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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"Colonel Hogan, I presume. Sergeant Joe Wilson." The fresh-faced soldier extended his hand. As Hogan reached out and accepted it, the medical officer drew in a breath. "Ooh, that looks pretty raw," he said, turning over Hogan's arm to reveal red, swollen, broken skin at the wrist.

Hogan grimaced and tried to draw his hand back, but Wilson held fast. "C'mon, Colonel, let's have a look. How long has it been like that?"

Hogan reluctantly brought up his other arm. Emotionlessly he said, "The handcuffs were too tight."

Wilson shook his head angrily at the thought. "I'll dress them. How are your hands?"

"They were a bit numb yesterday, but they're okay now. It's okay," he insisted, almost urgently. "I don't need anything done to me."

"Of course you do; they're already starting to get infected," Wilson countered. He drew Hogan further into the room. "Sit down, Colonel. I have to have a good look at you; you might as well be comfortable."

"Um, look, Sergeant, if it's all the same to you I'd rather skip it."

Wilson couldn't help but notice as sweat broke out on Hogan's forehead. "All new prisoners have to get the once-over, Colonel, and I think you need it," he said gently. Hogan sat stiffly on the hard chair near Wilson. Wilson nodded. "Can you unbutton your shirt, please, Colonel?"

Hogan complied, keeping his eyes locked on the wall across from him. Wilson pulled one side of the shirt open and gasped before he could stop himself. "My God, Colonel Hogan—" The shirt fell from his hand. Hogan shifted uncomfortably and pulled the shirt over his torso again. "Colonel, you—what happened to you?" Wilson asked, his voice almost lost in his astonishment. Hogan continued studying the wall. Composing himself, Wilson slowly drew back the shirt again. "Colonel, there are healing incisions there; did you have surgery?"

Hogan didn't stir. "I don't remember."

"Were you hurt when you were hit by the Jerries?" Hogan nodded vaguely. "Did you get these injuries from being shot down? Or from your stay at the Dulag?" Wilson asked, daring to probe a slightly raised part of Hogan's abdomen with gentle fingers.

Hogan flinched at his touch. "I don't remember."

"Colonel, how long were you held before you were brought here?" Wilson asked.

Hogan turned haunted, tired eyes to Wilson only briefly. Wilson went cold when he realized the Colonel probably wasn't even seeing him. "I don't know," Hogan whispered.

"Colonel Hogan," Wilson asked, more than worried, "what do you remember?"

Hogan looked back at the wall. After what seemed like a day's silence, he spoke as though from a distance. "Rooms. Noise." Wilson realized Hogan was mentally reaching back and for a moment thought the man was going to break down in sobs. But Hogan's eyes dulled again and he continued. "Heat… It was so hot. I was so tired…. They said they were testing. I don't think they knew I could comprehend…" Wilson watched Hogan strain to remember, then equally struggle to forget.

Tearing his eyes away from the pictures in his brain, Hogan concentrated on fastidiously buttoning his shirt. Wilson watched with a mix of pity, admiration, and horror. "I'll do your wrists," he said with difficulty, turning to his supplies of gauze and antiseptics. "If you're in pain, Colonel, please let me give you something." He paused. "I won't tell anyone, if that's what you want. You don't have to suffer to have your privacy. And I'd like to check your wounds again tomorrow, if you'd permit me, sir. An infection would be dangerous in a place like this."

Hogan nodded and silently submitted to Wilson's ministrations. Then with a quiet word of thanks, he went outside where Schultz was waiting and headed to Klink's office, as tired as he had been since he was shot down, trying desperately to hide from the enemy, and merely stay alive.

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"As the camp's new senior POW officer, Colonel Hogan, I will expect to develop a good working relationship with you. That means you will have to show me the respect that I am due as the Kommandant of Stalag 13, and as your warden, so to speak."

Hogan stood only half-listening to Klink. His weariness was starting to bear down on him heavily, and he was not interested in being told by any German that he was about to have more responsibilities, or that he was going to have to pretend to play nice with a Kraut. "Hogan, are you listening to me?" asked Klink.

Hogan nodded absently.

"Hogan, you are the person to whom the men will turn if they have issues that need to be addressed. I will expect things to be run quite differently than they have been since your predecessor left us some time ago." Hogan's curiosity was briefly piqued, but he chose to remain silent. "Your outburst in the compound earlier was not the type of behavior I will expect from you in the future."

Hogan's eyes came up to meet Klink's. They are cold, thought Klink. Or is it lifeless?

"I won't be paraded like some prize poodle at a dog show," Hogan said evenly. There was something in Hogan's tone that told Klink he was being warned by his new prisoner.

"I am not in the habit of parading prisoners," Klink said.

"No?" Hogan countered. The ice in his eyes started to burn. "Then what was that 'glorious victory' garbage all about? You've got us, Klink. You've got our bodies. We can't do any harm to your precious Fatherland. But you won't get our spirits. And it would be my earnest suggestion to you that you give up trying. Because I'll certainly be telling the men that they can't be broken by the likes of you." Hogan stopped. "No matter what you do to us," he added quietly.

Klink was given pause. He was beginning to see what the Durchgangslager der Luftwaffe had had to deal with when Hogan was first questioned. This man was strong. Though Klink knew Hogan was suffering, if not physically then certainly mentally, the American remained steadfast and resolved. His respect for the prisoner went up several notches. But there was still a job to be done, and it was his responsibility to do it. "Hogan," he began, with a tone of voice that spoke of reconciliation, "I try to run a peaceful prison camp. I am willing to work with you to ensure your men get through this war with as little danger to them as possible."

Hogan nodded.

"But I must follow orders. And one of those orders is to continue your interrogation here at Stalag 13. I will question you later today, once you have had a chance to get used to your surroundings. Report back here at fifteen hundred hours." Did this man just flinch? Klink asked himself, thinking he saw a flicker of movement from Hogan. But now the man was still. Does he think I will do the same as the Gestapo? "Go back to the barracks, meet your new men, explore your new environment. But I warn you, Colonel Hogan, stay away from the warning fence. Cross it and you will be shot on sight. Dismissed."

Hogan nodded again, spent. Unsure whether to salute and not caring, he turned and left the office, where Schultz was again waiting to accompany him. "My personal escort?" Hogan sighed.

"For your own safety, Colonel Hogan," said Schultz with a tolerant smile. "You don't know where you are not allowed to go." Hogan nodded. "Where would you like to go next?"

"The barracks, I think, Sergeant."

Hogan walked in silence, Schultz keeping in step with him. "Colonel Hogan, you will have to go back to see the Kommandant this afternoon?" Schultz ventured at last.

"Yep," Hogan replied, shoving his hands in his pockets, squinting in the bright sun.

Schultz pointed at the barracks. "There, Colonel Hogan." He opened the door and let Hogan in first. "Kommandant Klink will have to ask you questions."

"I know," Hogan said, facing the guard to avoid the eyes of the men that were on him as he entered.

"Please, Colonel Hogan, tell him what he needs to know."

"Why should I do that?" asked Hogan.

"So you don't have to face the Gestapo again."

Hogan didn't think to ask how the Sergeant knew he had already done that, and didn't know how to answer. Instead he said, "I'm really tired. Think I'll get some sack time. Thanks for the escort service."

"I will be back for you at fifteen hundred hours." Schultz smiled encouragingly and nodded as Hogan passed him and went into his quarters, shutting the door behind him. The other men of the barracks then crowded around the portly guard and started questioning him all at once.

"What's going on? What happened at Klink's office? Come on, Schultz, what's the story?" they fired at him.

"I know nothing," Schultz insisted with dignity.

"Come on, Shultz, you must know something; you've been with 'im all morning. Give us a break," Newkirk pleaded.

"Yeah, who is this guy? Where does he come from?" asked Le Beau.

"He's not talking to us, Schultz, and you know that's not good for morale," Kinchloe wheedled. "We have to have a good relationship with our commanding officer." He thought, then added sincerely, "And it's not very good for him either."

"I tell you, I know nothing," Schultz repeated. "All I know is that he was shot down over Hamburg in July, when he was Commander of the 504th Bomb Group."

"Well that's more than we know," Kinch said.

"Wait a minute, Schultzie, that was more than two months ago. Where'd they take 'im?" Newkirk asked.

"The Durchgangslager der Luftwaffe, same as you."

"But it still doesn't add up," Kinchloe persisted. "We were only held at the Dulag for a few days at most before going to Wetzlar."

"He was held for forty-five days before being sent to the hospital at Hohemark." Schultz stopped, thinking perhaps he had revealed too much of the results of his own eavesdropping. "But you did not hear that from me."

Le Beau nodded in disgust. "No wonder he is sleeping so much. They probably tortured him to get information."

"But they did not get any," Schultz said, almost proud of the human endurance. "Only name, rank, and serial number. He is to continue being questioned by the Kommandant here in camp."

"Why the heavy duty interrogation, Schultz?" asked Kinchloe.

"That I do not know. But I hear he was some big-shot flyer and they want to know everything."

"Everything?" echoed Newkirk.

Yes, that's right: everything." He looked at the men, who had slowly encircled him till he felt quite unable to escape himself. "But, I know nothing." He backed out toward the door against their protests. "I will be back for him this afternoon. If you want to know anything else, you will have to get it from him yourself!" And he was gone.

The men headed outside. "Well, that's just charmin'," Newkirk commented to no one in particular.

"Forty-five days," Kinchloe breathed, shaking his head. "I wonder what he knows."

"Allied strategy, no doubt," responded Le Beau. "He was a Bomb Group commander."

"But there are lots of those," Kinchloe countered. "I wonder what makes him so special."

Newkirk shrugged and glanced back toward the barracks where Hogan had retreated. "I wonder if we'll ever find out."