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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Hogan let out a low moan as he reluctantly moved back into consciousness. Without opening his eyes, he ran his arms across the cold floor and somehow concluded that he must still be where he had fallen during the ceaseless onslaught of Feldkamp's two sidekicks. Despite a distinct ringing in his ears, he tried to listen, but could hear nothing—no footsteps, no sounds of the outside, no taunting, insistent voices that would follow up answer-less questions with kicks, or punches, or vice-like grips.

He considered allowing himself to simply slip back into the blackness, until mere thinking didn't hurt so much. But as usual, an insistent, nagging voice somewhere inside demanded that he remain awake. Unwillingly, Hogan started to open his eyes, only to find that his left one was unable to complete its task. Painfully shifting position, he hauled himself up onto his elbows and stopped, gasping at the shooting, burning sensations the movement triggered throughout his body. He brought one aching arm up to his face and tenderly felt around his eye; what felt like dried blood was layered over a swollen cheek, squeezing his left eye almost shut. Allowing himself to cry out softly with the effort, he dragged himself to his knees.

Hogan's mind wasn't trying to calculate how long he had been unaware; it was too busy trying to assimilate exactly what had happened. Almost every part of his body was weeping with pain. A strong, crippling throb in his groinal area was almost enough to send him back to oblivion. With a groan, he brought a hand to his stiff and aching back, while snatches of the Gestapo "interrogation" flooded back into his mind. Prison camps with many escapes… last sightings of men heading in the direction of Stalag 13… Hogan knew Feldkamp had nothing concrete to go on; he was hoping Hogan would simply cave in under the threat of physical violence and confess anything and everything to stop it.

It hadn't worked. Becoming aware of an increasing throbbing around his ribcage and a pounding headache, Hogan wryly wished it could have.

With blurry vision in the one eye that he could open fully, Hogan briefly surveyed his surroundings. He was, indeed, still in the cooler. There was some dried blood on the floor, which Hogan was sure he didn't want to remember spilling, and his jacket and crush cap were carelessly tossed in a corner. The door to the cooler was open; obviously, it was of little importance to Feldkamp if Hogan left once he woke up.

Breathing laboriously, Hogan moved one leg, then the other, until he was standing. His groin objected with fresh stabs of pain, and he stifled a cry, in defense of his dignity. Swaying unsteadily, he staggered to the corner and reached down for his jacket. The movement felt like it sloshed his brain inside his skull, and he stumbled, the nearby cot catching him as he slid into it, his head exploding and his sore abdomen screaming. Not willing to give up, Hogan reached blindly for the jacket and his cap, then lurched out of the cell.

Once upstairs, Hogan blinked in the pre-dawn light. He shivered immediately in the cold, and through a fog of pain-induced exhaustion he pulled the jacket on, trying vainly to ignore his body's protests. A glance toward Klink's office. The light was still on. Feldkamp's car was still parked outside. He must have been ranting and raving at Klink all night, Hogan concluded. That explains why no one came and got me out of there. Then he immediately forgot the thought as he concentrated on being able to walk without falling over. He considered, fleetingly, barging in on the meeting, but decided in the end to head straight for Barracks Two. Barracks Five, where Wilson, was holed up, was too far away. Hogan knew his men would track the medic down as soon as their commanding officer stumbled into the hut.

That would be great, he thought sincerely, uncharacteristically, as the door gave in to his weak push, and as though from a distance he heard the outcry that accompanied his return.

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"If they can't pin one thing on me, they'll try another," Hogan said to his men. Le Beau handed him a cold, wet towel, which he very gingerly put over his swollen cheek. He winced as it made contact with the bruise, drawing in a breath that pressed against the bandages Wilson had wrapped around his torso a few hours earlier. Hogan closed his eyes. Several hours of sleep, interspersed with periods of simple unconsciousness, had done nothing to rid him of the powerful headache taunting him. But Wilson had told him that wouldn't likely subside until the bump on the back of his head started shrinking. Hogan didn't want to remember how he had acquired it.

"I thought the Gestapo had given up on you, gov'nor," Newkirk said.

"So did I," Hogan answered, opening his eyes. "But now they're getting worried about the escapes from the other prison camps. Seems there have been quite a few lately." He gave up on the towel and handed it back to Le Beau. "And the men all seem to have last been seen heading in this direction."

"Must look pretty good for Klink," Kinch pondered. "His record is still perfect."

"Thanks to us. But Feldkamp obviously thinks there's more to it than meets the eye."

"Do you think he'll be back, Colonel?" Carter asked. Feldkamp's car had roared out of camp a couple of hours after dawn.

"He didn't mention it," Hogan answered shortly.

Kinch remained silent. Feldkamp had actually told Hogan that he would continue his investigation and return if he considered it necessary. But the Sergeant suspected Hogan had probably already been beaten senseless by the time Feldkamp delivered that little speech, and had not heard it at all.

"So what happens now, Colonel?" Le Beau asked.

"Business as usual," Hogan answered. "We have some sabotage to plan, and the Underground is expecting me to meet them for a rendezvous tonight."

"I'll be happy to go in your place, Colonel," Carter piped up. Hogan looked at him questioningly. Carter shifted feet. "I mean if, if you're not up to it, I'm sure they'll understand if—"

Hogan tried to smile benignly, but it hurt, so he stopped. "I appreciate that, Carter," he said. "But I'm sure I'll be able to make it." Hogan noticed Carter's embarrassment; obviously, Carter thought he had said the wrong thing. So Hogan spoke again, reassuringly. "I can't have you go out tonight anyway—I need you to be organizing that dynamite for all those marvellous explosions we're going to create as soon as London gives the okay."

Carter relaxed and smiled. "It'll be good stuff, too, Colonel, I promise you that. Y'know, I've had a good look at the stuff Peter Pan gave us, and it's some real quality material. And once I get it all organized—"

"I'm sure it'll be top quality," Hogan assured him. Still a bit woozy, Hogan suddenly felt a surge of tiredness. "I've got some planning to do," he said. "Lemme have some time to sort things out, okay?"

"Sure, Colonel," Kinch said. He shuffled the others out as Hogan told them he was going to work out some details for the coming sabotage mission. Without a single document in his office to do that with, Kinch didn't believe a word he said. So it was no surprise to him, when he checked in ten minutes later, to find Hogan sound asleep on the bottom bunk.

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"Things are getting too dangerous for Ludwig, Colonel Hogan." Standing in a dark barn a couple of miles from camp, the Underground contact known as the White Rabbit was making Hogan nervous. He wouldn't stop looking around him, and nearly bolted at every sound from the outside.

"Who's Ludwig?" Hogan asked. He wasn't used to talking about contacts using their real names.

"He is an Underground agent who has been helping to transmit information to London. But he fears the Gestapo is getting suspicious of him now. His wife is sure that she has been followed. He wants to get her out of Germany."

Hogan frowned. The movements of the Gestapo were all too well-known. They didn't just go after the one they suspected; to make him vulnerable, they went after his loved ones as well. "What about him?"

"He wants to stay and fight. But naturally, he also feels the need to be with his family."

"Can I meet with him?"

"He has asked for a meeting tomorrow night, at his home. It is only a few minutes' walk from here."

"How will I know it's safe?"

"I will take you there myself. Ludwig knows me, and he will trust you, if I tell him so."

"Then we'll do this again tomorrow. Twenty-two hundred hours. Be on time; this is no time to live up to your name."

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"Still no word from London on the sabotage assignment, Colonel," Kinch reported. Hogan had sent the radio man downstairs about an hour earlier, hoping that there would be some news from Allied Headquarters, giving them instructions to begin their round of destruction. But so far, HQ remained silent on that.

Hogan started pacing. "This is ridiculous; why are they holding out on us?" He stopped walking back and forth as his still-sore muscles protested. He had to give them time to rest before he headed back out to see Ludwig tonight. "Don't they trust us to do the job?"

Kinch shrugged. "Maybe they're just giving us time to prepare, Colonel. After all, we've never done this before. And even though Carter's spending every free minute downstairs, he says the stuff's not ready yet anyway."

Hogan nodded, carefully, in deference to his aching head. Damn the Gestapo. He hadn't let his encounter with Feldkamp stop him for long, but he couldn't pretend that he wasn't still feeling the effects of their meeting either. He sighed. "You're probably right, Kinch. I suppose we have enough to do anyway."

"When are you heading out, Colonel?"

"Just after lights-out," Hogan answered, rubbing the back of his neck. "We owe it to the people helping us to make sure they can be safe. If we can't, we'll have to get Ludwig and his family out."

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Hogan's mind refused to let go of two thoughts: one, that by the time the war was over, he would know the inside of every barn in this part of Germany intimately; and two, that if he had any fingers left at all, they would all be mere stubs, the remainder of them being amputated because of frostbite. Stamping his feet and jamming his bare hands under his armpits to try and keep warm, Hogan looked over at the horse in its corner of the barn. The large, brown animal was looking at him with apparent disinterest, little puffs of wispy white streaming from its nose as it exhaled. A little whinny and a toss of its head brought Hogan closer. "You think you've got troubles," Hogan murmured to the animal, stroking its head gently. "At least you're wearing a fur coat." The horse nudged Hogan benignly, and he smiled, laughing to himself. No point in complaining about the conditions, he decided. Germany's not about to move to the tropics just for you.

Hogan tried to blow warm air into his cupped hands, then stuck them back under his arms. How long would it take for White Rabbit to give him the all-clear?

The door to the barn suddenly creaked, and Hogan instinctively drew himself up against a wall behind it, to be hidden from whoever was entering. "Papa Bear?" a voice called. Hogan relaxed and came out; it was just the contact. "He is ready for you." Hogan nodded and, taking a last look at his equine company, he followed White Rabbit out, bowing his head against the sudden blast of cold.

Stepping through the doorway of the simple home nearby, Hogan was ushered through the kitchen and into a small sitting room. He felt the warmth of the crackling fire in the hearth engulf him, and let his shoulders drop, raising his head to let the heat caress his face and neck. He nearly sighed with the pleasure of this luxury. White Rabbit motioned for him to sit down; Hogan chose the chair closest to the fire, and extended his hands, to bring some life back into them. Concentrating on the sensation of the embracing heat, he was startled when a soft voice seemed to pierce the room.

"You are the one they call Papa Bear?"

Hogan looked away from the mesmerizing fire to see a woman standing before him. He got up quickly. "I am," he answered. "And you are…?"

"Alida." Hogan looked at the small, middle-aged woman before him. She smiled prettily as she added, "You must be half-frozen; let me bring you something warm to drink."

Hogan smiled back. "Completely frozen. And thank you, that would be wonderful."

"Ludwig will be here shortly. He is just getting the rest of the firewood."

Hogan nodded. Alida turned and left the room. A few seconds later, a man, his arms heavily laden with small logs, came in. Hogan watched as without a word of greeting the man put the wood on the floor beside the fireplace, then pushed one of the smaller pieces into the fire, causing it to momentarily flare as it began consuming the newest offering. In Hogan's mind, he could see himself doing the same chore for his mother, when his father was out working late on a winter's evening. He could see her smiling, sitting in the big, overstuffed rocking chair in the corner of the living room, the ever-present throw rug draped over her legs, her sewing box sitting faithfully on the floor beside her, and the radio turned up loudly enough for her not to miss a single second of Orson Welles' The Shadow. What will you be listening to tonight, Mom? He closed his eyes, his head and body still sore. I wish I could listen to it with you.

The man straightened and stood up. "I am Ludwig," he said, extending his hand.

"Colonel Hogan." Hogan accepted the offered hand. Warm. "I hear you're having some trouble."

Ludwig glanced over at White Rabbit, who nodded. "Please, warm yourself by the fire," Ludwig said gruffly, his attempts at being a gracious host marred by his anxiety. Hogan nodded but didn't move. He needed to concentrate. "I have always been more than willing to do my part for the war effort," the man began.

Hogan studied Ludwig as he spoke. Probably in his mid-forties, Hogan guessed, the strain of working in secret made him seem much older. Grey was touching the hair on his temples, and his eyes held what appeared to be a permanently tired look. Still, the strength of the man before him was apparent, and Hogan had to admire him: to Hogan, the war was an assignment, a job—a very personal one, granted, but he was a soldier following orders nonetheless. To Ludwig, the war was entirely personal. As a civilian, he did not have to take any part in this struggle, any risk other than to follow the directives of the party in power. But what he saw happening in the Fatherland obviously went against all his principles, and he was not willing to passively accept whatever outcome eventuated, even if it meant putting himself in danger. To Hogan, this was the definition of a real hero, and he always felt humbled when meeting with members of the Underground, for whom the war was more than soldiers fighting soldiers.

"I cannot tell you how horrified both Alida and myself have been at the things we have seen and heard. Whatever we can do to help, we feel we must do." Hogan nodded. Ludwig, who had been pacing, stopped and looked Hogan in the eye. "But now I feel there is danger. Alida is being followed. I know you may think it is just a man's paranoia about his wife, but I tell you it is not."

Hogan shook his head. No, not paranoia. Love. "I don't think you're paranoid at all," he said gravely. "The Third Reich isn't known for its tolerance of subversives. If you think there's too much risk, you need to stop. No one will think the lesser of you. We're grateful for the immense risk you've already taken."

Ludwig's troubled eyes seemed to relax slightly. "We have argued, Colonel. We have debated time and again whether we can stop helping the Allies with a clear conscience."

"Your first duty is to your family," Hogan countered. "If you're in danger, you could be risking not just yourselves, but everyone you come into contact with."

Ludwig stopped. He had not expected the already renowned Papa Bear to be so easily accepting of the idea of losing an Underground agent. Hogan sensed some hesitancy in the man and added, "You've done more than anyone could ask of you already. Please, your conscience should be clear."

Alida came back into the room holding two cups. "Tea for you, Papa Bear?" she offered, extending the cup. Hogan smiled as she entered and thanked her. "Ludwig," she scolded suddenly, turning to her husband. "Why are you making this poor man stand in our home? Has he not travelled far enough?" Ludwig looked appropriately chastised. "Please, please sit," she urged.

Hogan nodded and sat back near the fire with his tea. "You've been being followed?" Hogan asked her.

Alida looked at Ludwig, uncomfortable. "I cannot be sure," she started, timidly. "But it seems lately that whenever I go to town I keep seeing this same man, whom I have never seen before. And he seems to go to all the same places I do, no matter how I vary my route." She smiled weakly. "You see, I have tried that. I feel like I am such a spy."

Hogan smiled warmly at her. Her attempts to bring lightness into what was obviously a frightening situation touched him. "You're certainly learning," he said kindly. Then he turned serious. "I'm sorry to say your story is a bad sign. You need to get out, and if you're being followed, you won't be able to simply pack up and go. Do you have any family outside of Germany?"

"We have a daughter, she moved to England about four years ago. We thought it was safer there with the way things were changing in Germany. She lives with Alida's aunt," Ludwig said.

"Does she have room for two more?" Hogan asked, his tea all but forgotten.

"I am sure she would make room," Alida offered quietly.

"Then that's the way to go." Hogan looked from one, to the other. "I'm sorry. I know it will be hard for you. You'll be leaving your home, and your family." Their eyes drifted over to where White Rabbit had sat silently through the whole conversation, his eyes downcast. "And your friends." Once more Hogan felt touched by the sacrifice that these people, and people like them, made on a regular basis. "I'm afraid I have nothing to offer you but thanks."

Alida smiled. "You do not need to offer us anything, Papa Bear. We will go. Germany is not the country that we grew up to know and love. I only wish we could do more."

Hogan felt warm inside. And he was grateful when he realised it was because of the people he was with, not just because of the nearby fireplace. He stood up. "We'll start making plans. Give us a few days. You're going to need to lie low for awhile. Don't transmit anything to anyone for us. Go about your business and—"

Hogan cut off as he heard a rattling on the door in the other room. "What's that?" he asked.

Ludwig listened, then frowned. "My brother, Hans. He often stops here on his way back from an evening out. He must be on his way back to Stalag 13."

All the warmth that Hogan had felt moment ago drained away, along with the color from his face. "Stalag 13?" he whispered.

"Ludwig, Alida, where are you?" came the familiar voice from the other room.

"Ja, Colonel," Ludwig said. "Hans is a guard there."

"Hans Schultz?" Hogan asked, alarm bells ringing loudly in his head. Ludwig nodded, at sea."I've gotta get outta here."

"But, Colonel, you are not in uniform, we will simply introduce you as a friend," Alida said.

"That would be lovely—if he didn't know me as the senior POW officer at the camp!" Hogan said, apprehensively looking for a way out of the room that didn't involve going out past Schultz.

"What?" Ludwig said, stunned.

"I'll explain another time. Right now, I need to get out of here, without him seeing me!"

"Ludwig! I can smell Alida's cooking; you must be awake somewhere in here! Come and greet your älterer Bruder as you should, ja?"

"This way," Alida whispered, and, taking Hogan by the arm, she swiftly led him down another corridor and into a small bedroom. "Out that window," she said.

From the other room, Hogan could hear Ludwig heartily greeting the Sergeant. "You keep me waiting, my favourite brother!" Schultz declared.

 Déjà vu, Hogan thought wryly. He heard Ludwig offer him a warm drink and immediately sound as though there was never any Papa Bear inside his home. Brothers, sharing camaraderie. Hogan felt another pang of homesickness. Alida looked at him, anxious about his sudden stillness after his rush to leave. "I'll be in touch," he said abruptly, shaking himself back to the present. Alida smiled fleetingly and nodded. "I meant what I said—don't change your routine. When we're ready, I'll let you know."

"We are grateful, Papa Bear," Alida said. Her eyes full of concern, she briefly, gently fingered one of the violent bruises on Hogan's face. Hogan said nothing, but as their eyes met, he suspected she had sensed his ill-timed wistfulness. Then, with a light push, she urged, "Please. Please go. Now it is you who are at risk."

Hogan nodded and forced his protesting body out the small window and into the clear, dark, frigid night. Here we go again. What I wouldn't give to see Newkirk with that car right about now!