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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Newkirk burst back into Barracks Two from the tunnel under the building and went straight into Hogan's office, where Kinch was listening by the coffee pot that had been converted into a listening device to eavesdrop on discussions in Klink's office. "We've got trouble," Newkirk said to Kinch's questioning look. "Big trouble." Kinch steadied himself and waited for it. "Schultz has gone out."

Kinch tried to think clearly, but it was difficult since Newkirk's words had acted like a punch in the head, and he was still reeling from the blow. He nodded, frowned, and then said, "That doesn't mean he's going out for a night on the town. He's supposed to be on duty tonight." Even if he was just on duty outside the fence, Kinch thought, neither option was good news.

"I just heard from our friends in Barracks Seven, who have friends near the gate…" Newkirk sighed. He didn't want to believe it, either. "Schultz swapped guard duty with Langenscheidt. Said he had a date with a 'hot tomato' and was heading to the Hauserhoff to meet her tonight."

Kinch shook his head, stressed. "I don't believe it."

"Neither do I. Can you see Schultz with some hot tomato?" Newkirk shivered. "With his stomach around, he'd probably want to eat it instead of date it."

Kinch wanted to smile but found he couldn't. "When did he leave?"

"About ten minutes ago."

Kinch calculated. "Colonel Hogan might be headed back by now. He might miss him totally."

Newkirk appreciated what Kinch was trying to do—calm them both down before they panicked. But it was too late for that as far as he was concerned. "And he might not." Kinch nodded. "We've gotta warn him, Kinch."

"How?" Kinch countered. "Schultz had a car; he'll be there by the time we manage to get through, and then what?" He slammed his fist down on Hogan's desk, frustrated. Collecting himself, Kinch took a deep breath and then said, "Okay. We have to assume that Schultz is going to run into the Colonel. We have to find a way to get him back here, and fast."

Newkirk nodded. "What about—?" He stopped himself. "No, it'd be too crazy to even think about."

"What?"

"No, it's—well, I guess it's our only chance. What if we got a car from here?"

"From here?" Kinch repeated.

"What if I got dressed up in one of those German uniforms we've been gathering downstairs, I take a car from the motor pool, and head into town? Then, if the gov'nor's about to walk into trouble, I can pull him out, say I'm arresting him myself."

"You forget one really important part—Schultz knows who you are, too."

Newkirk grimaced. A perfectly bad plan, shot down in flames. He looked up when Kinch continued. "Still, it's the only plan we've got."

Newkirk raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Maybe the Colonel would manage to sneak out—but he'll need a fast way back, just in case he's been spotted. Let's do it."

"Okay." Newkirk thought unwillingly of Hogan on the run, and fretted. "We've got everything to lose…"

"And everything to gain. We've gotta make sure the Colonel gets back. He'd do the same for us."

Newkirk nodded. "You bet he would, mate. I'll get dressed."

"I'll make sure your car is ready. Let's go."

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Schultz was standing not twenty feet away from Hogan, smiling and laughing in that ringing voice that the American could not fail to recognize. I got too comfortable, Hogan panicked. I can't believe I didn't see him come in.

Hogan immediately lowered his head and turned away. He ran his index finger back and forth once under his nose, a nervous gesture that bought him time when his mind hadn't caught up with circumstances yet. He realized, dismayed, that his palms were sweating and his breathing had become quick and shallow. He had thought that he might come across Germans who wanted to confirm his business in Hammelburg, but he had only been kidding when he told the men to be sure Schultz wasn't coming into town. Klink had given no indication that he would be sending the guard out, and Schultz himself was usually quite forthcoming about his plans when he was off duty. So what had happened?

Hogan shook himself back to the present and searched the room for Sophia. He saw her a few feet away, heading back to the bar with an empty tray. He took her arm when she was alone and whispered urgently, "Is there a back way out of here? There's an acquaintance near the door I'd rather not run into."

Sophia stole a fast glance toward the entrance. "That large soldier?" she asked.

"Sergeant of the Guard at Stalag 13."

"Hans?" Sophia asked.

"Hans?" Hogan repeated. "You know him?"

"He comes in once in awhile. Likes to spend time with me when he's here. We think it is a wise idea to keep the soldiers happy. He never told me he was a prison camp guard."

"Didn't want to brag," Hogan said sarcastically. "If he's here looking for you, then standing next to you probably isn't the best place to be. How do I get out of here?" he asked again, more insistently.

"There is a back way out, but you have to—"

"Sophia, my little tomato!" came a voice, singing from the other end of the room.

Hogan froze momentarily, then remembered how to breathe and hissed, "Get me out. Now." He heard Schultz's lumbering footsteps over the noisy patrons—or was that just his imagination? In either case, he knew that the waiting time was over, and if he didn't get out in the next thirty seconds, he would be recognized, arrested, and brought back to camp—or shot.

"Come with me." Sophia took Hogan by the arm and pulled him into a small room behind the bar—the kitchen, Hogan discovered. It was nearly deserted, with just one apparently overworked man trying to keep up with the demands of the people in the well-lit, loud room just beyond him. Sophia pointed to a door. "There. Now go. And God go with you." She pushed Hogan toward the exit, dropped the pink carnation from her dress onto the floor, and went back into the other room.

"Ah, was that you, Hans!" Hogan heard her calling lightly.

"You keep me waiting, liebchen." Schultz's honey-dipped voice floated toward Hogan, making the American's stomach tighten. "Who was that man you were with? He looked familiar…"

"Oh… a man who was too drunk to be inside, if you understand," Sophia laughed.

Hogan didn't wait to hear any more. If Schultz had positively identified Hogan, he wasn't doing anything about it now. Hogan wasn't going to tempt fate; he pushed open the door, briefly resisted the piercing wind that assaulted his face and hands, and then moved out into the night.

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"Geez, if I didn't know better, Newkirk, I'd say you were born to be a Kraut."

"What a terrible thing to say to a friend," Newkirk retorted, trying to keep a good humor while adjusting this uncomfortable German uniform. He pulled the strap of the helmet tighter under his neck, then checked his pocket for the pistol he had hidden in there. "Car ready?"

"At your disposal, sir," Kinch said with a slight bow. "Keys are waiting inside."

"How did you do it?" Newkirk asked.

Kinch shrugged. "A little creative mechanics," he replied. "Your 'orders' are ready, too." He handed Newkirk a folded paper, which Newkirk glanced at before shoving into his pocket. "You're out on special patrol tonight, by order of the Kommandant. Don't forget it."

"Oh, I won't," Newkirk vowed. He stopped fiddling suddenly and took a deep breath. "I don't mind telling you, I'm bloody nervous," he said, as he felt an uncomfortable bead of sweat trickle down his back. "I don't want to think about what might be happening to Colonel Hogan."

"Don't," ordered Kinch. "Concentrate on getting in and out of there safely. The Colonel's smart enough to look after himself." I hope.

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Where the hell are you, gov'nor?

Newkirk drove as slowly as possible along the road toward Hammelburg, his only map being the one inside his head that said, "One straight road. Keep going till you hit it." But his eyes were anywhere but on the road ahead of him. He was studying every tree, every rock, every shadow, hoping to find Colonel Hogan making his way back to camp. Well, most of him was hoping that. Some part of him was hoping he didn't find Hogan, because if he did it would mean that anyone else could have found him, too. Cor, what a bloody mixed up war this is.

Newkirk was still marvelling at how easy it had been to get out of camp. Once he had snuck over to the motor pool and into the car that Kinch had prepared for him, he had simply waved at the guard who was stationed at the gate—and who had run from the shelter of the small hut that protected him from the elements—and driven straight out. The power of a German uniform…and a cold night.

His mind drifted back to Hogan. They had always thought of Schultz as a big teddy bear, a pussy cat, a pushover. But they had never tested him. In the end, he was just another German, a guard watching over them in a prison. An enemy. If he caught Colonel Hogan in town, that could be the end of the American. Newkirk was certain that Hogan would never betray anything the prisoners had accomplished, but being caught outside the camp—in civilian clothes, possibly with sensitive information—would sign his own death warrant.

The thought made Newkirk shiver involuntarily, and he was trembling so much that he pulled the car over to the side for a moment to collect himself. It could happen to me, too. Sitting here in German uniform. Heading into Hammelburg. What the hell am I doing? He thought of how he had reached this point. He had been the last of the trio that Hogan had become close to when first transferred to Stalag 13, to accept the idea of willingly remaining in a prison camp. He had been reluctant to acknowledge that the crazy idea of London's to run a sabotage and intelligence unit from a LuftStalag could work. He had watched with some incredulity as Colonel Hogan, a man treated so shockingly by the Germans upon his capture, slowly made the transition from unwilling, weary prisoner, to confident, determined leader. And then he had started to understand Hogan's position. And he had agreed with it. And even more than that, he had come to trust the American, and so far Hogan had never let them down. 'What the hell am I doing?' he asked himself. I'm doing just what Colonel Hogan would be doing for me.

Thus calming himself, he pulled away from the side of the road, and continued his search.

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Hogan had passed "cold" about twenty minutes ago; then he had progressed to freezing, and now he was almost numb. Heavy pedestrian traffic had kept him hidden in the breezy, dark alley behind the Hauserhoff for quite some time, and now that he was actually heading back to Stalag 13, the wind had picked up, its bitterness ripping across his face and making it hard to draw a deep breath. He had avoided using the flashlight for as long as possible, so he could keep his hands in his pockets. But several tumbles and a couple of curses later, he had surrendered to the inevitable and had pulled out the light, swapping hands every few minutes to try to get some feeling back in his fingers.

His head bowed against the wind, Hogan's ears nonetheless picked up the sound of an approaching vehicle, and he switched off his flashlight. Dropping it silently into his pocket, he drew himself up against the nearest tree and watched from the shadows, the freezing wind forcing his eyes to tear and making it hard to see clearly. Reluctantly, he drew his hand out of his pocket and quickly wiped at them, only to have new tears form almost instantly. This time he left them, unwilling to make a movement that could give himself away, as the approaching car seemed to come to a halt.

A car door opened and shut. Hogan pressed himself tighter to the trunk of the tree, its rough bark pushing against his back through his coat and suit. He bowed his head, this time as much to hide the light color of his face as much as to get some protection from the cold. Had he not shut off the flashlight in time?

Hogan heard as much as saw a figure moving nearby, and held his breath to keep himself as still and silent as possible. A light whistle met his ears, and Hogan frowned, thinking. Another whistle, then: "It's a long way to Tipperary."

Hogan sagged in relief. "It's a long way to go," he whispered.

The beam of a flashlight flicked on and swung over toward Hogan. "It's a long way back to prison."

"To the sweetest Kraut I know," Hogan said. He pulled away from the tree. "Newkirk?"

"Colonel?" A rustling in the woods found the men face to face. "Thank God; we've been worried to death about you."

"What are you doing here?" Hogan asked.

"I'll explain on the way back to camp. Come on; I've got dad's car."

Hogan nodded and followed the Corporal back out to the road. "You're going to get a hiding when he finds out you've taken it without telling Mom."