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 got out of the car and shut the door with a bang, adjusting his gloves as he passed the trunk and joined Eichberger to walk toward the house. He didn't look back, instead looking all around him at his surroundings, mapping out trees, buildings, lights, in his head for future use.

"A lovely evening," Eichberger observed as the pair walked.

"A bit cold," Hogan replied shortly. At least his German overcoat provided some protection from the night air.

"Is everything in order?" Eichberger asked.

"We discussed this in the car. It's all fine," Hogan replied. "All you have to do is make sure I know when Abington arrives. And make some excuse for us not leaving together when the time comes."

"I will," Eichberger confirmed. "What about the train?"

"It's under control."

Hogan's tone signaled an end to any further discussion as they approached the front door. Hogan braced himself as he heard laughter from inside, and the sound of music and tinkling glasses, the symbol of some decadence during a time of frugality and hardship. "Guten abend, Kapitan, Major. Lassen Sie mich bitte Ihre Mäntel nehmen."

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Newkirk opened the trunk of the car just a crack and listened. Nothing except the crisp sound of the winter night air, a strange silence that one could hear if he grew up with it. He twisted and turned until he could see out the opening he had made. Again, nothing. And parked conveniently so that the back of the car faced away from the road, making it easier to get out unnoticed. Thanks, gov'nor. Newkirk opened the trunk wide and slipped out to escape onto the grounds of the house.

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Kinch, Carter, and Le Beau said goodbye to Wilson and took off through the tunnel a few minutes after Hogan. Though it would take them about half an hour to get to the part of the railway line Carter had targeted for destruction, they knew they would lose track of time. Their minds were on too many things to think about the cold, or even about the work they were doing. They had split up; Newkirk and Hogan were in one place, and they were in another. Both were doing dangerous jobs. And both stood a good chance of getting caught.

Carter adjusted the pack he was carrying and continued walking purposefully toward their destination. He needed no map; on a job like this, everything was in his head. And, determined not to let Hogan's trust in his abilities be for naught, he concentrated on making sure he had calculated the strength of the charges and the placement of the explosives properly. There would be no turning back once they began.

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Hogan smiled graciously and accepted the drink offered from the tray. "Danke," he said with a nod. He looked around him, trying to find the British officer but not succeeding. His eyes came to rest on a lovely, brunette woman standing near Eichberger. She was holding fast to his arm, laughing in an almost exaggerated fashion, taking a small sip of a rather large drink. Hanger-on, Hogan couldn't help thinking. He caught Eichberger's eye, and the Captain extricated himself from the woman's grasp and made his way over to Hogan.

"What is it?" Eichberger asked, almost anxious.

"We've been here almost an hour; where's Abington?"

"I don't know—I wasn't told what time he would come, or even if he would come. All I know is he was supposed to make an appearance tonight."

Hogan glanced at his watch. Nine-thirty. "He'd better get a move on. He's holding up the war."

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Wilson smiled patiently and shrugged as Klink asked the question yet again.

"How do you do this? Doesn't the waiting drive you mad?"

Wilson spread his hands in a futile gesture, then looked back at the chessboard before him. "You can't do anything but wait when Colonel Hogan is busy," he said. "He has to do what he has to do. I just feel lucky that I don't have to do it with him." I just have to clean him up when he's done. "He's quite a man, our Colonel."

Klink stopped pacing and sat down. "I'm beginning to see that."

Wilson let his memories take him back to Hogan's arrival, before things in camp got turned upside down. "He's sure changed a lot."

"Not to me, he hasn't." Klink grimaced.

"Oh, I know," Wilson added hastily, noticing Klink's change in demeanor. "But it was genuine change in the beginning. He wasn't always as confident as he is now."

"No," Klink mused, remembering himself how Hogan had stood before him when he first arrived from the Wetzlar transition camp. "No, he wasn't." Klink pondered, then moved a rook. "What happened?"

"He remembered who he was."

Klink looked up, startled. Had Hogan suffered memory loss?

"No, no, no," Wilson amended, understanding. "Not like that. But you're a soldier, Kommandant, you must know a little bit about psychology. When the Colonel first came to Stalag 13, it was after weeks of Hell. Being shot down, being interrogated... he couldn't even remember having surgery, and there are still big holes in his memory. He was lost, and some of his personality was lost, too."

Klink nodded. "It happens to a lot of men."

"But not all of them get it back. It was hard for Colonel Hogan to return to camp. The first time he escaped, I, for one, wanted him to stay escaped. But thank God he was starting to find himself again, and he decided that he had to come back." Wilson pursed his lips. "Sometimes, when I have to work on him, I still regret that." Then he laughed suddenly. "But then, so do the Nazis!"

Klink said nothing, but frowned.

"Sorry," Wilson mumbled.

It was Klink's turn to shrug. "I should feel lucky no one so far has treated me the way Hogan was treated when he was captured by the enemy."

"And no one will, if he has anything to say about it," Wilson said. "And believe me, he does."

Klink nodded. "And so... we wait?"

Wilson nodded back and captured Klink's queen. "Yep. We wait."

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Hogan continued making small talk around the room, strolling casually from one area to another, nodding politely and avoiding any direct conversation about his work in Berlin. After about another twenty minutes, his restlessness was reaching its peak, and he was considering telling Eichberger to forget the whole idea and simply concentrate on the train, when someone coming into the room caught his eye.

Morrison.

The man the Germans knew as Major Hans Teppel was laughing loudly with a Luftwaffe Colonel, doing the rounds with these people who were obviously familiar with him, until his eyes lit on Hogan. With only a slight flicker of recognition, he made his way very offhandedly and, to Hogan, excruciatingly slowly, until they met face to face. "I don't believe we've met," Morrison said graciously, looking Hogan in the eye. "Major Hans Teppel, Military Intelligence."

"Major Ludwig Huber."

"Heil Hitler." Morrison's hand went up.

"Heil Hitler." Hogan returned the salute with a little less enthusiasm.

"I hear your work keeps you in Berlin most of the time, Major. What brings you to Hammelburg?"

"Work again," Hogan answered evenly.

"It's a beautiful night. Perhaps you could regale me with your stories outside on the terrace."

Hogan nodded. "A lovely idea," he answered. "With such a fine, clear sky, one can still hear all the entertainment from within."

The men strolled toward the French doors that opened onto the terrace, with Morrison taking two drinks off a passing tray and handing one to Hogan. Laughing, the men wandered outside. Then, keeping their faces light, Morrison changed his tone.

"I heard you were looking for me, Hogan. What's going on?"

Hogan laughed to himself. "Nothing now. We had questions about Black Forest. He was assigned to the Abwehr for awhile."

Morrison shook his head, his eyes showing sadness. Still, he laughed heartily before answering, and Hogan joined in the charade. "Yes, that was a shame. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do." He looked around him. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.

Hogan smiled and sipped his drink. But his eyes asked another question. "What, kick him out for incompetence?"

"No, order his arrest by the Gestapo. He'd been caught out, and I couldn't give away my own cover; we'd have both been shot. And my superiors would have been very, very displeased to have ten years' work against the Abwehr go to waste." Morrision paused. "What's the matter, Hogan? You look like you're going to faint."

"I may." Hogan swallowed, hard. He put his glass down on the nearby ledge and turned to face Morrison. "Are you telling me Black Forest was exposed?"

Morrison nodded grimly. "Exposed and executed."

Hogan could barely think. The world suddenly started spinning. He wanted to keep up the facade of being amused but found himself completely unable to. "When?"

Morrison shrugged. "About six months ago."

"Are you sure?" Hogan whispered. He could feel the sweat pouring down his now very cold body, as the blood drained from his face. "Could he have escaped?"

Morrison shook his head regretfully. "Firing squad. I had to watch." He looked carefully at Hogan again. He shrugged exaggeratedly and shook his head, as though reacting to an amusing anecdote. "What's the problem?"

"He talked," Hogan managed, not joining in. "He must have talked before he was killed."

Morrison considered. "It's possible. But, how do you know?"

"The new Kommandant of Stalag 13—Captain Eichberger; he's here tonight—he came in a couple of months ago, when the Fuhrer's crazy order was out to kill all the Allied officers."

Morrison nodded. "I thought about you when I heard that. Glad you made it out."

"I nearly didn't. And we had to get Klink out of there as well—he's waiting in the tunnel for transport to London. But Eichberger came in to take his place. And he claimed to be Black Forest." Morrison gave a start. "He knew the codes, he knew the background, he knew Black Forest's main contacts. He even knew my own code name. I didn't trust him for a long time. But he started helping with sabotage missions, and he's been an amazing asset to the team." Hogan shook his head, disgusted with himself. "Obviously too amazing. I can't believe I fell for it." Hogan ran a hand through his hair. "It's been a set-up all along." His mind flew to the reprimand from London over the useless formula they had sent back. "The targets he suggested must have been useless, or warned ahead of time to get their most important people and materials out." Hogan started despairing, a feeling he didn't like as he felt out of control when he was worried. "Tonight was supposed to be the biggest caper of all—a direct strike on a train carrying Hitler on his way to a special forces meeting tomorrow."

Morrison shook his head, all pretence gone. "There is no such meeting; I would have been informed for security purposes."

"Oh my God," Hogan breathed. "My boys are all over the woods. Morrison, I gotta go."

"What about Eichberger?"

"Tell him I got drunk and had to—tell him I got drunk and let him draw his own conclusions. I don't know. Just give me some lead time. I have to warn my men so they can get away."

Morrison nodded, understanding Hogan's mission as well as his fear. "I'm sorry I wasn't around earlier," he said. "Good luck, Hogan."

Hogan rubbed his eyes, then covered his mouth with his hand, thinking wildly of every bad outcome possible. "Thanks. But it might just be too late for that."