The sound of dogs barking startled Kinch from sleep. He shot up out of bed, wondering at what might have disturbed them. Spending so much time listening at the radio had sharpened his already keen hearing. Even if that hadn't been the case, the dogs were so loud that they could easily be heard across the stalag. Since they were usually rather docile and quiet at this time of night, whatever had disturbed them must be important.

After peeking out the window, he dashed over to the colonel's room and flicked on the light. "Colonel, someone's here!"

Colonel Hogan stood, LeBeau at his side. "It's too late for Burkhalter. . . Wonder who it is. . ." He tossed a blanket over Newkirk and shook Carter awake. "We'll listen in on whatever he has to say to Klink." He pulled out the coffeepot that they had rigged to be a listening post.

"But, Colonel, won't Klink be in his quarters?" Kinch supplied.

Hogan groaned and dragged a hand across his face. It must've been the sleep deprivation talking, Kinch decided. The colonel tugged on his coat. "I'll be right back, then. Time to pay the ol' Bald Eagle a visit."

Carter yawned, stretching his arms out wide. With his ruffled hair and droopy eyes, he looked the very picture of a child awoken during nap time. "Boy, do you think someone saw us come back?"

Colonel Hogan shrugged. "I'm not sure. We'll find out either way." With that, he left the room.

Carter's gaze landed on his immobile friend. "I sure hope he'll be okay."

Unsure whether Carter was referring to Hogan or Newkirk, Kinch merely shrugged. "It'll turn out all right." He knew that wasn't a promise he could rightfully make. They all knew. There was absolutely no way he'd be able to predict what the future would hold for them, especially if this man was here to cause trouble. Still, it seemed like the right thing to say. "Well, we'd better prepare." He froze, a memory making its way back to him. "I told Schultz the colonel and Newkirk were sick! I have to keep that story up, or our alibi goes out the window!" After grabbing his coat, he ran out the door. He was in such a hurry that he didn't even bother to make use of the object in his hands.

~\*/~

Colonel Hogan strolled over to the Kommandantur in a way that he was hoping would appear nonchalant should he catch the eye of any guards. He had just flung open the door to the Kommandant's quarters when Kinch appeared at his side. The man was clutching his coat, chest heaving. After being given a look by his superior officer, Kinch put on the article of clothing.

"What is the meaning of this?! What is this man doing here?!" Hochstetter snarled. He had been in the middle of lecturing Klink on how the Gestapo could do anything it deemed necessary (even sneaking into camp and interrogating prisoners, if Hogan's guess was any good). Hogan had based his theory on the man's outstretched finger and outraged expression. Does it count if he always looks majorly upset? he thought absently. Shaking his head as if to dislodge the thought, he stated, "Colonel Klink, this is against the Geneva Convention! Why, you know better than th—"

Before he could continue, Kinch cut him off. "I'm so sorry, Kommandant. The colonel's still not quite over his delirium."

Klink, whose expression of confusion mirrored Hogan's, could only grunt a questioning "Huh?" in response. "Delirium?"

Hogan's mind was whirring. Eventually, he decided that Kinch must've spun some sort of tale during his absence. But he had to proceed with caution. If he said anything out of line during this conversation, Klink might take notice.

Kinch nodded. "You'll remember, sir, that I told Sergeant Schultz earlier that our cabin was contaminated with a virus? Well, sir, Colonel Hogan and Newkirk have the worst of it right now. Carter's close behind. Anything he says might not make sense." He discretely shot Hogan a look.

The colonel's eyes flickered with understanding. He stumbled and nodded slowly. "I do have to say that—"

Klink waved a hand dismissively. "Be quiet, Hogan. You're too sick to know what's going on. And why are you outside the cabin anyway?"

"No, let him speak," Hochstetter surprised them all by saying. "Hogan, what were you up to tonight?" Had the Americans not known better, they almost might've been convinced he truly cared.

Colonel Hogan grinned. "I'm glad you asked! You see, it was all Olsen's idea. He even brought what we needed for it. Smith, Jameson, and Jones went along with it, of course, but you know how they are. . ."

"Get to the point!" Hochstetter ground out, teeth clenched in irritation.

Hogan shrugged. "Well, it was a tough fight. I only just barely won to Olsen, and Jones was so close to beating Jameson. Oh, and there was that hand I was dealt. If I'd have been given an ace of hearts instead of a jack of spades, there's no way I'd have won." Delirious, eh? I'll give them delirious. . . He cleared his throat, eyes wide. "And then the wolves came! Oh, we tried to fight them off. Callaghan and Murdoch were the first to go. Pevensie was next. Well, not the next to be taken by wolves. That was Mason. Still, the poisonous mushrooms were what got poor little Pevensie. And to think, what would've you have done if you were me, Major? Your men dying, and you can't help it because you've got a dentist's appointment? Naturally, I felt like a bad commanding officer. I'm sure you'd have felt the same way if you were in my shoes. Hey, what size shoe do you wea—"

"Enough! Hogan, were you in the town of Dusseldorf tonight?"

Klink's eyes widened. "Oh, no, sir!" he twittered. "He could not have been anywhere near there! We've never had an escape here at Stalag XIII. Besides, I had a surprise roll call tonight. Everyone was here. . ."

Hochstetter shot him a withering glare.

Klink sort of shriveled, eyes flicking down at his shoes. ". . . But if you must ask him questions, then who am I to get in the way?" he murmured demurely.

Colonel Hogan could hardly resist gasping, "But, Kommandant! Don't you even care about us anymore?!" He appeared genuinely hurt. "We believe in you—I believe in you!—and you'd throw it away just to swim upstream with the other salmon, dodging the occasional barracuda or piranha? What does that say about you? What does that say about your tendency to eat fancy tuna or to wear silk cravats? Isn't it cannibalism when a fish eats another fish? We're your prisoners. No one can question us without your permission, not even Tommy Dorsey or Betty Grable." After a moment, he sighed, "Although I wouldn't mind her asking us questions. A little champagne, a dimly-lit room, a pan flute, a satyr . . ." He allowed himself to trail off, hoping that sounded crazy enough to continue to façade of a delirious man but still sober enough to remind Klink that he didn't have to let the Gestapo run all over him.

"Klink, are you going to let this man talk to me like that?" Hochstetter was seething. Hogan could practically see steam come out of his ears.

"Y-yes. Yes, of course, Herr Major." He paused and realized what he'd said. "I mean, no, of course not!" He turned to Hogan and whispered, "Even though you're sick, you can't say things like that, especially not to him! Oh, what am I saying? You probably don't understand me, anyway." His gaze shifted to Hochstetter."I wa—I was only trying to say earlier that there was no way Colonel Hogan could've been missing. Everyone was counted as present during the surprise roll call tonight. Schultz counted twice!" After a moment, he seemed to regain some of his courage and squared his shoulders somewhat.

"And is that supposed to make me feel better?!" Hochstetter hissed. "That buffoon couldn't count anything higher than he has fingers!" He scowled.

Schultz, who to this point had kept his silence in the hopes that it would not spark the Gestapo officer's ire, opened and closed his mouth a few times. When he had finally gathered enough confidence to speak, he began to defend himself. "I counted them all, Herr Major! There was not one man missing!"

Amused, Hogan scoffed inwardly, No, Schultz. Not one. Two, three, maybe four, but certainly not one. Well, I suppose it's time to play up the act. He clutched his head and fell to the floor, coughing.

Kinch leapt forward, crying out, "Kommandant, he's really not well. May I take him back now?"

"Ja, und I would like to go with them. If there really is this virus you mention, I want to see it for myself." Hochstetter lifted a hand to stroke his chin, a smirk growing on his face.

Colonel Hogan could practically hear his thoughts. "Those Dummköpfe surely don't expect me to walk into the barracks! I'll catch them off guard and finally capture Papa Bear," . . . or something like that. He resisted the urge to chuckle, instead groaning as if in pain.

Klink was bordering on panic. "Major Hochstetter, we think the virus may be contagious. Surely you wouldn't want to infect yourself with whatever it is that they have . . ." His voice trembled in fear.

"Silence! I said I will see their barracks, and I will see them!" Hochstetter pointed a finger at Kinch, "Take me there! With Papa Bear incapacitated, you and the rest of the men will be helpless!" That last bit was muttered underneath his breath, but Hogan heard it all the same. He forced himself to become limp.

"Kommandant, can we please take the colonel back to the cabin?" Ever the rational one, Kinch brought the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Major Hochstetter, if you are coming back with us, can you at least help a little bit? The colonel's a bit heavy."

Hochstetter grumbled at that. The very idea of an American prisoner ordering him around no doubt caused him to balk. Eventually, the man called for Schultz to help Kinch transport the colonel to his bed. "Don't follow us, Klink!" he hissed.

As he was carried back, Colonel Hogan discovered that pretending to be unconscious was entertaining . . . and also nerve-wracking. No matter how strong his façade of calmness, his mind was constantly whirring. Even now, he was thinking of what to do should Hochstetter fail to be convinced.

~\*/~

From his perch on Colonel Hogan's bunk, Carter watched as the men hurried around the room, throwing threadbare blankets over those "sick" soldiers. He thought it rather amusing, to be honest. After a moment, he laid down and pulled up the colonel's blanket. It would be better for his cover if he pretended that he were asleep. That way, I can't mess it all up by accident. Despite all the hustle and bustle and the conscious thought that Hochstetter was likely on his way to see them, Carter found his eyes slipping closed.

He awoke to the light being turned on in the room. He blinked and then froze. Hochstetter stood in the door, a murderous glare in his eyes.

Carter could feel his heart leap into his throat. Eyes wide, he started to sit up. At the last second, he remembered that he was supposed to be sick. He forced himself to start coughing. "Ma—" He paused to cough two more times— "Major, what brings you here?"

Instead of answering, Hochstetter spun on his heel. He called out to another, "Why is this man in Hogan's room? Why are you not putting him in here?"

Before Carter could come up with an excuse, Kinch's steady voice cut it. "We thought he was getting better. Since Carter seemed to be getting worse, we put him in the colonel's room."

Hochstetter turned and scowled. "And what if these men are merely pretending to be sick?" He leaned down and extended a hand toward Newkirk's forehead. The moment it came in contact with the Englishman's exposed skin, he jerked it back as though he had been burned. His eyes darkened at the realization that this man was truly ill. Straightening, he met Carter's eyes. "Come here," he beckoned. "Let me feel your forehead."

Carter's mind raced. Should he obey? The Major would no doubt find that he had no fever. But refusing to comply would merely serve to make the German more suspicious. Maybe the blanket made my head a bit hotter than normal. The thought was ludicrous. These blankets could barely keep in heat, let alone create more. However, he thought it in his best interests to obey the man. Before Carter could do anything, though, Kinch appeared in the doorway.

"Carter, how are you feeling?"

Carter almost sighed in relief. Leave it to Kinch to rescue me! Now, what can I say that sounds crazy? "Boy, I'm not sure. Mom, did you make any more of that chicken soup?" He blinked innocently and yawned.

Kinch merely smiled in response. "He's been like this for an hour," he whispered conspiratorially to Hochstetter. "He thinks Newkirk's his cousin and that I'm his mother." Kinch punctuated these words with a roll of his eyes. "If it makes you feel better, Daley thinks LeBeau's his dog."

Just when Carter was beginning to think that they were laying it on a little too thick, Newkirk moaned. The blond just barely managed not to call out his friend's name in jubilation. Instead, he peered down to the young man in the bunk below.

"Andrew? Izzat you?" Newkirk's words were slurred with exhaustion. He blinked his eyes in an attempt to focus them. "But I thought you were . . . pretending to be that bleeding, pompous toff . . ."

"Toff?" Hochstetter blinked. After a moment, his eyes grew large. He exclaimed, "Aha! Pretending to be a German officer? That is treason and reason for me to take him back with me!"

No, Peter! Don't talk about that! Carter knew he had to speak up. "Look, Peter, just 'cause I put on Grandpa's shirt that one time—You always bring that up, you know? I mean, he is pretty stubborn, but he's not really pompous."

Newkirk's brow furrowed. "But I thought you fell?"

"Of course I fell! He was so much bigger than we were at the time! You remember how he liked to wear those long shirts around the house at night?" When there was no response, he started to fret. Wait. What if this play-acting does something to mess up his memory more?

At that moment, however, Newkirk's eyes flickered with a sense of familiarity. "Come now, I've told you before that real men wear nightshirts, not ruddy dresses, to bed."

Hochstetter began to realize that these two weren't talking about impersonating German officers. He ground out, "Fine. But there is more to this than you are letting on."

As he turned to go, Newkirk mumbled, "More? More tea? I'd like more. . ."

Carter stifled at giggle at the way Hochstetter stomped off. Despite the joviality he felt from confusing the German Major, he couldn't quite staunch the worry that was creeping up again. Would Newkirk be all right?

Hi! I probably sound like a broken record, but I'm posting this right before my kids come in for the day. :D Enjoy! I drew a cover for this earlier, so I'll try to add it tomorrow or at least when I post the next chapter.

See you then!

Soli Deo gloria!

~LHDD