No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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Early in the morning, Kinch went back to the tunnel and found Colonel Hogan still at the desk, head down on his arms, eyes closed. Shaking his head, Kinch quietly picked up the headsets and, moving silently so as not to disturb his commander, started to switch off the radio that was hot from being on all night.

"Leave that on," Hogan's voice suddenly penetrated the stillness. Kinch nearly jumped. "I'm waiting to hear from London."

Kinch turned to see Hogan's head rising from the table. He looked sick, Kinch thought, like he hadn't slept in months. Hogan rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Permission to speak freely, sir," Kinch said.

Hogan nodded. "Permission granted," he said, crossing his arms.

"Sir, you look awful—"

"Permission revoked," Hogan said wryly. "When I want the truth I'll give it to you myself." He stood up to stretch his stiff limbs, pacing a small path.

"Begging your pardon, Colonel, but the men are getting worried."

"They'll have more to worry about than my looks in awhile, Kinch," Hogan said grimly, in a rare confidence. "There's more to come."

Kinch nodded slowly, understanding now that Hogan's uncharacteristic mood had not been caused solely by the unexpected foray into the Luftwaffe meeting, or even by his headache. Newkirk had filled them in on Voelker's last-minute refusal to infiltrate the session, and on Hogan's condition at its conclusion. But to the radioman, who usually accurately gauged their commanding officer's reactions, something had not added up. Now he knew why.

"I'll stay here and wait for London, Colonel. Why don't you get some sleep."

"No thanks," Hogan said.

"Colonel—ten minutes. You're dead on your feet. You can't help us if you're unconscious."

Hogan considered. "Okay. Ten minutes—and if anything comes from London I want to know immediately." Kinch nodded. "Immediately," Hogan repeated as he headed up the ladder.

"Yes, Colonel," said Kinch. Maybe I'll lose track of time.

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Hogan crept past his lightly snoring men back to his quarters, his body aching for sleep but his mind still racing. As he had relayed the information from the Luftwaffe meeting, weariness had pressed down harder upon him, and he was grateful for the chance to clear the images from his memory. Perhaps now he could begin to forget them, and the irrational fear that had beset him, and keep only his now more deeply steeled determination to help the Allies find a swift and victorious end to this madness.

Hogan punched his pillow in a vain attempt to get comfortable. The old and lumpy mattress was doing very little to support him, and even less to relax him. Where was that bomb? Where? How could it have remained concealed in the camp for months? How could he be sure Voelker was telling the truth? And how was he supposed to get children through the tunnels? And how dare Voelker put Hogan's operation at risk for his own selfish reasons, even for his family; didn't he realize he was putting many more lives at risk? And if he did, why didn't he care? The questions swirled in his brain, unrelenting. Hogan exhaled loudly and tried to ignore the persistent grinding of his sore stomach, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle: he hated questions he couldn't answer, and he would twist them and turn them around until he could make sense of them. If he could make sense of them.

Stop poking me, big brother. Don't you know that's rude? Hogan twitched as he tried to get away from the insistent fingers prodding his shoulder, then sat bolt upright as he discovered the sensation was real, not part of his dream. He had been home, playing touch football with his family… he was young, and carefree, not an intelligence operative, with so much more at stake than the first slice of his mother's fresh-baked pumpkin pie. Kinch was beside him, rousing him from a sleep he didn't realize he had had. Hogan fought the unreasonable urge to dress the man down for being there—for not being his brother. "What is it?" he asked, trying to disguise his gruffness.

"Sorry, Colonel. It's London on the line."

"'S'all right, Kinch," Hogan sighed, swinging his legs out over the side of the bed. "I asked you to come get me. It's too bad they didn't give me my full ten minutes." He grabbed his jacket and headed out of the room. Kinch followed silently. He didn't dare tell Hogan that it had been over an hour since he had convinced his commanding officer to leave the radio and get some sleep, and that he had even managed to get him out of morning roll call.

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After thirty minutes of nail biting by Hogan's men, the senior POW officer came out from under the barracks floor and reluctantly faced his subordinates.

"London was thrilled with the information we had for them, fellas, and congratulates us all on a job well done," he began. Hogan's men patted each other on the back and commented loudly how it was about time Headquarters recognized the difficult – and perilous—work that they carried out. "Thanks to us, they say they can now pinpoint strategic weapons locations and Luftwaffe bases, as well as having a clearer understanding of the mindset of the enemy to help in counterstrategy." The group nodded, impressed. "And, they report that several explosions blocked the main roads about twenty minutes outside of Hammelburg late last night, with apparently none of the people expected arriving back in Berlin or even reporting in." He nodded his acknowledgment to Carter. "No civilians were reported injured or killed in the blasts."

Carter smiled shyly, pleased. Hogan had accepted that bit of news with great relief, but somehow with no remorse about the loss of life that had been inflicted by order of his superiors. Defend yourself, echoed in his head, but Hogan drove it out. Had those planning the destruction he had listened to in Hammelburg felt the need to defend themselves?

Now came the hard part. Hogan took in a breath. "There's one more thing," he said. Kinch watched Hogan's face struggling with emotions before he spoke. Now they would find out what it was that was still bothering their commander. "There was a bit of fallout from that meeting with Voelker yesterday." The men expressed concern, and a bit of anger. None of them had taken the news well that Voelker had left them in the lurch, and then casually expected Hogan to step into the breach for him. "Seems like he's had ideas for awhile to get himself and his family out of Germany, and he wants us to serve as his travel agent."

Le Beau was the first to speak up. "He wants us to help him, but he was not very forthcoming about helping us."

"I don't see how we could help someone like Voelker, Colonel," piped up Newkirk. "I mean he's not reliable, is 'e? Suppose he does something stupid at the last minute to give us away?"

"Yeah, well he's got a pretty strong bargaining chip," Hogan said to stop the chatter. He says he's had someone bring a bomb into camp that will be detonated if he and his family don't show up here in a week to get smuggled out of the country."

The outburst that followed made Hogan close his eyes and raise a hand to end it. "Where is it, Colonel?" asked Carter over the din. "I'm sure I could diffuse it."

"I'd tell you if I knew, Carter," responded Hogan. "He won't tell us where it is, or who's going to set it off. He's made it so that we have to comply with his demands or risk getting blown up. And that means getting Voelker, and his wife, and his teenaged daughter and seven year old boy through the tunnel."

"Children, Colonel? We don't take kids through here; they can't be trusted to keep secrets!"

"We're not going to have any choice. Trying to find a bomb in a place the size of Stalag 13 is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Even if we knew what we were looking for it would take us more than a week to find it. London has ordered us to meet his demands and get them out."

More protests met Hogan's ears. The loudest came from Newkirk: "What if he's lying?"

"What if he's not?" Hogan retorted. "Are you willing to take odds on that? I'm not. What if there is a bomb and it goes off in the tunnel? One of you fellas could get killed. Or what if Klink buys it? We get another commandant who isn't so charmingly inefficient and it's the end of the operation for us. Not to mention the firing squad." The men shifted uncomfortably. "We have to operate on the premise that he's telling the truth." Hogan sat down, frustrated. "We don't have any choice."

"The Colonel's right; we can't tell if he's pulling our leg or not," Le Beau conceded.

"So how are we going to handle children in the tunnel, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"I'm not sure yet," answered Hogan. "But we'll have to come up with something… and fast." He closed his eyes and squeezed his shoulder muscles. "I'll have to go have a think about it. Our first priority is to find that bomb." He stood up. "Newkirk, any of that draught left?"

"I'll get you some, Colonel," Newkirk answered, going off to follow through.

"Kinch, make sure you have someone lined up for Klink," Hogan reminded him.

"Under control, Colonel," he answered.

"I'll be in my room, conniving," Hogan announced, leaving the common area and heading for his quarters.

And that's where he stayed, accepting the drink Newkirk brought him, though it was having little effect on the headache that continued assaulting him. "Get some sleep, sir," Newkirk advised gently.

Hogan just nodded and waved him out of the room. Newkirk was right; sleep was what Hogan needed to clear his head. But it seemed as though the gods were conspiring against him in that. And just when the others thought he was finally settling down for a rest, the door to his room burst open. "I've got it," he announced. "I know how to get Klink to let us search for the bomb. Get on your white gloves, boys; it's inspection time."