Special thanks to Sapphire363 for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own.

I can't thank anonymous reviewers personally, so I write it here: Thank you, Ruth and Guest for your sharing your thoughts and your support. I appreciate it!

Thank you for reading.

DAY ELEVEN

Hogan was on attempt number four to talk Klink into going out and searching for Papa Bear himself.

His options were limited, besides trying to reach the Hindenburg Bridge himself, he could only try having a chat with the alleged witness, and arranging an accident or buying a changed story. Of course, returning to London remained an option as long as he was sure that his men could follow.

But Colonel Klink outside of his area of control was even more skittish and crumbled down at the least resistance. It didn't matter if it was an untimely cry of a bird or a simple question from a private, Klink recoiled.

Claiming boredom, Hogan had wormed his way to the library. Inspiration was hard to come by without his men's helpful prompts, outrageous questions and crazy ideas, but it did stroke as he found a book about Sherlock Holmes on the shelves in the back.

With a new plan, Hogan was back and visited Klink in his temporary office, nothing more than a windowless room in the cellar with a desk and two chairs.

"Colonel Klink, why have you been holding back?" He asked without knocking or greeting.

Klink sat sunken behind the desk, his head in his hands. "Hogan, go away. You can't help me anymore, the death of a hero on the Russian Front is now my destiny."

Hogan rolled his eyes. "But you don't need my help. I found the source of your star."

"My star?"

Nodding, Hogan pulled out a chair and sat opposite of him. "You are a descendant of Sherlock Holmes. That's the reason you always find a solution."

Klink stared at him disbelieving. "Colonel Hogan-," he began.

"See," Hogan pointed to the Sidney Paget's illustration of the famous detective. "Just look: the same head and balding hair. He is only missing a monocle."

Klink leaned forward to examine the illustration. "Hmm," he said unconvinced. He put the book down. "Impossible! I don't have English relatives."

"That's the thing, Colonel," Hogan was determined. "I'm pretty sure that it was the other way around: your ancestor was the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes."

Nodding, Klink's lips twitched. He removed his monocle. "There, you could be right. The superior intellect has always been a trait in my family."

Hogan grinned. "I knew it." Now he only needed to spin the story further. "You just wanted to give Hochstetter a chance to prove himself worthy of your intellect before you start to go out and find Papa Bear yourself."

Klink's face grew serious. "Exactly." He swiped the air with his fist. "But this man isn't capable of finding Papa Bear."

"And so, you have to start looking for the saboteur yourself," Hogan prompted. "What do you have in mind? Or is this secret?"

"Hogan!" Klink sunk down, back into his chair. "This won't work. General Burkhalter won't go for it."

"Right," Hogan made a sad face, "of course, the general doesn't want you to make general. If you can nick this Papa Bear, nobody could prevent your promotion anymore." He paused to highlight his next two words. "General Klink."

"General Klink," the man in question repeated. His face and voice beamed in awe.

"I know what you're thinking."

"You do?"

"You think," Hogan leaned down, lowered his voice and used his most conspiratorial tone. "You think, that you will solve this mystery immediately if you can see Hochstetter's collected evidence."

"Why would I need Hochstetter's file?"

"Oh, the master asks the pupil." Hogan tipped with his index finger against his chin, playing the game. "I know, because if you can talk to the witness you'll have the necessary information at once."

Seeing, Klink wasn't sold yet, Hogan continued. "A man of your intellect has solved greater mysteries with far less evidence."

Klink nodded in agreement. "Yes, but in this case -"

Suddenly the door flew open and Hogan's chance was gone again.

Klink jumped up. "General Burkhalter, what a pleasure."

Burkhalter removed his gloves before answered. "There is no pleasure this morning."

Hogan didn't know what happened but whatever had annoyed Burkhalter should be fun for him. He looked over his shoulder before he stood up and faced him. "Did Mrs. Burkhalter find out about your Fraulein?"

The general paled before he straightened again. "Of course not. But twenty prisoners escaped from Stalag XIII. And now I have to explain this to Berlin."

"Impossible!" Klink declared with indignation. "Nobody has ever successfully escaped from my camp."

Hogan grinned and crossed his arms. "But it's not your camp anymore."

Like a balloon, Klink deflated. "Right, not my camp anymore."

Leaning back against a dirty wall, Hogan regarded Burkhalter. "Let me guess, Berlin won't like that your hunt for Papa Bear brought such a high cost."

Burkhalter's face twitched and annoyance radiated off him. "I assure you, Colonel Hogan, every escaped prisoner will be recaptured."

"And then escape again." Hogan enjoyed the game. "Face it, general, without Colonel Klink Stalag XIII isn't escape-proof anymore. What do you think Berlin is going to say to that?"

"My camp," Klink sat down. He was two minutes away from sobbing. "My record. My lifework."

Hogan rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

The general had no such qualms. "Kink! You can always marry my sister if you think-"

"No, Herr General," Klink got out of his way to straighten up. "Everything is fine."

"Except twenty missing prisoners." Hogan couldn't help but rub it in their faces.

Klink sank back down. He gave a perfect picture of misery. Hogan almost felt sorry for him. Whoever was behind this was sure doing a fine job. Maybe one of his men had already returned and organized this.

LeBeau was busy to stir the pot and Schultz was busy to taste everything.

In the office above the kitchen, a few of the most important strategic planners of the Third Reich had their meeting. With the help of Schultz, LeBeau had found every necessary item for a meal and a few other things.

"Hmm, this is delicious!" Schultz took another spoon.

"I am glad you approve." LeBeau said and if there was a hint of sarcasm, Schultz didn't detect it.

"But I don't understand why we had to move the stove. It's heavy and just because it operates with gas cylinder…" he trailed off, exhausted just from thinking about moving it again.

"Schultzie," LeBeau said, "I need fresh air to cook. It tastes better."

Schultz moved his head from left to right. "I think it is good that Colonel Hogan is not here. This sounds like monkey business."

LeBeau smirked. He needed a good distraction and without any help he needed to use his best friend. The oven.

He may not know how to make an explosion but he knew how to get an impressive darting flame.

"Schultz, I need more potatoes and I'm not allowed out of the kitchen, so …" He left the sentence unfinished.

After a longing look at the full pots, Schultz trotted out of the kitchen.

LeBeau put the dishes in the dumb waiter and pushed the button. Then he took as much oil as possible, put it on the stove and started to heat it up. Finding the point for ignition was difficult.

Glaring to the ceiling, LeBeau waited impatiently for the lift to return. Finally, it came back down.

Schultz returned. Nervously, LeBeau heated the oven even more up.

"Should you do this?"

LeBeau whirled around and faced the German sergeant. "Who is the chef? Do I or you know how to cook?" He crossed his arms and tapped with his foot. "Yes?"

Schultz thought about it. "You."

"Right." He could feel the heat behind him. "Is it your or my head if the food isn't edible?"

This time Schultz knew the answer right away. "Mine!"

Shaking his head, LeBeau sighed. "No, our. The oil needs to reach the perfect temperature to make a très," LeBeau added a lot of French words to the sentence, safe in the knowledge that Schultz would assume every French word to be good-tasting food.

"Oh!" Schultz sighed while his mouth began to water. "That sounds delicious."

"Of course, what did you think? So, please keep watch for a darting flame while I chop some vegetables."

The sounds of the oil on the oven could only mean one thing — take it away right now or start a fire.

LeBeau glanced to the open window and counted in his head.

It was all about the timing.

Finally, the oil ignited and an impressive flame pushed out of the window, filling the air with smoke and heat.

As predicated, Schultz eyes widened in fear. Then he started to scream on top of his voice: "Fire! Fire!" But he remained rooted in his spot. "Fire!"

Le Beau jumped inside the dumb waiter and pushed the button. If he was wrong and the general didn't run to the window to verify a threat, he was lost.

The way up was short but enough time to feel the tight enclosed space. His heart beat painfully in his chest. On the positive side, the claustrophobia pushed away the fear of opening the door the moment the dumb waiter stopped moving.

Relieved, LeBeau saw them all standing near the window, looking out.

For a short moment, nobody watched the desk. LeBeau held his breath and got out of the dumb waiter.

He grabbed the first papers that looked like a map and a list. Without further knowledge what he needed to grab, he hurried back. Just as he closed the door, the general turned back. LeBeau didn't know if he had seen him or not, but he needed to get down as fast as possible.

He darted out of the dump waiter.

LeBeau had just grabbed a bucket of sand as the first guards arrived. After he had turned off the gas, he killed the flame with sand.

"Fire!" Schultz shouted again in the now sudden silence. The guards stood around with buckets of water.

LeBeau just shook his head. "If you want to kill yourself, go ahead and add water to burning oil. It is the right way to die for some boche like you."

Schultz shook like a leaf. Waiting for the SS guards to leave, LeBeau patted him on the back.

"Whatever," one of the guards said, "just make sure that there is enough food and that it tastes good or this flame will kill somebody."

"Namely you," the second guard sneered.

The closing kitchen door cut off the sound of their laughter.

Schultz sat down. He breathed hard, his face sickly grayish.

"See, it's a good thing I moved the stove. Or the fire would have been catastrophic," LeBeau said. Hoping that the breathless sound of his voice would be written off as from the exercise of extinguishing the fire, LeBeau tried to calm down his own nerves. He had never needed to plan and execute something like this alone.

Sighing, Schultz calmed down. "Now I need a schnapps."

With a smile, LeBeau turned around. "But only because you need to check if it's not poisonous."

While Schultz was busy calming his nerves, LeBeau grabbed the papers from the dump waiter. They looked important. Hopefully, he would have enough time to hide them before they were missed.

Or all would be lost.

Good thing that dinner was already finished, serving as distraction.

Carter coughed in his hand. The hidden passage was dirty, dark and wet. The mold hung heavy in the air.

"How long, do you think, is this tunnel?" His voice echoed in the dark sending shivers down his back.

In front of him, the dim light of a candle, stolen by Collins, was their only source of light. Running around in the dark of the night was nothing compared to walking through complete and utter darkness.

On the third attempt, Collins and Cycle had found the right window to the room below their prison. Breaking in was easier than finding the hidden entrance. But Cycle hadn't been showing off - he knew his stuff.

"Unknown," Cycle answered. "We should have scouted the tunnel before we all went."

"The broken window was going to attract unnecessary attention," Major Cliff argued. "It was either now or possible never."

Carter had lost his sense of time. The hidden passage seemed endless. Their steps sounded hollowed and in the dark everything was louder.

"Finally," the joy wasn't lost in the whispered word.

Carter opened his mouth to ask about it as the wind blew out their candle.

They had to stop until Collins had lit it again. "What's with the happiness?" Collins grouched.

"Wind," Cycle answered. "It means we're near the entrance."

And sure enough, after a last sharp turn, they stood in the forest. Carter turned around but he could only see a big stone behind him. Leaves, branches and a perfectly placed stone hid the entrance.

"Boy, if we had one of those."

"We need to move," Major Cliff ordered and pulled Carter with him.

After a few minutes, they stopped. "Okay, we need to scatter. We build three groups: one tries to get to Spain, one goes to Switzerland and the last goes to Sweden." Major Cliff decided. "You have to go separate ways as fast as possible."

Time was of essence, they needed to get away far and fast. The moment their missing was detected, the hunt would be on.

"If you get there you need to find the American or an allied embassy. Don't trust the locals there. They may be neutral but you never know."

Everybody nodded. Only Carter hesitated. Without knowing the status of Stalag XIII and Papa Bear, he should probably return to London. But on the other hand he still had a bridge to blow up. He would try to fulfill his mission. However, the surrounding men had better chances to reach the coast on their own than following him back to Stalag XIII.

"Chester, Cycle ..." Cliff pointed to the men, "you try to reach Switzerland. Good luck and go!"

Silently, they disappeared in the darkness. Carter was impressed that they didn't even hesitate trying to determine which direction they should go.

"Carter," Collins whispered and pulled at his sleeve. "We need to go."

At his blank look, Collins added. "Sweden."

"No," Carter argued, "I need to return to Stalag XIII."

Major Cliff sighed. "Sergeant, we don't have time for this. Every second we stay here, we risk detection or being found by a patrol. I order you to follow Sergeant Collins."

Carter pressed his lips together. "I can't follow this order, sir. I have my orders from London and the Supreme Headquarters has ordered me to stay in Stalag XIII. Besides, I need to set some detonators I left behind. As long as the Hindenburg Bridge is standing, London is going to send more and more bombers. We can't smuggle them all back to London."

Despite his doubts, Carter couldn't really image that Hochstetter would win against Colonel Hogan. Operation Papa Bear would continue.

Narrowing his eyes, Cliff pressed his lips together until he reached a decision. "Fine, I'm not going to argue with the Supreme Headquarters. Go wherever you need to go."

Carter nodded. "Thank you and good luck." He stood up and marched in the forest ignoring the worried look.

After a few minutes, Carter stopped. He didn't know exactly in what direction he had to go.

Pausing, he tried to decide which way he should choose. But the trees all looked the same. If he could reach a street, he could ask. In the back of his mind he could hear Newkirk's angry refusal and words.

"Right," Carter said to himself, "crazy idea, asking a German for the way."

It was useless. With a sigh, he turned and walked back in the direction where he hoped to find one of the other men. Maybe they could tell him the right direction.

He found only Major Cliff and Sergeant Collins, neither of them seemed surprised to see him.

"Ahem, in what direction do I have to go?"

Collins smirked. "I should've taken that bet," he mumbled. Addressing Carter, he whispered: "What's the nearest town?"

"Hammelburg."

A look of concentration settled on his boyish face as Collins move his finger over an invisible map. Then he turned to Major Cliff. "I know where Hammelburg is and I have a good idea what bridge he wants to blow up. I can play Lassie."

"Sergeant-"

"We are going to have better chances trying to walk further into Germany than trying to reach the coast line. Maybe it is really this important for the war effort."

Carter bit his lips, cursing his own inability to walk a straight line. If he could just find the camp himself, he thought frustrated.

Nodding, Major Cliff agreed. "Good luck. And Sergeant Carter?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Tell your Colonel Hogan he owes me a beer."

"You got it boy," Carter grinned. At the serious face of the major, he shook his head, driving the smile away. "I mean, sir. You got it, sir."

TBC