Hogan didn't know what day it was or for how long they had been walking. He just knew that he was hungry, sore, and beyond the point of complete exhaustion.

They had been walking since they were abruptly woken up that morning, but time seemed to have lost all meaning. They could have been walking for hours, days, or even months, and it all would have felt the same.

The feeling seemed to be unanimous not only among the prisoners, but also among the guards. The Stalag 13 guards had been usually indifferent but not unfriendly to the men during the march, and Hogan was grateful that both Schultz and Langenscheidt seemed to be sticking close to the men from Barracks 2 when they could, which prevented them from being guarded by one of Wiener's men, who were prone to harassing and antagonizing the prisoners.

Occasionally they would see Klink, who almost appeared a prisoner himself, riding in a truck with Major Wiener when he bothered to associate with the prisoners and the guards, which was rarely. Klink's expression often appeared concerned and apprehensive, especially when he was confronted with the sight of his once vivacious prisoners looking so defeated and tired.

Even Wiener's guards, who had taken such malicious glee out of taunting the prisoners, seemed to grow tired with their harassment as the march went on. They would grumble to one another whenever they were sure a superior officer could not hear, and Hogan and his men could hear them talking in German to one another, speaking of wives and girlfriends, of home and their families, but mostly of food.

Everyone was hungry; the guards, the prisoners, everyone was miserable, and the gloomy feeling seemed to hang in the atmosphere.

Walking all day with nothing else to do at least allowed Hogan to think, to attempt to clear his mind and try to think of a plan that would help keep everyone alive. His thoughts drifted to Campbell, who had managed to slip away. He wondered if the older man was alright, where he was and if they would ever hear from him again.

A low thud followed by an exclamation caught Hogan's attention, and he turned to see Newkirk, who had been next to him, take a few steps away from the road to pick up something. It was funny to think that a few days ago, a move like that would have gotten the Englishman a kick in the knee from one of the guards, but their harsh authority had broken down somewhat, and as long as the men didn't full out make a run for the woods, the guards tended to ignore them.

On closer inspection, Hogan could see that what Newkirk had picked up was a dead pigeon that had just fallen victim to the Englishman's slingshot. He had traded the last of his d-bar chocolate for the device the last time they had come through a town, and the addition of fresh meat into their diets, however small the portions, had doubtlessly helped the overall health of the men.

A lighter borrowed from Schultz and an old tin can that LeBeau had found made a good enough "stove" as anything, and they had become experts at cooking while walking.

Newkirk offered the colonel some of the meat, as he always did, and Hogan accepted it, silently and gratefully. The two of them seemed to have silently agreed to save as much as they could for the others, especially Carter and LeBeau, the two seeming to be faring the worst out of their little group.

No one liked the sound of the cough that LeBeau had developed; a deep, phlegmy chest cough that was leaving him more and more out of breath. Carter's face had a gaunt, sunken look to it, and he was walking slower and slower every day.

Kinch had been spending most of his time walking with Olsen, who needed to be supported during lengthy amounts of the time they spent walking. A particularly violent shove from one of the guards a few days ago had caused the latter to fall into a ditch, resulting in a wide gash on his knee. They had done all they could for the wound, but the foul smell emanating from it made them fear that it had become infected.

Even though the men weren't yelled at for talking anymore, they tended to be quiet anyway. No one seemed to have anything to say, and nobody seemed to want to waste any of their precious energy talking anyway. Besides, talking wouldn't do them any good now; it would only make them more thirsty. The amount of rainwater and snow they had been surviving on was absolutely pitiful, and more and more of the snow was disappearing each day as the weather ever so slowly got warmer.

It was most likely this dismal silence that allowed the men to hear a rumbling sound in the distance. The sound gradually got louder as whatever it was got closer, and before long, Hogan could tell that the sound was probably an automobile.

His suspicions were proven correct when a small black car with swastikas on the side buzzed past them. He couldn't make out the faces of the people in the car, but he could tell that there were two occupants, one in a dark uniform and one in a uniform that could have been Luftwaffe.

The guards seemed indifferent to the vehicle, and no one said anything about it. Hogan watched as the car got smaller and smaller as it drove further and further away.

"Blimey, it would be great to have a car. Then we could get to wherever it is we're goin' and be done with this already," grumbled Newkirk at the sight of the disappearing car.

Hogan offered the corporal a small smile, but he knew that it was a pitiful one.

Would this marching ever end?

Would all of them survive to see the end?

Hogan's last morbid thought was pushed out of his head as abruptly as it had entered; a guard that had been farther ahead was running towards them. The man said something frantically in German to one of the other guards, and the news seemed to spread among them like wildfire. The prisoners soon caught wind of what they were talking about and the mood suddenly seemed to turn electric.

The war is over.

xxxxxxxxx

No one was walking anymore, everyone having stopped where they were, guards and prisoners alike, a large cluster of men forming in the road.

After a few moments of silence, everyone seemed to find their voices at once. The prisoners spoke to each other in hushed disbelief, and the guards shouted at one another in loud, frantic voices.

"Sir, do ya really think….." Newkirk's disbelieving voice was cut off at the sound of vehicles approaching once again, only this time there were two, a truck along with the car that had driven past earlier, and they were coming from ahead of them.

The truck stopped and Major Wiener leapt out, followed by Klink, whose expression was unreadable.

A Gestapo man, who had been the driver of the car opened the door and walked briskly to the other side, opening the passenger door and helping the vehicle's other occupant out.

Much to the shock of the watching prisoners, (although Hogan, when looking back at this, would probably think that nothing should have really surprised them anymore) the two men were none other than Hochstetter and Campbell.

Hochstetter, as always, was in his uniform, but Campbell was currently sporting the uniform of a Luftwaffe general. The two walked over to Wiener and Klink, and the group of men appeared to be speaking to one another in low voices.

Hochstetter appeared to be trying to tell Major Wiener something, but it looked as though they were having a hard time convincing the major of whatever it was.

Everyone watched as Wiener stalked away from the three other men and turned towards his guards.

"I'm sure that you've heard a piece of news from these men," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "While I never thought such a thing possible, I do believe that the Third Reich will rise again, and very soon. Anyone who thinks otherwise is nothing more than a traitor."

Everyone was silent, a few of the Major's guards nodding slightly in agreement.

"This man, who does not deserve to be called a General of the Third Reich," Wiener spat, his tirade now focused on Campbell, "has traitorously ordered me to bring the prisoners to the nearest train station so they may be received by the Red Cross and processed to be sent home."

The prisoners all looked like they wanted to say something, but the tone of the Major's voice implied that he was not done speaking to his men.

"However, as I no longer consider this man worthy of his position, nor do I believe his orders will make sense when we get the inevitable word of the Fatherland's glorious return to power, I am choosing not to obey them."

The smile on Major Wiener's face as he was speaking to the guards made Hogan's stomach lurch. Whatever Hochstetter and Campbell had planned did not look as though it was working; none of the cruelty or determination had left the major's face.

"And I have some orders of my own," Wiener stated, turning and making his way back towards the truck.

He turned back around once he was closer to the truck he spat out an order so full of malice and dripping with hatred that it no longer sounded human.

"Shoot the prisoners. Kill all of them! Now!"

I am really sorry about the cliffhanger. I will try not to do it to you ever again.

I've decided that, although the basis for this part of the story was the forced march of the crew of Dixie's Delight, I am adding and changing a few things to make this story my own. I've tried to keep everything as historically accurate as possible, but it can be difficult with things that don't have a precedent. This story was pretty faithful to the Dixie's Delight one in the beginning, but there were too many details that I would have had to incorporate if I followed their story exactly, and the forced march part of this story would be many many chapters long.

One thing that I did keep from the story was the slingshot. One of the crew members was able to trade chocolate for a slingshot from a little boy in one of the towns they went to, and he hunted with that. I would have given them a POW "Kriegie" stove to cook on, but since they never acted like real POWs, I don't think that they would have had one or thought to bring one with them.

According to the Dixie's Delight crew, the guards became really disenchanted as the march went on, eventually even working with the prisoners to keep themselves alive on the marches. One wrote about how the guards would have the prisoners hold their guns for them while they ate. Reminded me of a certain German guard we all know and love.