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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"We've got to plan how to proceed from here," Hogan said to the others late the next morning. Despite his desire to be up and about quickly, Hogan found that he had simply had to succumb to his body's demand for rest and had not woken up for several hours. Still sore, but feeling so much better than he had been the night before, he gratefully accepted the food and drink offered by the Ericksons, and made a thorough check on his men before allowing himself to relax.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" Kinch asked. He took a bite of the honeyed bread Jenny had laid out, appreciating the warmth of the kitchen after a cold night in the cellar below.

"We can't travel together like this. No matter how safe we seem to be, moving in a crowd is inviting trouble." Hogan nodded toward Willi. "Willi here says he can get me to a radio. I'll contact the Underground and see if they can start taking us in pairs. Then I'll get in touch with London and tell them to start sending first class transportation. That's the very least you fellas deserve."

"Colonel, what about Klink?" Newkirk asked.

Klink looked up from his meager meal and eyed Hogan warily. "Yes, Hogan, what about me?"

Hogan looked back at Klink and would have even felt sorry for him, if he hadn't had so many other things to worry about at that moment. "He'll come, too. We can't let him go back to camp. As far as we know, he's still wanted. And if the Krauts suspect he's with us, they could pick up everyone on that list in his brain, and that would mean we couldn't extract the names from him ourselves and warn our agents."

"What do you want us to do in the meantime?" Le Beau asked.

Hogan looked at his men. Their faces carried a mix of bewilderment, fear, exhaustion, and determination. How he had led them into this mess he couldn't even fathom. And the guilt that suddenly slapped him in the face nearly overwhelmed him. "Scout the area. Look out for anyone trying to tail us. Make sure no one's threatening to find their way here." He stood up, ready to join Willi at the door. "And help Jenny with the dishes. She's not going to be a slave for you lot."

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"The Colonel's right, you know," Kinch said, as the men hid once more in the cellar, waiting for the all-clear to come out. "We're going to have to split up."

Le Beau nodded his unhappy agreement. "Oui, Kinch. I know."

"I won't know what to do without all of you around to pick on my handwriting."

"And how will I cook for only myself?" Le Beau asked. "I am so used to cooking for five."

Kinch tried to calm his upsetting thoughts. "Well, at least we know we're all going to the same place. I never got to spend much time in London before I was shot down."

"I was only there once or twice." Le Beau considered. "I wonder when they will let me go back to France."

"We'll need to be debriefed first," Kinch reminded him.

"That could take months!"

"Well, maybe for some… for others, telling all you know could take just a couple of minutes!"

Le Beau smiled at his friend's attempt at lightness. But he found he could not join in. "It will not be the same, Kinch," he said. Kinch said nothing. "I did not choose to become a prisoner, but I am glad that I had the chance to work with all of you." Kinch tried not to hear the emotion coming into Le Beau's voice. "You have become like my family."

"Yeah," Kinch agreed, his mind drifting through the years they had spent together. Working together, playing together, being scared together. "I never thought I'd find a family with a bunch of guys in a POW camp. It would never have been like this at home in Detroit. But Colonel Hogan sure knew how to bring us together."

"What do you think will happen to him, Kinch?" Le Beau asked.

"The Colonel?" Le Beau nodded. "Who knows? I used to think he'd just breeze on out of here and go back to civilian life quite happily. But… an awful lot has happened to him, Louis. I wouldn't want to carry his burden. I can't imagine how he's going to cope."

"Oui. The Colonel is strong, but the war has been very cruel to him." He paused. "It has been very cruel to everyone."

The pair fell silent. Le Beau played with his scarf, and thought about all the times he had wished he was away from Stalag 13, back at home in France, and forgetting all about his time in Germany. Now that this was starting to happen, he found himself trying to forestall its imminence. "I will miss you all," he said quietly.

Kinch felt the tug of mixed emotions inside. Leaving was all he ever wanted. Staying had meant constant fear of being caught. But the thrill of victory over the Germans had carried him through, and the leadership of and acceptance by Colonel Hogan had presented him with a whole new perspective on life. What would he be going back to? Could the war actually have been good for him in some strange way? "I'll miss you, too, Louis. I'm going to miss everyone, even that crazy old Schultz."

But I think I'll miss Colonel Hogan's unconditional trust and acceptance most of all.

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"What are you going to do after you get back to London, Joe?" asked Carter.

At the urging of a concerned Colonel Hogan, the medic had given Carter another brief examination in the morning. Satisfied that all was well, Wilson and the Sergeant had started a conversation, with little else to do until the all-clear was given to move on.

"I don't know," Wilson answered truthfully. "I mean, I always thought I'd have time to think about it. I wasn't planning on coming along when you fellas finally busted out of Stalag 13."

Carter nodded. "I know what you mean. It wasn't supposed to happen that way. But Colonel Hogan always made plans for it, just in case. I feel bad that I messed it up."

"You didn't," Wilson protested. "You just got carried away. But you've gotta be careful when you do stuff like that!"

Carter grinned. "That's what the Colonel always says. I felt so bad that he was caught in the tunnel with me. It's my fault he hurt his hand again. I mean, did you see him this morning? Holding it away from his body like he was afraid to bump it into anything? I really blew it."

"He doesn't blame you," Wilson answered. "Besides, it'll only be sore for a few days."

"Yeah, but I was really stupid. He kept telling me to get out, and I wouldn't leave! What's wrong with me?"

Wilson took in Carter's anxious look of self-loathing. "Nothing's wrong with you. You have a healthy dislike of the Germans…and probably a slightly unhealthy like of explosives." Wilson chuckled.

Carter nodded and gave a lopsided grin. "The Colonel never minded it much."

"I'm sure he didn't. It would have saved you all many times—and think of all the jobs you wouldn't have been able to do without your expertise."

"That's what the Colonel says—that I'm an expert. Y'know, I never really felt like an expert at anything until I came to camp. And Colonel Hogan was the first person to let me decide what I thought would work best. He really put a lot of faith in me."

"And he's a pretty good judge of character."

"He sure is. When the Colonel says that someone is good or bad, he's usually right on the ball. Eichberger was different, but the Colonel still didn't really trust him; he just couldn't find a real reason why not to. And he was hurting so badly, who could blame him for being confused? But in general, you know, I've never seen anyone with an instinct like his. If the Colonel likes someone, he has a good reason—" Carter cut himself off when he realized where Wilson had led him. "So, I must be okay. That's what you're saying, huh?"

Wilson nodded. "Uh-huh."

Carter grew quiet for a moment, contemplating. "Thanks for looking after him, Joe," Carter said suddenly. Wilson just looked at Carter, waiting. "I mean from the very beginning. We did an awful lot of dangerous stuff, and you were always there to take care of the Colonel—of all of us. And when Major Hochstetter got hold of him this time—" Carter found he couldn't finish, as all the fears he had built up until that terrible day dawned had been realized when Hogan was pulled, so desperately ill and broken, from solitary confinement. "Well, I know he trusted you, too."

"He doesn't give his trust easily, Carter. But you've got it. That makes you somebody pretty special."

Carter smiled, a genuine, hopeful smile. "Well, I know he trusts you, too—and Louis, and Kinch, and Newkirk. I guess that puts me in pretty good company!"

"The best. And don't you ever forget it."

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"You'll like London, Kommandant," Newkirk was saying to Klink.

Klink shrugged. "I doubt the people at your Allied Headquarters are going to give me much time to enjoy it," he said.

"Well, you do have a lot to talk about, don't you?" Newkirk quipped. He sighed, looking around the cellar where the men were waiting for Colonel Hogan to return as Jenny went about her daily chores. "No, there's nothing like heading down the High Street on a Sunday afternoon, looking at all the ladies and gents dressed up in their Sunday best, heading for the park." He smiled as he saw the images in his memory. His smile disappeared slowly, though, and he said, "On the other 'and, there may not be a lot left of the High Street, thanks to the Germans," he said, a touch of anger creeping into his voice. "The city's a bloody mess after the bombings."

Klink felt the hair on the back of his neck rise in a whisper of fear. "Berlin is quite badly damaged as well, from what I understand," he put in, almost meekly.

"How nice," Newkirk said, his mood suddenly souring.

Klink sat in silence for a moment, reaching into his own memories of before the war. "When I was a younger man, Corporal, I used to go with my father into Berlin once a month, just to go to the theatre."

Newkirk stopped his slow burn and listened.

"It was our one time to do things without my brother, Wolfgang. We used to go to a little club where there was always a show of some sort—a song and dance, a pantomime, a small drama—and then we would go to Der Rote Löwe—that means The Red Lion—a quiet Biergarten, where we would share a drink and a small meal before coming home. It was always a very special time for me."

Newkirk nodded mutely. The idea of spending a quiet, special time with his father was only a dream for him. That Klink could hold these memories so close to his heart both touched the Englishman, and hurt him.

Klink shook his head sadly. "The theatre is gone now—as a matter of fact, I think the Biergarten is, too, after the Allied bombing attacks."

Newkirk shifted uncomfortably. "Must be a few of those crimson cats around," he said, clearing his throat. "There's a Red Lion pub back in London, too."

"Really?" Klink asked, sensing some kind of mood change in the Englishman.

"Yep—used to go there myself. But it had nothing to do with a father-and-son outing, that's for sure," Newkirk said, with a bit of enthusiasm that even Klink could place as false. "It was more like a chance to get away from the old man." He shook his head. "Now? I don't really know if the place is there any more either. So I guess that makes us even, Kommandant."

"What will you do when you get back there, Newkirk?"

"I'm not sure, sir," Newkirk replied. "I used to think I'd just open up a pub, you know? Put some of me back pay to work for me. But I'm not sure now. I might have a talk with Colonel Hogan—see if he thinks he'll need anyone with my talents on his staff, if he stays in England."

"You would continue working for an American?" Klink asked, somewhat amazed.

"Why not? He's been a bloody good boss so far. Can't think of anyone I'd trust more. And that's not a bad place to be."

"But what kind of work could you possibly be doing?"

"Well, with the kind of work I've been doing at Stalag 13—begging your pardon, Kommandant—I could always teach a course in calligraphy… or creative lock picking."

Klink waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "I don't want to know."

"Maybe doing imitations… you know, on the stage. I understand it'll be quite funny to be German after the war…"

"Corporal, I don't want to hear it!"

Newkirk grinned slightly and stopped. "Sorry, Kommandant. The gov'nor always did say I go a little bit too far."

Klink nodded. "Colonel Hogan knows you very well!" he said, not really angry. "He seems to know everyone really well," he added thoughtfully.

"That he does, sir," Newkirk agreed. "He's a quick study is our Colonel."

"And that's why you respect him so much?" Klink asked.

"No, sir; I respect him because he's never afraid to get right in the thick of it with us. He wouldn't have us do anything he wouldn't do himself." Newkirk paused, grim. "He's paid for that kind of loyalty. Many times, sir."

Klink nodded, and slowly different situations in the camp came to him in which he himself had thought Hogan was at risk of being killed. The time they went back to England and stole a plane—which somehow never got back to Germany; the time General von Heiner decided to hold Hogan hostage at a rocket depot—and the depot was destroyed; the time Hogan knelt, with Klink and Schultz at his side, in the middle of the camp and defused an unexploded bomb dropped from an Allied plane. Then Hochstetter came into his mind. How many times had he come into camp, threatening Hogan with unpleasant methods of questioning, actually taking him back to Hammelburg to squeeze all he could out of him. Hogan had always remained calm, sometimes flippant, sometimes almost philosophical. Klink had never even dreamed that Hogan was holding more secrets than any other man in the camp… and that he had every real reason to fear the Gestapo and its tortures. But Hogan had given away nothing, not even under Hochstetter's most intensive interrogation, and so the Major kept coming, until finally the day came where he could drag Hogan away without any fear of recrimination, even if he was wrong… and he had taken full advantage of it. And even then, thinking his future was short and death was certain, Hogan had kept his secrets, and those of his men.

Klink now fully understood the loyalty of Newkirk and the others, and felt a bit overwhelmed, as his own unwitting part in this whole operation dawned on him. It was too much to think about now; he would put it aside, to consider later. He hoped he would have plenty of time to do that.

"Tell me, Newkirk, didn't you ever worry that you'd get captured and shot as a spy?"

"All the time, sir," Newkirk said almost lightly.

"Then why did you keep up Colonel Hogan's plan to sabotage the German war effort from a POW camp?"

"Because if the Colonel ended up getting caught, I wasn't going to let him go alone."