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xx-xx-xx

Hogan laughed loud and long, relieved at Klink's joke at his expense. Wrapping his arms around his chest, Hogan relaxed. "That's very funny, Kommandant!" he exclaimed, still laughing. The German didn't seem to be joining in the fun, however, and Hogan's good humor abruptly ended. "Uh—Kommandant, you're—you're kidding, right?" Hogan laughed again, tentatively. "You don't really expect me to believe that you actually want me to—" He faltered, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours uncertain about something. It was a feeling he didn't like. His arms dropped to his sides. "Colonel Klink?"

Klink seemed to consider before speaking. Finally he looked around the room like a paranoiac and whispered, "Hogan, are you quite certain you were not followed when you came here?"

Hogan frowned and became even more alarmed. "I didn't check; I don't usually have any reason to worry about spies when I come to your office, Kommandant," Hogan answered. Except my own! God, I wish they were listening to this! "What's this all about?"

Klink raised a finger. "Just a minute," he said in a hushed voice. Klink got up and walked around his office, seeming to pounce on any item that was remotely out of place. He pulled flowers out of a vase, pulled glasses quickly off counter tops, and wildly opened the door in his office that led to his quarters. Nothing seemed to be askew. Then, leaving Hogan still very concerned and in the dark, Klink opened the door to his antechamber. "Fraulein Hilda, would you please go down to the motor pool and tell Sergeant Schultz that I want him to supervise the maintenance at the guards' house? Then go tell Corporal Langenscheidt that he needs to recheck the supply hut before you put in your requisitions for the month."

Hogan heard a slightly bewildered, "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," come from the other room, and noticed Klink didn't close the door to turn back to his senior POW until Hilda closed the door behind her on the way out.

Klink came back to stand almost nose to nose with Hogan. "Hogan, you need to get away from Stalag 13," Klink said in a whisper.

"I've been telling you that for years, sir." Hogan tried to laugh, but his heart was racing and he couldn't help but feel that this wasn't going to be a typical saboteurs' romp. "But you run this place with a fist of iron—no one's ever escaped from Stalag 13, Kommandant." Is he trying to flush me out? This would certainly be a new approach.

"Then I will have to help you," Klink insisted. "You must get away, and it must be soon."

Hogan was troubled by Klink's apparent sincerity. If there was one thing he could always count on about Klink, it was that when the German was putting on an act, it was obvious. And this was no act. "I don't understand, Kommandant. What are you saying?"

"Hogan," Klink practically hissed, "I am telling you that—" Klink suddenly stopped. He drew away from Hogan as if the American was a cobra and crossed to relative safety behind his desk. He rubbed his hands together in front of his face, a nervous habit Hogan had grown accustomed to reading. Klink was anxious, and torn. "I don't know what I am telling you." He stopped kneading and tucked his fists under his arms, refusing to look at Hogan. "Forget I spoke."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. He couldn't let go of it now. There was something big, really big, brewing around Stalag 13, and if Klink was this upset it had to be important enough to affect the operation. "It's kind of hard to do that, Kommandant." Hogan tried to put on a mask of lightness. "Of course, you were just toying with me, right, sir? Trying to see if the Escape Committee's been digging any more tunnels?"

Klink turned almost eagerly to Hogan. "Have they?" he asked all in a rush.

Hogan was starting to feel a small thrill of panic deep down inside. "Uh—well, they always have a number of projects on the go, Colonel. But I think it's a bit cold for tunnels—ground's too hard to dig through. After all, we only have our hands, sir—and a few spoons we've taken from the mess hall."

Klink seemed disappointed. "Oh," he said. "I see."

"Permission to speak freely, sir," Hogan requested.

"Granted," Klink said almost reluctantly.

"What's wrong, Kommandant?" Hogan asked. "You don't seem like your normal, warm self today." He moved in a bit closer. Klink seemed to be hesitant about being near the POW and moved away. Hogan persisted in his pursuit. "You seem tired. Distant."

Klink and Hogan ended up at the front of Klink's desk, right where Klink didn't want to be. Why couldn't Hogan leave well enough alone? "I've had a lot on my mind lately." Klink tried to sound dismissive. "You look like you could use a good night's sleep yourself, Colonel."

"Well, you know how it is, Kommandant. An officer's life—wine, women, and song till all hours of the night." Hogan paused for effect. "Of course, since I'm a prisoner, sir, it's more like water, pin-ups and badly played harmonica music. But one day that will change."

Sooner than you think, Klink thought. "I'm sure it will, Hogan."

"When General Patton comes roaring through that front gate, I'll have some real wine, real women, and real American music." Hogan continued goading the German. Come on, Klink; break! What's really going on here?

Klink waved Hogan's images away. They're never going to become reality for you, he thought. "Please, Hogan, not today."

"Begging your pardon, Kommandant, but it's you who asked to see me this morning. And if I may say so, you seem more than a bit on edge. Can I help?"

Klink's eyes continued to look worried. Pained, thought Hogan suddenly. "Hogan," Klink said finally. He came so close Hogan could feel Klink's breath on his cheek. "Hogan, I meant what I said before. You have to get out. You don't have much time."

"What do you mean?" Hogan asked, struggling to maintain his composure. Had someone discovered the operation?

"General Burkhalter called yesterday. The Fuhrer has put out a general order. All enemy air corps officers are to be executed."

Hogan felt himself go cold. Automatically, he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Klink answered. "There is to be no prison camp space for officers. That means—"

"That downed officers are shot on sight," Hogan finished. What he had seen last night suddenly flashed in his mind. "And anyone else who's caught in the crossfire." Desperate to deny what he was hearing, Hogan asked, "Is this order going to be rescinded? I mean, Mr. Nutty's come up with some pretty hare-brained schemes in the past, but somehow he's been talked out of them, right?"

"Not all of them," Klink said.

"What about enlisted men?" Hogan asked.

"I don't know. The order may be expanded. At the moment it's just officers. And that means you, Hogan." Klink felt his knees failing him, and he felt his way around his desk to sit down.

Hogan felt his head swimming and struggled to carry on a coherent conversation. "Why are you telling me this?" he managed. "You could be shot for treason."

Klink seemed terrified even to be speaking. "I know," he said. "But Hogan—" He cut himself off, unable to continue.

"How do I know this isn't just a trick?" Hogan pressed. He didn't know why he was trying; he could tell by Klink's appearance that this wasn't any ploy to catch him at something. "You could be telling me this so I try to escape, and then I'm shot."

"Hogan!" Klink burst. Hogan paused, stunned. "The Gestapo will be here the day after tomorrow to make sure all orders are carried out. Unless the Fuhrer changes his mind before then, if you are here when they arrive you will not be here when they leave."

Klink's words drove straight through Hogan, and the American slipped almost bonelessly into the chair in front of the desk. "You're serious, aren't you?" he said.

"Deadly serious," Klink replied. "Hogan, you always seem to have a trick or two up your sleeve. You always seem to get yourself out of trouble... and sometimes me, too. This time, you're going to need every trick you have."

Hogan tried to hear Klink over the voices screaming in his head. "What's in it for you? Why are you warning me?"

Klink made a futile gesture with his hands. "It is murder, Colonel Hogan," he said in a whisper. He did not look at his prisoner. "We already have you; you cannot harm the Fatherland any more. And I love my country... but I cannot stand by and condone cold-blooded murder... not even for the Fuhrer." His voice was less than a whisper as he finished.

Hogan paused, still frozen by his emotions, then tried to laugh. "For a minute I thought you were going to say it was my sparkling personality," he said, not at all confident in his speech.

"There is that, too," Klink answered sincerely. He looked Hogan in the eye. Hogan was startled. "Though we are enemies, Colonel Hogan, I like to think that in different circumstances we might have been friends. And a friend would not let a friend face the firing squad."

Hogan swallowed, still fighting to assimilate everything he was hearing. His whole universe was changing in an instant, and it was dizzying. "So you're taking a chance on it yourself?" he said.

Klink shrugged. "I will be safe. General Burkhalter always thought you were clever enough to get out of here anyway. It will be the first real escape from Stalag 13. But no one needs to know I helped precipitate it—do they, Hogan?" Klink added suddenly.

Hogan shook his head, still woozy. "No," he whispered, "no, of course not." Hogan covered his face with his hands and took in a deep breath to recover from the shock of this morning's bombshell. Opening his eyes, he steeled himself and said more firmly than he felt, "Thank you for that information, Kommandant. I'll have to get back to you on it." With a nod toward the door, Hogan added, louder, "And if you'd consider those supplies for the men when Hilda puts in her requisition this month, I'm sure they'd appreciate it, sir."

Hogan walked toward the door on shaky legs, and then turned back to Klink, offered him a genuine salute, and left without even noticing if it had been returned.

xx-xx-xx

Kinch rushed to Hogan's side as the Colonel entered Barracks Two. "Colonel, are you all right?" Hogan nodded and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as Kinch led him to the table; he was sweating and shaking, something he was trying unsuccessfully to hide from his radioman. "You're white as a sheet!"

Hogan nodded again, trying to pull himself together. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, Kinch, sorry. Must have been something I ate."

Kinch wasn't fooled. "Or something that happened with Klink."

Hogan tried to bring his emotions under control. "I'll be okay in a minute, Kinch." Hogan's mind was racing as fast as his heart. If what Klink said was true, there was so much to consider before taking any action. And so little time to decide what those actions should be. Telling his men about this development in their prison lives before he'd had time to think things out would only lead to panic when he didn't have answers for them; he would have to go through it all first.

Alone.

With only his own terror for company.

Hogan's eyes reflected something that Kinch had rarely seen in the man until last night: fear. The tremors were unmistakable; the bravado was kidding neither of them. "Colonel," Kinch began, softly, "can we help?"

"I don't think so, Kinch," Hogan said shakily. "I just need to work some things out. I'll let you know when I know what we need to do." Hogan got up and headed unsteadily for his quarters.

"Colonel, is the operation in trouble?"

Hogan stopped and turned back to Kinch. "That would be one I could fix," he said ruefully.

Kinch felt a cold dread of his own inside, when he watched Hogan close the door behind him and let out a muffled cry of mental anguish that seemed to echo like gunfire through the quiet hut.