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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General Burkhalter was accepting Schultz's report that all the prisoners were present and accounted for at morning roll call when a black, shiny staff car pulled into camp. He dismissed the prisoners and turned toward the car, which parked just outside Klink's office, and greeted the officer who emerged from the vehicle.

Hogan's men hovered near the barracks, straining to see what was going on without seeming too obvious. "Look at that," Newkirk said as he struggled to read the lips of the Germans. "Nice shiny medals he's wearing, isn't he?"

"That must be Captain Eichberger," Kinch decided. "He certainly looks spiffy. Wonder whose boots he shined to get where he is."

"He probably licked them clean," Le Beau sneered. "All dirty Boche are the same."

Schultz, who had been lingering near the prisoners, said, "That man will decide what happens to me." He looked at the men hopefully. He had not had a chance to speak with them before now. "Major Hochstetter and that Colonel Hassler, they think I was involved in getting Kommandant Klink out of the cooler. He did just escape on his own, didn't he? I did not help do this, did I?"

The men looked at each other guiltily. They had gotten so used to using Schultz as a dupe that this time, when he was not involved, he stood a real chance of getting into serious trouble. "No, Schultzie, you did not help him get out," Le Beau said. His face brightened as an idea came to him. "How about a nice plate of strudel? I will make it for you this morning, okay?"

Schultz smiled briefly. "Ah, Cockroach...yes, strudel would be wunderbar," he said, drawing out the word as though he were stretching a piece of taffy. The grin disappeared suddenly, though, as other thoughts crowded his mind. "I wonder if they will let me have that when I am standing at the Russian Front...or in front of the firing squad."

"Aw, don't think like that, Schultz," Kinch admonished him gently. "You know there's gotta be a way out. You're innocent, after all."

"You know that—so you say. And I know that—I think. But the big boys, they do not know that." He shook his head. "General Burkhalter told me that it would be up to Captain Eichberger to decide whether I stay here... or go someplace else."

Carter patted Schultz on the shoulder as the big man slumped against the building beside him. "Don't worry, Schultz. You know Colonel Hogan always has a plan—"

"Carter!" Newkirk scolded, pushing him as Schultz's eyes widened. He tried to cover up the gaffe quickly. "Never mind that, Schultzie, you know how Carter's always living in the past. We'd love the gov'nor to come up with a plan, but you know how it is when someone leaves," he finished through his teeth; "it's hard to imagine them not being here."

Schultz nodded, not sure if he believed what the Englander was saying but wanting to. "Ja," said, thinking of his own missing commanding officer. "It is." He sighed and pulled away from the wall. "I must get back to my post. While I still have one."

Schultz departed, his head hung lower than the men had seen in a long time. "Poor Schultzie. He's in a real mess," Le Beau said.

"Yeah, and with this Eichberger around it could be a real sticky wicket," Newkirk added. "I wouldn't want to be in that office with all of them."

"I'm surprised Schultz didn't faint yesterday," Kinch declared. "All that hot air blowing around Klink's office."

"Should we listen in on the proceedings?" Newkirk asked.

"They are probably expecting us to be outside for exercise period," Le Beau said, shaking his head. "We'd better make ourselves visible for awhile."

Kinch grimaced but agreed. "We've been awfully scarce lately. We've gotta watch ourselves; Hochstetter's starting to give us the eye whenever he comes by. The last thing we need is to be more closely watched. I'm sure we'll find out the result of their conversation soon enough anyway."

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"Captain Eichberger, welcome to Stalag 13."

"Danke, General Burkhalter. I am looking forward to my time here." The Captain, barely forty and trim to military perfection, was standing in full regalia in front of his superior officer. "I understand that this has been a very special camp—no escapes, ever. A fine record I hope to continue."

Burkhalter raised an eyebrow, nodding. "I am sure you will," he said, ignoring the two escapes that brought Eichberger here in the first place. "Now, you understand why you are assuming command."

"Jawohl, Herr General. The previous Kommandant of this camp is up on charges of treason. Will his trial be held here?"

Burkhalter shifted uncomfortably before answering. "At some stage that would be desirable. There is much that can be used as evidence right here in the camp. However, the timing is uncertain at this stage, as there has been a hitch in the proceedings."

"A hitch?"

Burkhalter plastered a smile on his face. "Don't concern yourself with this at the moment, Eichberger. All you need to be aware of at this time is that former Kommandant Klink was allegedly responsible for the Gestapo not being able to carry out the Fuhrer's orders to eliminate all enemy air corps officers, including the one in this camp, Colonel Hogan."

Eichberger raised an eyebrow. "He interfered with the Fuhrer's directive?"

"So it would seem."

"So where is this Colonel Hogan now?"

"That is a question we would also like answered. Someone has helped him to get away from camp. We have strong reason to believe that someone is Klink. The Gestapo has been crawling through the woods around this camp for nearly two weeks, without a trace of Hogan. We can only surmise that he has now been taken by the Underground. A thorough search is still underway in Hammelburg, to make sure no one is harboring him." Burkhalter moved to the counter, where one of Klink's ever-present decanters of schnapps was sitting. "In the meantime, Eichberger, tell me about yourself." He poured two glasses of the drink, and handed one to the Captain, a clear invitation to relax in front of his superior. "What is your background?"

"Well, General, I joined the Luftwaffe a few months ago. At first, I was given small tasks—you know, the usual administrative duties in a small office in Düsseldorf. You see, an old injury stopped me from being fit to go to the front lines or into a plane. But thankfully someone in the office could see that I had much more ambition than to be a paper warrior and helped me to get some more interesting work to do. I apparently showed some aptitude for command, and was put in charge of different divisions of the administration. Eventually I worked at Stalag 7, just for a short time, under Kommandant Klein, to learn the ins and outs of being in a prison camp with these Allied swine. And though I do not relish the idea of being thought of as a swineherd, I am committed to doing my part to keep them in their place—below my feet."

Burkhalter listened with some admiration to the young officer. Though he wasn't a fighting man, he was certainly the type of person the Luftwaffe wanted. If anyone could bring these Allied prisoners into line, Burkhalter had a feeling Eichberger could. He drained his glass. "Very good, Eichberger. There is one other matter you need to attend to as you assume command of Stalag 13."

Eichberger took another small sip of his drink. Burkhalter noticed he had not drunk much of his schnapps. Perhaps the man didn't want to appear inebriated in front of his superior officer—or maybe he simply didn't care for it and had been too intimidated to refuse the glass when it was offered. "Of course, Herr General."

"There is the matter of your Sergeant of the Guard, Hans Schultz. It seems that he was guarding solitary confinement at the time that Colonel Hogan disappeared without a trace. Only he and Colonel Klink had keys to that area. Then, when Klink vanished as well, of course Schultz was under suspicion. The Gestapo is most interested in how he may have been involved."

Eichberger's eyes bulged. "Colonel Klink has vanished?" he asked. Burkhalter nodded once, grimly. "This is what you are calling a 'hitch'?"

"Unfortunately, yes. But the issue now is the future of your Sergeant of the Guard. Without any real evidence against him, we have decided to leave Schultz out of the investigation for the moment. However, if you feel that your work would be undermined by his presence, we will have him removed."

Eichberger frowned, deep in thought. "How well does this Sergeant Schultz get along with the prisoners?"

Burkhalter snorted. "Almost too well."

"Then leave him as he is," Eichberger decided. "We can use him to extract information from the prisoners. If they trust him, they will confide in him, and if they know anything, eventually we will as well."

Burkhalter smiled. He liked the way this man thought. "Very good, Captain. I can see that this camp will run very well under your command."

"And, General," Eichberger added, while the moment was his, "could you please call off the Gestapo? It will only aggravate the prisoners. And, quite frankly, if they have not been able to find anything here in the last two weeks, chances are they won't find anything tomorrow, or the day after." He shook his head. "A shame. I had always considered the Gestapo to be such a competent outfit."

Burkhalter remained silent. You haven't spent much time with Major Hochstetter, then, he wanted to say. But of course he knew he couldn't. So he simply nodded his agreement. "Very well. We want to make sure all goes smoothly as you take over Stalag 13. Major Hochstetter and his men will be out of camp tomorrow."

"Very good, sir. Danke." Eichberger put his still mainly untouched glass down on the desk. "Sir, may I ask for a formation of the prisoners earlier than normal today, so I may see what type of—" He paused to cough mockingly, "—men, are in this camp?"

Burkhalter nodded approvingly. "Whatever you wish, Captain. This is your camp now. I will send for Sergeant Schultz, and he will assemble the prisoners."

"Good. I should like to meet this Sergeant Schultz. I have a feeling he will be very valuable to me, in more ways than one."

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Bored. Bored, bored, bored. Hogan blew out a breath as he sat at the desk housing the radio equipment, carelessly dealing out cards in a never-ending game of solitaire. He struggled with the deck as he wasn't used to working solely left handed, and he got unreasonably angry when one card fluttered to the floor as it fumbled out of his awkward grip. Hogan bent over very slowly to retrieve it, not wanting a familiar wave of dizziness to help him join the errant four of clubs on the cold earth.

Hogan put the card on the table and stood up, tenderly rubbing his abdomen. Wilson kept telling him he was making good progress, but some days he didn't feel like he had, and this was one of them. Oh, his injuries were healing up nicely, that much was true, but it was more than his body that had been humiliated by Hochstetter and his men. His mind had been attacked, too. Hogan was grateful that he could not remember all of what had happened to him down in solitary confinement. But enough of the torturous imprisonment came back to him to make him want to curl up in a ball on his cot, something he would have done if it didn't cause him unreasonable amounts of pain.

It was the laughter that was taunting him now. The low, gravelly sound of Hochstetter's sick pleasure at Hogan's pain. The thin smile that cut through the Colonel as he was forced to endure the unendurable. The half-closed, merciless eyes that bored into Hogan as he sank to depths of pain he could not escape, and that they both knew would only lead to death in the end—later, when Hochstetter was finished with Hogan himself. The falsely sweet voice holding out a thin, old slice of bread, that Hochstetter had known Hogan would take, if the American wanted to hold out any longer against the onslaught. And despite his wish for a quick death, Hogan had succumbed to the desperate instinct to stay alive, and so he had tried to ignore those eyes and that laugh, and grabbed the bread with an intensity that surprised even himself, pushing the humiliation that came with the act to the very back of his mind.

Until now. Hogan sat down on his cot and, suddenly overcome, he put his head in his hands and started sobbing. The tears pushed their way out with all the force of his pain and fears behind them, unleashing all the agony and despair he had hidden from everyone, including himself, up to now. His chest heaved with the release, and in time he did curl up into a ball on the cot, but he felt nothing. The numbness of his body eventually spread to his mind, and he moved into an uneasy sleep, filled with abusive dreams and distorted images that would not let him escape from the torture for even a fleeting moment.