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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Kinch stared at the equipment before him with a heavy heart. He had spent the last half hour on and off the radio, informing the Underground of Papa Bear's disappearance, and asking for any help from people who may have seen Hogan or Newkirk get captured… or killed. So far, no one had anything to report. He should take solace in that, he thought; it could mean the pair was in hiding. But more likely, Kinch realized, witnesses or not, Hogan and Newkirk had probably been taken by the Germans. It was a sobering, and intolerable, thought.

Now, Kinch rubbed his face wearily, still wracking his brain to come up with a way out of the mess they were in. How does Colonel Hogan do it? How does he come up with these plans on the spur of the moment the way he does? I'm about to go nuts here, and so far, I haven't come up with a thing. He shot a glance at Le Beau, who gave him a shrug in return. Looks like he's come up blank as well. Great.

Kinch came out from behind the desk and started to pace from one side of the tunnel to the other. I've tried everything else, maybe this'll help somehow. Pacing always seems to help the Colonel when he's working on a problem. His feet took him back and forth across the dirt floor a few times with no obvious effect on his thinking. He wasn't really paying attention to where he was walking, and as he turned to start yet another lap, he tripped over the sewing basket that had been left on the floor near the clothing rack. "Man, I wish Newkirk would be more careful with his stuff and not leave it lying around all the time!"

As Kinch crouched down and began to put the spilled sewing supplies back where they belonged, Le Beau moved over to help. The Frenchman gathered a few spools of thread, then glanced at Kinch. "Take it easy, mon ami. We will come up with a plan. We always do, you know."

"Yeah, I know, Louis. Thanks." Kinch had a bundle of scraps in his hand, and tossed them into the basket before standing again. "I just hope we get them back so I can yell at Newkirk about his messes," he said quietly. Le Beau nodded silently in reply.

Kinch went back to pacing, but had only taken a step or two when he whirled around and went back to the basket. He dug into it and came up with the sleeve from the Gestapo uniform that Newkirk had tried to repair earlier in the day. "I've got it!" Clutching the black wool tightly in his fist, he turned to Le Beau with a grin. "I know how we can buy time for Newkirk and the Colonel to get back!"

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Hogan threw a glance at Newkirk as the German officer came toward them. "Remember, Newkirk: whatever you do, don't antagonize the man. We've got to fit in and learn as much as we can. Otherwise we'll be permanent guests of Stalag 2, and I have a date waiting for me back at camp."

Newkirk looked back at Hogan and grinned for a moment. "Don't worry, gov'nor. I won't do anything you wouldn't do." The grin faded as he took a step forward and came to attention.

"Now I'm really worried."

The German came to a stop in front of the men, giving Newkirk a disdainful glance as the Englishman offered a salute. "And would you be?" he asked in English as he raised a gloved hand halfway to his brow in return.

Newkirk lowered his hand and fixed his gaze on a point just past the German's left shoulder. "Kirkland, Richard J. Corporal, Royal Air Force. Service number 3462986." One of the guards slammed a truncheon across his back, sending the Englishman to his knees from both the surprise and the force of the blow. As he glared up at the German, he noted a cold, calculating smile on the man's face.

Hogan had lost his temper as the club hit home and shouted angrily before he could stop himself: "Kommandant, I protest! It's against the tenets of the Geneva Convention to maltreat prisoners—"

The Major's hand shot out, giving Hogan a solid backhand across his mouth. "Silence! Prisoners speak only when spoken to, and any insubordination will be dealt with immediately!"

Hogan's head snapped to the side as the blow made his teeth rattle in his mouth. But the Colonel turned back to face the officer almost immediately. He was sure there'd be a red mark of knuckles left on his face when the swelling he could already feel starting went down. Calmly, he said, "The Geneva Convention prohibits the mistreatment of prisoners of war."

Newkirk scrambled as quickly as he could to his feet. "Settle down, Private! Remember: name, rank and service number only!" Newkirk looked over at Hogan, his face hard with his anger, but his eyes pleading with his commanding officer to go along with him on this. Come on, gov'nor; I thought we weren't going to antagonize them! I can take a few hard knocks here and there. Just don't go gettin' him worked up any worse than he already is! Newkirk took a half-step to the side, trying to put himself between Hogan and this Kraut officer before something else went wrong.

"The Geneva Convention protects prisoners of war, not suspected saboteurs." The Major's suddenly calm demeanor, combined with his cold, false smile, made Hogan's skin crawl. "I'm afraid I have been lax in my duties; we haven't been introduced properly. My name is Major Audemar Brinkfried. You will address me as either Major Brinkfried, or as Kommandant, or as 'sir' at all times." He paused to let his words sink in, then turned back to Newkirk and said pleasantly, "Now, please try again. Your name?"

Newkirk fought down the urge to punch the Major in the face. I'd like to hit this arrogant sod so hard I'd knock that eye patch of his over the top of his other eye! But it's not worth getting both me and the Colonel shot! Newkirk took a deep breath as he came back to attention, this time focusing his eyes on the German's own. Reining in his anger, he repeated his words. "Kirkland, Richard J. Corporal, Royal Air Force. Service number 3462986." A slight pause. "Sir."

Brinkfried laughed, and glanced at his aide. "You see, Leutnant Staub, these Englanders can be taught. All one needs is the right method." The Major turned to Hogan. "And you?"

Hogan clenched his jaw along with his fists and slurred the words out around the blood in his mouth. "Dane, James S. Private, US Army Air Corps. Serial number 2101402." Hogan paused, his eyes boring straight into Brinkfried's. "Kommandant."

"And it seems that the Americans are also able to learn." Brinkfried kept his eyes locked on Hogan's as he spoke, not at all intimidated by the intensity of the gaze. "Very well. Leutnant, get their paperwork done, and take the Private with you to fill out his questionnaire." He turned and looked at Newkirk. "You will remain, Corporal. I wish to speak with you alone."

Leutnant Staub came to attention and saluted, then gestured for Hogan to come with him. Brinkfried kept his eyes on Newkirk, and the cold smile remained on his face as he returned his aide's salute. Hogan hesitated, knowing instinctively what the Germans had in mind for both of them, but Staub jabbed him hard in the lower back with his rifle, and Hogan could only do as he was told.

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Carter stood before the mirror propped up against one of the tunnel walls and straightened his lapels. He unbuttoned and rebuttoned his dress coat, and adjusted the armband that carried the swastika insignia that he hated so much. Giving his head a toss, he made sure his hair was just as he wanted it before running a comb through it again, before shaking his head and starting over in dissatisfaction.

"You're very particular, Sergeant," Townsend observed, struggling into an enlisted man's RAF uniform which was just slightly too small. Here I am waiting for the high waters to come in, he thought with a small smile, as he looked at the trousers that were just an inch too short. Still, you do what you have to, I suppose.

"Colonel Hogan says we have to be," Carter replied, trying a different type of comb-over and rejecting it. "If we don't look the part, we can't feel the part. And if we can't feel the part, then we can't play the part. And if we can't play the part, then we can put everything at risk." He paused and lowered his comb thoughtfully, staring at a spot on the floor. "And this time we're doing it for Colonel Hogan and for Newkirk, and I won't take a chance on anything going wrong." He abruptly resumed combing.

Townsend finished zipping up his pants and discovered they were slightly too large. Sighing, he shoved his shirt into the top of them and hoped they would hold up. Or if they don't, at least they won't be too short any more. "Your Colonel Hogan sounds like a smart man," he said now.

Carter nodded vehemently, disturbing the style he had spent so much time creating. "Oh, he is. I mean the Colonel's just about the smartest man I ever met. I've never seen anyone who could come up with ideas like Colonel Hogan, boy. And he always knows how to get us out of trouble, too. He never leaves anything to chance," Carter said, warming up to his subject and looking earnestly at Townsend. "If it was one of us out there, the Colonel would be the first one to come and look for us. He wouldn't sleep until we were all safe and sound. He's a great commander, Group Captain Townsend, sir, and I wouldn't want to work for anyone else but him. No one else has ever had the kind of confidence in me that he has—and I don't think I could ever believe in anyone else the way I do the Colonel." Carter paused and dropped his eyes, embarrassed, then turned back to the mirror. "No offense, sir."

Townsend smiled thoughtfully. "None taken, Sergeant. Just for the record, I never suggested Colonel Hogan was anything but brilliant."

Before he could stop himself, Carter retorted, "No; he's just expensive."

Townsend looked at him quizzically. "Expensive?"

Before he could get Carter to elaborate, Kinch appeared behind them. "It's time to go."

Le Beau walked over to the mirror and briefly checked his own appearance. "Oui, Carter. The truck is waiting for us about a half mile from camp, so it won't take us long to get to it." He gave Carter a quick once-over and nodded in approval. "Do you have your papers ready?"

Carter patted his pocket and smiled. "Right here, boy. I mean, Louis." He looked at Townsend. "Now remember what I said—don't be afraid; just do what you're told. It works best that way; trust me."

"Thanks, Sergeant; I'll keep that in mind. Good luck, you two." Townsend smiled as he turned to Kinch. "Lead on then. I'm as ready for my part in this little caper as I can be."

"Then we'll need you upstairs. Carter, Le Beau, time to head out. Sir, you just move when Olsen tells you. He'll be the one in the bomber jacket."

"Righto," Townsend answered.

"Kinch—any word from the Underground?" Carter asked hopefully.

Kinch shook his head regretfully. "No, Andrew. Nothing." He watched as Carter's eyes lost some of their shine and the young Sergeant seemed to try to keep his bottom lip from trembling. "But don't worry," Kinch added quickly. "It could just mean they're under cover till it's safe to come out. That's why we're doing our part now."

"But what happens if I mess up? Won't that just make things harder for the Colonel and Newkirk?" Carter began to unbutton his jacket. "Maybe you guys should get someone else to do this instead of me."

Le Beau shook his head and looked up at Carter. "You will be fine, Andre. You will play your part well, and I will play mine just as well. You will see." He paused. "Le Colonel trusts you." He reached up and buttoned Carter's jacket again. "And so do we. Now we must go."

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Klink stood swallowing nervously as the Gestapo Major repeatedly slapped his gloves into his palm, emphasizing every point he made. "But I don't understand, Major Gschwind. Things have been very quiet here. What could you possibly want with Colonel Hogan and the Englander?" he asked almost reluctantly, still unclear about the reason for being woken before dawn by this unknown officer.

"Quiet?" The Major struck his palm with the leather gloves. Klink cringed. "You call the destruction of one of our railway lines by saboteurs quiet, Colonel Klink?" Carter watched Klink's skin pale and readied himself to continue. When he and Le Beau had first entered the Kommandant's office, the American had been anything but certain that he could pull this stunt off—so much was riding on it that he didn't have faith in himself to do it right. But Klink had fallen right into line, and now Carter could relax—just a little bit—and enjoy himself. "You must still be wearing earplugs, Colonel. Things have been anything but quiet." He glanced over at his aide—Le Beau—who was standing fully at attention just behind him "Linzer, see that the Kommandant does not have any cotton stuffed in his ears. They are in need of cotton—for soldiers at the Russian front!"

Le Beau started to move, but Carter's outstretched hand stopped him. "Never mind; it would only need extra washing. And we are rationing water, no?" he said. Le Beau brought himself back to attention. "As for your senior Prisoner of War and your English Corporal, let us just say that we have reason to believe they were out of camp last night… and that they might know a little bit more about the train line's destruction than they would care to admit!"

"I can assure you, Major, that Colonel Hogan and Corporal Newkirk were in their barracks last night." Klink tried to smile as he went into one of his favorite sayings. "After all, no one has ever escaped from Stalag 13." The smile faltered in the face of the Gestapo man's stern look, and Klink abruptly sat down. "However, your papers seem to be in order, so I must release them to your custody. May I ask how long they will be away?"

Gschwind smirked. "Be away?" he repeated. "You make it sound like they will naturally come back here, Kommandant." Carter could barely believe it when Klink blanched every further. "I have no timetable for saboteurs," he said sharply. "If they are found innocent, they will be sent back here. If not… you will have more food for the other prisoners. I will get these men myself," he said. "What barracks are they in?"

"Barracks Two, Herr Major," Klink said in a whisper.

Gschwind turned to Le Beau. "You hear that? Barracks Two!" He slapped his gloves in his palm again.

"Jawohl, Herr Major! Barracks Two!" Le Beau barked in acknowledgement.

"Let us go get them and take our leave. I want to be back in Berlin by ten thirty!" Gschwind turned back to Klink. "They serve a mean brunch at Headquarters on Saturday mornings. Heil Hitler!"

Kinch saw Carter and Le Beau come out of Klink's office and immediately turned to Olsen and Townsend. "Okay, they're on the way. Remember, keep your heads down and don't talk. Just get out of camp, get to the hiding place, and get back in as fast as you can. Got it?"

"Got it," Olsen said, nodding. He looked down at his zipped up bomber jacket and the borrowed crush cap he held in his hands. "I'm Hogan; he's Newkirk. We won't get caught."

"Good," Kinch said. "One set of them missing is more than enough."

The barracks door flew open and Carter came in, followed by Le Beau, who had a big grin on his face. "Carter was terrific! He had Klink ready to pass out after about thirty seconds!"

"That's great; now get Olsen and Townsend into the truck and get out of camp before Klink decides to come over here!" Kinch gestured urgently for the four men to get moving. "You can tell us all about it when you get back."

Olsen set the crush cap on his head, pulling the bill down to keep most of his face in shadow, and nodded as he led Townsend outside. He stopped behind the truck, folding his arms over his chest as he turned his back to the Kommandant's office. Townsend flipped up his jacket collar and walked out of the barracks, scrambling into the back of the truck. Olsen rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited, not getting into the truck until Le Beau came over and pushed him toward it.

"Come on, don't pad your part," the Frenchman said, remembering Hogan's oft-quoted directive. "You're him; now get in there."

Olsen shrugged and hopped in. Carter barked a couple of vicious-sounding orders and got in behind them. "Was I really that good, Le Beau?" he asked eagerly.

"Oui. You were perfect, mon ami. Le Colonel would have been proud. We will tell him when he and Newkirk get back."

"When, Le Beau?" Carter asked, emphasizing the word he wanted to desperately to cling to.

"Oui, Carter. When. They will come back. We will make sure of it."