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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"Dynamite was first invented in 1866," Carter was saying later that day. "Alfred Nobel invented it, along with blasting caps. His brother, Emil, was killed in one of the blasts, but that didn't put him off, no, sir, boy, he just kept trying until he got it right."

"How many fingers did 'e lose in the process?" Newkirk asked, still getting used to Carter's happy rambling about his explosives and other dangerous materials.

"Gee, Newkirk, I don't know," Carter mused. "He must have still had some, or he wouldn't have been able to do the experiments. Of course, he might have had someone else follow his instructions. I mean, I'm sure there were plenty of people in Sweden who would have been happy to do what he said to do… but you know, I'm not sure I'd keep working if something I did had killed my little brother—"

"Carter!" Hogan interrupted, turning from the stove where he had poured a strong cup of coffee. "I'm sure whatever he did was done with all his fingers attached." He sighed and headed for his office. "I'll be in my office, learning German. Let me know if anything comes up."

Hogan closed the door to his office behind him and sat down on the bottom bunk. He reached underneath his thin woodchip mattress for the German lesson notes, then changed his mind and pulled out a letter. He let his eyes run over the handwriting. Hi, Mom. He sat down heavily and opened the envelope, releasing the light scent of perfumed stationery covered with a frilly flower pattern that his mother was known for. He smiled briefly, then let the façade drop when he saw the black marks obliterating his mother's writing on the page.

Dearest Rob, the letter began, Every time I sit down to write I realise that you are far from home during this terrible time of war, and every day I pray to God that you are safe and well. I'm safe, Mom. At the moment. I worry about you, flying all those missions over Germany. But I know you are doing what you must, and I support and love you. I know you hated my leaving, Mom. But I had to follow orders. And I had to help the Allies…somehow.

Hogan looked at the next section of the letter, blacked out and unreadable. He knew that his mother had sent this letter expecting him to receive it in England. He had not yet received any mail from people already knowing he was in a Luftwaffe Prisoner of War camp, and he dreaded the day that happened—the fear and pain in the letters would be almost unbearable to accept. He had kept his own letters home since his capture short. He didn't want to lie to his family, but he knew everything he wrote was being studied, so he couldn't explain that he was really still working for the Allies, that he had accepted the command of a sabotage and intelligence unit in the middle of enemy territory, that he got out of camp often. That he was coming back to this living hell by choice, to continue his work, and that Tuesday night he was going to raise the stakes even higher, by appearing in the middle of Hammelburg, surrounded by Germans, pretending to be one of them.

You know you remain close to my heart, my dear son. I light a candle in front of Our Lady every Sunday for your safe return, and pray to St Joseph of Cupertino, St George, Our Lady of Loretto, and St Michael. Pulling out all the stops, eh, Mom? No wonder I've made it so far. I've got a whole legion of saints watching over me.

Hogan sighed and stopped reading. He didn't want to hear about his older brother's exploits, his home town fair. He didn't want to see anything that reminded him of Connecticut; he just wanted to be there. Lately his dreams had been taking him home, making him feel warm and comforted. It only made it all the harder when he woke up and faced his reality. Not only wasn't he in Connecticut; he wasn't even in England, where he had been assigned as an American flying ace to help the RAF. Technically, he was free—he was still on assignment, under cover and in control. But when it came down to it, he was as much a prisoner as the next man. If he took a chance, if he did the wrong thing, he could be shot on sight, without a trial, without anyone to mourn him. The thought was sobering, and he didn't want to mix it with his family.

Hogan shoved the letter back under his mattress and stood up. "Ich finde, belgische Schokolade ist die Suesse…die suesseste."

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Helga Vibbard sat at her desk in the antechamber of Kommandant Klink's office, wrinkling her nose as she tried to translate the officer's handwriting for a letter he wanted her to type. It was always like this: if Klink was in the middle of a train of thought, he rarely called her in to take notes. The problem was, his train often ran off the tracks, and she was no good at search and rescue, and this letter, as far as she could see, was being written to General Bernstein. The dilemma here, though, was that there was no General Bernstein on the Fuhrer's staff. Indeed, there was hardly likely to be a Bernstein anywhere free in Nazi Germany.

Helga sighed, playing with her braids, and tried to bring her mind back to the work at hand. She was grateful when the door to the building opened and the senior POW and one of his men walked in, leaving her free to forget the puzzle in front of her. "Guten morgen, Colonel Hogan," she greeted, flashing one of her most winning smiles. There weren't a lot of perks to working in a POW camp, surrounded by uptight German brass, people barging in and out of the building at all hours of the day, raising their voices, threatening transfers to the Eastern Front. But Helga's parents had always taught her to look on the up-side. And in this case, that meant getting to occasionally encounter a good looking, enemy prisoner. Colonel Hogan definitely qualified.

"It's a morgen, all right, Helga," Hogan answered, approaching the desk. He made a slight movement with his head to coax Le Beau over toward the filing cabinets. "I'm not so sure about the guten part, though." He came and sat on her desk, blocking some of her paperwork from sight.

"Now, Colonel Hogan, you are supposed to say that seeing a pretty girl makes any morning a good one," she chided him gently.

Hogan smiled. True, he was here to do a job, and that was uppermost in his mind. But he couldn't help but be enticed by the pretty, petite blonde looking up at him from under those long eyelashes. Her blouse was just tight enough to remind Hogan of some of the nicer differences between men and women, and the smell of her perfume nearly made him dizzy with sudden desire. And she had to smile with those beautiful, full lips, he thought. If she were willing, and there wasn't a man with a gun standing right outside this door…

"My apologies," he conceded gallantly. "Been surrounded by goons—uh, Germans—too long. So, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" he asked, watching Le Beau carefully easing open the top drawer of a cabinet behind Helga's head.

"Making a living," she said, deftly moving some papers across the desk and away from the American, just as Hogan lowered his head to bring his face close to her cheek.

"Mmm," Hogan said, still searching for contact, "you call working for Klink making a living?"

"Well, when jobs are few and far between, a girl has to take what she can get," Helga answered, trying to sound serious but failing miserably. She allowed herself to look at the handsome officer. "And I speak English, so I was one of the first in line for this one."

Hogan took advantage of the peek and leaned in close, holding her hands in place on the desk. She looked into his eyes, taken in, and, after seeing that Le Beau was still safe from discovery during his exploration of the office, he looked back into hers. "I'm sure there are better things you could be doing. How about defecting?" He planted a very gentle kiss on her cheek. "I could take you to a lovely little house in Connecticut when the war is over, sehr gern, Suess," Hogan said.

"I'm afraid that's a little far away from Hammelburg," Helga replied, turning toward her typewriter. Her sudden movement plunged Hogan to reality—he had just revealed knowledge of the German language. Hogan shot a warning look at Le Beau. The Frenchman nodded and pointed to another cabinet that had been in Helga's sight before, but which was now behind her. Hogan nodded and then turned his nervous attention back to Klink's secretary.

"Uh—is Klink in?" he asked, waiting silently for her to catch him out.

Helga rolled a piece of paper into her typewriter. "Ja, Colonel Hogan," she said. "He is expecting you."

"Expecting me?"

"Mm-hmm. I heard him saying just this morning that it had been suspiciously long since you were in here trying to get more privileges for your men." She smiled at him as he leaned over her keys. "He was wondering how long it would be before you were back."

Hogan smiled, relaxing a bit. "Well, I'm a big fan of all things Swiss… including Geneva and its conventions." He looked at her more intently.

Le Beau tried waving some papers above his head for Hogan to see, but he could not get his commander's attention. Finally, he hid the documents under his heavy jacket, and silently snuck out of the office.

She smiled back at him. "Would you care to go in?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," Hogan answered vaguely, finding himself getting lost in her eyes.

"I'll announce you," she said, standing. Hogan's eyes followed her flawless face. "If you're sure your Corporal Le Beau is finished with his business," she added, her eyes twinkling.

Hogan's face fell and he felt a chill go through him. "Finished with his—"

"Don't worry, Suess," Helga said. "I'll never tell." Hogan swallowed, hard. "A girl has to get nylons somehow."

Hogan shook his head, trying to get a handle on what was happening. "What?—Uh, I don't think I can get you—"

Helga put her fingers over his lips. "You'll have time," she said. "I don't think you're going anywhere. Are you?"

Hogan tried to smile confidently, but he was still too disconcerted. Helga, however, maintained her secretive smile, and knocked on the door to Klink's office. Klink's voice called from inside and Helga opened the door. "Colonel Hogan to see you, Kommandant," she said.

Klink called for Hogan to come in, and Helga turned back to the American. "The Kommandant will see you now," she said. In a low voice, she added, "And I will see you whenever you are carrying what you have promised me."

Hogan started to answer, then thought the better of it. As he passed her to go into the office, he asked, "Why are you—?"

"Let's just say I and my Dutch grandparents are not sure who the master race is, Colonel Hogan. But I have a feeling it's not those who are so willing to believe in the inferiority of everyone else."

Hogan looked at her, in a much different light than he had dozens of times before. Sincerely, he said, "I wish I did have something to give you."

Helga smiled. "You will, Colonel Hogan. Somehow I know you will, one day. I can wait."

He squeezed her arm. "How did I ever come across an angel like you?" he asked.

"You must have someone watching over you," Helga answered, returning to her desk.

Hogan thought fleetingly of the letter from home nestled under his mattress and didn't doubt her statement for a second.