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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Kinch cursed his big fingers as he fumbled with the intricate workings of the explosives Carter had designed. He was happy playing with radio buttons and switches, but he had never felt entirely comfortable trying to place tiny fuses onto dynamite or playing with grenades, the pins of which he often felt his finger would get caught in as he pulled. Still, he got to work and did his part in laying the charges along the track, following up by covering his deed with small rocks, dirt, and debris that built up along the railway line. He worked fast in the cold, only stopping to flex his fingers when his hands started to go numb, then starting up again.

Nearby, Le Beau was crouched close to the ground, using his nimble fingers to prime the dynamite he was handing off to Carter. Their eyes and hands were on the task at hand. But their minds were in a house north of Hammelburg, at a party no one they knew would be enjoying.

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"Going so soon, Major?"

Unable to spot Newkirk, Hogan had left the terrace, intending to gather him on the way out, and was in the still-quiet hallway near the door when the question stopped him. He didn't turn around.

"Abington is late, Eichberger. I'm going to do some reconnaissance."

Suddenly Hogan felt hot breath on his neck, and a hard, strong push halfway up his back from what was unmistakably the barrel of a gun.

"I don't think so."

Hogan stiffened and moved his hands away from his body a bit to show he was holding no weapon; they had all relinquished their guns when they entered the party.

"Come with me. And don't try anything stupid; no one here would help you anyway."

Hogan didn't even try to talk his way out of it; he knew that, even with Morrison in the house, Eichberger was right. They retrieved Hogan's coat and hat, with Eichberger standing almost on top of the American so his gun was out of sight. The German took the weapon handed to Hogan, and prodded Hogan out to the car. "What's this all about?" Hogan asked as the Captain fairly pushed him into the driver's seat.

"We're going for a drive, Colonel Hogan," Eichberger said.

"A drive? Look, if you don't like the plan, just say so. We don't have to get Abington tonight."

"Start driving. Head back toward Stalag 13."

"If you thought the party was that boring, we could have just gone to the Hoffbrau." Hogan's mind was ticking over. What time was it? He tried to remember when he last looked at his watch. When he was with Morrison it was ten o'clock. It must be well after that now. But how long before the charges his men were laying went off? Or were they already in the hands of the Gestapo and being interrogated by some merciless non-com looking for a promotion?

"Just be quiet and drive."

Eichberger's gun stayed trained on Hogan's temple. Hogan tried to maintain a calm exterior, but his body was rebelling. He was already sweating profusely, and to his disgust he could actually feel his hands trembling as he clutched the steering wheel. Blood roared past his temples as his head started pounding relentlessly, and somewhere he registered an ache in his right hand that dragged him forcibly back to that awful day when Hochstetter had pulled him away from his men and started this whole mess. Still, Hogan's breathing was perfectly normal, and he decided to obey Eichberger, lest his voice give away anything else.

"You were so stupid, Hogan," Eichberger observed calmly. "It was so easy to trap you." Hogan tightened his grip on the wheel despite the twinge in his hand and remained silent. "When I first came to Stalag 13, I did not know who you were. Oh, Major Hochstetter and I suspected. But of course, the Major had been completely incompetent about the way he proceeded."

Hogan was startled. He bit his lip and concentrated on the road. He wanted to formulate a plan to get away. But he had to see how much Eichberger did know, so he would be able to determine the fate of the operation.

"So I suggested to the Major that I assume the identity of Black Forest." Eichberger laughed softly. "Do you know what happened to Black Forest, Colonel Hogan?"

"Why don't you tell me," Hogan replied stiffly.

"He was working for Abwehr. A nice cover if you can get it. But he was not very bright, and he was discovered and arrested. Before he was shot, he was persuaded to tell us everything about himself and his work. And so I assumed his identity and took his place—but in the Luftwaffe. I did not lie to you back in camp, Colonel. I did indeed want to get closer to you. But not so I could help you."

Hogan was sure he could taste blood as he bit down harder.

"Major Hochstetter and I decided that I would simply work on the assumption that all his suspicions were correct. That you were Papa Bear, and that you had an operation running out of Stalag 13. I knew enough about how Allied High Command worked from our... talks... with Black Forest before his unfortunate demise to be able to speak somewhat knowledgeably to you. I admit for awhile I thought we might have been barking up the wrong tree—your insistence that I was pinpointing the wrong person went on for a terribly long time—but perhaps it was your weakened condition that finally led to your downfall. In which case, Major Hochstetter's somewhat distasteful methods actually had some usefulness."

Hogan's hand was screaming now as he nearly broke the steering wheel in two. "You don't know nearly what you think you do," he rasped.

Eichberger laughed. "Stubborn to the end, eh, Colonel?"

"Why now? Why not before now, when you and I first went out?" Hogan had promised he wouldn't give Eichberger the satisfaction of gloating. But he needed to know, somehow.

"You would not involve any of your men before. And we wanted to establish certain, witnessed activity. You here now, in German uniform, is enough for me. And it will be enough for a trial as well."

Hogan snorted. "Trial," he mocked. "I doubt I'll see anything like that."

"You may be right. When we get back to Stalag 13 and Major Hochstetter gets hold of you again, you may wish you had never made it away alive the first time."

I have no doubt about that, Hogan thought. "But you're not lily-white yourself. What about the convoy?"

"Empty trucks with a bit of fuel sprinkled inside to help make the fires that much brighter."

Hogan's head spun. "And the train due tonight?" At least that was confirmed by London!

Eichberger smiled. "Major Hochstetter let it slip to someone suspected to have contacts with the Underground that the Fuhrer was due to pass by in Fuhrersonderzug on the same night Abington was due to spill his secrets. But the only train scheduled to go through that station tonight is carrying Allied prisoners of war." Hogan nearly vomited at the thought of what that statement implied. "Oh, and by the way, Colonel Hogan—" Eichberger smiled—"Abington is still quite British. And not anywhere near here tonight. So you see, we had it all planned from the very beginning."

Suddenly a loud explosion sounded in the distance, and the car rocked slightly as the ground underneath them trembled with the impact. Hogan felt a pain in his chest like someone had stabbed him. Devastated, anguished, he gasped, as the faces of his own men mixed with imagined images of the destruction they had just wrought on their allies. Ten-thirty. God, if I only hadn't trusted... If I had even suspected...

Eichberger laughed. "It is done! Now that your men have done their jobs, Colonel Hogan, I have proof of your sabotage. Major Hochstetter is descending on Stalag 13 as we speak, ready to round up your associates. And I? I can shoot you as a spy right now—legally, since you are in German uniform, and you can easily be identified by myself and Major Hochstetter as a prisoner of war." Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan saw Eichberger wave the gun he was holding. "There is no point in waiting. Pull over."

Hogan stopped the car. Eichberger motioned him out with his gun, and Hogan obeyed wordlessly. "Kneel down over there," Eichberger ordered, his voice turning harsh. Hogan walked over to the spot in the ditch by the side of the road where Eichberger indicated and knelt down. "Turn around," Eichberger barked.

Hogan turned around so he was facing the woods. Eichberger's voice was abrasive and taunting, but the truth was Hogan could barely hear him. The words were getting through, but he was simply complying with the Captain's wishes automatically. Inside, his mind was working to try and figure out where he had gone wrong, how he had missed this, if there was anything he could do to turn this seemingly hopeless situation around. Could he overpower Eichberger? Possibly. But with Hochstetter at Stalag 13 and ready to haul in Hogan and his men, he would only be delaying the inevitable. Perhaps this way, if Eichberger did away with him here and now, his men would have time to realize there was something badly amiss, and be able to escape themselves.

Eichberger kicked Hogan's feet apart as he knelt on the hard, uneven earth, and Hogan spread his hands as the Captain commanded. Hogan felt like he was going to be sick, and he was suddenly cold, so very cold, as he realized that not only had he failed, but he had taken down his men with him. His men—the one group of people in all of Germany he would have laid down his life to protect. He felt himself calming down as he considered that perhaps that was just what he was doing now.

Hogan swallowed, feeling the cold night air whip across him, seeing so many faces flash before him as the barrel of a pistol pressed up against the back of his head. He felt a flush of blood race through his body as the sound of the safety being removed from the gun loudly rang through his ears. His knees weakened; he closed his eyes and forced himself to stay upright. You won't feel it. It will be over in seconds. Father, I did the best I could. Please accept me into Your kingdom....

"Any last words?" Eichberger asked.

"Yeah."

Eichberger swung around toward the unexpected voice from behind him. The split-second he had left to live was used expressing surprise as he faced a man dressed in black and aiming a very deadly Luger at him. The flash of the gunshot was so bright....

The impact sent Eichberger flying. There was no time for suffering; it was all over, and his lifeless body lay contorted on the ground inches from where Hogan was still kneeling.

Everything had happened so fast that the Colonel had not moved or turned around. Now, as his brain finally registered Newkirk's voice and what had just transpired, he slumped to the ground, shaking, trembling as wasted adrenalin tried to work its way through his veins. The Corporal came up to Hogan at once and knelt beside him. "Are you all right, gov'nor?" he asked, his voice worried.

Hogan couldn't speak yet and simply nodded twice as he stared at the ground, holding out a hand to Newkirk as though to pat his arm but not seeing him and missing his target. Newkirk let Hogan recover for a moment before trying again. "Colonel, are you all right?"

"Yeah," Hogan whispered unsteadily. He looked at Newkirk, using a shaking hand to wipe his face and trying to stand up. Newkirk offered support to Hogan's wobbly legs and guided Hogan back toward the car. "Where—how did you—?"

"I heard what Morrison said outside and figured there'd be trouble. When I saw you and Eichberger heading out of the house, I got straight into the back of the car."

Hogan nodded, letting the information wash over him. Maybe it would process later. Right now, it was all just words. "Thanks," he said, still breathless. He took a minute to steady himself, and it was in that moment that he collated all the facts. He looked at Newkirk, a hopelessness the Englishman never thought he'd see in his commander reflected in his eyes. "Newkirk," Hogan said, almost destroyed, "we've lost the operation."