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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Klink's eyes widened as a figure slowly came into view in the dimness. He had woken up a short time ago, not really sure what had happened, but with a dull ache at the back of his neck to assure him that something real had occurred. But he had not moved, too scared to venture away from where he was, and anyway he couldn't seem to find his monocle.

What he thought he saw now made him wonder if he had been hit too hard. "Hogan?" he dared to whisper.

"Welcome to purgatory," came the familiar American voice.

Klink sat up straighter on the floor of the tunnel so he could get a better look. As the figure approaching in the gloom became more distinct, Klink started to make out details: a slow, unsteady walk that nonetheless retained that confident gait that occasionally drove Klink mad with frustration at its owner. The man had only his left arm pushed through the sleeve of his jacket; the right, splinted hand he held cushioned protectively against a torso swathed in bandages under an unbuttoned shirt. Klink studied the face as it came into view: it was bruised and weary, but under that cap there was no doubt who it was. "Hogan—how did you get here?"

The American stopped a few feet away from Klink. "Let's just say I didn't like the accommodation at the Gestapo Hilton," he said. He let a silence pass between them. "Are you all right?"

Klink suddenly decided that he didn't want to be sitting on the floor with Hogan standing above him here—wherever "here" was. He pulled himself to his feet. "I will be," he said, brushing himself off.

"You've lost your monocle," observed Hogan, looking casually around. He spied Klink's hat in the corner. "It's probably over there."

Klink looked where Hogan pointed and found his eyepiece sitting inside his hat. He examined it, then replaced it, and put his cap back on his head. "Thank you," he said.

Hogan nodded. "I hear you had a bad day coming up," he said, unsure what to say now that Klink was in front of him.

Klink shook his head. "That's an understatement," he acknowledged. "Tomorrow I am sure I would have been facing the firing squad—for helping you to escape. And I didn't even do that!"

"No, but you wanted to," Hogan said simply. Suddenly the realization of the risk Klink had taken by trying to help him struck full force. Hogan averted his eyes from Klink's continued look of confusion. "You took a real chance for me. Thanks."

Klink nodded. "You didn't listen."

"Actually, I did," Hogan replied. "As a matter of fact, it was all I thought about. But I had other things I had to do first. Duty to country and all."

"Hogan, where are we?"

"You don't want to know."

"Who took me away from the cooler? For that matter, how did they do it? And what about you—how did you get out?"

"Let's just say we both have friends in low places. All you need to know at the moment is that we couldn't let you face the firing squad; you're too important."

Klink's confusion only grew. "Important?" he echoed. "To whom?"

"To the Allies," Hogan answered. The world abruptly started to go fuzzy before Hogan's eyes, his body unaccustomed to the sudden activity after days of recovery. He reached out a hand as if to steady himself against a wall. But the wall wasn't there and he found himself starting to pitch forward, only to be caught by Klink. He grimaced as Klink's arms encircled his sore torso.

"Hogan!" Klink said, concerned. He looked for a place to sit Hogan down. Finally he spied a small, hard chair near where he had been sitting and lowered the American into it.

Hogan sat out the wave of nausea, trying to take deep breaths, and opening his eyes every now and then to see if the spinning had stopped. Sweat was pouring down his face, and he felt sick as a throbbing pain started to make itself felt again. He concentrated for a moment on pushing the hurt to a remote part of his brain, and when he felt he had sufficiently succeeded, he rasped, "Thanks."

"You are not well," Klink said. He tried to see the dressings Hogan sported, but when pictures of Hogan hanging in the cell invaded his memories again, he decided to abandon the examination.

"Let's just say I owe Hochstetter a work-over in a dark alley some day," Hogan replied.

Klink looked around them, trying to figure out where they were, and not remotely succeeding. "Hogan, are we safe here?" he asked.

"Safer than in your mother's womb." Hogan paused, unwilling to say more about it. "Why did you try to help me?"

Klink thought for a moment. "You know, Hogan, I don't think that's a question I can answer right now. I think for the moment I just need to console myself with the knowledge that I did." Hogan nodded, still staring at the floor. "Was it you who got me out of the cooler?"

"I can't talk now," Hogan said suddenly. He was struck with a sudden real fear that he would pass out in front of the Kommandant, and that was something that made him feel very uncomfortable—and vulnerable. "I need to... go lie down."

Klink put out an arm to help Hogan up. "Let me help you," he said. "They have given you a place to rest?"

Hogan frowned as he realized Klink really had no idea what his new circumstances were, and quite possibly thought Hogan didn't either. "Yeah, I have a cot further down the line," he answered vaguely. Hogan got up but did not accept Klink's offered aid. "You'd better stay here for awhile. Things will get clearer soon."

He started to head away, when Klink's worried voice reached his ears. "Hogan—I don't want to be alo—I mean, how long will I be here?"

Hogan turned back and studied Klink's frightened eyes. He wanted to care more than he did, but right now he couldn't concentrate on much more than standing upright. "Get some sleep," he said, not sure how reassuring he was sounding. "You'll be okay here." He pointed to the blanket that Newkirk must have left when he brought Klink here earlier. "That'll keep you warm. I'm sorry, I can't explain right now. I'll see you later when I'm... not so..." Not so sick, he thought, hurting. "...so fuzzy on it all myself."

Then, knowing that Klink would be too uncertain to do anything other than what the American had suggested, and knowing the others would be back in a matter of minutes, Hogan staggered back to his cot further down the tunnel, where he collapsed wearily, his mind reeling from this short encounter, and knowing that there would only be more to come.

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"Ol' Klink's curled up in a ball with his blanket, sleeping like a baby," Newkirk reported as he returned from his trek down the tunnel with Le Beau. "What would have possessed the gov'nor to leave the Kommandant on his own like that?"

"Exhaustion." Wilson spoke over his shoulder as he tended to Hogan, whom the men had found sprawled across his cot on their return. Alarmed, they had had to stop themselves from going topside and grabbing Wilson out of his own formation. When he came below, they had practically dragged him off the ladder and over to their commanding officer.

Kinch nodded as he and Carter stood worriedly nearby, watching Wilson finish his examination. "Is he all right?" asked Carter, who had been unable to stand still the whole time.

Wilson handed Kinch Hogan's jacket and cap. "He'll be fine," he assured the Sergeant. "He hasn't moved around a lot since he's been here; the exertion of going all the way down the tunnel probably just wore him out. His fever's up a bit, but there's no new bleeding or anything, so take it easy. He just needs the sleep."

Kinch yawned. "We all do," he said. He looked down the tunnel toward where they had left Klink. "It's getting crowded down here."

"Too crowded," Wilson agreed. "You fellas go get some sleep. There won't be any less work to do tomorrow."

"We'd better keep a guard on Klink in case he wakes up and decides to go exploring," Le Beau suggested.

"Good idea," Kinch said. "We'll get the men down in shifts. Carter, go tell Olsen he's the lucky first."

"Right, Kinch," Carter said, and he headed up the ladder.

The others headed up slowly, taking deliberate looks at Hogan lying still on the cot before they ascended. Wilson nodded reassuringly when they turned their worried gazes to him, then prepared the second cot he had finally set up downstairs for his own use, and settled in for the night.

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"This just smacks of carelessness, Schultz," Newkirk chided the guard the next morning, puffing on his cigarette. "First the Germans lose Colonel Hogan, then they lose Colonel Klink? Makes me glad I'm an enlisted man," he quipped.

"Please, Newkirk, this is very serious. The Gestapo was to have men come to the camp today to try the Kommandant for treason!" Schultz lowered his voice and shook his head sadly. "And the Kommandant will find it difficult out in the woods."

Newkirk nodded. "Is that where they think he's gone, Schultzie?"

Schultz nodded. "Ja. The wire was cut near the cooler leading out to the woods." The big man paused, then asked slowly, "That is where he has gone, isn't it?"

"Could be, my dear friend, could be." Newkirk blew a stream of smoke out of his mouth and stubbed out the end of the cigarette on the ground. Schultz absentmindedly picked it up and put it in the nearby trash barrel. "I doubt anyone knows for sure," he added, thinking of the Kommandant asleep in a ball. "Not even 'im. Uh-oh, heads up, mate." Newkirk nodded in the direction of the gate as a staff car pulled up, and an officer exited the vehicle in great haste, heading toward Klink's office. "Looks like the fireworks are about to start."

"I do not like fireworks," Schultz lamented. "This is trouble." Schultz stood up and headed away from the barracks. "Ever since General Burkhalter showed up last week, there has been nothing but trouble."

"I'm with you there, mate."

Newkirk was about to turn back into the hut when he saw Hochstetter come barreling out of the office toward Schultz. His voice carried in the wind, hurting Newkirk's ears as it always did. "Sergeant Schultz! You are to report to General Burkhalter's office immediately!" he ordered.

It is Kommandant Klink's office, Schultz thought defensively. "Jawohl, Herr Major"

"You will hand your rifle to the guard outside the door," Hochstetter added. "We have many things to ask you."

Schultz's eyes widened. "Who, me?" he asked, a worried look taking over his face.

"Never mind the stalling; get moving."

"Jawohl, Major Hochstetter."

Schultz took one last look toward the Englander who was still watching the scene, then started, head lowered, toward the office. Newkirk bolted inside to tell the others, feeling like the world was collapsing around them.