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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Newkirk walked slowly and carefully into the medical hut and lowered himself onto a bench with a groan. He nodded to his escort, the same Corporal who had held him in line during roll call. "Thanks, Hawkins. I'll find my own way back when I'm finished here." When the man left, Newkirk leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and cradled his aching head in his hands. What I wouldn't give for some aspirin just now.

"You look like I feel," came Hogan's voice. Newkirk looked up to see his commanding officer hobbling painfully across the room. The American came and carefully sat beside him. "Glad you finally made it." Hogan looked around. "There's not a whole lot they can do for you—the medic here isn't as well stocked as Wilson is at Stalag 13—but at least they'll clean you up a bit."

Hogan paused, but Newkirk didn't seem quite ready to answer yet, so he continued. "The medic here says my mouth is really bad for my health," Hogan said with a sigh. "The more I open it, the sorer my stomach will get." He tried to stretch a bit but stopped when he realized that wasn't a good idea. He gently fingered a small dressing near his temple, then winced as the touch aggravated his still-throbbing headache. "He decided to give every little cut and bruise a clean, too." He brought his hand down and instead wrapped his arms around himself, grateful for the support for his sore ribs and abdomen. "When I'm allowed to be a Colonel again, I'm gonna have him court-martialed." He paused again. "Where have you been this morning?"

"On a ruddy tour of the compound, complete with goon escort and a field pack of rocks that weighs five stone if it weighs an ounce." Newkirk finally looked up at Hogan, his eyes narrowing as he took in each of the Colonel's injuries. "It seems Brinkfried thought I needed some time to cool off after roll call, but all he got out of it was to give me one more reason to hate him. He also said that anything I do wrong," the Englishman looked away as he continued, "will be taken out on you." I'm not gonna tell him the other half of that particular line. He's got to feel free to act so he can find a way to get us out of here!

Hogan shook his head. "I had a feeling he'd be nasty enough to pull something like that," he said with a sigh. "I'm sure he won't hesitate to mete out that kind of punishment in reverse, too. I'd better watch my step or you'll end up on a liquid diet for a month." He thought a minute, then asked, "So what did you find when you were out on patrol—anything we can use?"

"First trip around I was too bloody mad to think straight, but on the second, I started payin' a little more attention to things." Newkirk smiled slowly. "Nice of the Kommandant to let me have a look round the place, wasn't it?" His voice dropped to a low whisper as he continued. "There's a storehouse over on the east side of camp near the Kraut barracks that's not all that well-guarded, and I didn't see a single prisoner in that area. Reckon they keep well clear of goon country, and with good reason I'd say."

"I'd say so, too. Notice anything interesting about it?"

"There's only about ten feet between the rear of the building and the wire. With that, and figuring the angle of the nearest searchlight, there's gonna be a spot back there that's pretty much in the dark all night." The Englishman paused as he thought over what he'd seen. "The woods are about a hundred yards away from the fence at that point, and there are a few large rocks and some tree stumps littering the ground along the way."

For the first time in twenty-four hours, Hogan had something to smile about. "Sounds like the Krauts have set up camp very nicely for us," he said with a grin. "Give me some time to think this over. I think we might have a winner." Hogan stood up stiffly. "Damned medic wrapped my knee, too; I'll be walking like a Kraut on parade for a week," he joked feebly. "I'm gonna go have myself a wander… test the waters, so to speak. I'll see you at lunch. Keep yourself out of trouble until then, you hear me? I'd like to make it an order… but nobody listens to Privates these days."

"You best be careful out there, gov'nor," Newkirk whispered. "These goons aren't tame like the ones back where we come from." He shook his head slowly. "As for orders, I'd try to make that one as well, but as we're not in the same Army, I doubt you'd listen." Newkirk silently mouthed the word "Colonel" as he finished his statement, and smiled.

"And don't you forget it," Hogan whispered with a smile in return. Out loud, he said, "I'll do my very best to make you proud of me anyway… Corporal Kirkland, sir."

Newkirk rolled his eyes at the "sir," and gave Hogan one of his own casually tossed-off salutes in return. "Get out of here, Private Dane, before I put you on report for... oh, I don't know what, but I'll think of something."

Hogan shook his head. "Sorry, Corporal," he said with a playful twinkle in his eyes, "you'll have to learn how to respond to wisecracks from the enlisted men properly in Officer Training School."

"Ruddy daft you are, mate." Newkirk gave Hogan an affronted look, though it was at odds with the grin that was trying to break out across his face. "Me? A bleedin' officer? Sounds like you hit your head harder than I thought." He shook his head and was about to continue when the medic called him over. "Looks like it's my turn now. See you at lunch."

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Kinch sighed as he took off his headsets and put them gently back on the desk. "Anything, Kinch?" asked Carter hopefully. "Anything at all?"

Kinch shook his head, discouraged. "No, Carter. The Underground says it hasn't had any word about the Colonel and Newkirk. It's like they dropped off the face of the earth." He lowered his head as he stepped away from the radio that had offered no good news in the last few days.

"They could not have," Le Beau protested, insistent and angry. "There were patrols in the area. We know that the Colonel was running a diversion from them. If he was safe, he would have come home; if he had been found, Newkirk would have come home with him. They are both missing—they have to be out there somewhere. People are not looking hard enough!"

Kinch wanted to agree. He wanted to believe that there was someone to blame for the disappearance of his commanding officer and his friend. But there was one overriding, fearful thought: "No one might have seen them… because… they might not have made it," he proposed reluctantly. "They might have been shot on sight and taken away. No one might ever find out."

Carter blanched as his eyes widened and moistened. Le Beau shook his head vehemently. "No, Kinch, you are wrong. Colonel Hogan would not let that happen!"

"He might not have had any say in it!" Kinch finally burst. "Do you think anyone would ask to be shot by the Nazis?" He shook his head. "And Newkirk was an idiot disobeying orders and going after Hogan when he was specifically ordered not to—that put them both at risk! And look what's happened because of it!"

"But Newkirk went because he couldn't leave the Colonel to face the Nazis alone!" Carter almost wailed.

"And look at all the good it did," Kinch replied angrily. "Now we've lost not one, but two of them!" His anger suddenly deflated and he sat down, trembling with emotion. "We've lost two of them," he repeated quietly. Le Beau moved in quietly, putting a hand on Kinch's shoulder. "We have to go back out there," Kinch said finally. "We have to make sure they aren't just lying in a ditch somewhere. They deserve better."

"Oui," Le Beau agreed. Carter nodded, unable to speak. "We will put Townsend on ice for awhile and go out. What about tonight?"

"Sounds good," Kinch said softly. "Where is he, Louis?"

"I thought he was down here with you. Andre?"

Carter shook his head. "No," he said, recovering. "I thought he was upstairs with you."

"He was not upstairs with me," Le Beau answered. "Kinch?"

"Well, I haven't seen him!" The trio looked at each other. "Then where is he?"

Though a sense of panic was starting to build, Le Beau said, "Good riddance, I say."

"Louis," Kinch said, "if the guards find a strange British officer wandering around camp, we could find ourselves wandering in front of a firing squad!"

"It is like I said—we had better find him!"

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Townsend's eyes scanned the barbed wire as he shuffled, hands in pockets, head bowed, near the fence. He saw guards, seeming relaxed and almost casual, chatting as they did their rounds, their rifles slung carelessly over their shoulders, their eyes not studying the wire, the gates, the milling prisoners. He moved in close to the warning fence, trying to see the entrance to the tunnel that he had come in the night before—he couldn't. He strained a little harder to see, then shrugged and gave up. He was sure it was in this direction; obviously, he had gotten it wrong.

Turning away, Townsend found himself confronted by Kinch and Le Beau. "What are you doing out here?" Kinch almost growled. He put himself in front of Townsend to shield the officer's face from nearby Germans. "Follow me," he ordered, and did an abrupt about-face and headed purposefully back to the barracks. Le Beau put himself behind the Group Captain, ensuring the Englishman could not elude them.

As soon as they stepped inside the barracks and shut the door, Kinch wheeled back around. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" he barked at Townsend.

"Having a look round the place." Townsend drew himself up and looked Kinch squarely in the eye. "And I'll thank you not to take that tone with me, Sergeant. I'll let it go this time, as I realize that you're under a great deal of strain, with your men going missing."

Kinch drew in a long breath through his flaring nostrils. "My men happen to be our commanding officer, and one of his best men! You think I'm under strain now? You should see what would have happened if I'd had to tell London we'd also lost a Group Captain who didn't know well enough to stay out of the way of the Krauts, especially without anyone else to keep watch on him! You want to come and take over this operation, then you'd better learn to do it our way, or you won't live long enough to come up with your own methods—sir."

Kinch finally let out a breath. He had surprised himself with his vehemence, and realized then that if he wasn't careful, it wouldn't only be Hogan who was replaced. He shook his head and wiped his brow. "Sorry, sir," he said suddenly, quietly. Le Beau just watched, understanding, from behind. "I guess we're all just worried about the Colonel and Newkirk. We all depend on each other, sir, and the idea that two of us are out there, somewhere, and no one knows where they are, or even if they're alive… well, that just gets to a man sometimes."

Townsend straightened slowly as Kinch's tirade blew at him. Then he nodded and said, "I understand. Colonel Hogan is your commanding officer and you obviously have a great deal of respect for him, and for your colleague. And of course it must be trying for you to proceed with such uncertainty. But, damn it, man, what do you think you're going to accomplish by skulking about in your tunnels? You have to act. And if you can't act, then you accept what you cannot change and move on. Things rarely stay the same. You fly, you get shot down, you move on. You have an operation, you have a commanding officer, you can't do anything to change the current situation—you move on!" Townsend took note of the increasing tension in Kinch's already-taut body but continued. "Your Colonel Hogan—would he expect you to sit around camp waiting for him? Hoping to hear from him? Or would he expect you to continue what he started?"

Kinch shook his head, not wanting to listen. Townsend then turned to Le Beau. "Well?"

Le Beau stared at the ground, his sullen features refusing to rise up to this intruder. "The Colonel says the operation is important. We are not supposed to risk all for one. But…" He raised his eyes to Townsend. "But to us, without Colonel Hogan there is no operation."

It was Townsend's turn to lower his eyes. "There might have to be."

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Hogan drained his cup and grimaced at the taste of what tried to pass as coffee. "I don't know what's in that, but it'll keep me out of bed for awhile." He shook his head. "Still, I need to be alert to make plans, so I'll have to suffer through it… and get some more." He stood up awkwardly from the table and gestured to Newkirk's tin cup. "You need a refill on that?"

"Righto. This was tea only because it's had a nodding acquaintance with a tea leaf, but they met sometime back in 1930, I think." The Englishman nodded and held the cup out to Hogan and couldn't help smiling a bit. "Thanks, Private. I appreciate it."

Hogan sighed at the comment, and Newkirk swore that he heard the American mutter, "I don't get paid enough to put up with this," as he hobbled away.

Newkirk broke a bit off his bread and frowned as he stuck it in his mouth. I'm sorry, gov'nor, but I still believe I did the right thing in the long run by taking your pins like that. His thoughts about Colonel Hogan were interrupted when a pair of men in Royal Air Force uniforms took seats at the table on each side of him. "Afternoon, gentlemen," he said as he glanced at each of them in turn.

"Good afternoon, Corporal, I'm Flight Sergeant Edward Bramer, and you've already met Corporal Hawkins." The blond Sergeant's eyes lingered on Newkirk's face for a moment and sighed. "You were right, Hawkins, looks like he's had a chat with our Kommandant already."

"Right charmin' fellow he is too," Newkirk nodded, and touched his fingertips to the swelling under his eye. "Corporal Richard Kirkland. And I could do without another visit any time soon."

"A real rhubarb, ain't 'e?" Hawkins nodded in agreement. "Anyway, Bramer here's our barracks chief, and he's got something to say that you need to hear."

Bramer spoke up. "There's something you need to know about this place. It's not a good idea for you to spend too much time around your friend, for his sake as well as yours. You see—"

Newkirk cut Bramer off with a hard look. "Where do you come off sayin' that I can't—"

"Settle down, Corporal!" Bramer didn't give Newkirk time to finish, and when Newkirk went silent, the Flight Sergeant continued. "Being in a prisoner of war camp does not mean we will abandon military decorum." He paused, watching Newkirk closely, then nodded. "As I was starting to say, Brinkfried's fairly indifferent to the Yanks and Frenchies, but he's got a problem with us—the English prisoners I mean. That eye patch he's got? One of us gave it to him during the last days of the Battle of Britain when someone in a Blenheim of all things nearly managed to shoot him down, and he's held a grudge ever since."

Newkirk couldn't help grinning. I don't suppose it would be a good idea to mention that I was an Air Gunner in a Blenheim, now would it? Too bad whoever it was as shot him up didn't finish the job. "That's a bit of all right, innit? Except for the part about him makin' things hard on everyone here." He shook his head as the grin faded. "So what you're sayin' is that I need to be keepin' me distance, else take the chance of drawin' down the Kommandant's wrath on 'im as well?" Marvelous. This whole thing's getting worse by the minute.

Hawkins traded glances with Bramer and nodded. "That's about the size of it, Kirkland. That and as long as you keep up the whole 'name, rank and service number' line, he'll keep on you until he gets what he wants or he breaks you. Now I'm not sayin' to rabbit on 'bout all you know, or that you'd turn Dunlop on him either, but you should think on it some."

"Thanks for the warning. I'll just 'ave to see about pullin' a nun or three out me ti'fer then and see what happens, won't I?"

At that moment Hogan reappeared at the table, two steaming cups in hand. He frowned, feeling the less than happy atmosphere, but decided not to say anything about it just yet. Instead, he pasted on a wry smile and said, "Do you fellas come with subtitles, or do I need to find a translator somewhere?" He handed Newkirk his cup and then and took a seat across from the Englishmen.

Hawkins and Newkirk laughed as Bramer shook his head. "You're not alone there, Yank. I was born just across town from this chap," he gestured to Hawkins, "and even I can't understand him half the time. But that's a Cockney lad for you. Or should I say, lads, in this case."

After a sip of tea, Newkirk gave Hogan an innocent look. "Just having a chat with these fellows. Flight Sergeant Bramer, Corporal Hawkins," he nodded to each in turn. "I want you to meet James Dane, US Army Air Corps, but as fine a china as you'd want despite all that."

"Despite?" Hogan protested. Then he stopped. "No, hang on," he amended. "I'm not sure if I was just complimented or insulted."

Newkirk gave Hogan a look that was half mischief and half pity. "You Yanks never have spoken the King's English properly, have you? Right then, a quick lesson: china's from 'china plate' which rhymes with 'mate.' Sorted, innit?"

Hogan shook his head hopelessly and looked at Bramer. "I think I need to lie down," he said. "So, you giving my friend here the run down, are you? What's this camp all about, anyway? Fine Kommandant you've got, if you have stocks in bandage companies."

"The short course on it, Dane, is that it's best if you two aren't seen in each other's company very often. Our 'fine Kommandant', as you say, believes in keeping the various nationalities separated as much as possible." Bramer shook his head slowly. "He rather has it in for us English chaps, so even though I realize that you and Kirkland here are friends, you should be very careful of spending an inordinate amount of time together."

Hogan frowned deeply. "I'm not going to let some small-minded, big-fisted Kraut tell me who I can and can't spend time with." He grimaced, realizing he couldn't speak the way he wanted to with these men, since in their minds, they outranked him. "With all due respect, sir, what keeps men standing with their heads held high is their dignity. And if you let the Krauts take away the simple, but essential, right to choose our friends, then we've lost the war—without as much as a whimper of protest." Hogan stood up. "I'll heed your advice—I'll be careful, so I don't put Kirkland in any direct danger." He looked at Newkirk to be sure the Corporal was getting his real message. "But I won't let Brinkfried take away my real freedoms, no matter how much barbed wire he puts around me." Hogan nodded, and looked at Newkirk. "We'll talk again, before supper. Gentlemen."

And Hogan disappeared.

Newkirk watched Hogan limp away, then turned back to his fellow Englishmen with a look of pride on his face. "That, gentlemen, is why I'm proud to call him mate." The tone of his voice put the fullest meaning into the simple word. It's also why he's the gov'nor. "And he's absolutely right. The war isn't over for us, just because we're behind the wire now. There's ways to keep fighting the Jerries, even without guns or aeroplanes." Newkirk gave each man a long look. "Think it over, lads, and if you're interested, we can talk it over later."

Newkirk stood and walked away.