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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"Make sure you look after Carter," Hogan was saying to Wilson, as he surveyed the cellar to make sure any traces of their presence were gone. "He says he's okay, but I worry about him. He hides things."

"Sounds like he's been taking lessons from his commanding officer," Wilson answered.

Hogan stopped in his tracks and looked at the medic. "I'm fine," he said.

"Sure," Wilson replied casually. A silence passed between them. "Do you want to talk before we go?" he asked, tentatively.

Hogan sighed and, to Wilson's surprise, sat down. He said nothing for a moment, then spoke softly, staring straight ahead, looking at nothing. "I just can't help feeling I've made a mess of this whole thing."

Wilson frowned. "A mess?" he asked. He sat down next to the Colonel.

Hogan rubbed his face. "The operation was supposed to last. I failed."

"Failed?" Wilson echoed loudly. "How could you think you've failed? Look at everything you've done in the last three years—tunnels, sabotage, German war plans ruined or passed on to the Allies—not to mention the countless men whose lives you saved by dragging them out of the woods and getting them back to England! Failed?" Wilson said again. "We should all fail so well."

Hogan shrugged. "It's my fault we're here right now," he said simply.

Wilson paused. He knew he should have expected this; the operation was such a large part of Hogan's life that its loss would have to be grieved. And Wilson knew it was important to do so. But he didn't want Hogan thinking that years of work had been for naught, or blaming himself for something that had been bound to happen sooner or later. "Don't diminish what you accomplished," he suggested gently. "You and your men achieved the impossible."

"And we'd still be doing it if I hadn't fallen into Eichberger's trap."

Wilson shook his head. "If it wasn't that, it was going to be something else. He set it up perfectly from the very beginning. Came in when you were weakest, had information that couldn't possibly have come from someone who didn't know the workings of the Allies. You couldn't help but fall into it."

"I didn't trust him. I should have kept it that way."

"Human beings want to trust." Hogan didn't answer. "Look, with all the information we had from London, he seemed okay. You held out longer than anyone."

"Obviously I should have held out longer."

Wilson shook his head, remembering with discomfort the horrific condition Hogan had been in when he was pulled out of solitary confinement. It would almost have been more merciful if Hogan had died instead of making him go through the agony of the recovery. He would carry mental and physical scars forever. And the end of the operation, the destruction of the tunnels and the work they represented, would be one of them. "We're all human," Wilson said softly. "You were the one always telling me that the operation constantly hung by a thread. That anyone could betray you at any time."

"But I didn't think it would be me!" Hogan said sharply, looking directly at Wilson. "I sent the boys out into the woods that night. I let Eichberger know I was Papa Bear. I am the one who blew it—not the Germans!" Hogan covered his eyes with his hands for a moment. When he was more composed he drew down his hands and sighed. "Sorry," he said.

"Everyone got out safely," Wilson said, changing tack. "Look, Colonel. Robert." Hogan turned confused, anguished, tired eyes to the medic. "The things you and the boys did are just extraordinary. You can't go home thinking you've negated all that. It was always 'There but for the grace of God go I,' right? There was a lot of hard work involved, and a lot of luck, too. The hard work you had control over; the luck, you didn't. And the luck ran out. Don't think the work went to waste. There are a lot of happy families right now because of you and the others. Families that are complete because someone they loved came home in one piece, thanks to you. Maybe it's just time that you joined them, and made your family happy, too."

Wilson stopped talking. Hogan continued staring ahead. Not all families. What about those POWs on the train? He could see before him a blazing inferno of railroad cars and hear the screams of tortured men as they died. He could not see the ones who had made it back with his help. Not when there were so many that hadn't, especially in the last few days. But he doubted he would ever tell anyone about that; how could he put that horrible burden on anyone else, when he couldn't face it himself? "Thanks," Hogan said finally, in almost a whisper.

Wilson nodded. "Sure," he answered quietly. He knew there was more, but he also knew it was time to stop pressing. Hogan would come forward in his own time. If he ever could. The medic stood up. "I'll be upstairs," he said. "Come on up when you're ready."

Hogan nodded. "Okay." He listened as Wilson went up the stairs to join the others. He sat for another moment, then reached into his pack and pulled out the book he had instinctively taken from his quarters when he was grabbing things to either take with them or burn. He fingered the pages, and scanned the words, looking for something to soothe his aching heart. His eye caught a phrase, and he devoured it, wishing he could see its promises fulfilled right this minute. Give me back the joy of your salvation, the Psalm read, and a willing spirit sustain in me…. My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite spirit; a heart contrite and humbled, O God, you will not spurn.

Hogan closed the book thoughtfully and closed his eyes. I could use a bit of joy, he thought. This is about to be the hardest thing I think I've ever done.

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"You fellas head straight for the first stop on the route. The rest of us will get over to the Schultzes, and then follow as we planned." Hogan glanced around the kitchen, making sure that the men had everything they came with. "Any questions?"

Klink stood near Hogan, picking up the tension in the room but not fully understanding it. Hogan's men looked around them, avoiding meeting each other's eyes, and especially Hogan's.

Hogan took a calming breath and said, "Then let's go."

"Colonel?"

Thank God for Carter, Hogan thought. "Yes, Sergeant?"

"Well, I just—wanna say goodbye. You know, in case things go wrong."

Hogan swallowed a growing lump in his throat. "Nothing's going to go wrong," he said, his voice strangely hoarse. "We'll be together again in a week, right?"

The others agreed too readily, too loudly. Klink observed from a short distance with Wilson, beginning to see the real reason for the obvious stress in the room, which had very little to do with the necessity to escape.

"Well, I know that's the plan," Carter said over the group. "But I wanna say this anyway." Silence descended on the room. Carter accepted the attention without pride. "When I first came to Stalag 13, I was afraid I wouldn't fit in. I mean I'd never been in a POW camp before, and I didn't know what to expect. But you guys were great to me. You've been like my family." Carter paused, collecting himself. "And I just want to say thanks."

Hogan couldn't speak. Carter, the man who often ran off at the mouth like a runaway locomotive, who could find the exactly wrong thing to say at the wrong time, had spoken simply and eloquently for them all.

Newkirk was the first to respond. "I thought before I came here that I'd had my fill of brothers," he said. He shrugged. "But I was wrong, wasn't I?" The things he wanted to say, the thanks he wanted to give the men as a group for giving him a security and closeness of spirit that he had never before experienced, refused to come, stuck in the back of his throat and choking his voice. And so he just stared hard at the two men he had worked so closely with, who were about to be the first to leave, and swallowed the unexpected feeling of overwhelming sadness starting to overtake him, as the reality of the night was creeping in. They're really going. It's really over.

"Yeah. You guys have been like my family, too," Kinch added. "Probably a little more destructive than my family, but I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

Le Beau chimed in, his eyes moist. "Oui, me, too," is all he could say. "Bonne chance, Andrew. Au revoir, Kinch. Soyez prudents." Unable to stop himself, the Frenchman came forward and embraced Carter and then Kinch. The men were anything but embarrassed by the show of emotion.

Hogan nodded, signaling an end to the moment. "Come on, let's go." The others seemed to shake themselves out of their emotions. Wilson came to stand with Kinch and Carter, now getting used to being in this German uniform. Like Carter, his government-issue clothes were under the uniform. "Remember, Wilson, you and Carter are escorting Kinch back to Gestapo Headquarters for questioning. You have orders to take him directly out of the area and must not be stopped by anyone. Right?"

"Right, Colonel," Wilson replied. "He's our prisoner."

"Tomorrow night you head straight for the waiting sub. Kinch, you have the coordinates."

"Yes, sir, Colonel," Kinch answered.

"We'll give you a ten minute head start, then we'll head out the other way. Now get going, and don't pussyfoot around."

The men made their final preparations, and Hogan checked the German uniforms. He was about to push the trio out the door when Kinch turned around and faced his commanding officer.

"Colonel Hogan?"

"Kinch?"

Kinch opened his mouth to say any one of the two thousand things that had coming into his mind over the last three years. He prepared himself to tell Hogan how much being a part of this operation had meant to him, how it had saved him from his own version of despair, how it had made him feel he was part of a loyal, tightly-knit team. How he had felt appreciated and valued, and secure when he was with Hogan and the others. He knew he needed to say something that would convey to Hogan just how much the Colonel's trust in him had touched him, and how Hogan's leadership itself had inspired him to do things of which he had never thought himself capable. But none of the words would lay themselves out straight in his mind, and so he paused, then did something he couldn't remember having done to Hogan in years.

He looked Hogan straight in the eye, and saluted him.

Hogan raised his chin slightly, clenching his jaw to prevent his already moist eyes from spilling over. Then, never unlocking his gaze from Kinch's, he returned the salute, then held out his hand. Kinch clasped it tightly. "I'll see you in a week," Hogan said with difficulty.

"Yes, sir," Kinch answered, still gripping Hogan's hand. "In a week."

Kinch let go of Hogan's hand and headed out the door.

Hogan watched him go, then nodded at Wilson, whom Hogan still couldn't get used to in anything but his own familiar uniform, and said, "Look after them. Sometimes they get a little excited."

Wilson let a smile raise the edges of his mouth. "So I've noticed," he said. "Colonel, thanks for everything." Wilson took in Hogan's expression, the one that spoke of pain and guilt and tiredness, and added, "Everyone will be okay. They know what they're doing." Hogan nodded mutely, still staring out after Kinch. Wilson said quietly, "You're all heroes. Whether you believe it of yourself or not." Hogan didn't reply. "You did good, Colonel. Don't forget that you did good."

Hogan nodded, then shook Wilson's hand and watched him head out the door. Carter brought up the rear, adjusting his small pack and making sure he had his gun, when he turned to Hogan. "Nice speech, Carter," Hogan said quietly.

"Aw, gee, Colonel, it wasn't really a speech. It was just something I needed to say. I mean no matter what happens, we're never gonna work the same way again, and I wanted people to know how I felt about 'em. You fellas have been great to work with, and I never thought I'd—"

Hogan couldn't help but smile. He shook his head. "Carter," he said, as the Sergeant threatened to continue in this vein, "at ease."

Carter looked surprised, then shrugged as a relaxed grin took over his face. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I guess I get a little carried away sometimes."

Hogan just smiled. "Thanks, Carter."

Carter looked at him curiously. "For what?"

"For reminding me we shouldn't take the war too seriously." Hogan held out his hand, and was surprised when the Sergeant hesitated about taking it. He frowned slightly. "Carter?"

"Um, I don't want to hurt your hand again," Carter replied.

"Carter, shut up and shake my hand."

Carter grinned. "You bet, boy—I mean, sir." He gripped Hogan's hand, then suddenly embraced Hogan like a brother.

Caught unawares, it took Hogan a second to realize what was happening. Then he returned Carter's hold with a ferocity that surprised even himself. "You take care of yourself, hear me?" he said with false harshness as he released Carter, trying to control his own overwhelming emotions. "If I hear you've hurt yourself, when I get to London I'm gonna kick your can."

Carter blinked away his tears and responded to the challenge. "No, sir. I mean, yes, sir." He pasted a grin on his face that Hogan knew wouldn't last long, and headed out to join the others.

Hogan, Newkirk, Le Beau and Klink watched from inside the house as the trio disappeared into the night. Then Hogan sighed and turned to the Frenchman and the Englander. "You two are next," he said with a twinge of regret. "We'd better all get out of here before the real Germans catch up with us."