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

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"Still think I'm a nice guy?" Hogan asked, holding up a chocolate bar he had gotten in the latest Red Cross packages. He put the prized candy on the desk.

Hogan stood before Klink's secretary the next day, displaying his most charming smile, a touch of roguishness lighting up his eyes. Helga played along with a smile of her own, obviously enjoying the encounter, but determined not to let Hogan know that she had long ago fallen under the spell of his personality. "You have your good points," she said. She moved past Hogan to file some paperwork that had piled up on her desk.

"My good points?" Hogan said, playfully disappointed. "I thought you'd like it if I brought you a little offering." He came up behind Helga and smelled her hair. "I plan to treat you with respect; I'm a gentleman, and you're worth it!"

"Am I worth a pair of nylons?" she teased, brushing past Hogan and returning to her desk.

Hogan knew when he was beaten. "I'm working on that," he said. "But they're awfully hard to come by. Mom wants to keep the ones she's got, you know."

Helga smiled. "I doubt you are getting your mother involved in this."

Hogan held up his hands in surrender. "You're right; I'm not. She's probably just now finding out I'm even here." A twinge of regret at his mother's pain raced through his mind, then disappeared as he focused on his goal. "But I haven't given up on them yet. That has to count for something."

Helga gave a smile that melted Hogan inside. "It does, Colonel." She sat down. "So, what do you want today? You have not brought Corporal Le Beau with you."

Hogan sat on the desk. "I was hoping this would be a solo flight." He leaned in close. How long had it been since he had kissed a woman? The temptation raged within him, but he didn't want to blow one of the best chances he had at getting an insider to help their operation by succumbing to a momentary weakness. Still, charm had its place, and he knew he had to bring all of it to bear here. Truthfully, but with a bit more force than he would have used when not so much was at stake, Hogan said, "There are some things a guy would rather do without his friends around. Like be with a beautiful woman."

"Colonel Hogan, you are flattering me," Helga said, knowing the game but pleased nonetheless. "You must want something very badly."

"But I do want something, Helga, I do," Hogan answered. Her lips are so close…. He straightened and steeled his resolve. "But, unfortunately, I need something more urgently." Helga sensed that Hogan was getting down to business and straightened her blouse and the things on her desk ineffectively. Hogan abandoned the sport. "There's a new munitions plant a few miles from here. When's it going into operation, and how is it being accessed?"

Helga gave Hogan a sideways look. "That new plant is top secret, Colonel. What would a prisoner need to know about it?"

Hogan gave a start, then noticed the woman was smiling. She got me again. "Let's just say I have a peculiar hobby." She nodded. "It's really important that I know what's going on in there. For the sake of my curiosity, of course."

"Of course," Helga answered serenely. She stood up. "This may cost you more than a pair of stockings, Colonel Hogan." Hogan's eyes drank in the swaying hips of the young woman as she swished past him and over to a locked filing cabinet. Pulling a key on a chain out from around her neck, Helga opened up the top drawer, drew out a manila folder, and casually dropped it onto the desk, relocking the drawer. "I need to go into the Kommandant's office for a moment, Colonel. Make sure you don't look at anything on my desk. Especially any folders I may have put there."

The desire Hogan was feeling for Helga was suddenly mixed with admiration, and hope. She floated past him and knocked briefly on Klink's door. "Herr Kommandant, I need you to sign these requisitions," she said, and she disappeared into the office, closing the door quite deliberately behind her.

Hogan wasted no time. He grabbed the file, marked "Straße Sicherheit: nur autorisiertes Personal," and started quickly sorting the papers inside until he found what he wanted. "I'm going to owe you more than a couple of pairs of stockings," Hogan muttered, as he smiled and set to work studying the contents of the priceless treasure chest Helga had opened before him.

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"I know I'm going to regret asking this, Carter, but how are things going with the dynamite?"

Hogan stood beside the young demolitions enthusiast in the tunnel laboratory, looking at what was to him an impossible mixture of silica, caps, paper and other materials. The ice-cream maker was perched on the table nearby, still holding some precious nitroglycerin. With hands as gentle as those holding a newborn, Carter lifted a vial out of the makeshift cooler, and turned to his commanding officer. Hogan involuntarily took a step backwards. "This stuff is great," Carter said in a whisper. "I've made so much dynamite we could probably blow up half the bridges in Germany."

"Just two for the time being, Carter," Hogan said, also feeling the need to keep his voice down.

"Well, half the bridges—or maybe these would be really shattered—you know, like blasted to smithereens. I mean there wouldn't even be a piece big enough to hold in your hand. They wouldn't even know what material had been used to construct the bridge. The way this stuff works—"

"That's fine, Carter, fine," Hogan cut in.

Carter shrugged, satisfied he had gotten his point across. "The stuff's over there, Colonel," Carter said, pointing to the wall behind him.

Hogan turned as Carter resumed his delicate work. Impressed, Hogan nodded and looked at the pile of dynamite Carter had stacked on the floor, as well as at a number of other small incendiaries that Hogan couldn't instantly identify. "Good job, Sergeant," he said.

"Thanks, Colonel," Carter answered. "You know, I've been thinking about that munitions plant. The plans you drew don't really give us a clear entrance."

"No, they don't." Hogan frowned. He hadn't like the look of the set up either. A front entrance always guarded, one road leading in. Woods behind, but an electrified fence to deter any unwanted visitors, and barbed wire. He was still working out possible ways to enter the plant, and had almost decided to leave it until last, or, possibly, leave it out of their list of targets altogether, at least for the present time. But London had other plans.

"I'm thinking maybe we could blast our way in." Carter's statement intruded on Hogan's private musings.

Hogan raised his eyebrows. "And how long do you think it would take before someone came after us if we pulled a stunt like that?" he asked.

"Well I was thinking that if a few of us dressed up as German guards and took the places of the Germans outside the factory, then when the blast was set off, no one would notice." Carter's mouth twitched as he considered his plan. He was still thinking it out, and he knew that this was where his idea had finished. He wasn't normally the ideas man; he didn't like trying to figure out all the plans and was quite happy to leave the conniving to someone else. But the factory plans had intrigued him, and he couldn't help but let his mind wander just the slightest bit as he worked solo in the tunnel.

"And all the Germans inside the building would come running out." Hogan sighed. "Thanks for trying, Carter, but I think I'm going to have to burn some midnight oil mulling over this one." He started heading back toward the ladder. "Nice work. Don't worry… we'll use up your dynamite. I promise."

Face it, Hogan, this one's beyond you. Hogan went back into his room and lay back on the lower bunk. You're getting ideas above your station. Stick to the bridge…and Ludwig and Alida. Hmph—Schultz's brother. What will he think when his brother disappears? Hogan closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the emotions he had been avoiding since learning of the guard's family ties. God, please let this be over soon. I want to go home.

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"It may interest you to know, gentlemen," Klink said at roll call the next morning, "that General Burkhalter has just informed me that the Third Reich is enjoying a brilliant victory after an Allied strike over Hamburg was crushed last night, and our interests were left undamaged." He paraded back and forth in front of the prisoners, a self-satisfied smile on his face taunting Hogan and his men.

"I find that hard to believe, Kommandant," Hogan said. The men around him started shifting in anticipation; a comment from a bristling Hogan was bound to mean some relief from humiliation for them.

Klink immediately stopped his pacing. "And why is that, Hogan?" he asked, coming almost nose to nose with the senior POW. "Are you still so unconvinced of Germany's superior abilities?"

"To make a mess of things? No. To win a complete victory over the Allies in the sky? Yes. Even a damaged Allied plane can drop a bomb, Kommandant." Hogan knew he had no leg to stand on; he didn't know for sure what had happened in Hamburg, and he didn't know if the Allies had been able to wipe out anything at all. But he was banking on Klink having trumped up the victory, if there was one, in a bid to keep the prisoners disheartened; the usual let's-destroy-morale trick that he had tried to master, and which Hogan constantly tried to defeat. "Or organize to crash into an enemy target if it's completely crippled."

Klink's face started reddening. "Colonel Hogan, what will it take to convince you? Perhaps a tour of the area?"

"No, thanks," Hogan answered. "Bombsights are rarely interesting to me. There's no ambience." The men around him snickered. "Although, if you'd like me to go, I'd be happy to take a car and have a look—or has a guard wandered off with one again?"

Shorts bursts of laughter from the prisoners. "That's enough, Hogan," Klink said through gritted teeth. "Diiiiis-miiiiissed."

Hogan nodded acknowledgement to the cheers of those around him, and went back into the barracks.

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"Sergeant Wilson is here, Colonel," Le Beau said later that day. "He wants to speak with you."

"I don't have time," Hogan answered, a bit too shortly. He looked up from his desk full of papers. "Sorry, Louis. There's just a lot going on."

"Oui, Colonel. I understand." Le Beau considered leaving, but decided to speak his mind. "Colonel, may I speak with you a moment?"

Hogan nodded. "Sure; what's on your mind?"

"It is about Schultz's brother." Hogan motioned for Louis to sit. "I want us to help Ludwig; he has been a good contact for us, and a good help."

"But?" Hogan prompted gently.

"But we are taking a great risk trying to bring in someone known to one of the guards, even one that seems as harmless as Schultz." Le Beau looked around the room as though looking for a place to hide.

"You're worried it'll expose the operation." Le Beau nodded. Hogan sighed. "I've thought the same thing, Louis. Over and over again. But when it comes down to it, we owe it to him. And if we do this the same way we've done all the others, Schultz will never even know he's been through here."

Le Beau nodded again. "We are breaking up a family," he said quietly. "Schultz will never know what happened to his brother."

"We're saving a family," Hogan corrected him. "If the Gestapo gets to Ludwig and his wife, Schultz won't even have a brother. And he can always contact Schultz when he's in London." Hogan was glad of the chance to work this all out with Le Beau; his own thoughts had been running along a similar vein, and it was hard to reconcile the need to do what they were doing with the idea that a family would no longer be together, that there would be no more late-night meetings in front of the fire after a night in town for these people, in the reassuring company of family. "This is what we do, Louis. It's part of what we're here for."

Le Beau looked up. "Oui, you are right. Sometimes this whole operation gets me a bit… how do you say… confused. We are doing so many things I would never have dreamed of." He stood up. "Thank you, Colonel." Hogan nodded. "Can I please send Wilson in?"

"Sure," Hogan said, thoughtfully.

Le Beau left and soon the camp medic walked in and shut the door. "Colonel, can I have a few minutes?"

Hogan let out what he was starting to believe was one of a large collection of sighs. "I'm fine, Sergeant," he began.

"Yeah, I can see your cuts are healing. Now I want to know about the rest of you."

"The rest of me is getting well, too." Hogan stretched as if to prove a point. "See?" he said, biting his lip as a jab near his ribcage threatened to betray him.

"Wonderful," Wilson said. Still, he approached the Colonel. "Now. What about your head?"

"Headache's just about gone. A twinge from the bruises once in awhile. Nothing I can't handle."

"Glad to hear it," Wilson said. "But I meant mentally."

"Mentally?" Hogan echoed. Wilson nodded. "Since when did you become a psychiatrist?"

"Colonel, there's a lot on your plate at the moment. I don't know the half of it—I know you prefer it that way, and quite frankly, so do I. But mental stress can be just as debilitating as physical injury. And after your encounter with the Gestapo, it's more important than ever to make sure your mind is cooperating with your body in its healing."

Hogan didn't answer. Wilson didn't move. Hogan held out as long as he could, then gave in to his need to fill the silence. "I'm okay," he said.

"Flashbacks?" Wilson asked. He remembered only too well the state of Hogan's mind when the Colonel was first brought into the camp. Long periods of unaccounted-for time, injuries that he couldn't remember sustaining. And the haunting fear that there was something he was hiding from himself, that he had broken under the torture inflicted by his captors. Wilson had told him then that it would take time for his memories to resurface, if they ever did. And when they finally came forward, he had no doubt they would be devastating to Hogan's psyche. If that happened at the wrong time, Wilson feared the effect could be crippling.

"Not many," Hogan said. "A couple of brief images here and there. Bits of conversation. Nothing concrete. Mainly… homesickness." Despite his desire to keep his thoughts private, he couldn't help but speak. He closed his eyes and shook his head, as though feeling the pain of it right then and there. "I can't stand it," he nearly whispered. "My mother, my brother, my bed—I didn't think about home this much when I was in London!"

"You weren't being held in a prison camp in London. It's natural, Colonel." Hogan nodded, then seemed to physically change his demeanor. Here comes the mask, thought Wilson. This is one of the strongest men I've ever met.

"Well, there are more important things to think about now than Mom's home cooking," Hogan said forcefully. "I've got a few things to blow up…and a couple of people to get out of here."

Wilson shook his head. "Leave me out of it," he said. "And I mean that—don't go off and get hurt, would you? I'm running a bit low on supplies, and your people in London haven't re-stocked me yet."

Hogan smiled. "No problem," he said. He stood up as Wilson turned to leave. "Sergeant—thanks for the pep talk. I'll be fine."

"You just do what you're told. Look after yourself."

Hogan saluted the man sharply. "Anything you say, sir."

Wilson shook his head, and smiled, resigned. "If only it were that easy."