On most cold nights Hogan disliked having to stand in formation and listen to Klink. Tonight, with the knowledge that Crittendon was waiting for him inside the barracks as soon as this roll call was dismissed, he fervently hoped that the Kommandant planned to be even more long-winded than usual... maybe take a page out of the Führer's book and go on for three or four hours, even.

"I regret to inform you," the self-proclaimed Iron Eagle of Stalag 13 droned, "that until further notice, all prisoners are confined to the barracks."

"Sounds all right to me," Newkirk called out as he pulled his overcoat collar more snugly around his neck. "Let's start right now, shall we?"

"Insolence!" Klink snapped back. "How would you like three days in the cooler?"

"It's gotta be warmer in there than out 'ere, mate."

Hogan took a step forward. "Colonel Klink, I protest. On what grounds are you confining us?"

"Colonel Hogan, your protest has been noted. And I do not need grounds to confine you. I can do whatever I like. It's one of the benefits of being the Kommandant."

"According to the Geneva Convention..."

"The Geneva Convention states that the safety of the prisoners is my responsibility, and I am declaring your confinement to barracks a safety issue. For the next several days there will be some activity in the vicinity of the camp that may present a certain element of risk, therefore you are ordered to remain in the barracks until I give orders to the contrary."

"Sir, the Geneva Convention also states that prisoners of war are not to be exposed to any undue threats to health and safety. I respectfully request more details about the big digging project outside the wire."

"And I respectfully choose to ignore your..." Suddenly it became unpleasantly clear to Klink that Hogan already knew more than he was supposed to about the activity outside the wire. How much more was anybody's guess. "Who told you there was any digging going on?" He didn't really need to ask; his monocled gaze went immediately to Schultz, who was standing in his usual spot looking extremely guilty. "Schultz! Do I need to ask you again whose side you're on?"

"Oh, I am on our side, Herr Kommandant," the stocky sergeant assured him.

"Then let me remind you who is on their side. Colonel Hogan is not to be given any privileged information, is that clear? This project will continue and the prisoners will not leave the barracks for recreation or for any other reason until further notice. Is that understood?"

Schultz clicked his boot-heels together and tried to stand up even taller. "Understood, Herr Kommandant!" In a second or two the standing-taller bit required too much effort and he slumped back down to his usual stance, which passed for 'attention', 'at ease', or any just about any other position he was ever required to assume.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't accept that," Hogan said.

Klink stalked the half-dozen paces that put him nearly nose-to-nose with the ranking POW officer. "Colonel Hogan, you will accept what I tell you to accept. Any of your men caught outside the barracks will be shot on sight. This is not only up to me, this is a Gestapo matter."

"Oh, so the Gestapo's doing the digging?"

Klink slammed his riding crop against his own leg in frustration. "No! I mean, yes. I mean..." He had brought his hand up to the bill of his cap and was about to issue the dismissal order, exactly what he always did whenever he realized Hogan was getting the better of him again, but then narrowed his eyes and took a couple of steps more, to the second line of prisoners, and stopped in front of Carter.

Carter swallowed hard, making his already-prominent Adam's apple bob up and down noticeably. This never happened. And he wished it wasn't happening now. "Uh... evening, Colonel." He tried to smile, but only succeeded in making himself look slightly sick to his stomach.

"Sergeant Carter, what is that on your face?"

"M... my face?"

Klink removed his leather glove and dragged his fingertips briskly down Carter's left cheek. They came away heavily smudged with black, and he held them up so Carter could clearly see them. "Yes. This. What is this?"

Most of it had come off during their struggle in the river, but there was still some soot clinging to his skin. On Newkirk it didn't show so much; his face was pretty much covered up with the wide lapels of his dark blue overcoat that he'd turned up against the chilly night air, but Carter's jacket didn't offer him as much protection. "Um..."

"Carter was cleaning the stove tonight," Hogan spoke up. "I keep telling the men they need to spruce up for roll calls, but you caught us by surprise with this one... he didn't have time for a facial."

The men in the ranks laughed as they knew they were expected to; Hogan's wit on these occasions wasn't for entertainment value, it was intended as a distraction and they always did their best to make it carry as far as it possibly could. LeBeau was one of the best at such reactions; he had a loud infectious laugh and he could keep it going longer than just about anyone, and then he'd often repeat the witticism for even more mileage.

More annoyed than appeased, Klink returned to his customary place in front of the ranks and raised a stiff hand to his cap. "Dis-missed!"

"That was a close call, sir," Newkirk observed as the men clustered together on their way back into the barracks.

"Right," Hogan nodded. He stared at the barracks door and gave a heavy sigh before opening it. "Now, out of the frying pan and into the fire."

It hadn't taken Crittendon long to make himself at home; he was supervising Bluebird in the approved method of brewing and pouring a proper British cup of tea, and although she was cooperating she was still looking at him with the curiosity usually reserved for examining sideshow freaks that might or might not turn out to be dangerous. In other words, Hogan thought to himself, although she had just met him for the first time, she already had his number. Bluebird was a quick study. "All right, Crittendon," Hogan began as the door fell shut behind him and his men, "so tell me... you broke out of Stalag 6. Again."

"That's it in a nutshell, old boy. This makes my..." He counted out five fingers, then thought silently for a moment and folded one down again. "My fourth attempt, I believe. And it will be my last, I can assure you."

"Let's hope so." Hogan meant something else entirely by that statement, but it was a cinch Crittendon didn't know what was in his mind. Unable to tolerate any more from that source for the moment, he turned again to Carter and Newkirk. "Okay, let's have the rest of it. You lost the dynamite, the bridge is still hot, you went for a swim, you found Crittendon... and?"

"There really isn't that much else to tell, sir," Newkirk said.

"We didn't get to the part about the farmer yet," Carter recalled.

"What farmer?" Hogan demanded. "Did he see anything? Can he identify you?"

"I don't think so. It was dark, and he wasn't that close when he shot at us."

"You were shot at? Oh, great. That really makes the night perfect, doesn't it? It's a good thing he didn't hit you."

"Well, actually..." Carter stopped short when Newkirk planted an elbow in his ribs. "Ow!"

"Extraordinary thing," Crittendon picked up. There was no elbow in the world that could silence him when he got talking. "There was the most annoying old farmer out there blasting away at us with a shotgun full of rock salt. Never heard of such a thing." He gave Newkirk a knowing glance. "That must sting a bit, eh, corporal?"

"He did hit you?" Hogan demanded, fast approaching the end of his tether. "Where? How bad?"

"I'd say it's more insult than injury, sir," Newkirk insisted, clearing his throat. "Just grazed me a bit. No real harm done."

"Newkirk!"

Newkirk chewed his lip for a long moment as Hogan, Kinch, LeBeau and Bluebird all stared at him waiting for an answer. "Well, I were runnin' away, weren't I?" he finally blurted out. When LeBeau made a move to look behind him, Newkirk stepped to put his back to the wall. "Look, do you mind?"

"Are you all right?" Kinch pressed.

"Of course I'm all right; you see me standin' here, don't you?"

"And I think he might be standing for a while," Carter couldn't resist adding.

"Will you shut up?"

"You're really okay, mon pote?" LeBeau asked again. "Are you sure?"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Newkirk demanded, now thoroughly embarrassed by the unwanted attention. He was more than ready for a change of subject.

That was all LeBeau needed to hear; thus reassured, he felt all right about starting to laugh, and Kinch and Bluebird joined him. "All right, all right, pipe down," Hogan ordered, as Crittendon moved off from the rest of the group and began calmly pacing the floor with his cup of tea, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. "We got unlucky tonight, that's all."

"Seems like some of us were unluckier than others," Kinch observed with a sly grin in the English corporal's direction.

"The worst part of it is, the bloke wasn't even aimin' at me!" Newkirk hissed, throwing a vicious glare toward Crittendon's nearby back. "I wasn't the one makin' all the bloody noise out there!"

"It's not your fault, Newkirk," Hogan said in low tones. "Crittendon can foul up gravity; there's no way to get out of a situation like that one without taking a hit."

"Literally," Bluebird agreed, trying without much success to regain a straight face.

"I hear your phone in Rennes ringin'," Newkirk snapped back. "Why don't you go see what DeGaulle wants?"

She poured out another cup of tea and handed it to him; he was tempted to refuse it on principal, but as cold and wet as he was he couldn't quite bring himself not to snatch it out of her hand... even if she was still giggling. What he wouldn't have given for a malt-whiskey stiffener to dump into the chipped ceramic mug.

Hogan was about to try again for the attention of everyone in the vicinity... at least the capable ones; he didn't care if Crittendon walked right straight out the barracks door and out the front gate, and he desperately hoped nobody would try and stop him if he did try that... when yet again came the tentative tapping sound from the tunnel below. That was the quickest way to kill the wave of amusement at Newkirk's expense that most of them had been riding. Because this time, it made no sense.

"Who's in the tunnel?" Hogan demanded.

"Nobody," Kinch said with certainty. "The prisoners were all present for roll call, Bluebird and Crittendon are both right here, and nobody's opened the trap door since we came back in."

"It's somebody who knows our procedure," Carter said with optimism.

"Or it's somebody who wrung our procedure out of somebody who knows our procedure," Hogan pointed out.

Everyone was deadly serious now. LeBeau and Bluebird removed the emergency pistols from their hiding place in the hollowed-out bench, and both of them leveled the weapons at the trap door as Kinch waited for Hogan's nod to open up. When the okay came and the door slid upwards on its wires, even Crittendon was giving the situation his undivided attention. "Whoever's below, come on up," Hogan called in a voice that indicated he would tolerate no suspicious behavior. If unannounced visitors kept showing up, they'd have to look into renting the ballroom at the Hausnerhof. "Make it slow, and keep your hands where I can see 'em or it'll be the last mistake you make."

When one doesn't know what to expect, one often imagines the worst. This was far from the worst that could happen. Manicured nails topped the delicate fingers that grasped the rungs of the ladder, then a cloud of soft platinum-blonde hair appeared. By the time the woman's face was visible, Hogan knew he could relax. "Tiger."

"I am sorry, Colonel Hogan," the French operative said in her appealingly-accented English. "I didn't have time to contact you by radio before I came."

"That's all right,"

"That's more than all right," Newkirk murmured under his breath. "Drop by any time, luv." Tiger's only non-professional interest was in Colonel Hogan, that had always been quite clear to everyone… but a man could still look, as long as he was subtle about it.

And Newkirk wasn't the only one. A few of the boys, ones not in Hogan's direct line of sight, let out a couple of soft whistles as the beautiful agent finished scaling the ladder and climbed over the rail, courteously assisted by LeBeau. The legs were the last part of her to appear, and they were as much of a masterpiece as the rest of her. Even Crittendon allowed his attention to stray from his cup of tea… and was it Hogan's imagination, or was the British officer doing his best to thrust out his chest while simultaneously holding in his rather ample stomach? Oh, brother…

For her part, Tiger was focused only on Hogan. "I had to see you, Colonel," she said as soon as they were face to face.

"Then maybe this isn't such a lousy night after all," he told her with a hint of a smile. "We've got the 'your place or mine?' part figured out; what comes next?"

Her large brown eyes met his with calm reserve. "You may not feel that way when I give you my report."

"No, I'm pretty sure I'll still feel that way... but okay, go ahead. What else is wrong in Germany tonight that someone wants us to do something about?"

"The Germans have devised a plan to stockpile weapons and explosives around the countryside so they will be near at hand in the event of close combat... which is to say 'retreat', although they have not yet used that word in the formal dispatches."

"I like that word... well, when they're saying it, anyway."

"In the case of a retreat, Hitler's intention is to leave nothing behind that the Allies would be able to use."

"Your basic scorched-earth policy," Kinch nodded knowingly. "Tried and true military tactic."

"They've tried that before. What makes this time any different?" Hogan asked.

"Because this time they are positioning their stockpiles in strategically significant places. They have, unfortunately, learned from past mistakes. I have information on the nearest one that we were able to obtain from a contact inside their operations center."

"And London wants us to knock it out? I hate to tell 'em this, but we've got some unfinished business about two miles from camp that looks like a half a railroad bridge that we need to take care of first."

"This target is your first priority, Colonel Hogan."

"And why's that?"

"Because the new Hammelburg Zone ammunition dump will be located directly outside Stalag 13."

"Now we know why they're digging," LeBeau remarked grimly.

Carter nodded. "I was hoping I'd feel better when that happened… but I don't."

"The Krauts could use that stockpile against either the advancing Allied forces during the invasion, or us, or both."Hogan thought for what seemed to the men to be a long moment… usually the colonel thought fast; when he hesitated it always seemed like it was taking too long. "Tiger, do you have any additional information? Specs, anything like that?"

Tiger nodded and removed an oilskin pouch from an inside pocket of her leather coat, then carefully unfolded the blueprints contained within it. "We were able to obtain these from our contact."

"You took a big risk carrying these in."

"London felt you needed to see them for yourself."

"I owe you a candlelight dinner for two after the war's over. I'll let you pick the place, only no German restaurants. Wienerschnitzel gives me indigestion. In fact, so does Germany."

Carter and Bluebird hurriedly cleared the table of the array of coffee cups and ashtrays so Hogan could spread the plans out for everyone to examine. One thing was immediately and unpleasantly clear, the moment they got a good look at the specifications for the Stalag 13 repository in relation to the fence and the guard towers.

"That's not just close to our emergency tunnel, Colonel, that's right on top of it," Kinch said.

"Right..." Hogan nodded. "So first off we need to do two things: try and figure out a way to get them to stop digging, and start filling in the emergency tunnel just in case we can't."

"You mean... we're gonna be trapped in here?" Carter asked. "Real prisoners?"

"Looks like it, at least for the time being. If they break through down there and follow the tunnel back to this barracks, we're not just real prisoners, we're real dead prisoners. Then they'll start digging some more holes, but these'll be smaller ones... about three by six feet each."

"What's our next move, Colonel?" Kinch inquired after a thought-provoking pause.

"First we get Tiger out of here while it's still possible." She was about to protest, he could tell, but he didn't feel he had the time to let her. "You're needed on the outside, Tiger; we can't risk you getting caught in here with no way out. Worst-case scenario, even if they do get all of us, you'll still be able to carry on sabotage operations in the area."

She shook her head. "But you will need all the help you can get to close off the tunnel."

"I've got all the help I need. We built that tunnel; we're the best ones to take it down. My boys know that system inside out. It's safer for everybody this way."

Long accustomed to following orders, Tiger was still unused to finding it this difficult to do so on certain occasions. "I will not forget that dinner you owe me," she told the colonel with a soft smile. "Be careful."

"Always," he assured her.

Of all the lousy things that had already happened that evening, watching Tiger climb back down that ladder knowing she might never be able to get back in again was the lousiest from Hogan's standpoint. "Okay..." he began as soon as he was sure she was well on her way to the exit, "it's gonna be a long night. Everybody down in the tunnel."