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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Carter knocked on the door to Hogan's office very softly the next morning about three hours after roll call had been completed and the Colonel had retreated to his quarters. He suspected that Hogan had gone back to bed, since he looked exhausted and bleary-eyed in the line up at dawn, and had none of his usual humor to prop up tired and unhappy prisoners. Still, what the Sergeant had to say couldn't wait, and so reluctantly he tapped with just two fingers on the door.

He was surprised when he heard a call instantly from the other side. "Yeah?"

Carter opened the door and poked his head in. Hogan was sitting at his desk, writing. "Uh—Colonel Hogan?" he said.

Hogan looked up, the light in the room accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. "What is it, Carter?"

Carter stepped inside, and hesitantly approached the desk. "Sorry to wake y'up, Colonel," he began.

Hogan smiled tolerantly. "I wasn't getting very far in that area, I'm afraid," he said. "What's going on?"

Carter grinned self-deprecatingly and plunged in. "Kinch said to tell you that the Underground has that German General's family. They've been taken to a safe house outside of Düsseldorf."

"Good." Hogan rubbed the space between his eyes. "Was there any trouble?" he asked.

Carter shrugged. "Well, I don't think they wanted to go, but they're all okay."

"Will they have to be moved again?"

"Oh, no, Colonel," Carter replied brightly. "The house is near a school, and it has a big fence, and—" As Hogan brought down his hand and arched an eyebrow toward the Sergeant, Carter stopped. "Oh," he said sheepishly, "you mean, do they have everything they need already." Hogan nodded. "Well—yeah, sure they do, Colonel. I mean, they have a lady in the house who can help look after the baby, and there's enough room for everyone there, and it's a pretty big place. Everyone should be okay."

"Good." Hogan said again. He thought of the family that had just been unceremoniously and probably quite frighteningly moved from their home and felt a slight twinge of sympathy. Then Tiger's face floated into his mind and the von Choltitz family immediately disappeared from his thoughts. "Then it's time to go. The car is already lined up for us. Tell Le Beau we go tonight."

"Right, Colonel." Carter turned to leave, then stopped and looked back. Hogan was still at his desk, still hunched over, still alone in his thoughts and his obvious worries. "It'll be okay, Colonel," he offered. "Your plans are always good, even if you don't think so all the time."

Hogan turned his head toward the door but not far enough to look Carter in the eye. "Thanks, Carter," he said over his shoulder. "Let's hope so. Too many people's lives are depending on it."

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Louis Le Beau pulled a heavy coat on over his sweater and fixed his red beret firmly on his head. "I sure wish there was another way of doing this," Carter said as he watched the Frenchman get ready to go.

"So do I," Newkirk agreed, shaking his head. "I can't help thinking that the gov'nor's biting off more than he can chew on this one."

Le Beau shrugged as he checked his pockets. "This will get me to Paris; I am satisfied."

"But Louis, mate, Paris isn't just the City of Light right now—there's a lot of street fighting going on there; everything is falling apart!"

"Le Colonel says there is a cease fire at the moment. We will go in when it is peaceful. We will get out as soon as we can."

Carter pursed his lips and frowned but said nothing. Newkirk shifted unhappily and looked around the barracks. Le Beau paused in his preparations and turned to his friends. "You do not have to worry. Paris is my home. I will know what to do and where to go."

"Yeah, but what happens when you blow your top?" Carter burst.

Le Beau raised his eyebrows. "'e's right," Newkirk said. "You see what it's really like there now and you're off like a shot. You're the one who told us how bad things are in Paris—do you really think you'll be able to face all that close up and not try to get to the Krauts responsible? And what about the Colonel? Running off to find Tiger, when she's probably been picked up by the bleedin' SS and handed over to be shot—we don't even know for sure where she is; you could be walking right into a deathtrap."

"I know." The quiet resolution in Le Beau's voice gave his two companions pause. "I promised Colonel Hogan I would give him twenty-four hours to come up with a plan before he had to let me go to Paris." Newkirk and Carter exchanged surprised looks. "He knew I would have to go unless he had a good reason for me not to." He shrugged and offered a small smile. "In the end, it turns out his plan included me going anyway."

"Then the man's gone 'round the bend," Newkirk concluded. "You don't need to go, and he doesn't need to go. It's suicide."

Le Beau smiled good-naturedly. "Ah, mon ami, have you never heard of l'amour?" The sour look on Newkirk's face changed to one of puzzlement. "I love Paris. I would do anything to help her. And Colonel Hogan—well, you and I both know that he would do almost anything to keep Tiger safe."

Carter's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Are you saying the Colonel's sweet on Tiger?"

Newkirk slapped his arm. "Blimey, mate, haven't you ever noticed that before? Do you walk around with blinders on?"

Carter shook his head. "But Colonel Hogan would never risk the operation for just one person, not even for Tiger!"

"The operation, non. Himself, oui." Le Beau smiled gently. "Did you not see him this morning? He has not slept all night. He is pre-occupied. He is worried about her and he cannot wait to get moving." Le Beau smiled broadly. "And I will go with him. After all, somebody has to keep his head on straight."

"Fantastic," Newkirk muttered, resigning. "Now I know for sure we're gonna lose both of you."

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Le Beau gently nudged Hogan's arm in the back seat of the car as it wended its way cautiously down the roads leading to Paris. "Colonel," he whispered.

Hogan reluctantly opened his eyes. The darkness and the gentle rocking of the car had lulled him to sleep, and Le Beau had not wanted to wake him. Now, Hogan rubbed a kink out of his neck and tried to bring himself back into focus. "Where are we?" he murmured.

"Just outside Paris, Colonel," Le Beau answered, still looking around them and out all the windows.

"How long have I been asleep?" the Colonel asked, blinking as he stared at the back of the driver's head. Frederic had insisted on driving Hogan and Le Beau to France himself. He knew the roads, he said, and he knew the safest places to go. And most importantly, he knew where their contact was waiting. Hogan had agreed, too anxious to get moving to put up much more than a token argument.

"Just over an hour. We will be meeting our contact soon."

"Right." Hogan shifted in the seat and tried to straighten. He had needed the sleep, but now he was feeling drugged; he shook himself to ward off his heavy-headedness. "We're going to have to move fast; we've got to get to von Choltitz as soon as possible. There's no telling how much time we have left." For Paris… or for Tiger.

"Frederic says we will be there in about fifteen minutes, Colonel."

Hogan nodded, looking out into the darkness. "And how are you feeling, Louis?" he asked.

"I am worried, mon Colonel," the Frenchman said.

"Worried?"

"That we will already be too late."

"We'll make it, Le Beau," Hogan replied. His mind and his heart once again flew to Tiger, and he felt himself go cold. "We'll make it."

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Le Beau's twitching and blinking and fidgeting was starting to drive Hogan to distraction. The Frenchman had begun this physical reaction to the visions around him almost immediately after their car had first moved into Paris. But Hogan said nothing, because he couldn't blame the man for the way he felt, and, indeed, he actually thought Le Beau was handling his stress rather admirably, considering the sight.

Paris had become a fortress and a battleground. Both Gaullist forces and Communist factions were attacking German fortifications and defenses that the Nazis had put around the city. While there was still a cease-fire in effect, small groups were violating the truce, leaving eerie orange glows in their burning wake. Beautiful gardens were now trampled, there were Germans patrolling the city and firing randomly as they were shot at by resistant Parisians, and the tension was physical.

Frederic steered away from the main part of the city, and headed for a small house on the outskirts, where he parked the car in a dark alleyway. Hogan and Le Beau followed him to a back door, where he knocked in an odd rhythm. The door was opened, and the trio was ushered inside.

Hogan looked around the dark room sharply, absorbing anything and everything he could. There was a man standing in the shadows near an unlit stove; a woman, almost cowering, hovering near a door that the Colonel suspected led to a cellar. In his pale trench coat, Hogan stood out in the dimness. But walking into the city in his Air Corps uniform would have been inviting death.

Now, standing in a tiny, faintly-lit cellar with four other people, Hogan was being made more keenly aware of Le Beau's squirming, but he merely made a mental note to try and keep the Corporal away from as many of the visions of what was happening in his beloved city as possible, and got back to the subject at hand.

"So where can I get to von Choltitz?"

"The General is at the Hôtel Meurice on the rue de Rivoli," began a man introduced to Hogan and Le Beau only as Charles. "He has been holed up there since he arrived in the city."

Le Beau muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. Steady, my friend, steady, Hogan thought. "How can I get to him?"

"The building is very heavily guarded, as you can imagine. But we still have a friend in the kitchen, and you can make it up to von Choltitz as a, how do you call it, busboy; the General has his breakfast brought to him every morning. We have made up the identification you will need to carry with you, all but the photograph. You will be Henri Bastion; he is… no longer in need of his own name."

Hogan and Le Beau exchanged looks, and for the briefest moment, Le Beau was completely still. He threw a worried look toward Hogan. Hogan simply said, "Okay."

"We will photograph you and process the film within the hour, Colonel Hogan. Then we will wait until the time is right."

"There isn't a lot of time to spare," Hogan retorted.

"No, Colonel," Frederic replied with a grimace. "But if we move too soon, then you are also forfeit. And that will accomplish nothing."

Hogan nodded in agreement. "All right; you're right. The less time we have, the more we need to use it wisely. If we can't get to von Choltitz until tomorrow, there are other things we can be doing." He paused. "What have we found out about Tiger? Anything?"

"Oui, Colonel," Charles answered. The Frenchman regarded Hogan quizzically, as a sudden desperate look took over the American's eyes. Clearly there was some connection between Marie Monet—the agent known as Tiger—and the Colonel. But Hogan fought the fear—and the expression that went with it—down almost instantly, and so Charles continued without comment. "As we feared, Tiger has been arrested by the SS. We believe she and three other leaders of the Resistance are going to be presented to von Choltitz himself to determine their fate. When, we do not know."

Le Beau watched as Hogan paled alarmingly and he began to look more tired than the Corporal had seen in a week. "Where are they being held?" Hogan asked, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.

"Their Headquarters is at the Hôtel Terminus on the rue de Faubourg-Saint Honoré. It is, of course, also guarded heavily. It would be suicide to even attempt to get in there."

"Sounds like they're taking all the best places in town," Hogan remarked tersely, his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to contain his growing alarm.

"Oui. They have indeed. All we can hope for now is that you can somehow stop them from blowing it all up when the Allies come rolling in."

"And they are not far away now," Frederic put in. "Our intelligence reports Allied troops one hundred and twenty miles outside the city. You had best be out of Paris by the time they arrive, or you may not make it back to Stalag 13 alive."

"How soon can I get to von Choltitz?" Hogan asked.

"In the morning, Colonel Hogan. You must have rest before you begin this dangerous gamble." Charles noticed the American readying to protest and added quickly, "Von Choltitz is asleep, Colonel. There is no point in you trying to go to him now. We will take your photograph, then complete your identity papers while you and Corporal Le Beau sleep." Charles came forward and, putting a hand on Hogan's arm, looked deep into the Colonel's eyes. "We cannot thank you enough for this, Papa Bear. If you can hold off von Choltitz until the Allies arrive, we may yet save our beloved Paris."

Hogan stared back, of two minds as he considered action versus inaction at this very moment. Charles seemed to sense this in the Colonel, and he lightly squeezed Hogan's arm. "We will not forget Marie, Colonel," he added quietly. "We will find out what we can while you are at the Hôtel Meurice."

Hogan nodded and dropped his eyes. Charles moved away and stood next to the woman who had come downstairs with them. "Jacinthe will look after you now. There is a place to wash and think and rest. It will do you good; the journey has been long."

The quiet woman smiled almost shyly at Hogan. He hadn't even noticed before now that she couldn't be more than about twenty years old. Someone's sister… someone's daughter… did she still have family? "Please, Colonel… Corporal…" she invited. "I will show you."

Le Beau moved in quickly. Hogan couldn't help but smile. No matter how bad things were, Le Beau always found time for potential romance. "Merci, mademoiselle," the Frenchman said graciously. "Quel de ces hommes est votre mari?"

Hogan tried not to laugh. Le Beau can be so obvious when it comes to love. "Which one of these men is your husband?"

"Non, non." Jacinthe laughed lightly as she led them toward a small private area that had been fashioned out of the corner of the cellar. "Charles est mon frère. Je ne suis pas marié."

Hogan shook his head, and followed.

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Hogan paused wearily as he leaned over to take off his shoes, leaving one arm across his knee and the other dangling near his crossed legs. He sighed, closing his eyes and lowering his head, thinking vaguely that there was no time to sleep, and that ironically at the same time there was too much time to wait. So much was at stake now; it bothered him not to be able to take action right away.

From his bed, he looked over toward his companion, who was scurrying around like a mouse in a nest, arranging his beret and his coat just so on his bed, moving back and forth as he tucked in the blanket, plumping up the pillow. Louis Le Beau was a bundle of energy, and next to Hogan's current lack of stamina, he looked even more like he was running at high speed. Hogan took the constant activity for what it was: nervousness and anxiety expressing itself in the only way it could without sending the Corporal screaming into the streets.

"You have a nice talk with Jacinthe?" Hogan asked eventually, sitting up and beginning to loosen his tie.

"Oui, she is a nice girl," Le Beau answered. He smoothed out the pillowcase again.

Hogan smiled softly. "I heard you ask if she was married." He draped the tie over the head of the bed, then lay his suit jacket with it.

Le Beau paused. "She is not," he said, almost too casually. "Charles is her brother." He shrugged, then went back to fidgeting with his blanket. "They have been involved with the Resistance for a long time. She is very passionate about it." The Frenchman turned and sat on the bed, kicking off his shoes and putting his feet up. "French women are very passionate about many things."

Hogan finished undoing the top button of his shirt and climbed under the blankets, giving his own pillow a light slap. "So I'm led to believe," he replied pensively.

Le Beau turned over and looked out of the tiny window in the cellar that opened to the city. "She is hurting, Colonel," he said regretfully.

Hogan frowned as he settled down on the thin mattress. "Jacinthe? What's wrong?"

"Not Jacinthe. Paris."

Hogan nodded silently. Nothing he could say would make Le Beau feel better about what was happening to his country.

"There is so much suffering, Colonel. There is little food. There is often no electricity. Look at us here now; kerosene lamps and candles for the most part, and even those rationed out—splurged on us because we are guests." The Frenchman rolled over to face his commanding officer. "The Germans have used Paris and discarded her as they would a casual lover: with no respect for her dignity."

"Paris will rise above it, Louis. You're living proof of that. They can't beat down the spirit of the people here. Look at what's happening out on the streets. Years after occupation, the French are still fighting, still resisting."

"But for what, Colonel?" Le Beau burst, suddenly desperate. "All that Boche General has to do is snap his fingers and he will blow up all of Paris! What will be left for them to rebuild if he decides he loves his little Boche baby more than all the people of this city?"

Hogan didn't have an answer. "We're doing everything we can to make sure that doesn't happen. Von Choltitz's family is being protected by the Underground. I'll make sure he knows that tomorrow. Then he may be less likely to give the order to start destroying Paris."

"But what if tomorrow is already too late?" Le Beau persisted, anguished. He sat up in his bed. "Don't you see, Colonel—he can do whatever he wants, and you cannot stop him with words if you are here and he is in one of the best hotels in the city!"

Hogan felt goose bumps rise up on his skin. Le Beau was right, and they both knew it; the order could come at any time. And yet the opportunity to get to von Choltitz wouldn't present itself until the morning. What guarantee did he have that the Germans wouldn't start blowing up Paris while they lay huddled in their humble beds, just a few hundred yards from where they knew the Nazis were plotting and planning? "It will be morning soon, Louis. Just a few hours and we can act. We'll make it in time to save Paris." I hope.

Le Beau nodded, reassured as always by the confidence he had in his commanding officer, and settled back into the bed. "I believe you will do it, Colonel," he said softly. "I do not know how—I never know how—but I know that somehow you will do it."

Hogan blew out the candle on the crate wedged between the two beds as a makeshift nightstand, and, lying back, brought a hand up to his forehead.

"Colonel?"

Hogan opened his eyes in the darkness. "Yes, Louis?"

"How are you planning to get Tiger away from the SS?"

Hogan closed his eyes again, the pressure behind them building to a crescendo. He rubbed his face tenderly before answering. "I don't know, Louis," he answered, seeing the woman's trusting face in his mind's eye. "Aside from a frontal attack, I haven't got the foggiest idea what to do."

Le Beau was silent for a moment, letting Hogan's self-doubt hang in the room between them. Then, in the darkness, the Frenchman's voice floated to the Colonel's ears, carrying faithfulness and support. "She is in Paris, Colonel. And since you will save Paris, you will save Tiger as well."

Hogan let his arm rest on the pillow above his head as he stared into the blackness and listened to the faint noises filtering in from upstairs and from the outside, and a small voice of helplessness started to cry within him. What did you possibly think you could do against the whole German war machine—one man, in Occupied Paris? "Thanks, Louis," Hogan whispered. And he rolled over, away from his friend, and started praying.