Hogan emerged into the small fenced compound that surrounded the cooler, blinking as the bright afternoon sunlight blinded eyes accustomed to the eternal dimness of the cooler's interior. He pulled his hat down over his forehead so that the visor would shield his eyes until they adjusted to the bright light.

As Schultz gestured for the guard to open the gate, Hogan scanned the compound for his core team among the milling crowd of men in the center of the compound. He picked out Crittendon easily, distinctive in his blue R.A.F. officer's uniform—not exactly who he was looking for, but likely enough the others would be close to him. And yes, he spotted LeBeau's maroon beret next, then Newkirk, Kinch, and Addison all standing nearby. No sign of Carter, rather surprisingly. He caught sight of Sergeant Wilson too, standing on the fringes of the group.

Wilson—oh, damn!

Hogan reached into his jacket, finding the pocket with the list of medical supplies he had promised Wilson—and himself—that he would get Klink to give them. He had been so caught up in the drama of his own departure that he hadn't thought to bring up the medical supplies with Klink when he had seen him—not that the Kommandant would have been receptive at any point yesterday. Nonetheless, breaking that promise (albeit unintentionally) weighed on him, especially given Wilson's concern and gratitude yesterday morning.

Hogan had a distinct feeling of leaving a lot of unfinished business behind him at Stalag 13. Hahn was another piece of it: the guard had a special dislike for American prisoners. Schultz had told Hogan that Hahn's sister had been killed in a bombing raid, and Hogan as an officer and a pilot had become the special focus for his bitterness over the last month. Hogan had some sympathies for the origins of Hahn's aversion, for civilian casualties in bombing raids had always troubled him—although the Nazis were responsible for inflicting them on the conquered countries of Europe first, not to mention England, where Hogan had personally witnessed the Blitz and its impact on civilian Londoners. But it was his job to look after his men, and Hahn's animosity (whatever its origins) had become increasingly threatening. Hogan had intended to pull some kind of strings to get him transferred elsewhere, but now he would have no chance to do that.

But maybe he could still do something about the medical supplies. Crittendon might be able to manage wheedling them out of Klink if he had the list, given that Klink seemed to think so highly of him. Surely he would care enough about the welfare of the men under his command here at Stalag 13 to try to provide for their medical needs.

Hogan pulled the paper out, folding it between his fingers twice as he did so to make it unobtrusive. "Schultz," he hissed as the sergeant turned toward him, having just opened the gate. Hogan slipped the paper into Schultz's hand. "Give that to Crittendon for me." Schultz's bushy eyebrows raised and his mouth formed an oval to protest, but Hogan overrode him. "It's a list of medical supplies I was supposed to ask the Kommandant for. I—" He hesitated and then added, his voice dropping, "There just wasn't a good time, yesterday."

Schultz's austere look softened. He slid the paper into his coat pocket. "I will see to it," he promised, nodding.

"Thanks, Schultz," Hogan said softly. "You're a good man." He meant that sincerely. Schultz had always been genuinely concerned for the prisoners' health, and Hogan had taken shameless advantage of the sergeant's kind heart many times.

A truck was parked near the Kommandantur. As they walked towards it, Kommandant Klink emerged from the building's doorway. Hogan's stomach lurched abruptly as he saw two black uniformed men follow him out onto the porch and then pause to exchange some comments: an S.S. officer—a lieutenant—and a guard. Two other armed S.S. guards came around from the front of the truck, flanking the back from each side.

Hogan's stride slowed. They had to be here to oversee his transfer. He had no good memories of being captured by the S.S. when he was shot down, and no good feeling about being given back into their custody now.

Why S.S. rather than Luftwaffe? Hogan had been counting on Schultz to take him to Stalag 15: that would have made his "escape" much easier. Did Klink consider him such an escape risk that he had called in the S.S.? Apparently he had done too good a job of frightening the Kommandant about that possibility last night.

Glancing over at Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau, Hogan wondered what the plan to spring him was, and how much difference the change in guards was going to make. He trusted his men to act without his direction when necessary, but he still hated not being in the know on the plan. The feeling was even worse since he didn't trust Crittendon an inch either, particularly not with the idiot standing there with his hands clasped in front of him, looking so self-satisfied—presumably over Hogan's impending departure and with it any challenge among the ranks to his own authority.

LeBeau edged over so that he was standing by the back of the truck when Hogan and Schultz arrived. "I packed up your belongings and put them in the truck for you, Colonel," he said, looking up earnestly. He added with a grimace, "The Boche searched them, but I don't think they broke anything."

Hogan dredged up a smile. "Thanks, LeBeau. I appreciate it."

Klink and the S.S. lieutenant approached. Klink looked his erstwhile senior POW up and down. "So, Hogan, I see you didn't escape last night after all," he started smugly. "My guards' observations of you seem to have prevented whatever pitiful scheme you were cooking up. They saw you walking the camp perimeter yesterday, looking for escape avenues."

Hogan pulled his head back slightly in surprise: he hadn't expected that interpretation of his activities the day before.

"But you won't be escaping from Stalag 13, Hogan," Klink continued, in full-blown speech mode. "My record will stay intact. And I am quite sure that these gentlemen"—he swept his arm around to indicate the S.S. guards—"and in particular Lieutenant Sauer will see to it that you reach Stalag 15 safely."

Sauer's eyes rested on him coldly. Hogan glanced at him, then with deliberate dismissiveness turned back to Klink, swallowing the annoyance that Klink's smugness automatically provoked. He needed the Kommandant's good will one last time. "May I have a minute with my men, sir?" He gestured toward the group of prisoners standing nearby.

Klink huffed and shook his head. "That does not seem necessary," he refused austerely. "And they are no longer your men."

Hogan looked down at the ground, clenching his fists as his intentions were thwarted yet again. Klink was apparently intent on reinforcing Hogan's demotion as much as possible. This wasn't the way he had ever imagined leaving Stalag 13.

Klink continued, "Say au revoir, Hogan, and get into the truck. The men can write you at Stalag 15."

So much for staying on Klink's good side, Hogan fumed. He held up his left hand briefly, cutting Klink off. "I'll say my own goodbyes, if you don't mind." He didn't bother to disguise the irritation in his voice; there was no longer any point to playing nice. But he had to know before leaving how the operation last night had gone. So he asked, choosing his words carefully, "Newkirk, did you and Carter finish that job I assigned you?"

Newkirk, standing between Kinch and Crittendon, caught his meaning immediately. "Everything's all right, sir. Good luck, Colonel."

To Hogan's surprise, Crittendon strode forward at that point. LeBeau sidled away from Hogan, past the guard and over towards Kinch and Newkirk. "Is it all right if I give Hogan a gift, Colonel?" the English office inquired.

Klink looked dubious. "What kind of a gift, Group Captain Crittendon?

"Oh, just my swagger cane," Crittendon answered breezily. "I'd like him to have it for old times' sake."

Hogan distinctly remembered the swagger cane's hidden weapon—he still had a sore spot on his neck from it. Having it could be handy.

Of course if Sauer discovered the knife, it might also get him killed.

Or was it a part of whatever plan the Stalag 13 team had cooked up to get him away from S.S. custody? Better some kind of weapon than none, Hogan decided.

Klink too was apparently convinced. "All right, Hogan, take the stick and get into the truck," he ordered.

So Hogan accepted the cane as Crittendon handed it to him. He half expected Crittendon to give him some kind of hint as to what was going on, but he just smiled that imbecilic smile, clapped his hands over Hogan's, and stepped back into the group with LeBeau, Kinch, and Newkirk, as the first of the S.S. guards got into the truck.

Just as Hogan set foot on the tailgate's foot rest to climb into the back of the truck, Klink—apparently unsatisfied with the pace—ordered, "Hurry up, hurry up, men, I don't want them to miss the train!"

Hogan's brain froze. "Train?!" He knew all the local train schedules like the back of his hand. There was only one passenger train scheduled on any line in the next few hours.

Heedless of the alarm he had raised, Klink casually confirmed his worst fear as Hogan turned back around to face him. "Oh, you're going in style today, Hogan. The Berlin Express!"

Dazed, Hogan repeated again softly, "The Berlin Express?!" He glanced over at his men, trying to cover the fear welling up inside him.

He didn't see on their faces the spike of panic he had felt, which was reassuring. He determinedly squashed his worry. They must have discovered the route the truck was going, so it wasn't news to them. So they would have a plan to get to him before he got on the train. He wasn't going to be getting on that train . . . unless something went wrong.

Nonetheless, one glance at Crittendon's self-satisfied smile was enough to raise the hackles on Hogan's neck.

Crittendon, acting as spokesman for the prisoners, said, "I hate goodbyes, so we'll just say till we meet again."

Hogan nodded. That was a signal that they had a plan in mind—wasn't it? He was quite sure Crittendon wouldn't coldly abandon him—the man did have those adventure-novel values, like loyalty to comrades, after all. Nonetheless, the idea that he was entrusting his life to whatever plan Crittendon had cooked up unnerved him considerably. With that train as his destination, the stakes riding on the plan's success had been raised considerably.

Impatient with the delay, Lieutenant Sauer prodded Hogan in the back with his gun. "Into the truck," he ordered—in English, to Hogan's surprise.

Hogan mounted the footrest and swung himself into the truck, followed by Sauer who pushed him deeper in and pointed to the bench on the right hand side before taking a seat by the tailgate on the left once Schultz had closed it. Hogan sat, his hands on his knees holding the swagger stick, well aware of how both of the S.S. soldiers were covering him with their guns. He could still see his men outside the truck. "See you soon," he called, doing his best to sound casual but hearing an unintended but alarming rise in his voice on the last word.

He lurched on his seat as the truck shifted into gear. His hands balled into fists, gripping the swagger cane tightly; he stared at Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk as it took him away from them, their figures retreating into the distance as the truck passed the gate and left Stalag 13. They had turned toward Barracks 2 and were striding toward it with purpose, followed by Crittendon.

They would rescue him. Somehow. He could count on that.

ooOoo

Author's note: this last scene is the one I've rewritten most from the original episode. Hogan's overt fear at the end always seemed seriously out of character to me: we see him keep a cool head in far more dangerous circumstances. So his utter panic when he hears about the Berlin Express seems way over the top to me. His words and tone give away too much (as does his previous question to Newkirk)—and not just in front of Klink but also in front of the more competent (and presumably dangerous) S.S. guards. Plus, he should be pretty sure that the guys will enable his escape before he gets on the train. So I substantially toned down his visible alarm.

There's also just no way that an S.S. officer would have let Hogan ride right at the edge by the tailgate where he could easily jump out of the truck. It makes television sense to put him there in the episode because they need him where the camera can see him, but given its lack of realism I've chosen to change the seating arrangements of the original episode. So my version isn't as funny as the episode (well, really none of my version is), but that's why it's toned down so much.