Hogan stared at the wall by his bunk. The wood grain formed patterns which – depending on his mood – resembled either an exploding bomb or a pit of quick sand. He wasn't sure how long he'd been evaluating the swirls and squiggles. He'd lost all concept of time since arriving at his new stalag.

He shifted in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position. His stomach, his ribs, his back, his head…everything ached. Even that would be endurable, but the trembling, the nightmares, the sudden flashbacks were driving him to the edge. Every staff car driving through the gate, every door that was flung open, every heavy footstep in the night was Hochstetter returning for him.

He flipped onto his back and inventoried the water spots on the ceiling. With no command, no operation and no Klink to annoy, he had nothing to do but think about Hochstetter. Oh, he'd reported to Colonel Spivey as soon as he'd regained consciousness and accepted that he wasn't dreaming, but Stalag 13's no escape record had preceded him. Spivey suspected him of being a collaborator, a mole or both and made it quite clear that he had no need of his services. His injuries meant nothing – any loyal Nazi would suffer a little pain for his Fuhrer and without dog tags or insignia Hogan couldn't even prove he was a colonel. He'd tried to explain that a Kraut spy wouldn't be stupid enough to show up without the proper ID, but Spivey had lost interest in the subject.

He'd written a note to Stalag 13: "Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here." That one obligation discharged, he'd had plenty of time to stare at the walls and recall every humiliating moment he'd spent with Hochstetter. One miserable night he'd even written to Klink: "Having a lousy time. Wish I were there." But he'd destroyed the letter as the sun came up.

Conditions at Stalag 3 weren't particularly bad. Kommandant Braune allowed him the privileges of his disputed rank so he had his own room. The young lieutenants who were housed in his barracks treated him with a detached respect, hedging their bets in case he actually was on their side. One of them – a quiet spoken Kentuckian named Lynch – had apparently appointed himself his keeper and notified him of meals and roll call.

So he dragged himself off his bunk twice a day to be duly counted and then retreated to his post to ponder the water stains and to analyze the patterns on the walls. And to wonder what Hochstetter was doing and who he was doing it to. Images of his men suffering at the bastard's hands constantly intruded on his thoughts.

He rolled back onto his side, fought desperately for control. That Hochstetter had broken his ribs was tolerable, but he'd be damned if he'd let him break his spirit too. And if he touched just one of his boys….

The shriek of an air raid siren interrupted his thoughts. From the other room he could hear the lieutenants hitting the floor, but he didn't move. Whether he died in his bunk or under it made little difference to him. Nor did he particularly care that the sound of the Soviet army advancing towards the camp grew louder every day. The Reds may be their allies, but he didn't necessarily want to be liberated by them. Not, he supposed, that it mattered one way or another any more. Nothing really mattered since Hochstetter.

"All clear!" An excited voice called out as the alarm died out. "False alarm!"

Hogan traced the pattern of the exploding bomb etched in the wall while half-listening to the prisoners next door getting to their feet and brushing themselves off. He could almost imagine their chagrined looks as they tried to convince themselves they hadn't been scared.

"It's all over, Hopkins. Come on out."

"It was just a false alarm. It's ok."

Over the chatter next door, Hogan thought he could hear someone whimpering. Probably just one of the boys with a case of nerves, but still…. He was on his feet before he realized it. He shook his head in disgust. He'd be running on instinct two weeks after they buried him.

He slipped out of his room and stood silently evaluating the situation. One of the lieutenants was cowering under a bunk while a half dozen of the others tried to talk him out. As far as he could tell, they were only succeeding in driving the frightened man further under the bed.

"Ok, fellas. Give him some air." Hogan waved everyone away from the bunk. "What's his name?"

"Hopkins, sir." Lynch lowered his voice. "He had a rough landing. Parachuted into Berlin and was nearly beaten to death by civilians. They killed his co-pilot."

Hogan nodded and knelt beside the bunk. "Come on out, son. It's all over."

Hopkins mumbled, but showed no sign of moving.

"That's an order, Lt Hopkins." Hogan tugged on the airman's arm. "On the double."

"Yes, sir…" Hopkins stammered as he struggled to regain control. "Sorry, sir… I don't know. …the siren…"

"It's alright. Take it easy." Hogan pulled the man from his niche. His ribs protested as he suddenly found himself with an armful of Hopkins. The man had to be Kinch's size at least and thirty pounds heavier. Not the type of person one expected to find hiding under his bunk. "Lynch, bring me my winter coat."

Lynch retrieved the garment and attempted to wrap it around Hopkins.

Hogan shook his head. "Someone from my old camp tucked something in the lining. I've been waiting for an emergency to open it."

Lynch shot him a quizzical look, then grinned as he felt a bump within the coat. He carefully cut through the stitches while the others looked on and Hopkins clung to Hogan. "Looks like some good Kentucky medicine, sir."

"I thought so." Hogan took the flask, wrapped Hopkins hands around it. "Drink up, Lt."

"Is there anything else in there?" Hogan managed to prop Hopkins against the bunk, to the immense relief of his ribs.

"Uh, yes, sir…." Lynch grinned as he pulled a rabbit's foot from the lining.

"Carter!" Hogan shook his head at the curious and amused faces around him. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"That's alright, Colonel." Lynch glanced behind him. "You should see what McCoy carries for luck."

"Shut up, Lynch." McCoy poked the man in the back.

"Make me." Lynch playfully took a boxer's pose.

Hogan winced as he pulled himself to his feet. The sham fight instantly broke up.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Can I help you, Colonel?"

Hogan waved away the chorus of concern. He nodded at Hopkins, who was growing calmer as the flask grew lighter. "You fellas see that he gets into bed."

"Right, sir." Lynch handed over the rabbit's foot with a smirk. "Better hide this. It wouldn't do for the Krauts to find it. Could change the whole outcome of the war."

Hogan growled a reply and did his best to make a dignified exit.

"Good night, Colonel."

"Pleasant dreams, sir."

"Let us know if you need anything, Colonel."

Hogan eased himself onto his bunk and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his side. He inventoried water spots until he slipped into a restless sleep.

* * * *

"Ten minutes to roll call, sir."

"Thanks, Lynch." Hogan dragged himself from under his blanket. He'd been awake for some time, listening to the predawn artillery barrage as the front inched closer.

"Uh…it's McCoy, sir." The pilot stood hesitantly in the doorway. "I wanted to talk to you for a moment, if you don't mind."

"Sure." Hogan attempted to finger-comb his hair. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, sir…I wanted to apologize…. " McCoy faltered, started over. "I'm the barracks chief and I…the fellas all feel bad for….well, we should have…"

Hogan cut off the embarrassed man. "I think I know what you've trying to say, but no apologies are necessary. You're right to be cautious until Colonel Spivey clears me."

"Well, that's just it, sir – we weren't being cautious. We all know you're not a spy."

"Oh?" Hogan considered his visitor. "What makes you so sure?"

"Well, uh…"

"Go ahead, Lt. I'm interested."

"Well, it's just that you talk in your sleep. Every night it's the same thing – name, rank and serial number." McCoy glanced at his feet. "We knew after the first night that Spivey was wrong about you, but none of us wanted to go against him."

"Well, that still makes sense. You won't help your careers any associating with a spy."

"No Kraut spy would have helped Hopkins last night."

"A good one would have." Hogan grinned. "To win your trust."

McCoy shrugged. "All I know is our barracks stands together, so whatever you need, you just ask."

"Thanks, Lt. I'll keep that in mind." Hogan reached for his jacket. "I am curious, though. Why is Lynch so sure Spivey is wrong about me?"

McCoy chuckled. "It wouldn't matter to Lynch if you are a spy. He'd still see that you ate. That's just who he is."

"Oh. Good thing I'm not a spy then." Hogan winked as he headed for the door. "Time to stand up and be counted, isn't it?"

"Uh. Yes, sir." McCoy followed Hogan outside, flashed an 'ok' sign at Lynch and the others as he passed through the barracks.

Hogan scanned the perimeter as he took his place in line. The Soviets weren't in sight yet, but –judging by the sounds of battle – they couldn't be more than a few miles away. He considered approaching Spivey about the need for a contingency plan, but he doubted the man would be interested in his views. Still, he looked for the senior POW and noticed him talking to Kommandant Braune. And General Burkhalter. "Lynch."

"Sir?" Lynch stepped forward from his place directly behind Hogan.

"See the general with Braune? Ever seen him before?"

"No, sir." Lynch dutifully studied Burkhalter. "Can't say as I have."

"How about anyone else?" Hogan surveyed the line. "Anyone recognize that Kraut general?"

McCoy spoke above the chorus of 'no's. "Something wrong, Colonel?"

"No. Probably not." Hogan tugged his cap down and his collar up in a half-hearted attempt to stay out of sight. "He's the head of the Luftwaffe. I've seen him at Stalag 13, but it doesn't make sense for him to be this far from Berlin."

"Well, maybe…"

"Achtung!" Kommandant Braune walked briskly to the center of the compound. "By order of the Fuhrer, all prisoners are to be moved immediately to the safety of a stalag within Germany. You will have twenty minutes to gather your belongings and return to formation. There are no exceptions. Dismissed."

"Is he serious?"

"What's going on?"

" How are we getting to Germany?"

Hogan ignored the chatter. "You heard him, men. Get moving. We need to get food, water, medical supplies. On the double."

"But, sir…." McCoy demanded his attention. "How do they think they're going to move this whole camp? They don't have enough vehicles to…"

Hogan shook his head. "The only way they're evacuating this place in twenty minutes is on foot."

"But…" McCoy caught Hogan's no-nonsense expression. "Right, sir. I'll get on those medical supplies."

"Send runners to the other barracks. Everyone has to carry as much food and water as possible." Hogan didn't wait for McCoy's affirmative as he started across the compound. "Colonel Spivey!"

"Hogan!"

Hogan tried to ignore the summons, but it was repeated. With a sigh, he turned to face Burkhalter. "General."

"Report to the Kommandant. He'll arrange transportation for you."

"Back to Stalag 13?"

"To Stalag 7." Burkhalter dismissed Hogan's protest. "The Soviets are less than 20 kilometers away. There isn't time to arrange for trucks to carry everyone. The prisoners will have to walk to the train station in Spremburg. "

"Then I'll walk to the train station in Spremburg."

"Don't be a fool." Burkhalter lowered his voice. "Klink told me about your injuries. You won't survive the march."

Hogan gestured at the thousands of men scurrying to gather their meager belongings. "Neither will some of them. Why don't you let the Soviets liberate us and let them do the worrying?"

" I doubt that you are truly eager to be at the mercy of Stalin." Burkhalter glanced in the direction of the battle. "Regardless, the Fuhrer has ordered all British and American airmen behind the lines. Immediately."

"To be used as hostages."

"To be protected, as required by the Geneva Convention, until the Soviets have been destroyed." Burkhalter gestured away the topic. "Time is short. Report to the Kommandant."

"Thanks, but I'll walk." Hogan tossed off a salute. "General."

"Hogan, wait." Burkhalter checked for eavesdroppers. "There's no reason for you to be a martyr. Your people will need understanding leaders once the Allies surrender."

"I'm willing to be cooperative, General. Just as soon as you get me back to Stalag 13."

Burkhalter shook his head. "Impossible."

"Then I'll see you at Stalag 7." Hogan grinned as he headed towards his barracks. "Unless the Soviets see you first."

* * * *