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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"I'm sorry to hear about it, Louis." RAF Corporal Peter Newkirk sat down next to Le Beau after dinner that night as the Frenchman fruitlessly tried to sew up the ever-present hole in his red sweater.

Le Beau should have known it would not work; he had tried countless times before, and there just wasn't enough material there to close the gap. But tonight, with Hogan down in the tunnel and emerging not once, not once, in the last three hours, the Frenchman was on edge. The others warned him against trying to go down there with the Colonel, even on the pretense of bringing him a cup of coffee or something to eat. And since he couldn't distract himself by cooking again tonight, as the Red Cross rations were a bit low, he tried sewing. Again.

"Merci, Pierre," Le Beau said shortly, unable to contain his tension. He continued pulling at the fabric.

"I know how you feel, mate," Newkirk continued, shaking his head. "Bleedin' Krauts think they own the world…."

"You do not know how I feel," the Frenchman countered, yanking too hard on a piece of thread and breaking it. He cursed under his breath. "No one is marching through London."

"No, but the goons bombed it, didn't they?" the Englishman retorted, his love for his own homeland sparking anger in his voice that he tried hard to control.

"And then they left it alone. The English have been left alone. Your cities are still yours to do with what you will."

"Yeah, once they're rebuilt, once people have stopped starving in their homes, once the boys come marching back with whatever parts of their bodies left that they can manage!" Newkirk said, his voice rising with his passion. "You want someone who hasn't been affected, mate, try the Yanks—no Krauts on their territory, are there?"

"No, Newkirk, no Krauts," Kinch admitted, but only as his own anger started to simmer. "But what about Pearl Harbor? A lowlife, sneaky attack on a Sunday morning when men were getting ready to go to church and baseball games—thousands of men killed in an attack on ships not out to harm anyone."

"And what about les américains?" Le Beau persisted, intent on picking an argument with anyone who would have it. "They only got involved in the war when someone attacked them directly—what about helping your Allies in Europe? Why did you not come forth when you saw what Hitler was doing?"

"Hey, we did!" Sergeant Andrew Carter spoke up. Silent up to now, he couldn't sit still any longer. "We sent out planes to help the RAF, remember? I mean Colonel Hogan was up in the air flying missions to help the Allies before the United States officially declared war on anybody!"

"A few lousy planes and some know-it-all pilots—big deal!" Le Beau replied, unable to stop himself, even though he realized as he spoke that he was insulting men whom he held dear, and his commanding officer, whose loyalties and devotion to the cause of getting rid of Hitler the Frenchman had never once doubted or even thought of belittling. But that was before this—before Paris was in imminent danger of being erased from existence. It was too frightening to think about. And so he lashed out blindly.

"Well, I don't recall anyone telling us to get out when we offered to help!" Kinch said heatedly.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Hogan's annoyed voice startled the men. Caught up in their own anger, they hadn't heard their commanding officer come up from the tunnel below, and now they all fell silent, ashamed at their own words, and mortified that he had heard them.

Hogan stepped fully into the barracks and looked from one man to the other. All of them avoided his gaze. Hogan had heard the last few passionate exchanges, and there was no doubt in his mind what the discussion was about. "None of us got off easy," he said harshly. His men shifted uncomfortably. Then, quietly, Hogan added, "We all just got hit differently."

Hogan ran the back of his hand across his face and headed for his locker, studiously ignoring the eyes on him. He grabbed his cup and then crossed to the stove, picking up the kettle and pouring what would have been his fourth or fifth cup of coffee of the night. Le Beau watched, a mix of guilt and anger playing within him. Guilt that the Colonel had without question heard the Frenchman thoughtlessly make little of the American's deep, hard-fought involvement earlier in the war, and anger that this same man came from a country that had not come out in force until its own safety was threatened.

Newkirk was the first to speak up. Plunging his fists deep into his pockets, he tried to look at the others as he said, "I'm… sorry, Colonel." Hogan kept pouring. "I guess I just get a bit… y'know, carried away when I think about dear ol' London being treated the way she is, sir. You're right, gov'nor—we've all had our share—all of us." Hogan nodded once but remained silent. Newkirk looked around at the others, quietly noting their slight change in stance, their slowly relaxing shoulders. "I'm sorry, Louis," he said. "I was just trying to sympathize with you, mate."

Le Beau shrugged, embarrassed. "You do not have to be sorry, Pierre. You were being a good friend. But I was angry and I took it out on you. That was not fair, and I apologize." He looked to Kinch and Carter. "And I am sorry for what I said about the Americans, as well," he said. "I guess they did do some good in the beginning. And in any case, it was not your decision about when your country should have started getting involved in the fighting."

The conversation faltered as Hogan disappeared into his room and softly shut the door.

Carter stared after him. "It's okay, Louis," he said, still looking where Hogan had wordlessly slipped away. "I guess we'd be upset, too, if it was being done to our hometowns."

Newkirk shook his head in playful mockery. "Who'd want to blow up Cane Toad, North Dakota, anyway?" he asked.

"That's Bullfrog, North Dakota. And no one would; that's the whole point! But I mean, I'd probably wanna blow up a place with nothing but cane toads, too, if it were me. Do you think that's how the Germans picked Paris?"

"Because of the toads?" Kinch asked incredulously.

"No, I mean because it has something they want to get rid of?"

"No, mon ami," Le Beau said, standing up from the bench and letting out a heavy sigh. "Because it has something they want to keep for themselves, and they have never learned to share." He put his sewing on the table and headed for Hogan's door. "Just as I have never learned to keep my big mouth shut."

Carter, Newkirk and Kinch yawned and got ready to turn in for the night, as Le Beau knocked on the Colonel's door. At the invitation to enter, the Frenchman went into the dimly lit room, and saw Hogan sitting at his desk, the small lamp offering the only respite from the darkness. Le Beau stayed in the doorway, just watching as the American once again ran his fingers over the map he had left spread out there, one elbow on the desk, his hand braced against his forehead, his coffee untouched beside him.

He is tired, thought Le Beau regretfully. And I am an idiot. "Colonel Hogan—"

"Looks like Paris has a short reprieve," Hogan said with false brightness, immediately cutting off what he could see coming. His fingers rubbed his forehead and his sore eyes, then fell to the desk. He shook his head. "Von Choltitz hasn't started anything yet. Word is that he's a bit reluctant to destroy the City of Light."

"Colonel?" breathed Le Beau, afraid to hope.

"The head of the French Resistance apparently wants some kind of general insurrection before the Allies can get to the city. They're a lot closer than they were and it looks like things are really starting to cook. If von Choltitz was going to do anything, now would be the time." Hogan shrugged. "But he's not doing it." A long sigh. "But I don't know how long he can hold out. Hitler's put out an order that basically holds his family hostage if he doesn't follow orders well enough—or fast enough."

Le Beau looked at Hogan incredulously. "Incroyable."

"If he doesn't do what they say, they kill his family."

"But Colonel—all of Paris!"

Hogan turned fully to the Frenchman. "If you had to choose between your family, and a city you didn't live in with people you didn't care about in it, which would you pick?"

Le Beau's eyes widened. Then he straightened and said seriously, "We must all make sacrifices for the greater good."

Hogan wanted to laugh at Le Beau's patriotic indifference to von Choltitz's horrible dilemma. But somewhere inside him, the Colonel was sure the Frenchman wasn't remotely kidding. Suddenly Hogan turned deeply somber. "Yeah," he said, turning back to the desk.

Le Beau frowned. "What is it, Colonel?"

Hogan shook his head. He was silent too long. Le Beau wondered what was going through his head but didn't dare ask. "It's nothing, Louis," the Colonel finally replied. Then, quiet but clearly plotting, he said, "I keep thinking… I keep thinking that somehow von Choltitz's family is the key."

"How is that, Colonel?"

Hogan turned to Le Beau, his eyes wandering the room as he thought aloud. "What if the only thing stopping von Choltitz from standing up to Hitler is that order against his family?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if we could make sure his family was safe from the firing squad, von Choltitz might be that much more willing to stand his ground against that nut brain in Berlin."

Le Beau frowned, thinking. "So we are supposed to help this Boche General save his family? After all that he has done?"

Hogan nodded firmly, the plan cementing itself in his mind. "If it helps save Paris, isn't it worth it, Le Beau? And we are talking about children here."

Almost reluctantly, the Frenchman nodded agreement. "Oui. Les enfants do not have any choices about who their parents are. How will we do it?"

"I'll have to think about it. But fast, because I don't think we have much time." Hogan's eyes drifted to his own thoughts again. "Tell Kinch I need him right away." He turned back to his desk and stared at the map before him.

Le Beau swallowed, and then softly spoke up. "Colonel—"

Hogan stiffened slightly, then after a second, nodded.

"About what I said before—when you were in the tunnel and we were arguing—"

"Don't say it, Louis," came Hogan's weary voice. "I know you didn't mean it personally."

"It was still wrong, Colonel," Le Beau said in a low voice. "I was angry about what the Krauts are doing, and I was angry at the Allies for not being able to save Paris. I know you fought very hard even before the Americans joined in the war. I spoke without thinking, and I am sorry."

Silence. Then a voice that could barely be called a whisper: "It's okay."

Le Beau watched his commanding officer's back for a moment. Then, still concerned but knowing better now than to ask questions, he murmured, "I will get Kinch," and left the room.

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"We know where von Choltitz's family is, Colonel," Kinch reported a couple of hours later.

Hogan pulled his head away from the wall of the tunnel and opened his eyes. He had been standing there, overseeing Kinch's attempts to contact anyone and everyone, and eventually let his head drop back in exhaustion. Now, he yawned and brought a hand up to the small of his back, hoping to relieve the ache that had been growing there since he started his vigil beside the radio. "Where are they?"

"Baden-Baden."

"Swell," Hogan said sarcastically. "Swell—that's over a hundred and fifty miles from here." He moved the hand up to his forehead, where a slow pounding was gnawing at him. "All right, tell me what else you know."

"His wife's name is Uberta, and he's got two daughters and a son—Maria, who's fourteen, Anna, who's eight, and Timo is just an infant. Von Choltitz stopped at home to see them on his way to Paris."

Hogan came forward as the Sergeant spoke. "Interesting," he said ponderously.

"How so, Colonel?"

"Put yourself in von Choltitz's place. You've been ordered back from the Russian front, and you're under direct orders from Hitler to get into Paris and defend it to the death." Hogan started pacing slowly. "If you're so gung ho about supporting your Fuhrer, wouldn't you go straight there instead of detouring via the old homestead?"

Kinch shrugged. "Maybe," he said.

"But if you're not so sure about what you're about to do—or you're afraid it might be the last time you ever get to see your wife and kids—might you stop home to have a chance to say goodbye?"

Kinch knitted his eyebrows. "What are you getting at, Colonel?"

Hogan stopped pacing and faced Kinch. "I'm getting at, that von Choltitz might very possibly be persuaded to hold off on the destruction of Paris, if we can convince him that his wife and children are in safe hands." He nodded once, as though to convince himself. "This just might work after all. Kinch, get back on the radio and contact the Underground. See if we can arrange to pick up the family and get them out—someplace they can be kept until Paris is secure and it's safe for them to be released."

Kinch started flicking switches, and shook his head. "Gee, Colonel, this one's going to be a miracle if you can pull it off."

Hogan let out a loud breath. "That's what it's going to take this time." Hogan laid a hand on Kinch's arm. "And Kinch—"

The radio man looked up at his commanding officer and realized right then just how tired the Colonel looked. Tired, and worried. How could he possibly still be scheming?

"Any word yet?"

Kinch lowered his eyes, not wanting to see Hogan's face when he delivered the news. "No, Colonel. Dubois has checked in… but not Tiger. No one has seen her since early yesterday."

As it happened, even if Kinch had been watching, he wouldn't have seen Hogan's expression. The Colonel turned away and closed his eyes, crossing his arms and blanketing his face with one hand. A weary sigh broke the deafening silence. "And?" he asked quietly.

"And… she was last seen with three Resistance leaders who were caught in a car full of arms and classified papers." Kinch watched as Hogan's head dropped even lower and his other hand returned to his lower back. Softly, the radio man finished, "The Underground reports that those men were picked up by an SS patrol."

Hogan remained frozen in place. Kinch said gently, "Colonel, why don't you get some sleep—you've been up since roll call this morning. I've catnapped, but I'd bet all my back pay that you haven't." He shook his head. "You can't help Tiger from here."

More stillness. Then, "You're right, Kinch." Kinch cocked his head at the soft voice, curious. "I can't help Tiger from here." Hogan turned all at once to the Sergeant, determined and alert. "But I can help her from Paris. Tell the Underground I'm coming to France as soon as we get word that von Choltitz's family has been taken."

"But Colonel, it's like you told Louis—it's too dangerous for one man to go to France right now; there's so much going on, someone's bound to get himself killed! There's a cease-fire in effect from the street fighting, but that's weakening and it's bound to start again soon."

"Then it won't be one man—Louis wants to go; I'll let him go. Who knows, it might help; I hear his French accent is better than mine." Hogan started pacing again, his mind racing as a million plans appeared and disappeared as others took form. "Tell the Underground I need a car—nothing flash; just something with enough gas to get me to Paris, and enough in store to get back. Then make sure there's someone there to meet us who knows how to get to von Choltitz. If we're going to have any chance of having this plan work, I'm going to have to convince him that his family is in safe hands. Then I'll need to be in touch with the last people to have seen and spoken with Tiger. Once everything is organized here, we'll be on our way."

Hogan paused, noticing that Kinch had not moved, and was now looking at him warily. "Look, I know it sounds crazy," he admitted. Kinch said nothing. "But this is the only chance we have to stop von Choltitz." Kinch waited. Hogan added softly, "Plus… we all owe Tiger a lot—I owe Tiger a lot. The Nazis might have her locked up somewhere close to all their explosives, just for fun. I can't let the city get blown to bits and not know if there might have been a way to save her."

Kinch registered the earnestness in Hogan's voice, and the almost desperate look in his eyes. It was no secret that Hogan held a special place in his heart for the beautiful Resistance leader. But this was something different—this was a very real fear that if he didn't act, then Tiger might be lost, permanently. Kinch nodded in silent support. "I'll get right on it, sir." He looked closely at Hogan. "When will you leave?"

"As soon as we can."

"Louis's gonna go nuts."

"I'll just have to make sure he saves it for the Germans."