"Come in."

The Kommandant's response to the knock at the door of his office came in feeble, aged accents, faint enough for Hogan to decide to ignore it, and knock again. Only after the third attempt did he finally open the door and peek inside.

"Sorry, Kommandant," he said. "I knocked three times and you didn't answer."

"I answered, Hogan," replied Klink. "You just didn't hear me."

Hogan edged into the office, regarding Klink with an expression of concern. "Are you all right, sir? You look - well - not so good, frankly."

"I'm fine," Klink snapped back. "Just a little lower back pain, nothing to worry about." He attempted to lean back in his seat, stalled halfway, then slowly moved forward again, his face contracting in spite of his attempts at nonchalance. "The drive to Hammelburg yesterday was a little rough."

"Really?" remarked Hogan. "Gee, I thought you Germans always kept your roads in tip-top condition."

"We do - until your planes bomb them," growled Klink. "Hogan, that road was supposed to have been repaired a month ago by a work party of your men, in return for extra rations."

"Oh, that's right, I remember." Hogan folded his arms. "Rations which we never got."

"Hogan, don't try me too far. Last night I experienced the repair job your delinquents did on the road, and I'm considering halving the rations they're receiving now, just to teach them a lesson."

"It's not their fault, Kommandant," said Hogan petulantly. "It was Schultz. He wouldn't let them sing. He got quite mean about it, he stamped his feet and everything. It really discouraged them. After all, when you're working hard, in the heat of the afternoon sun, a little singing helps you to put your heart into it. But that's Schultz for you. Just not a music lover."

"I heard about that, Hogan," replied Klink, through gritted teeth. "General Burkhalter was fortunate enough to catch the performance on his way here. He told me very frankly that he didn't appreciate hearing that being sung in the heart of Germany."

Hogan shrugged. "What's wrong with Der Fuehrer's Face? It's a great song. Real catchy. It's even got sound effects."

Klink slammed the desk with the palm of his hand, but the accompanying cry of "Insolence!" did not get past the first syllable. After a few tense seconds, during which his face folded so tightly with pain that his monocle seemed in danger of snapping in half, he took a cautious inward breath. "Hogan," he muttered, "your men will resurface that road, and then resurface it again, until it is as level and smooth as the runway at a Luftwaffe air base."

"Well, that shouldn't take long," said Hogan, with a smug grin. "Have you seen what our bombers have done to those lately?"

The Kommandant glowered, but didn't take the bait. "There's another thing, Hogan. My staff car."

"Which one, Colonel?"

"The good one," Klink's voice grated. "The one that doesn't run like it's on square wheels. The one you and your men were supposed to have repaired for me last week."

"Oh, that one." Hogan shrugged. "Yeah, that's been a bit of a problem, sir. It's getting the parts, you know. Newkirk was going to run into town for them, but the guards wouldn't let him."

"More insolence. That car is to be repaired today, Hogan. And your men will start on the road repairs tomorrow. And when I say 'your men', Hogan, I mean it," Klink added, scowling. "The entire complement of Barracks 2 will turn out for the work party."

"Kommandant, you're being unreasonable," said Hogan coolly. " Prisoners of war aren't required to do that kind of work, you know. We repaired the road once, and you went back on your side of the deal. You're gonna have to deliver on that promise before I even consider asking them to redo the work. And you can't have all of Barracks 2, anyway. A couple of the men are sick."

That was a calculated risk. The chances of the work detail going ahead were pretty small, but if it did, it was better to have an excuse already in place for Carter and Mills not turning out. As Hogan expected, the mere suggestion of disease in the camp was enough to distract Klink's attention.

"What do you mean?" he gabbled. "Which men? Is it contagious?"

"Just something that's going round, sir. The camp medic's seen them, he's satisfied it's nothing serious, but we don't want it to get that way. And the last thing you want is to attract attention from the protecting power or the Red Cross. Not so soon after...well, you know, Colonel."

Klink did know. It was not so long since one of the prisoners had been killed, shot while trying to escape.* Vast quantities of paperwork continued to circulate in relation to the matter, and Klink was in no mind to risk another such incident. He shrank slightly, drawing his head down between his shoulders. "Of course not," he muttered. "Very well, if the medic confirms your statement, those men will be excused. Nevertheless, Hogan..."

"No, I'm sorry, Kommandant, but it's not negotiable." Hogan tilted his chair. "We'll fix the car, as a gesture of good faith. But the roadworks - well, like I said, make good on the last agreement, then we'll talk."

For a few seconds, he thought Klink might explode, but he was disappointed. The Kommandant glared at him, braced his hands on the desktop, straightened his spine, and caved. "I'll look into it. But the car is to be done today. Dismissed."

It wasn't an ideal compromise, but nor would it be a very demanding task. The car was running perfectly well anyway. "We'll get right on it, sir," said Hogan, and took his leave.

In the barracks, all was quiet. Staller was lying on the bunk which had been allocated to him, smoking. He looked bored, and he turned a sharp gaze on Hogan as he entered, then went back to studying the underside of the bunk above.

Apart from Mills, only LeBeau had remained above ground, to keep the major under observation and to watch for any approaching guards. He moved back from the door, opening it enough to let Hogan in, then resumed his surveillance.

"How's Carter doing?" asked Hogan in a soft undertone.

"He's sleeping again, mon colonel. He seems a little better - not so confused, anyway," replied LeBeau. "Do you want to see him?"

Hogan shook his head. "Better not disturb him. He needs his sleep right now. I'll check up on him later."

He headed down the ladder into the tunnel. Reaching the radio room, he stood still for a moment, listening to the subdued noise of men working to reinforce the unsafe part of the tunnel. Kinch, having set them to work, had returned to the radio.

"Still nothing from Düsseldorf, Colonel," he said. "But they may be missing our broadcasts. I can't keep sending all the time, in case the Krauts pick up the signal."

"Keep trying," replied Hogan. "But time it randomly, and keep the transmissions short. How's it going down there?"

"Slow." Kinch took off the headset, and put it on the desk. "We can't rush it, in case we set off another cave-in."

"Can you spare a couple of guys to go and look at Klink's car? He wants it fixed today, if we oblige then maybe he'll forget about the road repairs he wants done."

"Yeah, I think we can manage," said Kinch. "You know, we may be better off closing that passage down. It's going to take weeks to clear it, and it's not like we need to get to Barracks 5 that often. I'm not even sure whether it's worth trying to save the lab."

"I want the lab saved," said Hogan. "Or at least secured, till we get a chance to look around."

Kinch shrugged. "Well, I guess we can..." He broke off, as the radio came to life. "That's the emergency frequency," he muttered, reaching for the headset.

Hogan waited, watching in keen anxiety as Kinch took the message, his pencil flying across the paper. The night before - God, how much had happened since then! - Hogan had told Karl Weber to send at that frequency, if he needed help. Nobody else would be using it.

The transmission ended, and Kinch handed the paper to the colonel. "I guess I don't need to keep trying to reach anyone in Düsseldorf," he remarked grimly.

"Yeah." Hogan read it through. "Anyone who hasn't gone into hiding has probably been picked up. Damn it, Kinch. We could lose some good people." After a few seconds he added, "Or we could end up in the cells right next to them."

"Weber's waiting for a reply, Colonel," murmured Kinch. "He probably can't stay on the radio for more than a couple of minutes."

"Okay," said Hogan. "Tell him to be on the Hammelburg Road, near the Flensheim turn-off, at eleven hundred hours tomorrow. Newkirk will meet him there, and bring him back. Once we get him to camp, we'll be able to get more information."

"How's that going to work, Colonel?" Kinch paused with his hand on the Morse sender. "Sending Newkirk out through the emergency tunnel in daylight is just asking for trouble."

"We won't have to. Klink's going to send us out in a truck to pick him up."

"You're kidding."

"Afraid not, Kinch," said Hogan, with a rueful grin. "Get back to Weber, and give him those instructions. Then go and tell the men not to wear themselves out down in the tunnel. Tomorrow, we're going out to repair the Hammelburg Road. I just have to come up with a plausible reason to give in to Klink on the job. I already told him no way."

He turned away, towards the tunnel where the men were working, but stopped as Kinch spoke again. "Question, Colonel. Karl Weber - you sure we trust him?"

"At the moment, Kinch, I don't trust anyone but my own team," replied Hogan in a soft, even tone. "But we still bring Weber back here. Because if he's on the level, then his life is in danger."

"And if he isn't?" asked Kinch.

He already had an idea what the answer would be, and Hogan didn't hesitate in giving it.

"If he isn't, then it's even more important to get him here," he said. There was icy resolve in his tone. "This has gone on long enough. The sooner he's out of circulation, the better."

* A Dark Night, Long Ago