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

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Hogan reacted as though he'd been physically struck. Agony ripped through him, and he felt his limbs turn to liquid. They had captured Tiger—and they'd broken her! All the strength he had tried so hard to hold onto during his captivity drained away, dulling him to his pain, to his surroundings, and to Golz's next words. Hogan had stood up against everything the Gestapo had thrown at him, but this was too much to bear. He felt his heart break and fall, and his comforting dream now seemed so, so far away.

"…that it was so simple to convince your contact to speak," Hogan heard as Golz's voice faded back into his consciousness. "Clearly, you are the stubborn one of the pair."

She wouldn't have talked easily…. They must have tortured her…. Hogan found himself struggling to breathe. The room was spinning around him and he tried to gulp in air but it was as if there was none to be had. He could feel himself starting to lose consciousness. His eyelids fluttered, a chill rushed through him, he was sure he was going to slip through the guards' hands within seconds.

But Golz continued. "You are probably wondering what will happen now that we have arrested your contact?"

Hogan barely listened. The desperate hopes that he had never admitted to actually holding were now crushed beyond repair. There was no way out for him now, he knew, and no way out for Tiger. All that had been keeping him alive was his unacknowledged wish that somehow, somewhere, plans were being made to rescue him, and that Tiger was safe. Now, that dream was shattered. Now, he could just give in to all the despair, and all the pain, and all the fear. Now, he could lay his head down, close his eyes and die. At long last, he gave himself permission to surrender to the reality that he had fought for so long.

"We will use your contact to lead us to others. Because there is always more than one link in the chain, is there not?" Golz went on. Hogan's eyes closed. Please, boys, if you haven't already, please get away. There's nothing left of me to rescue. "And we will get you to finally admit to your own deeds. All the things you have done to make fools of the fine men of the Third Reich, Tiger."

Golz kept on with his bragging as Hogan retreated further into himself. Eventually, something in the words filtered through and suddenly revived him—Golz had referred to him as Tiger. Him! In his present state, it had never occurred to him before now even to consider that the Major could be simply trying to confuse him. If nothing else, Hogan knew for certain that the French Resistance leader would never have told the Gestapo that he was Tiger; she would never do anything to put him in more danger—not on purpose, and never to save herself. Golz had taken a calculated risk and lost!Tiger had not been apprehended. She had not been tortured by the Gestapo. Golz was lying. Tiger was free!

Hogan fought to hide the sudden elation in his heart. He could not let Golz know that the Major had tripped himself up with his boasting. He lifted his head, now almost oblivious to the pain reaching out to his entire body. He tried to see Golz's triumphant face through the blurry, kaleidoscope vision tormenting his burning eyes. He wanted to remember the expression on the Major's face as he prattled on and on, giving away more and more of his failure. He wanted to revel for a moment, even in secret, in the Major's glaring error. All this time, the German had played the game well—too well. Now, for once, Hogan had the upper hand, and it was more precious than the water he so longed for.

"You don't need my help to make you look like fools," Hogan rasped back. The punishment was as harsh as it was swift, but it was worth it for the satisfaction that had eluded him for so long. That feeling followed him all the way into the blackness.

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"Yes, sir, that's right," Kinch said, nodding reassuringly to the others who were surrounding him so closely that he was nearly claustrophobic. "Yes, sir, that would be fantastic…. We'll be ready whenever you say…. I understand, sir…." A sudden frown creased the radio man's brow. "Tomorrow? But couldn't we—… Yes, sir, we are anxious. Yes, I know you are, too…. Yes, sir, night time is better if we're going to go out…. . Okay, Papa Bear over and out."

Kinch closed down the radio, and with some real optimism finally lighting his eyes, he said to Hogan's men, "Morrison's ready to fire. He's going to call Golz and let rip."

"But we can't go in till tomorrow?" Newkirk spat, upset.

Kinch nodded. "That's right; tomorrow. Look, I think we'd better trust his instincts here. Morrison's been dealing with the Krauts a lot more closely than I'd ever like to. He'll make the call now… but it's late and we'll need time to prepare. Plus if he acts like he doesn't trust the Gestapo to do the right thing, they might get suspicious. Remember, he's not supposed to know that Golz is lying through his teeth to the Red Cross."

Newkirk capitulated. He was unhappy, but he had to agree with the logic. "That ruddy Kraut Major's gonna wish he'd never even heard of the Red Cross," he predicted.

"That's for sure," Carter agreed, beaming. At last!

Le Beau nodded solemnly. "We had better be ready to move when Morrison gives us the all-clear. And we can't have Klink in the way."

"I've got just the thing for that," Kinch announced. "As long as we rescue the Colonel at night!"

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Robert Morrison of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, took a deep breath as he picked up the telephone receiver. Flexing his fingers, he prepared to dial the number that he knew would put him in contact with the Gestapo in Düsseldorf. Nearly ten years of living as a German citizen and working for the Allies from within German Intelligence ensured that nothing in his voice would give him away. Still, no matter how long he had been doing it, tangling with the Gestapo on something as delicate as the release of an Allied agent put butterflies in his stomach—and right now they were beating their wings madly. Hogan was unarguably one of the most important Allied operatives working in Germany today. He was trusted implicitly by more Underground leaders and agents than anyone Morrison had ever come across, and Allied Headquarters in London concurred with their high opinions of him. There was good reason for that, Morrison knew; in the brief encounters he had had with Hogan himself, he'd found the American flying ace as good at his work on the ground as he had been in the air. Hogan was a natural born leader—and he led by example, not by coming up with dangerous plans and then letting others take the risks.

So when someone like Hogan got caught by the Gestapo, Morrison knew he had to act as soon as he was able. Because Hogan wouldn't surrender anything to the Germans. And that meant Hogan would be suffering horrendously. Reflecting on the respect he had for the younger American officer, Morrison dialed, then waited until the phone was answered.

"This is Major Hans Teppel, Abwehr, in Berlin," he announced gruffly. "I must speak with Major Golz." He listened to the response, then disregarded it. "I do not care if he is busy. Do you think I have time to spare waiting for him? I must speak with him now."

Morrison let himself enjoy the slight quiver in the voice of the Sergeant who had answered the telephone. If only you knew, you poor bugger. He waited, getting himself more into the character that he could never let slip for a second while he was anywhere outside his own home. It came more easily than he liked, sometimes. But it kept him alive, and so he accepted it with mixed feelings.

"Major Golz," he said, when someone finally spoke again on the other end of the line. "This is Major Hans Teppel…. Ja, it has been a long day; I am ready to head for home. But a report has just landed on my desk and I wanted to talk with you first. You have one of my men in your Headquarters: Captain Erich Stark…. We have been waiting to hear from him; he has been out of touch for too long…. Really? An alleyway? How unusual," Morrison said, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice. Smooth. Stay smooth. "And did he not have any papers with him?... Oh, ja, ja, I see. Well, I appreciate you looking after him for us." His voice betrayed not an ounce of his disgust when he lied, "Ja, I am certain you are taking care of him. Tomorrow night, two of my men will be in Düsseldorf. I will have them pick him up…. Ja, they will have signed orders from me. Danke, danke, Major. Heil Hitler"

Morrison hung up the phone, satisfied that Golz knew his time was now limited, but troubled by the knowledge that it wasn't safe for Hogan's men back at Stalag 13 to move any faster. Hold on tight, Hogan. If I know the Gestapo, I've just guaranteed that your next twenty-four hours are going to be a living Hell.

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Golz hung up the telephone, frustrated and angry. Those meddling Red Cross inspectors. Went to the Abwehr as soon as they could, didn't they? Now he had only until tomorrow night to secure a confession from the young Captain. He thought he had come close when he told the man that the Gestapo had arrested his contact. But even that had not had the impact the Major had hoped it would. Could he have gotten it wrong?

He had been relatively easy on Captain Stark until now, allowing him short periods in which to recover before trying again. Giving him a chance to see that the Gestapo could be merciful and patient. But time was slipping away now, and Captain Stark would be out of his hands soon.

I know who you are, Stark. And I'll make you admit it before your savior Major Teppel has a chance to whisk you away. Golz picked up the phone. "Get Stark down to Interrogation Room Three," he ordered brusquely. "I'll be there in five minutes."

Time to pull out all the stops.

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"Are you sure you've got it all covered from here?" Newkirk checked the collar of his Abwehr topcoat for probably the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes. "Louis can always stay here if he needs to."

Le Beau shot his eyes up toward the ceiling of the tunnel—again—and tried to maintain his calm exterior. "Pierre. Kinch and Carter know exactly what they are doing. And so do we. You are not going to go into Gestapo Headquarters with a possible traitor alone."

"I'm only suggesting it in case Klink gets wise to what we're doing—"

"You're only suggesting it because you are nervous and you are worried that something will happen. But something will happen only if you do not have someone with you to keep you in line. So fermez la bouche and let's get going." Le Beau turned to the Englishman and gave him a look of understanding. "The sooner we go, the sooner we get back with le Colonel. Iron Hans is waiting with the car down the road. If we don't hurry we will be late."

Kinch turned toward Tiger, who was standing nearby as the men prepared, suddenly looking so small and frail in this underground world. "Are you ready?" he asked her gently.

"Oui, I am ready," she answered in a voice the men were sure was meant to sound brave. It did. "I also know what to do."

"You stay out of sight until they need you," Kinch reminded her.

Tiger smiled, grateful for the care of Robert's men. "I will," she said. Then, with an almost impish grin, she added, "Fermez la bouche, and let me do my job, too."

Kinch chuckled softly and shook his head. "Yes, ma'am." He looked into her eyes, seeing so much of what Hogan loved in them, and so much love for Hogan in them, and he prayed that the two of them would have the chance to be together again to comfort and care for each other after tonight.

Tiger smiled at him as though she knew what he was thinking, and squeezed his arm as she passed him and Carter to head up the ladder and out of camp with the others. "Merci," she murmured softly. Then she, Le Beau and Newkirk were gone.

Carter and Kinch were quiet for a moment, absorbing the finality of everything that was happening now. There was no turning back. Whatever they succeeded in—or failed at—they would have to endure the consequences. Finally, Carter cocked his head and asked, "What was that Tiger and Louis said? Fermay-la-bush? What is that?"

Kinch offered his friend a lopsided grin. "Fermez la bouche," he repeated. "Shut your mouth."

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"There is the meeting place—there," Iron Hans said, pointing out a tiny house in the darkness. He shut off the car's headlights and sat back in the driver's seat. "We will not go any closer. The two of you will join up with the Underground as planned. Tiger and I will meet you at the agreed location in Düsseldorf."

"Right. Let's go, Louis," Newkirk said.

"Right."

The two of them disembarked and turned back to the vehicle. Louis pulled a spare German uniform out through the window. "Don't be late," Le Beau commanded them. He didn't think they would be; it was just something to say at this awkward moment.

Tiger understood. "You be on time, too," she replied.

"You can bet on it," Newkirk retorted. He straightened as the car pulled away, leaving the two men alone. They turned and started walking toward the house. "I feel like Daniel going into the ruddy lion's den."

"'Your God will deliver you,'" Le Beau quoted.

"Le Beau, do me a favor: don't quote the bad guys."