Thank you for your help Marilyn!

Chapter 38

"Well?" Benson took in Tivoli's thunderous expression and held his breath, expecting the worst.

"I'm staying!" Tivoli snatched his cap from his head and threw it hard against Barracks 9. Watching it land upside down on the muddy ground didn't improve his mood. He grabbed it out of the mud, glared at the dirty material and then put the cap back on, mud and all. Trying to brush it off when it was wet would only compound the mess.

Benson leaned back against the wall and studied his friend, puzzled by the odd reaction. If Tivoli was staying, why was he acting like he would gladly strangle the first thing that got in his way?

"Hey. Did I miss something?"

Tivoli balled his hands on his hips and spewed a rapid stream of Italian. Benson rolled his eyes, waved his hands to stop the flood.

"Me no speaky crazy Italiano, remember?"

Tivoli threw his head back and glared at the sky, sucking in deep breaths. Once his temper was under control, he looked at Benson and spoke slowly, his voice tightly controlled.

"He restricted me to camp for two months and gave me laundry duty for three."

Benson winced in sympathy. "Ouch."

Their CO knew Tivoli well enough to hit him right where it would hurt the most. The Italian loved going outside the fences for any reason: missions, recon, or just to walk around and enjoy the pleasure of being away from the guards and fences that reminded him of his captivity. The knockout punch, though, was being saddled with laundry duty. Tiv absolutely hated the so-called 'women's work' with a passion and always bribed one of the other men – usually Maddux, Jones or Lyons – to take his turn. The way Tivoli saw it, everyone benefited. He got out of a chore he hated, and someone ended up richer by half a dozen chocolate bars or even a pack of cigarettes.

Tivoli huffed a deep sigh and dropped onto the bench, the anger draining out of him. Shoulders drooping, he bowed his head and stared at the ground between his feet, seeing not dirt, but washtub upon washtub of dirty laundry and reddened, chapped hands.

"Dannazione, Bense, it's going to be a long three months."

"Look at it this way," Benson said after a few moments of silent commiseration. "If not for his great reaction time, you wouldn't be around to serve the sentence."

Tivoli nodded. "Looking down the barrel of that gun was like looking into the mouth of a cannon."

"What do you think it felt like for the colonel, seeing you from the other end of that barrel?"

Tivoli imagined what it might have been like if their positions had been reversed, and felt his gorge rise in his throat. He swallowed the burn, cold sweat popping out on his face.

"Yeah," Benson said, nodding.

"Okay," Tivoli breathed, wiping the back of his hand across his upper lip. "I guess I deserve every bit of the punishment . . . but the next three months are still going to be the longest of my life!"

Benson cocked his head, the better to get a good look at Tivoli's face. "You're going to stick to his restrictions, right?"

Tivoli's brow puckered with a deep frown. Benson sat up straighter, the sudden move jostling his knee. A mixture of alarm and pain raised his voice.

"You are, right?"

Tivoli slowly turned his head toward Benson, his mouth set in a tight, hard line. One look at Benson's wide eyed expression and he started laughing.

"Relax, Bense. I was just playing with you. I gave him my word."

Benson glared at him. "I'd punch you if I wasn't incapacitated right now."

Tivoli's grin grew to shark-like dimensions. "Hold onto that thought. Once your knee's better, I'll let you have a go at me in the ring."

"Yeah, right," Benson laughed. "I'll just wait until you're elbow deep in dirty laundry to take my revenge."

Tivoli's grin melted into a glower at the reminder of his punishment.

"Dannazione, it's going be a long three months!"

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Hogan turned a page, read a few more lines and then tossed the coverless book down on his bunk. The plot was not all that interesting and his mind kept straying to his men and the meeting with his mysterious contact. His wish for some time off had come true, and his men were back to full strength after three days of rest. Even Benson was walking with only a slight limp. His own aches and pains had vanished and as predicted, he was more than ready to go back out tonight.

Just thinking about it prompted him to check his watch. Still nearly seven hours until he could leave for the meeting.

Taking in a deep breath, he stretched out on his back, tucked his arms behind his head and crossed his legs at the ankles. Might as well get a nap in since there was nothing else to do.

His eyes had just closed when he heard the loud rumble of engines outside the barracks. Newkirk popped his head into the room, his face flushed with excitement.

"Trucks pulling up, Guv'nor. Klink's clucking and fussing about like an ol' biddy hen."

Hogan laughed at the image of a chicken in German uniform, wearing a monocle and holding a riding crop under its wing. Following Newkirk outside, he worked his way to the front of the crowd forming in front of Barracks Two and settled between Carter and LeBeau. Pulling his cap low to shield his eyes from the bright sun, he took in the line of canvas-covered cargo trucks parked in the middle of the yard. Klink was darting from truck to truck, peeking beneath the canvases covering each truck's cargo area.

Carter cocked his head, puzzled by Klink's behavior. "What do you suppose is going on, Colonel?"

"I don't know," Hogan murmured, watching Klink issue directions to the drivers. While they went to the backs of their trucks and lowered the tailgates, Klink exchanged words with Schultz, glanced toward Barracks Two, said something else to Schultz and then walked back to his headquarters at a fast clip. Schultz headed toward Barracks Two, while Langenscheidt and more of the guards dispersed, on course for the other barracks.

"Well," Newkirk huffed, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. "Guess we'll find out soon enough what the ruddy blighters are up to."

"I bet it involves work," Kinch murmured.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz called, waving a hand as if expecting Hogan to suddenly run away. "All mattresses and pillows are to be brought out immediately and loaded into the first four trucks."

LeBeau folded his arms, jutted his lower lip. "What are we to sleep on?"

Schultz's cheeks dimpled with an expansive grin. "The new mattresses and pillows from the other four trucks."

Exclamations of surprise broke out and the men surged toward the trucks, swallowing Schultz in their midst.

Hogan and Kinch glanced at each other.

"We're not due for another Red Cross inspection yet," Hogan said, watching his men surround the backs of the trucks.

Kinch shrugged. "It's probably a mix-up and they'll be back in a few days to take them away from us and give them to another camp." He flashed a smile at his CO, rubbed his hands together. "Guess I'd better get in there and lend a hand."

Hogan slanted a thoughtful look at the window of Klink's headquarters, then ambled after Kinch to do his part.

Klink watched all the activity from behind the curtain in his office, a wide grin splitting his face. Schultz was going back and forth between the trucks, directing the loading of the old bedding and the unloading of the new. Hogan was not in sight, but Klink knew was there by how efficiently the work was proceeding. The prisoners rarely responded with such alacrity to any of Schultz's orders.

Flush with satisfaction at seeing his good deed come to fruition, Klink returned to his desk and after buffing his monocle clean, went back to work. The smile never strayed far from his face and a chuckle escaped now and then as he wrote.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

"So . . ."

Hogan looked up from tying his boot. Kinch was seated straddle-legged on the next bench, arms folded and a slight frown on his face.

"So," Hogan prompted, drawing the word out.

Kinch rubbed a hand over his mustache. "This meeting . . ."

Hogan tied the other boot, double-checked both knots and yanked his trouser cuffs down once he was done. His gaze cut from Kinch to his locker and he reached inside, dug through the supplies in the bottom and came up with a tin of soot.

"Spit it out, Kinch."

Kinch sighed heavily. "I think it's a bad idea."

Hogan sat straight up, the tin in his hand forgotten. "Because you think it might be a trap or because you're wondering if I'm still okay with using my gun?"

Kinch shook his head, raised a hand, palm toward Hogan. "You've proven under the worst possible circumstances that you're more than capable of using it, and that your instincts are as good as ever." He paused, then added, "You didn't freeze that night, and you won't ever again."

Hogan looked down at the tin, turned it over in his hand a few times. "But if I do," he said, so softly that Kinch leaned forward a little to hear him. "I hope the only life lost will be my own."

"You won't." Kinch mentally shook his head, surprised that they had to cover this again. Before he could say anything more, Hogan looked up and grinned at him.

"Just stop right there, buddy. I don't need any pep talks tonight. I'm fine. Just reminding you that neither of us can see the future, or what either of us might do in any situation." The grin widened, the teasing lilt in his voice strengthened. "After all, we're only human, remember?"

Kinch bowed his head, covered his eyes with his hand and groaned. He peeked out from beneath his palm at the sound of Hogan's laughter. "In other words, 'drop it'?"

Hogan nodded, the grin as strong as ever. Kinch laughed.

"Okay. Consider it dropped. But . . ." His demeanor abruptly shifted from playful to deadly serious. "As far as this meeting goes, I still think it's a bad idea. Let me go along to back you up in case it really is a trap."

Hogan cocked his head, gave Kinch a faint version of his cocky smile. "I have it on very good authority that my instincts are as good as ever . . ." he paused as Kinch rolled his eyes. "And my excellent instincts are telling me that everything will be fine."

Grinning, Kinch touched two fingertips to his forehead. "Gotcha."

Hogan slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't wait up, Mom."

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Hogan closed the lid to the entrance and trotted into the bush just ahead of the searchlight's beam. He kept up as fast a pace as possible, eager to put a cushion of safety between him and the guards' perimeter route.

He had not gone far when a soft whine brought him up short. He pivoted toward the sound and crouched, grinning in anticipation. The undergrowth rustled with movement and Heidi bounded into view, her tan and black coat glistening with dew. She stopped just out of arms' reach, her cocked head and perked ears giving her a quizzical look.

Hogan put a finger to his lips, then crooked it. Heidi leaped forward and crowded up against his chest, wriggling with happiness at seeing him. Her tongue flashed out over and over, swiping warm kisses over his cheek and ear. Hogan's grin briefly widened and he tucked his face into the thick ruff of fur protecting her neck, evading the show of affection. Heidi wriggled backward a step and lifted her soft gaze to his face, her head tilting again. Hogan stroked a hand down the back of her neck to her powerful shoulders.

"How's my girl?" he whispered.

Heidi's head tilted in the opposite direction, the blonde markings over her eyes twitching. She lifted a paw, brought it to rest upon his knee and before he could dodge, gave his cheek another quick swipe. He scratched the base of one her sharply pointed ears, grinned when her eyes half-closed in pleasure.

"Hey," he breathed, bringing his face closer to hers. "It'll be awhile before Tivoli's back out here, but next time he is, give him a little nip on the leg, okay?"

Heidi's eyes rolled up to Hogan's face, a rumble sounding deep in her chest. He held up a finger, wagged it before her nose.

"Just a nip, Heidi, as a reminder to behave himself while he's outside the fences."

A sharp, two-tone whistle sounded in the distance. Heidi's ears pricked and her head whipped toward Stalag 13, but she didn't budge from his embrace. Hogan gently scrubbed his fingers through her ruff and she looked back at him, tail wagging a slow beat.

"Better go before he comes looking for you."

Heidi whined low in her throat. Hogan gently lifted her paw from his knee.

"What? You think I don't know the way back by now?" He pointed toward Stalag 13. "I'll make it before roll call. Go on, girl."

Heidi whirled and bounded back into the brush.

Hogan gave her time to return to Gottschalk, then went on, his eyes and ears open for danger.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Marc Zoellner's truck was parked in a small, hidden glen off a sparsely traveled road. After several circuits of the surrounding area, Hogan was satisfied that they were alone. Pulling out his small flashlight, he pointed it slightly below the truck's dark windshield, and clicked the light on and off three times, paused, then flashed it a fourth time. A light instantly flared to life inside the truck's cab, flashing the coded answer. Stowing the flashlight back in his pocket Hogan made his way through the trees to the truck. Zoellner walked out to meet him, wearing a broad grin.

"Good evening, sir," Marc rumbled, clasping Hogan's outstretched hand. "It has been a long time."

"That it has, Marc. Everyone in the family doing okay?"

"Ah," the cobbler sighed, shrugging a massive shoulder. "The little one is cutting teeth."

Hogan grimaced. "Ow." His eyes went to the truck and his tone turned crisp. "My contact in there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Guess I should go say 'hi'." Hogan took a couple of steps toward the truck, realized that Marc hadn't moved, and threw a questioning look over his shoulder. "You coming?"

A small smile flickered over Marc's broad face. "You go ahead. I have some business of my own to take care of." The smile took on sheepish overtones. "Too much to drink before I left home."

Hogan huffed a small laugh. Had anyone else used the same lame excuse under similar circumstances, he would have been suspicious. But if Marc said he had to attend to the call of nature then it was either true or there was a good reason for him to lie about making himself scarce.

Hogan went to the back of the truck, opened the doors and got in, taking a seat immediately inside. His hand automatically settled upon the butt of his gun. Squinting in the poor light, he could just make out a figure seated in deep shadow at the far end of the truck. Wrapping his fingers around the pistol's grip, he spoke the assigned code phrase. There was a brief pause and then the answering code was given in a breathless voice that was very close to a whisper. He frowned, trying to place it. There was something . . .

He leaned forward, fingers still wrapped upon his weapon's grip, and tried to make out his contact's features, but the shadows hid them well. Frustration bled into his tone.

"We don't have all night, fella. What's this highly sensitive information that you wanted to give me?"

There was a rustle of clothing, but no answer. Hogan frowned.

"Hey, why don't we have some light so we can see? Don't worry. No one will be able to see it from outside." Without waiting for an answer and without taking his eyes off the other man, Hogan stretched out his free hand and turned the wick up on the lantern hanging from the ceiling.

The higher flame revealed a hunched figure seated in profile, cap pulled down low and collar turned up. A wisp of dark hair curled from under the back of the cap, but other than that, Hogan could make out little. Puzzled by the strange behavior and even warier than before, he tightened his fingers upon the pistol's grip.

"Shy?" Hogan quipped with a faint smile. Again, there was no response and his smile faded to nothing. Annoyance topped his wariness.

"Listen, fella. I've got a brand new lumpy mattress and ratty blanket waiting for me, so why don't you just speak up and tell me why you called me here?"

His contact's shoulders uncurled and small hands reached up to fold the jacket's collar down. Pivoting on the bench, his contact swept off the cap, presenting a full view of very familiar features. The short, dark hair was new, but Hogan would know that face anywhere.

He quickly released his grip on the pistol and surged forward. They met in the middle of the truck, their arms winding about each other in a tight embrace. Close-cropped, brunette curls brushed Hogan's nose, lightly scented with soap. Feeling a knot loosen deep inside his heart, he drew in a deep breath, lowered his head and met her halfway again. Their lips pressed into a kiss that rapidly gained bruising intensity. A soft sound came from the back of Tiger's throat and she reached up to cup his cheeks.

One kiss led to another and another. Hogan gently guided her down to the floor and there were blankets, and how could he have missed that, and who the heck cared and oh, how he had missed her . . .

His last coherent thought when he felt her unbuckle his gun belt and slide it away from his hips was, Glad I told Kinch not to wait up.

Thank you for reading! Just one more chapter to go.