Christmas Eve 1943

Air raid sirens wailed, cutting through the crisp afternoon air. Sergeant Rick Olsen looked up, scanning the skies. They weren't here yet, but they would be soon.

It was just one of the dangers that came from being the outside man. Stalag 13, as crummy as the place was, was sheltered from a lot of dangers. Sure they had to worry about the Gestapo, but who didn't? Terrible food? They actually ate better than most civilians.

But one thing they rarely had to worry about was getting blown up. At least not in an air raid. Carter was something of a menace with all his bombs, and more than once he had nearly brought down the camp, but he'd gotten better with time.

Colonel Hogan usually tried to give him a heads-up about any incoming raids, but it wasn't as if he had a complete schedule.

Civilians poured into the street, fleeing their homes and businesses to rush to the closest shelter. Olsen took a moment to lock the door before joining them. It seemed like a silly thing to do, but air raids were the perfect cover for someone desperate and the little grocery shop was the perfect target. Not that a locked door would do much, but it might just make someone pause.

Hurry, hurry Olsen thought as he heard the faint hum of planes. Maintaining an even step despite the approaching planes, Olsen followed the crowd and soon was safe in a shelter under the local Hofbrau. Just in time too.

Everyone looked up. Bombs whistled overhead. There was a pause and the silence made everyone's heart stop. And then the explosions. The ground shook. Dust fell from the ceiling. A child screamed.

It didn't matter how often it happened, an air raid was always terrifying. Any one of those bombs could land right on their heads.

Olsen found himself a place against the wall and leaned back, tipping his hat over his face. He should have left earlier. He was due back in camp tonight. He couldn't miss Christmas- his absence would be too obvious on such a big day. And he didn't like the idea of his temporary replacement being given any letters or packages meant for him.

He became aware, more from instinct than anything, that someone was paying more attention to him than he liked. Olsen peeked out from under his hat. The shelter was crowded, but he finally pinpointed the source. A group of children were looking in his direction and pointing. Olsen recognized them- some local children that he often slipped treats to when Max, the grocer and his faux-uncle, wasn't looking.

Olsen patted his pockets looking for that bag of candies he had taken earlier. He was planning on bringing it back to camp to add to the Schultz bribery supply. But with bombs falling around them, he figured the terrified children would appreciate it more.

Pushing himself up, Olsen picked his way through the crowded basement. "Hello," he greeted the children.

They looked up and smiled at him until another bomb dropped close by. Then they ducked their heads and whimpered.

Olsen crouched down and placed a hand on a little girls shoulder. "It's all right," he said with a stiff smile. He held out the bag and, with a sniffle, she reached in and pulled one out. The other kids crowded closer and Olsen offered them some as well. Pretty quick the other children in the shelter caught wind of his candy bag and mobbed Olsen.

Olsen held the candy up and tried to fend off the children. He was knocked onto his back as one child climbed up onto him.

"Shoo! All of you. Get off Herr Hansen! Where are you manners?"

The children parted and Olsen sat up, brushing himself off. He looked up at his savior. Frau Werner. The young woman had her hands on her hips, giving the children a stern look. Her face softened as she met Olsen's eyes. "Are you all right, Herr Hansen?"

"I'm all right," Olsen assured her.

She nodded and turn her disapproving look to the children again. "Now what do you all say?"

The children looked properly shamed as they uttered their apologies. "But can we still have a candy?" one asked presumptuously. Frau Werner opened her mouth, about to scold them when Olsen laughed.

"One at a time then!" The children obediently lined up and waited their turn. Olsen grinned at the school teacher. "You saved my life, Frau Werner!"

Frau Werner blushed, then laughed. "I do what I can, Herr Hansen."

There was one candy left when the children were all done and Olsen offered it to her. She took it and popped it in her mouth. The children, rather than going back to rejoin their parents, sat down around Olsen. He wondered if it was because they were expecting more treats. Frankly, he wished they would scatter. He didn't mind charming them with treats, but the truth was, children made him nervous. He just didn't know what to do with them.

He rose to his feet and tipped his hat to Frau Werner. "Well then," he said and he turned to leave.

"Herr Hansen!" one of the children cried. "Herr Hansen, tell us a story!"

Olsen arched an eyebrow. "Me?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes! Tell us about Denmark!"

Olsen shifted awkwardly.

"We are to be learning about Denmark in school after the break," Frau Werner explained. "Perhaps you can tell us a little about it."

"Oh, I don't know. We left Denmark when I was very young." Actually, his parents had left before he was even born. And they had moved to America, not Germany.

Colonel Hogan had once told him that the best lies were either so big and preposterous that they had to be believed, or so close to the truth that they were undetectable. To operate on the outside, Olsen went with the latter. Unlike the colonel and the others, his cover wasn't something he could throw off the moment the latest mission was over. No, Olsen had to eat, sleep and breathe Jannik Hansen. Even when he was back in camp, the alias was in the back of his mind.

So it was easiest to make Jannik as close to himself as possible. A Danish immigrant who had come to live and work with his mother's cousin- his "uncle" Max.

The fact that he couldn't speak German without a slight Danish accent might have influenced his decision.

"Oh please, Herr Hansen!"

"Well I- wait. Do you hear that?"

The children, almost in unison, cocked their heads. "I don't hear anything," one said.

"Exactly. The raid is over."

"That was short," one child said happily.

"Yes, they must have moved on to something more important," Olsen said.

"Thank goodness," Frau Werner said with a sigh of relief. "Those barbarians."

"Yeah," Olsen agreed. "Barbarians."

"Maybe, Herr Hansen, you will come to the school one day and tell us about Denmark," Frau Werner said tentatively.

Olsen hesitated. He lived and worked in Hammelburg, but apart from being a friendly face behind the counter of a grocery shop, he didn't really stand out. It worked best that way. He doubted going to a school to talk to a bunch of kids would thrust him into the spotlight, but he couldn't be too careful. Especially since he wasn't convinced that Frau Werner, a newcomer to Hammelburg, wasn't a Gestapo agent. A school teacher would be the perfect cover after all- children tended to talk.

Still, Frau Werner looked so hopeful. And innocent enough. And the children were also eagerly waiting for him to answer. "I'll see what I can do," he finally said. Not a promise, but not a refusal either.

Frau Werner seemed content with that. "Thank you, Herr Hansen."

Olsen nodded. "Merry Christmas, ma'am," he said before moving past her. He checked his watch. He still had time to get back to camp before evening roll call.

He was about to climb the steps when something around his leg stopped him. He looked down to see a little girl hugging him. She looked up at him and beamed. "Thank you for the candy, Herr Hansen!"

Olsen patted her head. "You're welcome." She freed him and scampered off to her family.

Olsen grinned and shook his head. Cute kid.

His smile faded when he got outside and saw the destruction. His shop was still standing, but two of the buildings on the street were reduced to rubble. A family was picking through some of the debris.

Olsen checked his watch again and sighed. He was going to be late, he decided as he went to lend a helping hand.