on its hind legs." LeBeau brushed him aside and kept working on the next dish, the much-anticipated chicken. "Hold still and let me balance a treat on your nose."

Schultz huffed in mild indignation and reached over to take a spoonful of the sauce simmering in a pan, blowing on the steaming liquid before slurping it from the spoon. He promptly forgot about LeBeau's remonstration. "Mm, das ist wunderbar!"

Newkirk emerged through the door, platter in hand and the wine glasses balanced neatly atop it. "Have we got any of the good stuff? The Colonel talked 'em into switching out the wine for something better." He noticed Schultz, gnawing on a piece of roasted chicken. "Hi, Schultzie."

"Schultz!" LeBeau tried to confiscate the chicken from him. "That is for the guests! Newkirk, just pour the same wine into the glasses. They will never know the difference."

"Good point." They wouldn't even be awake to know it. Newkirk chuckled to himself, dispensing the wine and then slipping the pills into the palm of his hand as LeBeau passed them to him. When Schultz's back was turned, Newkirk dropped the pills into the liquid and let them dissolve, swirling the glasses a bit to disperse the powder. He lifted the tray smoothly and headed back out, just in time to hear Hogan trading verbal jabs with the visiting general.

"So I understand you have never had an escape from Stalag 13?" The general shifted the focus of his attention to Klink and then back to Hogan. "Why is that, Colonel? There has been much talk in Berlin of this unusual phenomenon."

At the word 'Berlin' Klink's face lit up, but Hogan ignored him and answered the question, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Funny thing, every plan we make seems to fail. Though I'll admit, the Escape Committee's been plotting some pretty outlandish schemes lately. We've got a hot air balloon in the works, but we're still waiting for the helium tanks to arrive by air mail."

"Silence!" Klink banged his fist on the table, jostling the silverware, and glowered at Hogan. "I will stand for none of your American insolence!"

"Yes, sir, but you're sitting down." Newkirk arrived with the wine on a tray, grinning impudently.

For this, he received a glare from Klink. "Enough!"

Hogan addressed the general in a conspiratorial tone. "Our Kommandant's sense of humor makes him very popular with the prisoners."

"I can see that." The general watched as Newkirk served Klink the appropriate glass of wine, then reached for the tray as the corporal drew nearer, reaching for one of the glasses. Newkirk had carefully arranged them so that Hogan's glass was set apart, to avoid inadvertently poisoning his Colonel with the sleeping pills, but the general reached for Hogan's glass instead before Newkirk could stop him and took it, sipping it appreciatively. "Ah, ja, this is much better."

Hogan was unaware that the accidental switch had happened and he reached for the nearest glass, but Newkirk pulled the tray just out of reach. "Sir, you'd better-"

"What are you waiting for, Newkirk, just serve the wine!" Klink brayed from the other end of the table, his attention firmly fixed on Newkirk and Hogan now. Newkirk had no choice. He lowered the remaining glass slowly, setting it in front of Hogan. He made fleeting eye contact with the colonel, but was forced to back away when Klink insisted that Hogan sample the wine to prove its superiority. "Try it, Hogan."

"Yes, Colonel." The general had noticed Hogan's hesitation, and added his input, waiting patiently to see what would happen. "Give it a try, won't you?"

Hogan knew something had gone wrong, but he didn't know what. He was trapped, though. To refuse the wine now would cause a spectacle and prompt an investigation.

He slowly raised the glass to his lips, closed his eyes, and took a sip.