No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text and original characters copyright L J Groundwater.

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Slowly, reluctantly, Hogan reached for the glass. "Boy, you're pretty insistent when you're buying," he muttered, trying to keep the concern out of his voice. "Brandy really isn't my drink of choice."

Golz did not answer. The chill in the air was distinct, and Hogan felt the eyes of both Golz and the armed guard boring into him. He took a gulp of brandy, then stopped.

"All of it," the German commanded.

"Could we switch to white wine?" Hogan asked, hoping he was coming across as more cheeky than frightened. Large amounts of heavy alcohol on an empty stomach and a suffering body… he wasn't looking forward to the after-effects—but mainly he was worried about what he might say while heavily intoxicated and not in complete control of his faculties. He had to come up with a plan, and fast.

Golz smiled a closed-lip smile. "This is my drink of choice," he replied.

An idea suddenly struck the Colonel—not one of his best, he admitted, but the only one available. "Well, then, why don't you join me," Hogan invited. He downed the rest of his drink quickly and held his glass out for more.

The closed lips parted and Golz nodded approvingly. "You like this now, yes?" he asked. He picked up the decanter and refilled Hogan's glass.

Hogan began drinking immediately. "Yes," he answered determinedly. "I like this now, yes." Another glass emptied. "You were right. I'm starting to feel better."

"Good. You see, mein Freund, I am not all bad."

"You could have fooled me last night," Hogan replied, leaning slightly toward a particularly sore part of his body. "Or whenever that was."

"That was… unavoidable," Golz said, not quite apologetically. "Certain things are expected of me. But you see that today I am making amends."

Because you want me to make you my savior when it gets too hard so I'll trust you with my secrets… Hogan nodded. "Make some more," he suggested, slamming his glass onto the desk.

Golz laughed. "Be careful, sir—you could find yourself getting drunk!" But he picked up the decanter for the fourth time.

Hogan simply smiled. That's exactly what I want. And a bit more—I want to drink so much I pass out. As fast as possible. You're not going to get anything out of me if I can help it. "Indulge me," he requested. Golz raised an eyebrow. "But I hate to drink alone," Hogan announced. He pulled back the glass, noting with clarity that his movements were already more awkward than usual. Watch yourself; this is your most vulnerable time, he warned himself. "Drink with me."

Golz exchanged an amused glance with the guard. "Very well," he said. "I will have one glass. Just to show you I am not the monster you would like to believe I am."

"Monster?" Hogan echoed. He shook his head vehemently. His glass shook back and forth with it; some liquid spilled over the top and onto his leg. Hogan looked at it. "Oops. Sorry. Clumsy me." He looked, pie-eyed, at Golz. "No… not a monster. I can hardly feel the pain any more, thanks to you." He snorted a drunken laugh. "Unless you count any time I breathe."

Golz touched his glass to his lips. Part of Hogan noticed the Major barely took a sip. "It does not always have to be that hard," the German said. "All you have to do is tell us what we need to know."

"I have!" Hogan took a big swallow.

"Why did you get so upset when I brought that young man before you? Was he one of your partisan friends?" Golz asked suddenly.

Alarm bells sounded in Hogan's head. "I don't have partisan friends," he said pointedly. "I was angry that the facts about me are being ignored. I do not care to see any innocent German people hurt because of the stubbornness or stupidity of the Gestapo."

Golz ignored the jab. "Who is being the stubborn one here, sir? All we are after is the truth."

"I already told you that: I'm not Tiger."

Another small sip, another softly phrased question. "But you know Tiger?"

Hogan shook his head. "I don't know any man named Tiger." Gotcha. Another swallow. Hogan felt his head spin. He rarely drank enough to make himself dizzy, much less completely drunk. Combined with his treatment over the last couple of days, he knew it wouldn't take much more before he was beyond comprehension. He stared at the glass, less than half full, and his stomach turned queasy at the thought of finishing it, and he wished he could guarantee he wouldn't let anything slip if he just got pleasantly drunk. But he couldn't, so he pushed the thought out of his mind and got back to work. He polished off the brandy. "I tol' you," he answered—did I just slur on purpose? he asked himself: "I'm Capt'n Erich Stark. You c'n check with my boss in Berlin. Gießen Sie mich jetzt ein anderes Getränk." Hogan grinned. "See? Ich bin Deutscher!"

Watch it, the sober part of Hogan's brain warned him. He was starting to feel very hot, and he was sweating in his still-wet, cold shirt. It felt odd to be in two completely different minds at the same time: one, clear-headed and alert; the other, tipsy and slightly out of his control. He tried to force his brain to operate on the logical side, while still sounding like he was on the drunk side. It was a task that required his full concentration, and he wasn't quite sure how well he was succeeding.

Golz laughed. "Ja, ja, ich glaube, dass Sie deutsch sind," he said, accepting Hogan's claim to be German. "But that does not rule out you being Tiger." He poured another glass of brandy for Hogan, taking only another small sip from his own glass.

Hogan started drinking immediately, before he had time to think about it. "Unserem Führer!" he declared, glad not to be clear-headed as he claimed to toast Hitler. Keep being German… he'll think you're starting to let your defenses down as long as you keep being German….

"Unserem Führer!" Golz agreed with a nod and a minute sip of brandy. He watched as Hogan guzzled the alcohol. "Tell me," he said, after a moment. Hogan sat limply in the chair across from him, his brown eyes big and wandering aimlessly across the items on the desk: "how does an important young Abwehr Captain like you end up in this mess?"

Hogan smiled drunkenly and raised his head loosely toward Golz. "Hm? Oh. Well. You tell me. I mean, I was jus' out doing my job. My duty! Do you know, I actually served on the Russian Front?" Hogan nodded confidentially. "Schreckliches Geschäft. Zu viel Tod. Too—much—death!" He took a long drink. "When I came back, I was recruited to Abwehr. I showed an aptitude for languages, and so they taught me English. I even think in it now. But I am German," he emphasized as he drained his glass. "And I am loyal. Ich bin loyal!" He shook his head sadly. "You question me. You doubt me. That makes me sad, Herr Major. I never dreamed my own people would question me."

Hogan stood up; he swayed, unable to stop the room from spinning around him. He was close, but not close enough. He waved his glass in front of Golz's face as he leaned on the desk to stop himself from falling over, a clear request for more.

"More to drink?" Golz clicked his tongue in sympathy. "Are you trying to forget your past?" He smiled gently. "I understand your dilemma. And I am sure you understand mine. You have information—"

"I have no information!" Hogan interrupted loudly, waving his arm widely. He lost his balance, and his other hand slid across the desk, sending him plunging toward Golz. The Major stopped the descent, and, smiling tolerantly, reseated Hogan in the chair. Hogan breathed past the pain the movements caused. "I have no information," he repeated morosely. "I have memories. Schreckliche, schreckliche Erinnerungen. It is them I want to forget."

Hogan persisted in pushing his glass toward Golz. Finally, the Major relented and poured him another glass of brandy. Smaller this time, Hogan noticed through the fog descending on his brain. "Now, now," Golz said, cozying up to his captive, and returning to his side of the desk, "tell me where you come from. Tell me why you were in that hofbräu."

Hogan took a long drink. The fog was getting heavier. Golz was sounding further and further away. He was forgetting how to form the words he wanted to say. He had been in this room for how long—fifteen, twenty minutes? And how much had he drunk in that time? He should be close by now, so close! He made an effort to speak distinctly, that over-enunciated speech that people who are very drunk try to use to show they are clear-headed. "I was in the hofbräu because I wanted to have a drink and forget for awhile. Just one drink! And then I find myself confronted with a Gestapo officer who demands that I go with him, like I am some sort of common criminal! It is an outrage… and a tragedy." Hogan tried to look teary-eyed. It wasn't hard.

"I am truly sorry, dear Freund," Golz said sympathetically. "If what you say is true, you must help us. You must help us find the real traitor. This partisan. This Tiger. We believed you to be him. Who would tell us such a lie?"

Hogan had asked himself a similar question dozens of times since he had been brought here. Who betrayed us? Who betrayed Tiger? Now, he just shook his head. He knew Golz's sympathy was all an act. He took another drink, a longer drink. He needed to get out of this room, now.

"Tell me where you have been in the last few days. Who are the people you have met? It will be one of them that we are looking for."

Hogan had no answers for him, no answers that wouldn't betray his own people. It scared him that several people's faces had immediately popped into his mind, and that if he hadn't still had a tenuous hold on his senses, he would have immediately blurted out their names. "I just want to forget…" he moaned plaintively. "So much death…" He took the rest of the drink. His head swam. His stomach lurched. As he tried to look up at Golz, the room took a wild spin, and as he stood up, the floor tilted crazily beneath his feet. He was finally where he needed to be, and he gave in to it gratefully. "There is..." He felt himself cocking his head to be in sync with the strange angle the room was on, and broke out in a drenching sweat that chilled him to the bone, "…no…" He took a tentative step forward, and realized that somehow—how could it be possible?—he had missed the floor, "…Tiger."

Then he felt himself falling forward, and with a final thought—Thank you, God; I made it through.—everything went black.

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Late that day, Iron Hans met the expectant looks of Hogan's men steadily, but without a smile. "I have the information you have asked for," he said. "Names, photographs, details of everything I was able to find out about the people Tiger met with when she went to Hofberg, as well as those who were not present." He shook his head. "I do not know what you will find; all of those people have been tested over and over again."

"Yes," Le Beau admitted. "But maybe if we go through them one by one…"

"I pray you get what you need. The longer Colonel Hogan stays with the Gestapo, the more dangerous it is for everyone involved. They were, of course, concerned about not meeting up with Tiger the other night. But we told them there was a delay—no explanations. They only know to remain inactive until they are told otherwise." A pause as he gathered his thoughts. He looked from one man to the next. What he had to tell them wasn't as hopeful as he knew they wanted it to be, but at least he had come to them with something. "There is one chance to get near him," he announced.

"What is it?" Carter asked immediately.

The Underground agent braced himself and found himself avoiding Tiger's eyes. "There is a Red Cross contingency due to travel through Düsseldorf tomorrow. Though it is unusual, they are not usually refused entry into any establishment, including Gestapo Headquarters. Someone could go in there and get information."

Newkirk wished at that moment that he had something in his hands to throw; the built-up tension in his body was begging for release. "So you're sayin' all we can do is go there and look?"

The agent shrugged uncomfortably. "It is the most we can hope for at this time. So far, the Gestapo has not reported the arrest of Captain Stark to anyone, not even to Berlin. But they will have to report to their superiors fairly soon."

"If they play by the rules," Kinch amended. Iron Hans nodded. "Which they aren't terribly well known for."

"Why doesn't the Hammelburg Gestapo call up and put a little pressure on Düsseldorf?" Carter asked.

But Newkirk already knew the answer to that one, and he shared it bitterly with the others. "Because the Düsseldorf mob have been holding out on everyone—if someone rings up to push about Captain Stark, all they have to do is wonder how anyone knew they had 'im, and it's all over before it even begins."

Carter nodded unhappily. "So I guess there's someone in the Red Cross group we're friends with?" he surmised.

"Not really," Iron Hans answered. "The Red Cross is here to observe and must remain neutral. But they have limited time and they cannot be everywhere at once, and so sometimes they split up. We have seen their schedule and they are not planning to go to Gestapo Headquarters. An experienced—and trusted—member of our local group has agreed to pose as a Red Cross inspector in order to get one of you inside, where you may be able to get enough information to form a plan to get Colonel Hogan out." The big man paused, then added quietly, "And perhaps you will be able to give him some hope. It is not going easy for him right now."

The softly spoken words seemed to scream through the tunnel. For a short time, no one could speak or even move.

"I will go."

The men's eyes turned almost as one to the one person who, until now, had been quiet during the entire exchange. Kinch furrowed his brow. "Tiger?"

"I want to go in as the Red Cross."

Newkirk shook his head vehemently. "Are you out of your mind—?"

But Tiger persisted. "They are not looking for me. They think they may already have Tiger. I will be safe."

Iron Hans nodded agreement. "She is right. At the moment, all their concentration is on Captain Stark. And a woman would be less of a suspect than a man."

"I'm not so sure about that—" Carter started to protest.

"And even if they were not sure that Colonel Hogan is Tiger, they would not expect that the person they are looking for would walk right into their Headquarters," Iron Hans added. "I am sorry, but though you do not approve, she is right."

Tiger nodded earnestly. "It might be noticed if one of you is missing from camp. And if one of you sees Colonel Hogan in Düsseldorf, you will be tempted to try and rescue him immediately. You will not be able to walk away."

"And what about you?" Kinch countered. He looked straight into the Frenchwoman's eyes. "Will you be able to see what they're doing to him… and walk away?"

A dozen different encounters with the American Colonel crowded into her mind: dangerous moments, tender moments. She saw his eyes, his deep, penetrating, vulnerable eyes, and vowed, I have been weak long enough—now I must help. She answered softly but with conviction, "If it meant saving his life in the end… yes." Though it would break my heart to do it.

Iron Hans finally broke the very full silence. "I'm sorry, but I will need an answer now. The real Red Cross inspections begin very early tomorrow morning. Whoever is going will need to come with me."

"Then that settles it," Tiger said simply. "None of you can get away that quickly without it being noticed. I will go. Then when I come back, we can make plans." I will help get you out, Robert… if it's the last thing I do.