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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"The last time Colonel Hogan and his men were here, we were taken by surprise, as well," Willi Erickson explained. He poured steaming tea into the cups on the table, and the grateful, cold visitors wrapped their hands around them right away.

"Blimey, you can say that again," Newkirk said, nodding. "Knocking the Colonel on the head with a chair—thinking we were Gestapo. It's a good thing you were slow with your guns." He sipped the drink that reminded him so poignantly of home. I'm comin', Nan. Not how I'd planned it. But I'm coming.

"And a good thing you were swift about coming to your Colonel's aid," Jenny put in. She looked warily at Klink, who was sitting next to Kinch. She leaned over to Newkirk and whispered, "Are you sure it's all right to have the Oberst here?" she asked.

"Oh, 'e's all right, madam," Newkirk answered, as Klink started to look slightly insulted. "Harmless, you know."

Klink sat back in his chair, too tired to speak in protest. Once Le Beau had returned to tell the others that there was a cellar waiting for them with blankets and hot drinks, they had all walked to the house with the things they had brought from the camp. Unused to these long nights, the former Kommandant was beyond exhausted and was barely listening to the conversation.

"You are all very tired. Please accept the few blankets we have and get some rest downstairs. You will be safe there; no one goes down to the cellar but the dog. And even he is not willing to spend much time down there nowadays." Willi stood up as Jenny headed toward a closet in the next room. "Jenny will bring you something to eat when you have had a chance to sleep. Please let us know if your Sergeant Wilson needs anything for the young man or Colonel Hogan."

Hogan's men wearily murmured their thanks, until now almost oblivious to the time and their own tiredness, and made their way downstairs to where Wilson was holed up with his patients.

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"Ow! Hey, stop that!" Carter tried to wave Wilson's ministrations away, flapping his arm between them. Whatever Wilson had put on that towel was stinging the cut on his forehead.

"Come on, Andrew. It'll only hurt for a minute; I need to make sure this doesn't get infected!"

"It won't; I promise!"

Hogan sat nearby, head in hand, trying to keep his stomach where it belonged. "He won't take your word for it, Carter," he put in, as the conversation filtered through a blinding headache. "Trust me; I know whereof I speak."

Wilson turned briefly toward his next patient. "You're right about that. I won't take your word for it either," he said. He turned back toward Carter, who was trying in vain to pull away. "Come on, now, Carter, how can I earn my Boy Scout badge if you won't let me practice on you?"

"I was in the Boy Scouts," Carter said. "And I'll give you my First Aid badge if you'll just leave me alone!"

Wilson grinned. "That would be cheating. You know that's not the Boy Scout way."

One or two more dabs with the antiseptic and Wilson was finished. Carter shot a not-very-convincing scowl in Wilson's direction and said, "You wouldn't be out of place working for the Gestapo." Then, realizing what his impact his words could have, he glanced guiltily at Colonel Hogan and said, "Well, not really. Sorry, Wilson. Are you done with me now?"

Wilson smiled and patted Carter's shoulder. "All done. Grab that blanket and get yourself some shut-eye. You need it."

"We all do," Hogan said. "Take your own advice, Joe. You aren't used to this kind of excitement."

Wilson swung around to face the Colonel. "You're just delaying the inevitable, Colonel," he said determinedly. He glanced over to make sure Carter was following his instructions, and nodded relief that at least one of his patients would obey his orders. He looked back at Hogan and saw a man suffering both physically and mentally. "Come on," he urged gently. "Your turn."

Hogan brought his hand down from his face as he watched Carter starting to curl up on the floor nearby. He turned his bloodshot eyes to Wilson. "I just need to get some sleep," he said, not very convincingly.

"Yeah, you need that, too," Wilson said softly. "Whopper of a headache, huh?" he asked as he probed Hogan's temples and the rest of his head, looking for any signs of abrasions.

Hogan grunted and pulled his head away. "My head feels about three times its normal size," Hogan admitted grudgingly. "But that started well before the explosions back at camp."

"I don't doubt it," Wilson answered briefly. He looked in Hogan's eyes; pupils normal, no indication of internal injury. Just pain. And a deeper anguish that had nothing to do with physical injury. He chose to ignore the latter at the moment. The time would come to face that soon enough. "It's been a big night. Now, this hand—"

"Aaahh!" Hogan cried out involuntarily as fire crackled through his hand at Wilson's touch. He jerked it away and bit his lip, regretting both moves as another small explosion went off in his skull. He forced himself not to moan in pain and breathed himself back to calmness, caressing his hand, eyes closed.

"Sorry," Wilson said. That's all I seem to say to you, he thought. He tried again. "Let me see your hand," he said gently.

Hogan warily offered it, and the medic very lightly pressed on the back of Hogan's hand below the base of the once-abused fingers, then moved the fingers themselves. Hogan gasped, but stopped himself from pulling away by tensing his body to Wilson's touch and trying to focus only on breathing through his gritted teeth.

"You banged it hard in the tunnel blast," Wilson said. "It'll be okay, but you've aggravated it, and it's going to hurt for awhile."

"Mm-hmm," Hogan said through tightly pursed lips, as Wilson released his hand. His body went limp with exhaustion and relief.

"Time, sleep, and aspirin for your discomfort, Colonel," Wilson said. "Just like Carter." He took a couple of tablets from his worktable and poured a glass of water from the pitcher Jenny had brought at his request and handed them to Hogan.

"How is he?" Hogan asked, bracing himself against the pain of jerking his throbbing head back so he could swallow the pills.

Wilson nodded. "He'll be fine," he answered, taking the glass from Hogan. "A headache, of course, but no memory loss or loss of coordination. The best thing for both of you now is rest."

"I'll sleep," Hogan said, slipping off the stool. He picked up a blanket wearily and got ready to settle down near Carter. Not a lot of room down here for seven men. But at least it's available, thank God. "But I think I'm too tired to dream."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing, Colonel Hogan. That might not be a bad thing at all."

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"Colonel? Are you awake?"

Hogan heard the words somewhere in the distance but decided to ignore them. His head was still pounding strongly, and he had just consciously replaced his latest nightmare with an image of home. Whatever someone had to say now was unimportant.

"Colonel?" Hogan moaned a response. "Are you awake, sir?"

"What is it, Carter?" Hogan hoped he wasn't sounding aggravated.

"I can't sleep."

Hogan groaned. "Carter, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"No, sir," Carter answered sincerely. "I sure don't. But the sun isn't up yet, so it's probably not six. And the guys are all still asleep over there—and Colonel Klink. I wouldn't just call him a 'guy;' after all, he's an officer, even if he's a German one, and –"

"Carter," Hogan said to stop the Sergeant. Trying to follow the logic was making Hogan dizzy. "What is it?"

Carter propped himself up on his elbow and looked at his commanding officer. "I can't stop thinking about last night."

Hogan opened his eyes and turned over to face the young man. "It certainly was a shock," he admitted.

"I'm sorry we got caught in the tunnel, Colonel," Carter said sincerely. "I didn't mean to get carried away. I just wanted to make sure that the Krauts couldn't get anything if we left something behind by mistake, and I sure didn't want you to get hurt."

Hogan smiled softly. "I understand," he said. "You can be guaranteed they got nothing."

Carter grinned. "It was kind of special, wasn't it?" he said. "We were stuck in that hole for three years—seeing it go up in the end was a kind of poetic justice."

Hogan shook his head carefully. Only Carter could find beauty in destruction. "I can't say I'll miss the old Stalag," he said. "But the next time you pull something like that I'll—" Hogan stopped abruptly and gave a short, wry laugh. "Never mind," he said in a soft voice. "There won't be a 'next time.'" He looked away.

Carter's grin disappeared. "Gee, no," he said, almost regretfully. "I guess there won't be."

Silence descended for a moment, with each man lost in his own thoughts. "You did good, Carter," Hogan said finally. "All the way through. Whenever I needed an expert, you were the one. I wouldn't have trusted anyone else the way I trusted you."

"Thanks, Colonel." Carter didn't know what else to say. He had a feeling Hogan was saying goodbye, and he wasn't ready to. Not now. Not yet. Not ever! Why, Colonel Hogan was a man to follow forever, not just when working against the Germans. He was someone who made Carter feel appreciated, trusted, valued—and no one had ever done that in quite the same way before. And he was an officer who made Carter feel pride in who he was and what he was doing, who made him feel like what he did was making a difference. No, he couldn't say goodbye to Hogan now. But all the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. All he could manage was, "I trusted you, too."

Hogan smiled gently but said nothing. He lay back and closed his eyes, and for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last twelve hours he realized how tired he was. Sleep. You need sleep, he thought, exhausted and hurting. If only it weren't so full of nightmares….

"Uh—Colonel?"

"Mm?" Hogan answered vaguely, already drifting out of awareness.

"Newkirk told us what happened with Eichberger by the side of the road," Carter said quietly.

The whole scene suddenly flashed before Hogan's mind's eye as though he were seeing it from a distance. Hogan kneeling facing the woods. Eichberger raising his gun to the back of Hogan's head. Pulling off the safety. Taking careful aim. The cold. The fear… Hogan opened his eyes, almost in a panic, to get the picture out of his head. "And?" he said, in barely a whisper.

"If he wasn't really working with us, then I guess the Fuhrer wasn't really on that train, either, was he?" Carter asked.

Another horror scene filled Hogan's head. This time he couldn't escape. He pulled the thin blanket tighter around his shoulders and turned away from Carter. "No, Carter. No, he wasn't."

"So what was on the train, Colonel? Was it carrying supplies? Or was it empty?" Silence. "Colonel?" More silence. "What was on the train?" Carter shrugged when no answer came. "Colonel, are you asleep?... Gee. Well, I guess we're all pretty worn out," Carter said with a touch of uncertainty. "G'night, Colonel."

Carter turned over to get some sleep while he could. Hogan remained wide awake, as tears no one else could see rolled openly down his face.

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General Burkhalter turned away from the charred remains of Barracks Two, shaking his head. "Are you sure that Hogan was not in this camp, Schultz?" he asked, as he walked back toward the Kommandant's office.

"Jawohl, Herr General," Schultz said, bobbing his head up and down quickly. "I did not see Colonel Hogan. All I know is that Major Hochstetter wanted to look inside the barracks, and the men were in the way, so I moved them out."

"A wise move in the end," Burkhalter said. "I would not like to explain to the Red Cross how fifteen prisoners suddenly died in an explosion in camp. Where are the men now?"

"They are in Barracks Four, Herr General."

"Good. And did any of the other prisoners take advantage of this disaster and try to escape?" Burkhalter asked.

Schultz paused. He wouldn't be able to keep the information secret for very long, anyway. "I beg to report, General, that there were five prisoners missing at roll call this morning."

"Five?" Burkhalter exclaimed.

"Four of Colonel Hogan's men, and the medic, Wilson. He is gone, too."

"General Burkhalter!" came a call. Schultz and Burkhalter looked up to see a young Lieutenant racing toward them.

"What is it?"

"General Burkhalter, Manheim has radioed in to say that they have found Captain Eichberger, sir."

"Where is he?"

The young man hesitated. "About a half mile from the railway station near Hammelburg. He was… dead, sir."

Burkhalter looked stunned. "Dead?"

The Lieutenant shifted feet. "Yes, sir. He was shot at point-blank range."

Burkhalter fumed. "Hogan…" He turned suddenly to Schultz. "Sergeant, I am going to take over this camp myself—as soon as I am done hunting down Colonel Hogan. He must still be in the area. Prepare Klink's old quarters for me to move in. Lieutenant, make a call to get all available units to this area. We need to comb it completely. Hogan won't get out of our grasp again!"