If the reader likes this chapter, special credit must go to Konarciq and Sgt Moffit, whose wonderful stories first made me realize that in the world of fanfiction, characters can be connected by more story than just being played by the same actor. If no one likes it, the blame for a wild imagination must be all my own and should not reflect on anyone else.


(After the dinner party, Season 1/Episode 10)

He was still smiling as he changed into the uniform of a Luftwaffe captain. The look on Burkhalter's face when he drew the sketch of the vacuum cleaner had been absolutely priceless. The fact that he had also contacted the agent in town plus had an evening out of camp as the honored guest of the Germans was nothing to complain about, either.

Silently he slipped out of the barracks, trying hard not to speculate about why Gretchen wanted to meet with him. Even though she knew the code word of an underground group, she still didn't seem that bright. After all, it took a girl with pretty awful taste to hang out with a drip like Klink, and there was the fact that Klink said they met at a Nazi picnic to keep in mind.

There were still a few patrons in the café even this late at night. The one he had come to meet occupied a table in the back corner of the room, and he ordered himself a drink before casually sauntering over.

Relief flashed over her face as he approached. "Abend, liebchen," he said in a clear voice in case anyone felt like listening in. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"You came. I wasn't sure if you would." Gretchen fiddled with the purse resting on the table, still dressed in her gray gown from the dinner party. She had a very faint lisp, just enough to make her speech memorable. That could be a dangerous thing.

"Didn't you get enough of my company earlier?" he bantered.

She gave a small, ladylike grimace. "With Colonel Klink hovering over us? I had to speak with you privately, Colonel Hogan. Franz said that you can help me."

"Depends." Hogan took a deep swallow of his drink, not willing to give away any information. "What do you need help with?"

"I need a new identity. Can you provide me with papers?" She leaned forward, pleading, showing no hint of the flirtation from earlier in the evening.

Hogan frowned and then noticed that a waiter was watching them. He relaxed his face and deliberately covered her hands with one of his. "Careful of the waiter," he murmured under his breath. "What about that Strength Through Joy picnic where you met Klink? Surely you must have some Gestapo connections there that could help you?"

Gretchen winced. "I did meet Klink at the picnic. There was an SS officer there who had—I thought he had some information I wanted, so I attended the picnic in the hope that I could convince him to talk . . . it was a foolish idea."

"What did you want to know?" Hogan was inwardly shaking his head. It sounded like the silly girl was trying to play spy all by herself and had gotten caught.

"I . . . can't tell you."

The lamplight reflected on twin tears resting on her cheeks, and with an instinctive male horror of a crying woman he brushed them away with his thumb. "What's your real name?" he asked gently. "If you tell me what you wanted to know I might be able to help."

She was silent for so long that he began to wonder if she would answer. "My family disappeared in one of the purges in 1940—my father was able to get me false documents when the trouble first began, so I was not taken with them." She gave a hopeless gesture toward the blonde hair stacked on her head. "Ever since I have been trying to trace them, to know what has happened to them. I had to leave Berlin when the Gestapo became suspicious, and I came to Hamilburg because Franz is an old schoolmate of mine and I thought that he might be able to help me."

Her gaze never wavered from his, and it was that as much as the catch in her voice that convinced Hogan. "So you need travel papers to get you out of Germany and back to England?"

"No." She pulled her hands away. "I need new identity papers so that I can stay here and continue my search. You must understand. I cannot leave until I know!"

"Easy," Hogan soothed. "Look, I'll get you the papers, but you need to get out of here. You won't help your family by getting caught yourself."

Gretchen's only reply was a sniff as she hunted in her purse for something. With a sigh Hogan produced a handkerchief and dried her face. "What's your real name?" he repeated.

"Hanne Goldberg." She spoke in a barely audible whisper.

"I'll keep your secret."

He'd kept his word, taking the picture she provided and returning a full set of German identity papers by the hand of one of his underground contacts without explaining why or who it was for. And in spite of the way she made his heart leap, he put her out of his mind . . . until the time when Colonel Klink's secretary Helga took a two-week leave of absence and never returned . . .

(After Season 1, before Season 2)

Hogan entered Klink's office one morning and found the kommandant pacing nervously. "Something the matter, sir?" he asked in a concerned tone.

Klink met him with a scowl. "Oh no, not you Hogan. I have enough trouble already. I'm supposed to be at a meeting with Colonel Feldkamp this morning, and the new secretary is late."

"New secretary? Isn't today the day that Helga comes back?" Hogan discreetly filched a cigar and tucked it into his pocket for later.

Klink flopped down into his desk chair. "Fraulein Helga isn't coming back."

"Not coming back!" Hogan repeated with genuine alarm. She knew enough about their Stalag 13 operation to get her into real trouble.

"While she was on leave she met a Swiss border guard and eloped with him," Klink moaned.

"She what!" Of all the things Hogan expected to hear, that wasn't on the list.

"She sent me a postcard from a ski resort at St. Moritz to let me know, and now I have to train a new secretary."

"It won't be easy finding one like Helga," Hogan commiserated, crossing his arms with a frown.

"A new girl is supposed to be coming this morning, recommended by Oskar Gestler from the Hausnerhof in Hamilburg—apparently she has a good head for bookwork and organized his accounts most efficiently." Klink had his lower lip stuck out in a slight pout. "She's probably a Gertrude Linkmeyer lookalike."

"Not possible," Hogan replied confidently. "There couldn't be two women like that on earth."

Klink picked up his riding crop and got up to resume his pacing. "I need to leave, or I'll be late to the meeting with Colonel Feld—"

The sound of the door opening cut off the rest of his sentence. Both men caught their breath, but for slightly different reasons.

"I'm sorry I'm late, but a patrol stopped me on the road," she said apologetically.

"I can see why." Klink tried to sound suave. "Excuse me, but haven't we met before somewhere?"

Hogan hid a grimace and pulled Klink to the side. "Come on Klink, that has to be the worst pick-up line ever!" he said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Klink demanded.

"Well, if you have met her before she gets mad because you didn't remember her straight away. If you haven't seen her before, she gets mad because you're thinking that she reminds you of some other girl. Either way, you strike out first time up at bat."

"Bat?" The kommandant was lost.

Hogan rolled his eyes. "Never mind."

Klink turned back to the tall blonde woman. "You're hired. Oh, what did you say your name was?"

"Hilda Kohnecke." Her eyes flicked over to Hogan for a brief moment.

"Wonderful!" Klink bubbled. "I'm sure you can see how badly we are in need of your help around here." His hand waved in the general direction of the paper-swamped desk.

"And Colonel Feldkamp is in need of your advice at his meeting, sir," Hogan reminded. Klink glared at him.

Hilda immediately moved out of the doorway. "Oh, are you attending a meeting this morning? I'm so sorry to have delayed you! I'm sure I'll be able to find everything I'll need."

"Your car arrived outside a few minutes ago, sir. You don't want to keep the engine running any longer than necessary and use up fuel needed for the war effort," Hogan prompted.

Mumbling under his breath, Klink marched out of the office. Hilda lifted her chin and refused to back down from Hogan's stern expression. "I thought we had a deal that you would go to England," he said in a clipped tone.

"I found a lead on where my family might be located," she replied. "But I needed money for my search, and I thought that a job at a prison camp might be a way that I could possibly aid the Allies."

Hogan shook his head in disbelief.

"Besides," she added sweetly. "This would be as good a place as any for me to hide, right under the Nazis' very noses. Where better than under a nose as short-sighted as Colonel Klink's?"

"There you got me," Hogan reflected for a moment on the ongoing stupidity of the kommandant. "But Hilda, we have some very nasty characters come through here—visiting Klink, not me. I don't hang out with those types—and I don't think you understand just how dangerous it can be."

She picked up a stack of mail, sorted it, and set it down in a neat pile. "I know you have some kind of escape operation running here. I won't give you away," was all she replied.

Hogan tried a different tack and pulled her into his arms. "Look, honey, how am I supposed to do what I need to do if I'm worrying about you and your safety?"

She tipped her chin up and he indulged in a long kiss, fully expecting by the way she responded that Kinch would soon be calling the sub to take her to England.

"I need to finish this filing before the kommandant returns," she told him when he lifted his head.

He was so taken aback that for a moment his arms fell, and she easily moved away from him. "Aren't you going to England?"

"I just got a job." She began to sort another pile of papers.

He heaved a sigh and admitted defeat, taking the local train schedules from the desk and stuffing them into his pocket. His fingers met something soft, and he pulled it out. "Here. I brought these over for Helga so she'd give me the railway timetable. I've got it, so you may as well take them. They'll look better on you than on me." He held out the nylon stockings.

She took them cautiously. "Helga—the previous secretary?"

"Yeah, we had this little deal going. I got her stuff like nylons, coffee, real chocolate, in exchange for information now and then," he explained.

Hilda fingered the nylons. "That's worth a lot of information."


Kinch was shaking his head when Hogan finished. "But she asked for so much! Perfume, chocolate, coffee . . ."

"She took every bit of it and used it to bargain for leads on her family's whereabouts," Hogan informed him wearily, stifling a yawn.

"I'll send Hilda into your office first thing in the morning. Now you better get some sleep, sir. It's pretty late."

"You must be as tired as I am," Hogan evaded.

"Yeah, but I'm used to working the night shift." Kinch rose and flipped the light switch, resolving to keep the other guys away from the office in the morning. There were many times he was glad he wasn't the Colonel, and this was definitely one of them.