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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Hogan sidled up to Newkirk after looking around to see if any guards were paying him particular attention. Damn, they're going to make me paranoid after all, he thought. I'll be more cautious, for Newkirk's sake… but they won't stop us from getting the hell out of here. "I see you managed to get your own clothes back," he said softly, as he, too, felt the small comfort of being in his own uniform again, even if he didn't have his jacket or his crush cap.

"That I did," Newkirk answered as the two leaned against the wall of one of the huts.

"And was… everything the way you left it?" Hogan asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"It was," Newkirk said quietly. The Englishman was wearing the grey work shirt he'd been issued that morning under his uniform jacket, and he held out his blue wool sweater to Hogan. "Here, gov'nor. It still gets a bit chilly at night; you'd best take this."

Hogan smiled, touched, as Newkirk held out his offering. It'll be too short in the arms, he thought fondly. But he reached out and took it, thankful for a caring friend. "Thanks, Newkirk," he said under his breath, wanting to use the man's real name to accept such a gesture. "I'll use it tonight."

"You're welcome, Colonel," Newkirk whispered in reply, giving Hogan the same respect in turn. "What you said back in the mess, I think you got those two thinking a bit. I know I felt better hearing it said, sir."

"Good," Hogan said with a nod. "If we're only here for two days, I can't stand the idea of men segregating themselves because of the goons." He sighed. "So, when can I borrow your… tool?"

"Soon as I get a few minutes alone to take the lace apart." Newkirk glanced at his boots, particularly the left one, as its lacing concealed a thin wire saw that had been adapted by British military intelligence as an escape tool. He had a few other clever devices hidden within his clothing as well, some also courtesy of the Intelligence Service and others of his own creation. "When do we go? Tomorrow night then?"

Hogan nodded almost imperceptibly. "I'd like to go sooner, but I need to have a good look at the area behind the storehouse myself, and I don't think I'll be allowed to do that much before dark. Meanwhile, let's just blend in as much as possible—as long as we can do it together."

"Righto. I'd like a look around again myself, actually, to get a better idea of the grounds between the wire and the woods." Newkirk paused, and gave Hogan a sidelong look. "You're sure about going together, though? I mean, we'll draw more attention that way, and that's something we really don't need just now. As I've told you before, anything I get caught doing will reflect back onto you, sir."

Hogan shrugged. "Newkirk," he said seriously, "anything either of us does will impact the other. You're taking as much a chance being with me as I am with you." He paused, waiting for his words to sink in, then declared, "You won't come with me tonight; I won't take a chance on you paying the price if I'm caught snooping around. The way that lunatic Brinkfried thinks, he'd kill you before you got in a single word of defense. But I'll be damned if I'm going to let that blasted Kraut keep men apart just because they're from different countries. And that includes me and you."

Newkirk nodded slowly. I should have known I wasn't putting one over on the Colonel by not telling him about the rest of what Brinkfried said. Still, I don't like the idea of him being out alone tonight. "I can slip out tonight and meet up with you, gov'nor. That way I can keep watch while you check things over."

"No way," Hogan said. "You're to stay in and get some sleep. And that's an order. I don't need any tails tonight; I can snoop just fine without you."

"But gov'nor..." Newkirk started to protest until he saw the look on Hogan's face. "All right, sir. I'll stay in." Though I don't think I'll be getting much sleep.

"Good. I'll take the piece from you right after mess and go wandering after lights out. Today I'll just take a short stroll to test the waters and look for the best route there in the dark. Then if all goes well, we're out of here tomorrow night. I'm already tired of Brinkfried's hospitality squad."

"I'll not argue that one, Colonel." Newkirk paused as he glanced around the compound, checking to see that they still hadn't attracted any attention from the guards. "Never thought I'd hear myself say this, but after being here, Stalag 13's not such a bad place. Klink might be a fool, but at least he treats his prisoners fairly." He gave Hogan a look. "That, and we've got you to look out for us. I'd like to thank you for that, mate."

Hogan was given pause by the clear sincerity in Newkirk's voice, and by the soft emphasis on that word that was usually so casually spoken: mate. Most of the time, it was a throw-away word, just an Englishman's idiom. But this time Newkirk seemed to mean it, and at this camp, already feeling a lack of control and an unusual sense of loneliness, a genuine offer of comradeship was a soothing balm for Hogan, and he was grateful. He couldn't find the words to express his thankfulness, so he just nodded briefly and said, "I'll see you at mess. Don't be late." And, trying to stretch still-sore muscles, he limped painfully away.

The Englishman didn't move as he watched his commanding officer disappear into the mass of prisoners milling about the compound. It's all right, gov'nor. I heard everything you didn't say.

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Kinch walked into Barracks Two and headed for the coffee pot. He picked up a cup, glancing briefly into it before filling it with the dark, bitter brew that masqueraded as coffee. "Well, that's all set, Louis." He turned to the Frenchman, who was sitting at the table and concentrating way too much on the simple task of peeling potatoes. "I've got four teams lined up and ready to go out tonight to look for Newkirk and the Colonel. I'd like to send out half the camp, but it'd be our luck for Klink to pull a surprise inspection about five minutes after everyone had gone." He took a deep pull from the cup and grimaced at the taste. "What'd you put in here? Half a pound of chicory and half a pinch of coffee or something?"

"I give you what I have. If you want perfect café you go to Paris." Le Beau continued working at his potatoes, angry that he would have fewer to make tonight with two of his comrades gone. "I will be going out tonight, oui?"

"I'm sorry, Louis, but the answer is no." Kinch took a seat at the table and sighed. "I'm gonna need you here in case the goons find out that we've got all those guys outside the wire. We'll need to plan a few diversions to have ready, and as much as I know you're not going to want to hear this..." The Sergeant paused and gave Le Beau a direct look. "I want you available for strudel duty."

Le Beau grimaced but nodded. "I understand. I was hoping you would overlook that."

Kinch nodded sympathetically. "I'd like to, but like Colonel Hogan always says, we should all go with our best talents. I'm going to be on the radio coordinating the search effort between our teams and the Underground, and I've got Carter down for putting out a few caches of smoke grenades in case we need them for one of those distractions I mentioned." He took another sip of the coffee. "Believe me, I want to be out there myself; heck, we all do. But we've got to go with what works."

Le Beau nodded unhappily, then frowned when he heard a knock from below. "That will be Townsend," he said. "He has been knocking for the last ten minutes but I have pretended no one was here to let him come up."

Kinch shook his head and went over to open the bunk. "Come on up, Group Captain. The next barracks check isn't due for a couple of hours or so." He gave Le Beau a look that was part annoyance, part warning and part admiration as he returned to the table.

Townsend climbed up and stepped into the room. "I've been knocking down there for the better part of fifteen minutes!" he complained. "Couldn't you chaps hear me?" Le Beau only shrugged. Townsend came to the table. "I need to get on the radio to London. Sergeant Kinchloe, will you please set it up for me?"

Kinch stole a quick glance at Le Beau, then replied cautiously, "Sure, Group Captain. Who are we calling?"

"I am calling London. With your Colonel Hogan missing, I need to coordinate a few things. We weren't expecting him not to be here, as you can well imagine."

"Not yet, anyway," Le Beau muttered under his breath. Kinch let out a breath of relief when he realized Townsend missed that.

Kinch looked at his watch and frowned slightly. "Well, we try to stay off the radio as much as possible during the day so the Krauts don't spot our antenna when we raise it. But I can give you some air time, sir, as long as you keep it brief." He pulled his pencil from behind his ear, and took a small tablet of paper from a pocket. "Okay, give me the message; I'll get it into code and send it off."

Townsend shook his head. "I have my own code. It's top secret and cannot be shared with any of my subordinates. I just need you to make contact, right, old chap?"

"Well, okay. But keep it short." We wouldn't want to cost the war anything extra with a long message, now would we, "old chap?" Kinch went down the ladder, shaking his head slightly. And why is it that when Newkirk says something like that, I don't mind, but coming from this guy it gets on my nerves?

Townsend was hot on his heels and stood hopping from foot to foot while Kinch made the connection with Allied Headquarters. When he had established proper contact, the Sergeant handed the microphone and headsets to the Group Captain.

Townsend took the offerings smoothly, then motioned for Kinch to get out of the way. "Thanks, old boy, I'll take over from here." And he sat down and started tapping a code that no matter how hard he tried, Kinch could not decipher.

Eventually, Kinch gave up and moved over toward the ladder with Le Beau. "Boy, this guy's really starting to get under my skin."

Carter clattered his way down the ladder and gave Kinch a wide grin. "Everything's all set for tonight! I've got stuff hidden all over camp. Just say the word, boy, and we'll have the Krauts running all over the place like crazy!"

Le Beau waved a hand to silence the American. "Sshh. The Prince of England is on the radio."

"On the radio?" Carter looked toward where Townsend was still tapping out a message. "I thought we weren't supposed to do that during the day!"

"We aren't. But we were outranked, old chap," Kinch answered sourly. Then he straightened. "And I think it's time we outranked him." He made his way back to the desk. "Group Captain, sir. You have to get off; it's too dangerous to be on this long."

Townsend looked up and nodded. "Won't be a moment, Sergeant. All in good time." And he finished his message, listened to one come in, and then signed off. "There we go; all set." He looked up at Kinch, then moved out of the way for the Sergeant to close down the radio. Looking at the others, he said, "Now we may get some answers about your Colonel Hogan and about Corporal Newkirk."

"How so, sir?" Carter asked.

"I've put in a call to London to get some of our very special agents to see what they can find out. They may be able to discover where the Colonel and the Corporal have been taken. It's possible that they are in another Stalag Luft. And because they are using false names, the Jerries have no way of tracing them back to this camp."

"That was the idea," Kinch said sullenly. "It protects the operation."

"Mm, but it also makes it harder for them to be helped by their comrades in arms." Townsend shook his head, as Hogan's men took this comment as an insult. "So now," he said finally, "we can leave the hard yards to our own boys in the field, eh?" Then, changing tack, he said, "Now, let's review what we're doing so far, yes? You have some of your own men heading out tonight?"

"Yes, sir," Kinch replied stiffly.

And you have the guards in the camp distracted, I presume."

"Of course," Le Beau said, biting his tongue before further comments came out of his mouth.

"And if the Jerries get upset about this—you have your man Carter here ready, yes?"

"You sure do, boy—uh, Group Captain, sir," Carter agreed.

"Well, then, we are doing all we can. Now the most important thing is not to make the Germans suspicious. What say you chaps circulate upstairs for awhile? I'll stay down here and monitor the radio for you. Just make sure you send someone into the barracks every now and then, so I'm not trapped down here!" And he laughed. But no one laughed with him.

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Hogan stood at the end of the chow line, holding his tray and looking with genuine sadness at the room stretched out before him. He shook his head. "Look at that," he said to himself, but taking Newkirk into his confidence at the same time. "Americans in one corner, English in another, French over there—this is wrong. They're hurting themselves this way. Weakening their chances of surviving this place and surviving the war. We can't leave it this way," he said softly. His eyes flashed with that look that Newkirk knew meant action. "I'm not going to leave it this way." And he plunged into the room.

I knew something like this would happen. The gov'nor's not able to see a problem and not try to do something about it. Newkirk picked up his tray, took a deep breath and followed. And I'm with him all the way, no matter what happens.

He nearly had to break into a run to catch up to the Colonel, who by now had worked his way all the way to the back of the room, where a huddle of Frenchmen were hunched over their trays. "Room for one more?" Hogan asked brightly, looking for a spot at the already crowded table. "Je suis un ami," he tried with a grin. "Ally."

One of the Frenchmen looked at him and shrugged but did not move. Hogan persisted. "Thought I might see what the view's like from over here." He waited. "There's not much room anywhere in here, if you look closely." Another answerless pause. "S'il vous plaît?"

One of the Frenchmen finally pointed to a nearby table, where men in American uniforms were sitting, staring at the scene with thinly-veiled interest. They were all quiet. "Ah, yes," Hogan said, pretending not to understand. "Americans. Me, too." He nodded toward the table. "Hiya, fellas. Just thought I'd see if our Allies here were ready to extend the hand of friendship." Come on, guys; it's not like I'm looking for another Statue of Liberty!

One of the Americans, a large Sergeant, stood up and came to Hogan's side. "You're better off with us, Private. The Frenchies like to keep to themselves. And so does everyone else around here."

Hogan looked in the man's eyes and saw not anger, but resignation. "I can see that," he answered. "I just can't understand exactly why."

"It's easier that way, and nobody gets hurt. A lot of guys come in here, just like you, thinking they can change things. Most of them learn otherwise, but a few, well..." The Sergeant looked away from Hogan's gaze. "Let's just say they'll never have the chance to learn anything ever again."

Hogan swallowed hard, taking in the meaning of the Sergeant's words. But he didn't look away. "Good men," Hogan said. "Good men working alone can't survive." He paused. "They can't kill all of us. Not if we all act together. Even Berlin wouldn't tolerate the extermination of an entire camp." He looked at the other Americans at the table, sitting silently, sullenly, then back at the Frenchmen behind him. "The Krauts can make an example of one or two men. But they can't make an example of everyone. We have to be strong together—they shot us down physically, not mentally. Do you want them to win?" Hogan felt the eyes of more and more men falling on him. "If you let them dictate your friendships, your comradeship—then they already have."

Newkirk stood a few feet away, quietly watching the scene unfold. Silence had taken over the mess hall as everyone listened to what Hogan was saying. Looks like you've gotten their attention, Colonel. A low murmur of surprise rippled through the seats when two of the Frenchmen picked up their trays, stood and walked over to the American table. Some of the Americans gave them hard looks, but enough of the men slid over on the benches enough to allow the Frenchmen to have a seat.

Turning toward the closest table, Newkirk smiled as he addressed the Americans seated there. "You blokes got room for one more here?" He waited as the men thought it over for a moment, then took his seat after a place had been made for him. It's a start, gov'nor; we'll see what happens. The Englishman picked up his fork and set about the distasteful task of eating what was on his plate. "Boiled potatoes and grass again, I see. Any chance of it being better than it was at lunch?" Newkirk gave his tablemates a grin. "You know, it's a shame we can't gather all this fine gourmet cooking up and drop it onto Berlin. The ruddy war would be over in a week if that happened." The smiles that broke out on some of the Americans' faces gave the Englishman confidence that something good would come of what Hogan had done.

Hogan watched all of this with hope rising in his heart. Still, he stood near the Frenchmen's table, watching, proud and deeply, deeply moved. A noise from behind him made him turn, and he saw one of the French prisoners had made a space for him at the table and was gesturing almost nonchalantly for him to sit down. Hogan nodded and accepted the offer humbly. "Merci beaucoup," he said in his best French.

The French Corporal offered Hogan a small smile and a nod in return. "You're welcome, American friend."

Hogan smiled. What tomorrow would bring he couldn't tell, and so he let hope fill him, at least for now.