There was never much night traffic on the Flensheim road. The two men in charge of the checkpoint at the bridge had little to keep them occupied while they waited for the convoy transporting the prototype artillery cannon from the factory at Hammelburg to the testing range. One of the men, in the uniform of a private, walked back and forth behind the barrier, smoking. It was against regulations, but his superior didn't pull him up for it.

Every so often a muffled thumping noise could be heard from behind the sentry box, where the soldier who was supposed to be manning the post had been stashed for safe keeping.

"Persistent beggar, isn't he?" remarked Newkirk at length.

The captain sighed. "Well, you can't really blame him, Newkirk. If some guys tied you up and dumped you in a nettle patch, you wouldn't be happy about it, would you?"

"Look, Carter, we're doing him a favor. Stinging nettles are good for the skin. He'll look lovely once the rash goes down." Newkirk dropped the end of his cigarette and stamped it out, then went to lean on the railing of the bridge. "You all right down there, Mills?"

Mills leaned out from below the bridge. His face, blackened with soot, was scarcely visible in the darkness. "Yeah. Me and the spiders are getting real friendly. When's this convoy supposed to get here?"

Newkirk looked at his watch. "An hour ago."

"So much for German efficiency." Mills went back under the bridge.

Newkirk lit another cigarette, and went back to pacing, while Carter leaned against the wall of the sentry box. Then he straightened up abruptly. "Newkirk, we're gonna have to move that guy, before he kicks a hole in the wall."

"Meaning I have to move him, I suppose?"

"Well, I'm a captain, I don't do heavy lifting. I'll watch the barrier."

"I didn't join up for this," muttered Newkirk, as he went behind the sentry box. "Okay, sunshine, let's get you somewhere a bit more comfy."

He grabbed the German soldier under the arms, and dragged him a few feet further from the sentry box. "Bloody hell, chum," he said through gritted teeth. "Perhaps it's time you laid off the fried potatoes."

Just as he returned to the barrier, the sound of a heavy vehicle motor reached him, and a moment later he saw the headlights appear from around the bend in the road. Carter straightened up, slipping effortlessly into his role, and Newkirk stepped forward and raised his hand to signal the driver to stop.

"Stand by, Mills," he said, just loudly enough to be heard from below. "We're on."


The main course had just been served in the Kommandant's quarters, and the third bottle of burgundy went to the table with it. It was an offence to the chef's sensibilities, but since the entire menu gave him pain, the inappropriateness of the wine was only a minor consideration.

As the occasion was informal, LeBeau brought the food to the table himself, an arrangement which allowed him to listen in on the conversation. It wasn't exactly sparkling. Colonel Klink and Major Stieffel had passed through university together, and the talk was mostly about old classmates. They spent an hour reminiscing about the ones who had been rewarded for their services to the Reich with a generalship, followed by a slow death in Russia, and the others who had met a more rapid termination of existence after falling under the displeasure of the Führer. Their mutual conclusion, drawn from their own survival, was that inefficiency paid worthwhile dividends.

With the arrival of the main course, the conversation moved on to other matters. Stieffel hunched forward over his dinner plate, all the better to shovel in great mouthfuls of meat and cabbage. "By the way, Wilhelm," he mumbled indistinctly, "our friend from Düsseldorf has been in touch with my office again."

Klink glanced uncomfortably at LeBeau, who was lingering over the serving trolley. "Be careful what you say," he whispered. "We're not alone, you know."

Stieffel turned a disinterested eye on the chef. "Bah, the cook," he grumbled. "Who is he going to tell? You keep telling me nobody ever escapes from Stalag 13."

Klink's embarrassment increased. "One can't be too careful, Herbert," he muttered. "LeBeau, back to the kitchen. I will call you when we need you."

"Oui, Kommandant," said LeBeau, and retreated. As he passed through the door, he allowed the cloth hanging at his waist to fall to the floor, to prevent the door from closing fully.

Schultz was seated at the kitchen table. He was supposed to be guarding LeBeau, but he was more interested in the Schweinebraten, and didn't even look up at the chef's return. So much the better, it made it easier to eavesdrop. LeBeau took up a position near the door, peeling and slicing apples as he listened.

"Our informant will be in Hammelburg on Saturday night," said Stieffel. "The drop-off will be at the Hofbrau, between seven and seven-thirty. This one is important, Klink. The last information we received from this contact was accurate, but contained nothing of significance. But this time he claims to have details of enemy agents operating throughout this part of Germany. My contacts in the Gestapo are very keen to get hold of this information."

I bet they are, thought LeBeau viciously.

There was a brief silence. "Has he told you anything?" asked Klink.

"No. The information is strictly for Gestapo eyes only. They don't want to take any chances of the informer's identity being discovered. So the envelope will be sealed, and is not to be opened until it reaches Colonel Eisner. No peeking, Wilhelm. And make sure that it is securely locked away until I come for it."

"Oh, it will be secure, Herbert," replied Klink smugly. "It will go straight into the safe..."

Some security. LeBeau chuckled under his breath. Newkirk could open that safe with his eyes closed.

"...and I will ensure that one of the guards remains in the office at all times."

The knife in LeBeau's hand stopped in mid-stroke. That was likely to be a problem. Well, at least they knew in advance what to expect. Le colonel would come up with a plan.


It was some time since Hogan had gone out personally to meet incoming visitors, and he'd forgotten how unnerving it was, waiting under cover near the rendezvous point for the plane to come into view.

They were on time. That was something to be thankful for. He signalled with the flashlight, and something detached from the plane and fell towards the ground, slowing as the parachute opened.

Right on target, thought Hogan. He watched the descent with narrowed eyes, making sure of the final landing point before he set off. By the time he came within sight, the parachutist had already freed himself from his harness, and was attempting to pull the chute down from the tree where it had caught. Hogan went to help, but stopped in his tracks as the man, hearing him approach, turned with a startled jerk.

"Papa Bear," Hogan murmured.

The agent relaxed slightly. "Jack Sprat," he replied. "Sorry about this, I'm out of practice."

"It's not an easy place for a parachute jump," said Hogan. "But we better not leave it lying around."

It took a few minutes, and some effort, to get the parachute disentangled from the branches and concealed among the bushes below. Hogan remained on alert, in case the descent had been seen, but no patrol came into sight.

"Keep close," he whispered, "and don't talk unless you have to."

Jack Sprat nodded agreement, and as Hogan led off, he followed, close but not too close.

As they neared the emergency tunnel, a movement among the trees caught Hogan's eye. He froze, and his companion followed his example. There was silence for a moment, then the call of an owl, repeated three times. Hogan relaxed, and returned the call. Almost at once, Newkirk emerged from the undergrowth, and a few seconds later, Mills and Carter. It was too dark to read their expressions, but he could tell they were pleased with themselves. The mission had obviously gone well.

"Good job?" said Hogan under his breath.

"Went like a dream, Colonel," replied Newkirk in the same low tone. "One of Carter's best efforts, if I might say so."

"Tell me later." Hogan nodded in the direction of the tree stump, and his men moved off, shadows in the dark. Hogan and Jack Sprat were just behind them.

The last few yards were the most dangerous. The entrance to the tunnel was within sight of the gate, and covered by the spotlight from the guard tower. With the tree stump in sight, Newkirk, who was leading, crouched at the edge of the bushes, scanning for threats. Seeing all was clear, first Carter, then Mills made a dash for the entrance.

"Okay, stay with me," Hogan murmured to the new arrival, and as soon as the spotlight had passed, he ran half-crouched to the stump, and raised the lid. "Inside, and straight down. Get going."

Jack Sprat obeyed without hesitation, and disappeared below. Hogan followed.

Carter and Mills were waiting at the foot of the ladder, and as soon as Hogan got there, he knew there was a problem. The subdued elation which had been evident in the returning sabotage team was gone. Jack Sprat was on one side of the ladder, a tall, good-looking man, roughly the same age as Hogan. On the other side, Carter stood, his eyes fixed on the newcomer, his face flushed and angry. Mills was in between, and he met Hogan's eyes with a look of consternation.

Hogan glanced from one man to the other. "Well?"

"Well, this is a little awkward," said Jack Sprat, with a half-smile. "I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you here, Carter."

Carter didn't answer, and after a moment of silence, Mills stepped into the gap. "Colonel, this is Major Staller. He used to be at the 182nd, he was there at the same time as Carter."

Hogan frowned a little. He'd heard the name before, but for a moment he wasn't sure of the context. Then it came back to him. Before he could say anything, however, Newkirk came down the ladder with his usual careless haste.

"Well, that's a job well done," he announced cheerfully, completely insensible to the tension in the air. "Nice bit of work, Carter. Maybe a bit over the top, though. It's probably still raining cannon parts on the Flensheim Road."

"Good," said Hogan mildly. "Go and get changed, and get back to the barracks. I'll get the full story in the morning. You too, Mills." He glanced at Carter, and nodded slightly, and after a moment Carter turned and followed the other two.

Hogan turned his attention to the newcomer. "Major Staller," he said, in a very soft voice. "You were the adjutant at the 182nd, right?"

"That's right, sir," replied Staller. He'd taken a step back, unconsciously responding to something in Hogan's manner, but he met the colonel's eye without flinching. "I was..."

"I know who you are," Hogan interrupted. He still spoke quietly, but Staller fell silent. "You're the officer who went to see Carter in the hospital, after he'd just been through hell. I don't know everything you said to him, but I know what the results were. So I'll give you one minute to come up with a reason why I should let you anywhere near my command. And it better be a good one."