Kinch finished decoding the message from London, and looked up at Hogan who was waiting for the result. "Sorry, Colonel. Still nothing about the 182nd."

"What the hell is taking so long?" Hogan frowned, and pinched his bottom lip. Kinch watched him uneasily. He had no suggestions to offer.

"Should I stay on it, Colonel?" he asked.

"Yeah." Hogan glanced at his radio man. Kinch was looking troubled, his eyebrows drawn together. "Unless you have any better ideas, Kinch."

"I don't," replied Kinch. "But Carter's going to hit the roof if he finds out we've been asking questions about him, and things are bad enough already."

"I know. Hopefully he won't find out." Hogan sighed. "I hate this, Kinch. But we don't have a choice."

His concern for Carter's welfare was at war with another aspect of the situation. He was starting to worry that it might be necessary to cut Carter out of the operation. It was a step he didn't want to take. Carter was too good to be spared. Sure, he had his faults, but they'd never find anyone with the same level of expertise to replace him. But Hogan's first priority had to be the operation as a whole, and if Carter's state of mind was a danger to that, then some hard decisions had to be made.

It wasn't going to be easy. Hogan was afraid that if it became necessary to retire Carter from the team, it might tip him over the edge.

Kinch was watching him silently. Hogan met his anxious gaze, and sighed. But before he could say anything, Mills came scrambling down the ladder from the barracks, so fast he almost fell. "Colonel, you better come fast," he said breathlessly. "Recreation hall. It's Carter."

Hogan responded immediately. He almost flew up the ladder, with Mills and Kinch close behind him, raced out of the barracks and across the compound to the exercise hall. It was normally closed to the prisoners at this hour, but there were probably a dozen men in there, most of them from Barracks 2. LeBeau, standing at the back of the crowd, looked white and sick.

Schultz had got between Carter and Jackson, both of them being held back by other prisoners. They'd obviously been fighting. Jackson had come off relatively lightly, but Carter was in a mess, bleeding from a split lip and a cut over his left eye. In spite of that, he wasn't ready to give up, and Newkirk was having a hard time keeping him from resuming the fray.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Hogan furiously.

Neither of them answered. Jackson looked sullen, while Carter shook off Newkirk's restraining hand and took a step back, swaying a little.

"Colonel Hogan, this is very bad," whispered Schultz. "If the Kommandant finds out..."

"Finds out what, Schultz?" The last voice anyone wanted to hear. Hogan closed his eyes.

Klink advanced into the middle of the crowd. He looked at Carter, then at Jackson. "What is the meaning of this? Hogan, I have already told you I will not overlook this kind of behavior."

"Colonel, I can explain," Hogan said, with no idea how to even begin.

"I'm very glad to hear it. You may do so in my office. In the meantime, Schultz, take both these men to the cooler. They'll have seven days to learn to get along."

"Kommandant, you can't put them in there together." Hogan had noticed Carter's reaction to that, the instinctive withdrawal and momentary look of revulsion.

"Actually, Hogan, that comes under the heading of things I can do," replied Klink smugly.

"Kommandant." It was Carter. "I started it. He...it wasn't him. It was me." He finished abruptly, as if speaking was too difficult for him. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, and his breathing was short.

Klink regarded him with disquiet. It was hardly surprising. Carter wasn't a pretty sight. There was a tense silence while the Kommandant thought about it.

"Very well," he said at last, turning to Jackson. "You are restricted to your barracks for the next seven days. Carter, the same period in the cooler. Hogan, my office, if you please."

As the Kommandant stalked out, Hogan held back briefly, allowing Schultz to take an unsteady Carter out first. Carter's fury was fading, and he looked slightly dazed. He didn't look up as he stumbled out. Hogan glanced around at the other men, caught the look of ice-cold anger on Newkirk's face, and shook his head slightly. He was sure Newkirk had no idea what the problem was between Carter and Jackson, but that wouldn't stop him from taking up the battle on Carter's behalf. That could only make the situation worse.

For a few seconds, he thought Newkirk was going to defy his unspoken command, but then the Englishman's eyes dropped, and he flushed. Hogan squared his shoulders and set off after the Kommandant.

Klink didn't say a word until he was behind his desk. He remained standing, leaning with both hands on the desktop. "Well, Hogan? What do you have to say about this?"

For once Hogan couldn't come up with a clever riposte. Things were too serious, but he still needed to keep Klink in the dark. "Kommandant, until I've spoken to the men involved, I don't have anything I can say."

"I thought I made it perfectly clear to you yesterday that I would not tolerate any fighting among the prisoners. And today I find two of them brawling in the recreation hall, where they have no business to be at all. And one of them belongs to your barracks, Hogan. The man I spoke to yesterday belongs to the same barracks."

"He does? Well, there's a coincidence," said Hogan flatly.

"A coincidence." Klink took out his monocle, and polished it. "There are too many coincidences where Barracks 2 is concerned, Hogan. What I am wondering now is whether Carter had anything to do with Newkirk's black eye."

"Newkirk walked into a door."

"So he told me." Klink sat down, still polishing. "I suppose Carter will claim that he tripped and landed on Jackson's fist. Several times."

"Well, what can I say, Kommandant? You know how clumsy Carter is."

"I know you want me to think so. Well, perhaps it's time to find out how clumsy he is at another Stalag," said Klink. He put his monocle back, and regarded Hogan with a smirk.

"I don't think that will be necessary, sir," said Hogan, after a pause. "Let me talk to Carter. I'm sure he has a reasonable explanation."

"Oh, certainly, Hogan. So you can tell him what to say. I don't think so."

That was precisely what Hogan had in mind. He had absolutely no compunction about lying to Klink about it. "Kommandant, I wouldn't dream of trying anything that obvious, not when you'll be questioning him. A man like you, who understands the depths of the prisoner's mind, would never fall for it. I just want to make sure he's okay. You wouldn't want him collapsing in the cooler if there was something wrong, would you? What would the Red Cross have to say about it?"

Klink wavered at the mention of the Red Cross, but only a little. "Alright, Hogan. You can have five minutes, no more. And Hogan," he went on, "I will be speaking to Carter myself tomorrow. And if I do not get a satisfactory excuse from him, then you won't see him again. From now on, troublemakers get no second chances. Some other Kommandant can deal with them. Dismissed."

It was clear to Hogan that argument would gain nothing. Klink would have to be coaxed, convinced or bamboozled, if Carter was to remain at Stalag 13. But that was something to work on later. Right now, Hogan had only one concern.

The situation had escalated almost to crisis point. If it was to be salvaged, Hogan had to get Carter to talk.