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***** ***** ***** ***** *****

"You've been here too long already; it's time you went back. Le Beau's waiting at the other end."

Hogan was standing in the tunnel with Tiger, cradling his left arm to keep his chest immobile, trying to ignore the pain that the morphine had masked, but not succeeded in completely removing. When he had come fully in control of his senses, he had been almost livid to find that Tiger was still in the camp, and, ignoring the feeble excuses from the men around him, had insisted that she be on her way as soon as it was safe. If they were truthful, the men didn't really have an excuse for Tiger's presence, except that it somehow made them feel nurtured at a time when a lot of things were falling apart around them, and she seemed in no hurry to leave.

"I needed to make sure you were all right," Tiger explained. "After all, it was I, with others, who found you." She knew Hogan was right; nonetheless she was upset at being turned out unceremoniously, especially by a man who had needed her help to get down the ladder to the tunnel without falling on his face.

Hogan paused, shame-faced, at the truth. "I don't want to repay you by letting you get caught by the Krauts," he said shortly. Another pause. "I never did say thank you properly for the other night. I owe you my life. Again."

Tiger's features softened. "To be honest, I thought we were too late. You were so still. So cold…" She pulled her mind away from that wet night and that terrible fear, that overwhelming feeling of loss that thank God turned out to be unfounded. "I am sorry we had to inflict so much more pain to save you."

Hogan shrugged without thinking, then winced as the muscles below his collarbone protested loudly. "I'm alive to feel it. It's okay." Heavy with emotion he felt as disgrace, Hogan said, "I, uh… want to thank you for completing my mission the other night. London really needed that information, and I couldn't…" Hogan's voice trailed off.

"You don't have to thank me, Colonel," she said, touched by Hogan's awkwardness. "I will always do whatever I can for you." There is so much more I would do….

"God only knows what would have happened if the Germans had found me first," Hogan continued, lost in his own shame. "They could have just taken the information and left me to die." Hogan strained to remember that nightmare evening. "Or made sure that I was dead before they left."

"I doubt it would have been so simple," Tiger assured him gently. "You were hardly an easy target." Hogan looked at her, bewildered. "When we first tried to take the information from you, you woke briefly and fought like a wounded bull. It took three of us to get you calm enough to help you…and there was still no hope of getting to that code."

Hogan shook his head, carefully. "I don't remember," he said.

"I'm not surprised," she said. "You were delirious." But at least you were alive. I was so relieved to see that you were alive. "Of course, eventually, you were weak enough for us to simply do what needed to be done."

"Well, thanks for doing it," Hogan said, still uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "Now you'd better get out of here. The fellas took advantage of my not being alert and kept you here a lot longer than they should have."

Tiger nodded. "They care about you very much," she said simply. "They were frightened for you."

"I know," Hogan acknowledged. "I'm very blessed to have them." He stopped and looked at Tiger as though seeing her for the first time. In his mind's eye he saw her worried face at the farmhouse, her gentle eyes consoling him. He felt her touch on his feverish cheek, and on his still, cold hand. "And you," he added. "It would have been a lot worse if—" As though suddenly hearing what he was saying, Hogan cut off and turned away. "I mean…thanks again. For everything."

Tiger nodded but said nothing. To speak would be to make Hogan feel more ill at ease. And she appreciated how hard he was trying to express himself, when she knew he rarely revealed himself to anyone; he couldn't, in his position. He had to remain detached and disinterested, or he would go mad with grief and doubt when something went wrong, as it was bound to do, one day.

"Oskar Schnitzer's waiting for you with the dog truck," Hogan said finally. "You'll come up under the doghouse, and the boys'll distract the guards so you can get in."

Tiger nodded assent. "I have done it before," she grinned. "That means I ride with the German shepherds."

"Lucky dogs," Hogan quipped.

Tiger smiled, gently squeezed Hogan's arm in farewell, and disappeared from his sight.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

"If you were a high-ranking Nazi General, what could possibly entice you to stop in at Stalag 13?" Hogan asked the next day.

"An inferiority complex," quipped Newkirk. Hogan grinned.

"Or orders from above," countered Kinch.

"Right," said Hogan, pacing his small office. He always paced when he concocted plans to outwit the enemy, and today was no different. But this time his men were keeping a close eye on him, on orders from Wilson, who again warned that Hogan was far from recovered, despite his insistence that all was business as usual. They were going to take no chances on a repeat of Hogan's collapse on the bunk; to say that that incident had distressed his men would be an understatement. "So if you take your orders from higher up, say direct from old Scramble Brains himself, what do we know about you?"

"You cope well with insanity," Newkirk piped up. Hogan offered a light smile, then got back to business.

"And you've probably been in the Army a long time," Carter added.

"Right," Hogan agreed again. "And among other things, that means…"

"That you have no sense of humor," Le Beau said. "And no taste for fine food."

Hogan paused in his step and pointed to the Frenchman. "Now you're getting warm," he said. The others exchanged confused looks, which they then turned to Hogan. "Look, these guys aren't going to spend any more time than absolutely necessary in this little backwater place we so lovingly call home. But we need to get close enough to the new tanks to see what this prototype is all about. It could mean the difference between victory and defeat for our boys, and I for one want to stack the odds on the side of the Allies. And that means keeping them away from their precious war machines long enough to do some real damage."

"So what do we do, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

"These jokers are used to being wined and dined. Going to fancy parties. Being treated like royalty. All they have to do is drop some little Prussian Corporal's name and all of a sudden they're the toast of the town." Hogan was already starting to feel tired. His headache had never disappeared and if he was honest with himself the morphine hadn't been as effective as he had hoped, either. Still, if nothing else, he was determined today to come up with a plan; that's what people expected him to do, and he wasn't going to disappoint them. Or himself.

"So you're saying we have to make it worth their while to hang around," Kinch surmised.

"Well said," Hogan replied, starting to nod then thinking better of it. "An honor for Klink is an honor for the camp, right?" he asked.

"That's what he wants us to think when he's being all generous and helpful," Newkirk retorted.

"Then it's up to us to be generous and helpful, too." Hogan started a very slow pace. "After all, this is a very special occasion. It requires special food…special preparation…and someone's special touch…"

"I will not cook for the filthy Bosche who are planning to trample through Paris," Le Beau announced stubbornly.

Hogan raised an eyebrow. How could even that little move hurt? "Not even if it might mean keeping them out of your beloved city?"

Le Beau looked sullenly at Hogan, then at the others. "Maybe I can make one of the dishes terrible."

"You'll make them beautifully. Better than you ever have before," Hogan countered. "And it'll be the kind of food that needs lots and lots of wine. If you want to make something terrible, do up some sauerbraten, according to the recipe. You'll have your gourmet's revenge, and they'll never know the difference." Hogan sat down on his bunk and looked at his men. "I'll talk with Klink about a special dinner tomorrow night. You guys are all volunteered as waiters."

"So how do we get to the tanks, Colonel?" asked Carter.

"We're going to need more than a glance in the dark," Hogan said, trying to think. It hurt to do it. "Those tanks are going to be heavily guarded. Someone's going to have to go inside one in broad daylight and in plain sight of the Krauts."

"That's suicide, Colonel," Newkirk protested softly. "You won't have as many waiters at your dinner party if one of us tries that."

"Not if we're given permission," Hogan rejoined. The others looked at him. Hogan seemed to be thinking aloud, speaking to no one in particular. "All we have to do is get the Krauts to put someone in the tank and…" He snapped his fingers, then looked to his radioman. "Kinch, contact the Underground. Ask them to have Tiger come back here tonight for a meeting. Arrange to bring her in through the emergency tunnel."

"Right, Colonel," Kinch responded.

"Le Beau, start planning a gourmet menu that would persuade a man on a hunger strike to break fast and have three helpings."

"Oui, Colonel."

"Carter—how's your camera?"

"Everything's okay, Colonel. We've still got the regular camera, and we have one hidden in a pack of cigarettes, and last week I designed one to fit in the lapel of a jacket—"

"Perfect," Hogan said, stopping what was no doubt going to be a continuing stream of explanation. "Will it fit on a woman's collar?"

Carter looked at his commanding officer, wide-eyed. "Gee, I don't know, Colonel."

"See that it does," Hogan answered. "Because if all goes to plan, Tiger will be taking the pictures for us."

"What?" Newkirk asked. "Put Tiger in a tank?"

"Why not?" Hogan asked. "Only fitting for the Germans to have a Poster Girl for their campaign through France." He swung his feet up on the bunk and lay back gingerly, indicating the meeting was over. "Get started on the preparations, then head back out on work detail; we don't need any Krauts getting suspicious about why we're not out there cleaning up, and we're going to need to be certain of every inch of ground we're covering tomorrow. I'll explain to Klink that it's our responsibility to look after the visitors, too…when you wake me up in an hour." And, confident that his orders were being followed, Hogan wearily closed his eyes, and was almost immediately asleep.