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

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan gave in the next morning and dropped in on Wilson in the medical hut when it became apparent to him that he wouldn't be thinking clearly if he was distracted by his still-healing shoulder. He wished he could take the advice Wilson gave him and get some sleep; the three hours he had gotten the previous night did nothing to help aid his recovery. But he had too many things on his plate at the moment to consider lying down again.

Momentarily bolstered by the blissful lack of feeling in his injured shoulder, Hogan set his mind to the task at hand. There were three prisoners sitting in stir in the tunnel underneath the barracks who had to be gotten out. Last night's adventure had exposed some problems with the tunnel, with their methods, and with their supplies, or lack thereof. Klink had to be kept off balance and unaware—That might not be terribly hard, Hogan thought wryly—and then of course there was the matter of keeping the other prisoners happy while these men from Stalag 9 were sent through ahead of them.

Bailey's unexpected appearance had knocked Hogan for a six last night. He had grieved deeply over the loss of his crew, but had not truly accepted their fate. Still, seeing Bailey was like seeing a ghost, and Hogan's relief had been almost physical, his joy palpable, still consuming him in a way that he would normally have considered excessive, had it not related to his Baby Bear—his closest comrade, his innocent, the man who had trusted his judgment more than anyone he could remember before then. His status as MIA had been heartrending to Hogan, who could only imagine what fate had befallen Bailey, in enemy territory, hunted, frightened, alone, without Papa Bear there to look after him…or any of the others. You can't even remember what happened to you, never mind where they ended up, he reminded himself grimly. Did you fail them, when they needed you?

And then, of course, there was the biggest question of all: did last night's mission convince Hogan to give up his own hopes for freedom? Was this small success enough to persuade him to throw away any chance of escape for himself—and any man who chose to help him—and continue working for the Allies in a way that would be incredibly rewarding—but equally dangerous?

Hogan decided to put aside that question as he tapped the side of the bunk that led to the tunnel. He descended carefully, only to be met by Bailey, Killian, and Troy, all anxious for news.

"Sorry I haven't been able to get down here before now, fellas," Hogan began. "Did Le Beau feed you?"

"Sure, Colonel. We've been treated real good," Killian said. Troy and Bailey nodded agreement. "So what happens now?"

"Well, we've got plans to use the Underground to get you out of Germany. We'll have to smuggle you out of here. We're still working out which way is going to work; that's going to depend on the Germans and on the Underground; we should have more details after the dogs are changed. Meanwhile, you're safe down here."

"This is all pretty radical, Colonel," put in Troy. "I haven't the foggiest idea how you've managed to pull this off."

"Let's just say we've had a bit of help. And all the fellas have worked pretty hard." Hogan glanced down the tunnel. "It's safe upstairs for the moment; the guys outside know to give us a warning if the Krauts come by. Why don't you head upstairs so you don't feel so much like groundhogs?"

"Thanks, Colonel," Killian said.

Hogan nodded and watched him and Troy climb up. He looked at Bailey questioningly when he didn't follow. "Bailey? Don't you want to get some freedom for awhile?"

Bailey offered Hogan a slight smile. "To be honest, Papa, I'm still taking it all in. I don't quite understand how all of this works."

"Neither do any of the rest of us," Hogan answered. He gestured for Bailey to pull up a chair from the radio desk, as he grabbed one up against the tunnel wall. "But you'll be out soon."

Bailey stayed quiet. Hogan got the feeling he was being studied. "What's on your mind, Mark?"

Bailey shrugged, surveying his surroundings. "This is all pretty amazing stuff, Papa," he said.

"Yep. But that's not what you're thinking about."

Bailey gave a short, rueful smile. "You always did know us, didn't you?"

"That's why I'm the Papa Bear, remember?"

"Yeah." Bailey smiled again. Then, staring into space, the smile faded. "They're gone, Papa. There's only us and Ingram and Kovacs left."

Hogan felt a knife stab his chest. "I know."

"It was so bad, Papa, so bad. Montgomery didn't even make it out of the—"

"I know," Hogan interrupted, as the knife twisted.

"And then when they told us you'd cracked—"

"Did you think I would?" Hogan asked, finding it hard to breathe.

"No, Papa, honest. They showed us this letter—said you'd signed it and that it was a complete confession. But it was in German and I didn't think you'd sign it even if you were dying. And then they said—" Bailey stopped. "Well, then they said they'd killed you, Papa. They described it, detail for detail. And they said you were in so much pain…. that it had been a mercy killing."

Hogan was suffocating. "It would have been," he admitted. He shifted uncomfortably. "Let's just forget that, okay?" he suggested, trying to surface for air. "I'm here and you're here, and somewhere out there are Ingram and Kovacs. We owe it to the others to rise above it."

Bailey nodded. "We've gotta get out of here, Papa," he said in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

For a moment Hogan saw the fear, the insecurity that made Bailey his Baby Bear, in need of protection and reassurance. Hogan took back some of his command strength. "You will," he said, certain.

Bailey seemed to gather some boldness from his old commanding officer's conviction, and nodded as though to convince himself. But there were more questions, so many more questions….

"Allied High Command would like us to expand this little travel agency," Hogan said. Bailey's eyes questioned him. "They want me to make getting guys like you out of here a specialty. With a little bit of espionage along the way, and a bit of intelligence work thrown in for good measure. What do you think of that as a tribute?"

Bailey stared at Hogan, wide-eyed. "You mean be assigned here? In a POW camp?"

Hogan nodded. "Yep. Stay right here, and win the war right under their noses."

"That's insane! Whose idea was that?"

"Let's just say that General Butler was all in favor of it when he realized I was here."

"But that would mean you couldn't go back to London—you'd have to stay here!"

Hogan chuckled, trying to make light of it. "Do you think he's trying to tell me something?"

Bailey scowled. "How could they ask you to do that?" he fumed. "You belong in the air. You belong someplace where guys can look up to you and learn from you. You were the best flyer I'd ever known—I'd never seen anyone with the ability to pull off the impossible the way you could." Bailey stood up and paced angrily. "It's rotten, Papa—rotten—to ask you to give up flying. Not to mention that any time a Kraut decides he's had enough of you, he can just send you off to your death."

Hogan's mind briefly remembered Klink's warning that the Gestapo wasn't quite finished with him yet. "You make it sound so enticing," he quipped, uncomfortable with how close Bailey was coming to his own feelings. Then again, Bailey had been his Baby Bear for many reasons.

"I'm not kidding, Papa; this is just wrong." Bailey stopped and looked at Hogan. "You can't let them do this to you."

Hogan shrugged. He didn't like being so noncommittal. But there were so many thoughts going through his mind at present that he didn't think he could form words to express any of them, even if he could see them clearly. Bailey again studied his commander. This man had indeed changed. The old Papa Bear would be growling by now at the unfairness of the proposal; this man was almost resigned to it. It made Bailey angry. But mainly it saddened him. "What have they done to you?" he asked, sitting down again.

Hogan didn't answer right away. He closed his eyes, starting to feel lightheaded with the emotions racing through him. "I can probably do more here personally to end the war—to help our guys—than I ever could in the air," Hogan said, as though working out the issue aloud. He opened his eyes and looked at Bailey. "I'll tell you, it felt great last night when we got you safely down into the tunnel. And it'll feel even better when we get you out of Germany. Back to your unit."

"To our unit." Now it was Bailey's turn to contemplate. Was Hogan really thinking about doing this? "Is it true that you got out of here, but you came back?" he asked. Hogan shrugged, feeling his shoulder start to twitch again. "You could have gotten out of Germany, but you came back to bring them a radio?" Bailey pressed. Hogan nodded twice, without looking at him. "With all due respect, Papa, that's nuts."

"Watch it, Lieutenant."

Bailey waited for the smile that normally accompanied a warning like that. It didn't come. "I mean, I don't know if I could have ever come back to a hellhole like this on purpose—Colonel," he amended.

Hogan shifted position in his chair to put off replying. "Sometimes you have to do the insane to avoid going crazy." With guilt.

Bailey considered for a moment. "Don't punish yourself for what happened to us, Papa," Bailey entreated him. "No one's to blame but the Krauts." Hogan didn't answer. Bailey continued. "Look: you've done more than anyone could ask of you—you gave the men of this camp more to hope for than they ever could have before—you came back, for God's sake!" Bailey leaned forward to try and see into the eyes Hogan wasn't raising to him. "Come with us, Papa," he said in a fervent whisper. "Forget this crazy scheme of Butler's. We'll fly again. We'll be a team."

Hogan could only stare, the conflicting emotions overwhelming him. "I've got some work to do," he said hoarsely, standing up. "Go on up while you can; you'll be out of here soon enough."