No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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"Are we far enough away?"

Kinch and Carter were hunched behind a tree on the hill just past the bridge, Stalag 13 to their backs, and a wired bridge before them.

Carter nodded. "Plenty. This is a big tree, Kinch," Carter answered. "I give it about thirty seconds and it'll be time to push the plunger." Carter surveyed the pair's handiwork from a distance. "You do good work. Ever thought of becoming a demolitions man?"

Kinch shook his head. "No, thanks. I'll stick to electronics. Less chance of getting blown up that way."

"Same chance of getting shot while you're here," Carter shrugged.

Kinch made a face. "Thanks, Carter. I feel a lot better now."

Suddenly the sounds of the night were interrupted by a tremendous noise that shook the branches of the tree under which they were standing. Carter did a double-take to make sure the dynamite on the bridge hadn't gone off early, then said, with a touch of awe in his voice, "That must be the others."

"We'd better get moving."

"Just a few seconds," Carter said, counting under his breath. A bang from the bridge, and he pressed down on the plunger with all his force, then pulled himself and Kinch down closer to the ground.

The earth received its second shock of the night. Splintered wood burned and fell to the valley below, and metal screamed into new shapes as fire started to consume the disappearing bridge. Carter couldn't stop a grin from washing over his face, only to be brought back to a different reality when Kinch nudged him. "Come on," Kinch said, "let's get out of here before someone shows up."

Carter agreed reluctantly and started disentangling the plunger from the wiring he had used. "See?" he said as they turned away and started back. "I told you it'd be nice and warm."

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Explosions still ringing in their ears, the two groups met up about a half mile away from the tree-stump entrance to the emergency tunnel.  After the briefest of looks around, Hogan had waved the others below, following them hastily. They practically ran back to the ladder under Barracks Two, listening anxiously as the explosions rippled through the tunnel, causing the oil lamps perched on the tunnel walls to tremble. With no time for words, they listened to the world above them, hearing only the muted sounds of more blasts. Hogan paused, then tapped a cautious signal on the ceiling of the tunnel under the bunk that served as the entrance to the building. The upper ladder suddenly swung down to meet them, and the face of Olsen peered down in greeting.

"Thank God, you guys," Olsen said, backing up to let them enter. "This place is a madhouse. Krauts running everywhere; the place is in a panic. You'd better get changed right away."

Hogan listened to the work they had done that evening still reverberating in the distance. He shivered inside when he thought of how close they had been to the source of those terrifying noises. Nodding, he turned to his men and told them to get into their government-issue clothes. There was no time for small talk, and no time to dissect the mission; an untimely intrusion by a German could mean the end of their operation—and the end of them.

It wasn't until Hogan started stripping down that he found that he hadn't escaped unscathed. A large splinter sat embedded in his lower left arm, and he had to gingerly peel off his trousers, as dried blood had affixed them to his knees. He winced at the stinging, then ignored it and thought of the men outside his room.

Still feeling little pain, Hogan finished changing and peered out into the common room. "Everybody okay?" he asked. He looked at Le Beau and Newkirk who, like him, had been so close to the main blasts. Le Beau's cheek was bleeding, and Carter was examining what looked like a cut on Newkirk's neck. Both of their faces, like his own, were filthy with stirred up dirt, and their hair had been visibly lightened by the dust. Kinch and Carter seemed untouched, if a bit grimier than they had started out. "Kinch, go get Wilson, would you? We need to make sure the Krauts don't get wise to any of this."

Kinch nodded and scrambled back into the tunnel. Hogan hobbled over to the bench, the feeling far-too-soon coming back into his legs as the adrenalin quickly drained from his body. Carter approached, and Hogan turned his attention to the young Sergeant. "Nice stuff, Carter. That whole place was a powder keg. They won't be using any of that ammo any time soon."

Carter grinned. "We could hear it from the bridge, Colonel. It sounded fantastic!"

"Any trouble there?"

"Oh, no, sir, everything went great." Carter paused. "And it was nice and warm, too!"

Hogan shook his head. "It was pretty warm where we were, too," he said.

Kinch returned shortly with the medic, and Hogan asked Wilson to give his men the once-over and make sure their cuts were clean and their injuries minor—and hidden. Wilson nodded and went to work on one man at a time, as the others continued their clean up with another man on watch in case the Germans came to call. Hogan disappeared into his room during the proceedings, trying to come to grips with everything he had seen, and, for the first time since the action began, thinking about the soldier he had ordered Newkirk to get out of the way. He wondered if the man was still alive.

Some time later, a knock on Hogan's open door drew him back to reality, and he sighed a weary, "Come," without looking up.

"Your turn, Colonel," came Wilson's voice. Hogan watched with disinterest as the medic entered the room, medical bag in hand. "How'd you fare tonight?"

"Could have been a lot worse," Hogan said, suddenly exhausted. "I don't think I expected the blasts to come so hard and fast. But then, I've never been so close to an explosion I've caused," he amended.

"Let's take a look at you." Wilson put his bag down on Hogan's desk.

"How are the boys?" Hogan asked.

"They're okay," Wilson answered. "A few abrasions; I've dressed and hidden what I could. Newkirk's going to have to pretend he cut himself shaving, though. Are your eyes irritated?"

Hogan considered for a moment. "A bit gritty," he admitted. Until now he had just thought of that as tiredness.

"That's from all the dirt blowing around. Newkirk and Le Beau said the same. Salt water eye washes, all right? For a couple of days, until they settle down. Ringing in your ears?"

Hogan nodded. "A little."

"That should go away soon, too. Make sure you tell me if it doesn't. What else?"

"What else, what?" Hogan dodged.

"Cuts, bruises…broken legs? What else did you do to yourself?"

"Just a splinter in my arm; I can get that out later."

"I'll save you the trouble," Wilson said. He came toward Hogan. "Roll up your sleeve."

"I told you, I'll do it later."

"And I told you, I'll do it now." Wilson stood stubbornly before Hogan. Trapped on his bottom bunk, Hogan knew in the end he wasn't going to win, and rolled up his sleeve. Wilson flinched. Something about splinters always made his stomach do a tiny flip. Still, he had seen worse. He turned back to his bag and pulled out some antiseptic and instruments to remove the foreign object. "Nice plank you've got there; collecting to build the whole house piece by piece?"

Hogan made a fist and gritted his teeth as Wilson's instruments probed his arm. "I figured the Germans owe me something for making me stay here." He involuntarily tried to pull away when Wilson touched a tender spot; the medic paused before continuing, but firmly held Hogan's arm in place. "Consider it a souvenir."

"You're lucky you didn't do more to yourself," Wilson said. Hogan hissed as the invading splinter reluctantly left its new home. Wilson reached for some gauze to wrap around the sore arm and continued. "Like break your legs." Hogan raised an eyebrow. "They're next—let's see them."

"I beg your pardon?" Hogan asked, rolling his sleeve back down.

"Your legs—let's see 'em."

"You've spent too much time away from girls," Hogan said lightly. "My legs aren't all that attractive."

"Colonel, you limped your way in here before. Don't think I didn't notice. Now let's see why."

Hogan decided resistance was useless and allowed Wilson to examine him. When he was finished, Wilson shook his head, and Hogan lay back on his bunk. "Okay, so this time you're right; that's superficial stuff," Wilson said grudgingly. "You must have landed pretty hard in the blasts. But don't spend much more time on your knees in the next few days!" he ordered, with a mock pout.

"Only to give thanks," Hogan replied.

Wilson shook his head, amazed. "I still can't believe you pulled it off."

"Are you kidding?" Hogan answered. "With Carter in charge of munitions? We're lucky we didn't blow up the whole country. More work to do tomorrow, though… and we're not out of the woods yet. I won't be happy until I know the Germans don't suspect us of anything."

Hogan's words were starting to slur, something that wasn't lost on Wilson. "Get some sleep, Colonel. I've already ordered the others to bed. You can talk about it all in the morning." He waited for an answer from the officer, then realized Hogan was already asleep. He packed up his equipment, shut off the light, and silently slipped out of the room.

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"What happened last night, Kommandant?" Hogan asked after roll call the next morning. Klink had been particularly tight-lipped at formation. Hogan had looked around with interest at the branches and other debris that were littering the camp, thinking again how far-reaching the damage from the explosions had spread. Dust still swirled through the air, and to the east, a heavy stream of smoke continued to billow steadily into the skies. There seemed to be a lot of guard activity this morning, and as the head count concluded, Klink announced that all prisoners were confined to barracks until further notice, refused to answer questions, and turned sharply on his heel to return to his office. Hogan had followed, Schultz trailing him with a string of pleas for Hogan to obey the Kommandant's orders, and stood confidently, almost self-righteously, at Klink's desk, looking down at the German, who seemed particularly harried and in no mood at all to deal with a man who more often than not could bamboozle him completely, and cause him to do things that never seemed to help the Third Reich.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Hogan, now return to your barracks as ordered dismissed," he said without taking a breath.

Hogan raised his eyebrows as though surprised. "Is that any way to treat a person who's just looking after the men under his command, sir?" he asked.

Klink looked up from his paperwork, tired. "Your idea of looking after your men is to torture me, Hogan. I don't have time or patience for that today."

Hogan shifted his weight back and forth on his feet and did his best to look wounded. "Now that really hurts," he said. "I was only asking because I was worried about you being understaffed if you're sending all the guards to help fight that fire."

Klink stiffened and immediately squinted as though to scrutinize Hogan more closely. "How do you know about that?" he asked, his voice quivering with frustration.

"Well it would seem obvious, sir, the way the sky is all smoky. And you wouldn't really have any other reason to confine the men to barracks, unless it was because you wouldn't have a full complement. Tell me, sir, were those explosions we heard last night connected to the fire at all?" Hogan asked innocently.

Klink frowned. "Explosions? I don't know what you're talking about, Hogan." Klink's voice was becoming more agitated.

"Gee, you must be a sound sleeper. One blast knocked Corporal Le Beau right out of bed! And the air's all full of grit this morning, Kommandant." Hogan moved in closer, and lowered his voice as though trying to keep his words secret from intruders. He grinned knowingly. "Now tell me what's really going on."

Klink waved his hand in front of Hogan's face to force him away. It didn't work. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

Hogan stood up and crossed his arms, sighing loudly. "Okay, Kommandant, have it your way. But I'd hate to be the one who tells General Burkhalter you've refused the prisoners' help in fighting the fire!"

Klink stood up and rounded the desk. "Refused the prisoners'--? That shows just how much you don't know, Hogan," he said smugly. "The Gestapo doesn't want anyone but authorized personnel near that fire, while it is being investigated."

Hogan mentally raised his eyebrows. Now he was getting somewhere. "Why would the Gestapo need to investigate a forest fire, sir?"

Klink laughed. "It's not a forest fire, Colonel Hogan; an ammunitions dump was sabotaged last night." Klink stopped suddenly, wondering about what he had just revealed.

"Ohhh," Hogan said, sounding awed. "I guess that explains all the boom booms."

Klink waved his fist in frustration. "Hogan, I don't need any of this today; Colonel Feldkamp is coming here this morning to discuss our strategy on dealing with this, and I would rather you weren't here when he arrives!"

Hogan retreated toward the door. "I'd rather I wasn't here, too," he said, anxious to get out so he could start planning—and so he could stay as far as possible from anything connected with Feldkamp. With a hasty salute, he quickly left the office.