Hogan panted harshly as he crouched down, leaning against a tree. Wiping a hand across his forehead to clear away both sweat and rain, he cast a glance over at Olsen, who was pressed up against another tree. The sergeant risked a glance out from his hiding place and then held up three fingers. Hogan cursed softly.

After their spectacular get-away, he and Olsen had tried to keep a low profile, dodging each new patrol with stealth rather than taking them on with force. But it made for slow going. Hogan had guessed it would take an hour, maybe two, from the last checkpoint to get back home. But that had been when they had a vehicle. Now they were on foot, picking their way through a thick forest crawling with Krauts. Both were in German uniforms, but even so, it would be hard to pass off as a patrol- their uniforms were practically in tatters- Hogan's was even missing one sleeve- and their description had probably been sent to every patrol from here to Dusseldorf.

Hogan's desire to get back to Stalag 13 as soon as possible was tempered by the crushing disappointment of losing the penicillin. The whole reason they had gone out and risked their necks was nothing more than a heap of ash in the midst of the burning wreckage of their kubelwagen. By blowing up the car and the penicillin, Hogan had signed Carter's death certificate. The thought made him sick. How could he possibly go back and face his men? How could he face Carter and tell him he had let him down? Assuming Carter was even still alive to tell.

Though the decision tore at his heart, he knew he had made it for a reason. He hadn't had a whole lot of options. He was responsible for more than just Carter. He had a whole operation to take care of- an operation that needed him to function. So, pushing down his guilt, Hogan forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He had to get himself and Olsen home. He would face the consequences of his actions later when they were both safe.

The sky was dark and the rain seemed to come down in buckets. It was both a blessing and a curse. It helped to dampen any sounds they made, and dulled the patrols' senses. But that worked both ways. Once they had almost run into a patrol because they hadn't heard them. But both he and Olsen were too good to let it happen twice.

Gradually, the terrain had become more and more familiar. They were closer to Stalag 13 than they had been before, but they were still a good hour away on foot. It would have been easy to get sloppy, being so close to home, but Hogan wouldn't let his guard down.

Hogan consciously made an effort to quiet his breathing. It wasn't easy- his ribs were on fire. He must have bruised a few during his bout of fisticuffs with that German earlier. Peeking around the tree, he caught sight of the patrol Olsen had pointed out. They were lazily picking their way through the foliage, sweeping brush aside with their rifles. They didn't seem too alert which was a welcome relief. The last few patrols had been a lot harder to get past, being on full alert.

Hogan caught Olsen's eye and noticed the look of relief on the sergeant's face. So he was thinking the same thing too. Well, neither could allow their guard to go down. This patrol might seem easy enough to dodge, but Hogan wasn't about to press his luck. He sent a quick hand motion for Olsen to get moving while he stayed to cover the patrol, just in case they noticed him. Olsen nodded and slipped silently through the brush. The patrol didn't seem to notice.

After a moment, Hogan started to move but suddenly stopped when the patrol paused and started talking.

"It's getting late," one man said to the others. "We have been out in the rain for hours. I do not think we will find either prisoner."

"What about those men we were told about? We may catch them," another remarked. "And then-"

"And then what? Colonel Klink will promote us?"

The name hit Hogan like lightning and he paused, leaning back up against the tree. These men weren't a regular patrol. They were from Stalag 13! That meant they were close to home. Hogan almost sighed in relief, but managed to keep quiet.

The other men laughed at the assumption. "It is wet and cold. Let's go back. Colonel Klink will not even know. Unless you're afraid of Sergeant Schultz!"

That earned another bout of laughter. One guard slapped his companion on the back and motioned for them to start moving. Hogan waited for them to be out of sight before he darted through the brush. He met up with Olsen not too far away.

"Colonel!" Olsen hissed. "Did you hear? They're ours."

Colonel Hogan almost smiled at that. 'Ours', indeed. It certainly was a crazy war. "They sure are."

"Think we can hitch a ride?" Olsen asked hopefully.

"It's worth a shot," Hogan replied. "Come on, let's go, before they get too far ahead of us."

Olsen nodded and together they started off in the direction of the patrol, moving as fast as they could while still maintaining a degree of stealth. As the trees grew thinner, Hogan caught sight of the guards, still picking their way through the forest. A little further ahead, a truck sat on the road. Hogan reached out and grabbed Olsen's sleeve, bringing him to a stop.

"Get in the cab," Hogan muttered under his breath. "Get in the cab." If they all got in the cab, then Olsen and Hogan were free to jump into the back. If not, they had wasted a good five minutes following these goons for no reason.

Apparently, the goons had the good sense to listen to his almost silent plea. Hogan wasn't sure what he would have done if they hadn't. Beside him, Olsen let out a small breath as the three Germans piled into the cab. Hogan heaved his own sigh as he cautiously stepped out from his hiding place. As the truck's engine turned over, Hogan quickly scanned the roadway and, confident the coast was clear, darted out onto the road and practically dove into the back of the truck. Olsen was one step behind him. Olsen immediately pulled his gun, aiming it at the canvas separating the back from the cab as if he expected the Germans to peek back and discover them.

Hogan pulled his gun too, though he desperately hoped he wouldn't have to use it. It would just make things more complicated.

"Eyes on the road, boys," Hogan whispered, hoping the Germans would comply to his wishes again.

The truck pulled forward and Hogan felt his tension ease, though it didn't disappear entirely. There was still a chance they would get caught. And even if they didn't, once they were home, Hogan would have to face the inevitable reaction of his men when they realized he had returned without the penicillin.

Across the bed of the truck, Olsen sighed and sank back against the canvas, looking thoroughly drained, though his gun was still aimed at the front. "Damn, Colonel." Though it was directed at him, the statement was barely a whisper and Hogan almost missed it. "All that… for nothing."

Hogan leaned forward and rested his hand on Olsen's knee, giving it a little shake. He didn't reply, mostly because there was nothing he could say.

At that moment, Hogan wanted nothing more than to break apart and agonize over the 'what ifs'. But he couldn't change what had happened. He had made his decision and as much as he hated himself for it, it had been the right one. The only one. Hadn't it?

"Sorry, Colonel."

"Don't. Just… don't."

Olsen clapped his hand over Hogan's and nodded before looking away.

Sitting in the back of the truck, with the rain pouring outside, Hogan looked out at the retreating forest and couldn't help but feel thoroughly defeated.