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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Three pairs of eyes stared down at Townsend as he nodded and tapped at the radio. Finally he looked up at Carter, Kinch, and Le Beau. "Well, Colonel Hogan has been spotted."

"Where?" they all burst.

"On a work detail out near a sabotaged railroad line—probably the one you chaps did in the other night."

"When are they bringing him back?" Kinch asked quickly.

Townsend shook his head. "They're not—he was under German guard, with a group of other prisoners. The agent says they were all headed back to Stalag 2. Looks like he's been recaptured. No sign of your other man Newkirk, though—but he may simply have been left behind at the camp and not required on the detail."

Le Beau shook his head. "I do not like it—they should not be separated. How did the Colonel look?"

"The agent said he was moving rather slowly and that he looked tired." Townsend paused, lightly running his finger over the telegraph keys before continuing. "The agent also reports that Hogan's face is badly bruised, and he appeared to be limping as well."

This time the others didn't try to stop the French diatribe that came out of Le Beau's mouth. This was bad news—Hogan, captured and clearly mistreated, and Newkirk, so far unaccounted for altogether.

Finally Carter spoke up with a small bit of hope in his voice. "Well at least we know where the Colonel's been taken—we should be able to get him back; organize a transfer or something. Klink won't want to have the Colonel somewhere else once he realizes he's being kept at another Stalag."

Kinch shook his head. "It won't be that easy, Andrew. You forget the Colonel's there under an assumed name. If the Kommandant of Stalag 2 knew who he really was, he probably wouldn't even be alive, never mind just limping around. And Newkirk—we don't even know if they're together!"

"If we can't get him transferred, let's just go get him!" Le Beau looked from Carter to Kinch. "We had the Gestapo take him out of Stalag 13, so why can't we have them take the Colonel out of Stalag 2 as well?"

"Hold on there, lad, what are you talking about?" Townsend began. "Do you realize what you're saying—?"

But Kinch was already moving. "What do we know about Stalag 2?" he asked, rifling through a file.

"Well, it's not very close to here," Carter said. "But we've gotten one or two fellas through the system from there."

"Yeah, and what did they say?" Kinch said. He pulled out a sheet. "Uh-oh. Looks like we've got a live one. The Kommandant there is pretty rough stuff according to the fellas who came through from there a month ago. If we have the same guy, he's not going to be an easy sell." He shook his head. "Brinkfried. Major—oh, man." He stopped reading.

"What?" Le Beau prompted him. Kinch shook his head. "What?"

"He fully segregates the camp. Americans, British, French, whoever. And he has a special hate for the English."

Carter frowned. "And do you think that's where Newkirk is?—I mean, he'd be with Colonel Hogan then."

"For his sake, I hope so—and I hope not."

The others nodded in understanding.

"That makes it even more important that we get the Colonel out of there! He may know what's happened to Pierre." Le Beau turned to Carter. "Do you think you could do Major Gschwind again?"

Carter shuffled his feet. "Yeah, sure. But…" He hesitated. "But what if he won't give us the Colonel?"

Kinch shook his head. "We'll have to deal with that disaster when it happens." He sighed heavily. "I figure tomorrow. Tonight there just isn't enough time to prepare. The faster we get the Colonel out of there the better. We're going to have to get the truck—it's too far away to travel on foot, and if he's been hurt we'll need it."

"None of the best Boches travel without at least a staff car," Le Beau interjected.

"Okay, so that's the staff car for sure, and maybe a truck as well. We're gonna need some of the other fellas in on this, too." Kinch put the paper back into the file, then paused for a moment to think. "Olsen, Barnes, Hamilton and Davis should be enough to pull this off. All right. Carter, you go find those guys and get them down here for a briefing in exactly one hour. I'm gonna get started on the paperwork, and Le Beau, I want you to go to the motor pool and make sure the vehicles are ready for us right after morning roll call."

Le Beau nodded. "Oui. I will either bribe the Sergeant, or I will knock him out with my cooking pot."

Kinch nodded. "Perfect. Just don't leave any marks if you have to do it that way."

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Hogan limped wearily across the compound after leaving the medical hut to check on the injured prisoner. To his relief, he was told that the young man had suffered no broken bones and was only badly bruised with a concussion, and that he would be sore for some time. Hogan thanked the medic, shrugging off the man's concern for the Colonel's own new injuries; Hogan's mind was too much on Newkirk to be focused on the pain still radiating from his face, and aggravating the already angry pulsing in his head.

He opened the door to Newkirk's barracks and looked around the room. The light was dim, as sunset was coming and the men were in the mess hall. Hogan didn't want food; he didn't think he'd be able to stomach it, and he didn't want to take a chance on doing something that would result in another "punishment" that would affect the other prisoners. For a minute, he didn't see anyone, but when he turned to leave, he picked up a slight movement on an upper bunk.

Newkirk raised his head as the barracks door opened, squinting in the fading light to try and see who had come into the hut. "Who's there?" he mumbled, still half-asleep and hoping it wasn't a guard doing a random inspection.

Hogan stopped and said softly, "I was just checking on you—go back to sleep."

"Oh, it's you, mate. You all right, then?" The Englishman stiffly clambered down from the bunk and started toward Hogan.

"I'm fine—go back to bed. You need to catch up on your sleep before… we get busy," Hogan said cryptically, for the benefit of anyone else in the room he may have missed.

Shaking his head, Newkirk changed course and began looking around the room carefully. Finding they were alone, he turned back to Hogan. "I wasn't asleep, gov'nor, not really."

"Well, you should have been," Hogan replied. "You're gonna be too busy tonight to be tired. I'm in need of a nap myself. Are you ready to go?"

"Got me bags all packed, sir. Just waitin' on the bellhop to take it all to the lobby." Newkirk smiled for a moment, took a seat at the table and gestured for Hogan to join him.

Hogan sat down heavily and, wincing, brought a hand up to his tender face. "I think you're going to have a long wait," he said. "This place isn't known for its five-star service." He brought his hand down and looked at Newkirk. "I've still got the saw in my barracks. I'll get it after lights-out and meet you at the fence at twenty-two hundred hours. Stay out of sight until you see that I've broken through. In case of a SNAFU, I don't want you caught in the middle."

"There aren't too many places to hide around there, in case you didn't notice. I honestly think we'd be better off if I were there with you, Colonel. That way, I could keep watch while you work." Newkirk frowned as he spoke. "I don't like the idea of bein' separated once we start the party tonight."

"Look, we've had enough trouble today. If I blow it, I don't want you caught in the crossfire." He paused. "After what happened on that work detail, I'm pretty sure you did the right thing taking my eagles away that night—and not just because it was safer for me, either. That kid was lucky he didn't get killed. I don't want the same thing happening to you. You hide in the shadows, and don't come out till I give the signal. And this time," he added, "if anything happens to me, you keep going. And I'm making it an order, as your commanding officer. You got it?"

Newkirk lowered his head and studied the scarred tabletop for several long moments before looking back at Hogan. "All right, sir. And you can count on me to follow the plan once things get moving, as long as you do the same." He paused. "I'll accept your order, Colonel Hogan, if I can have your word in return that you'll keep going if something should happen to me instead."

"Nothing's going to happen," Hogan insisted sharply. "Just make sure you keep up and it'll all be fine." He stood up stiffly. "I don't think you'll have much trouble with that anyway. I'm not moving very fast right now. But we can't afford to wait. So we go tonight and we hope for the best."

"It'll all come right in the end, gov'nor. It's got to."

"Let's hope someone's informed the Krauts of that." Hogan hobbled to the door of the barracks. "Now get some more sleep. I'm going to see if I can do some planning past this headache." He sighed and opened the door. "I think I'll be doing some praying, too; it never hurts to have everyone's attention. I'll see you later."

"Righto." Newkirk rubbed his eyes and stood. "And you get some sleep as well, mate."

"Maybe in the next war, Newkirk. Maybe in the next war."

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Newkirk crept through the shadows along the guard's barracks, taking one careful step at a time as he neared the end of the building. He'd chosen this particular place to hide, as not only could he keep out of sight, but he could also keep an eye on where Hogan would be working on the wire behind the storehouse. After a quick look around the corner, the Englishman shook his head. Should have bloody well known he'd be at it early! Can't really say I'm surprised, though; that's typical of the gov'nor. He's got to be the one takin' all the risks on a mission, always trying to set himself up to take the fall alone if things go wrong. Ruddy hard-headed, stubborn Yank. I have to admit, though, that's why I go along with him on the crazy schemes he comes up with. It's also why I came after him when this last mission went to Hell. Newkirk took a slow look around, breathing a silent sigh of relief on seeing that there was no one around. Despite everything that's happened since then, I wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

Hogan was hunched over a small section of the wire, concentrating on making a hole big enough for him and Newkirk to get through. The work was hard in the darkness, and his hands were not cooperating as well as he wanted them to. He was still so tired after the day's events; a general mental weariness had settled upon him along with the headache that refused to go away. Sleeping after he had left Newkirk had not been possible, and a gnawing sense of guilt had taken hold when he considered the strong possibility that the men who were left behind would likely be punished severely for this escape. He tried to console himself with the thought that it was for the greater good, and perhaps some day a few of these men would come through Stalag 13. But in the meantime, he and Newkirk would just seem like traitors. And that was hard to bear.

He glanced around for what seemed like the twentieth time, keeping an eye out for any guards who might be out on patrol, and for Newkirk, whom he expected to be hiding in the shadows in about ten minutes. So far nothing, and all was still quiet, so he kept moving, with his senses on as full alert as he could make them, and with a fleeting feeling of terror, as he remembered the one and only time he had had to escape from Stalag 13 in "the usual way" for prisoners—by climbing over the fence in broad daylight. Already full of respect for the men who came to the tunnels after getting out of their own Stalag Lufts, their place of esteem in his heart only increased even more now. Please, God. I can't help these men in their fight to survive if I can't get out of here. Please, God, please let us get back to Stalag 13.

Newkirk crouched and leaned against the side of the building, taking slow, deep breaths as he got himself ready for what was coming. He pulled his side cap off his head and stuffed it into his pocket so the polished metal badge wouldn't reflect any light and give them away. Just like the old days, before I got sent to Stalag 13. How many real escape attempts does this make anyway? He shook his head. Best to concentrate on just this one. Through the wire, then about one hundred yards across a mostly open field before they would reach the woods. Bit of a rough go, but there's some cover along the way, so we stand a good chance of getting clear. I'll have to watch the Colonel, though; that jumper of mine he's wearing is a fairly light color and will show up even in the dark, but at least it's better than his shirt.

Heart hammering in his chest, the Englishman took another look around, nodding to himself when he saw that Hogan was doing the same. Right on time, gov'nor, even if you did start early. He eased his way past the corner of the barracks, and after the searchlight made its sweep, quickly made his way to the back of the storehouse.

Hogan was beside him in seconds. "Glad you could make it," he whispered. "I'm through the first set of wire. I want you to stay here till I get through the second."

"Wouldn't miss this train for anything, gov'nor," Newkirk whispered in return. "You want me to have a go at the wire now and give your hands a rest?"

Hogan shook his head. "There isn't that far to go now. Just give me five minutes." With a careful look around again, Hogan slipped through the hole in the warning fence and started work on the outer fence that was the only thing keeping the two of them from freedom. A short time later, he was back at the first fence, beckoning for Newkirk to join him. "You all set?" Hogan asked, trying even in the darkness to gauge the Corporal's readiness for the run.

Though he was physically tired and sore from the last two days of near-constant abuse, mentally he was more than ready to go, and the grin that Newkirk gave his commanding officer was full of confidence and the anticipation of being away from Stalag 2 as quickly as possible. "'Lay on, MacDuff, And damn'd be him that first cries 'Hold, enough!''"

Hogan grinned. "Great. So first I'm a Private, and now I'm murderer of the King of Scotland!" Hogan quipped. "I take it that's a yes. Let's go; it won't be soon enough for me."

Newkirk rolled his eyes and made an "after you" gesture toward the hole in the wire. "Remind me to stage a performance of Macbeth after we get back to camp."

Hogan nodded and without hesitation pushed his way through the wire and out of camp. If he could have afforded the time, he would have taken in a deep breath of instant relief. But time was a luxury right now, and so he turned around and made sure that Newkirk had followed him, before signaling for them both to make for the cover of some scrub and boulders just ahead of them.

The Englishman was only a step or two behind, though he angled off to the side a bit to put some space between himself and the American. They made it to the first clumps of scrub safely, and crouched there a moment to have a quick look back at the camp. All was quiet, with the searchlights keeping their regular pattern and the guards on their routine patrols.

After an exchange of nods, the two men started for the next point of cover, a fairly large rock that was about twenty yards away. Hogan was making fairly good progress, but Newkirk's foot suddenly dropped into an unseen hole, tripping him and sending him crashing to the ground. As if that wasn't bad enough, the silence of the night was shattered as the impact broke several branches off a bush, making enough noise to catch the attention of one of the tower guards.

A searchlight swept across the field, its glare illuminating the Englishman as he scrambled to his feet. Within seconds, an alarm began ringing, and the heavy tower guns filled the air with flying lead. Newkirk dove for the ground, trying to dodge the bullets even as one struck home, twisting his body in mid-air and throwing him to the ground in an ungraceful sprawl.

Hogan was just making his way behind the rock when the noise began. He heard the siren, the shouting, the sound of the bullets whizzing through the air. And then he heard the sound—Oh, God. No! He whirled around in time to see Newkirk take a spinning dive to the earth, and as dogs from the camp began to close in and guards followed, it was all Hogan could do not to go charging back, screaming and shouting and trying to get the Germans' attention away from his friend and onto himself. Please, Peter, he pleaded silently, watching from behind the rock and holding tight to it to stop himself from making a mistake that could kill them both. Please, please get up. But the Englishman didn't rise from the scrub, and then the ring of Germans around him made it impossible for Hogan to see a thing. The searchlight remained locked in place, the dogs still barking, the guards all talking loudly to each other. And then, as Hogan was working out diversionary tactics, and as he began to hope that perhaps Newkirk was just staying down to show submission, the Colonel saw one of the guards pull the Englishman off the ground and start to drag him back toward camp.

Without resistance. Newkirk's body was limp.

Hogan's soul screamed in anguish. It wasn't supposed to be like this! he thought numbly, as he watched the guard stop and sling Newkirk over his shoulder to carry the Englishman away. I was supposed to look after you. He pressed his hot forehead against the rock that had cooled in the evening air and squeezed his eyes shut, traumatized and wanting not to believe what he had seen. He had to go after Peter; he owed it to his friend to bring his body home. And yet he knew now that neither of them would profit from the act—that being recaptured by the guards would only serve to make Newkirk's final sacrifice for naught. And so when Hogan heard the order shouted to check the area for any others who might have escaped with Newkirk, he turned from the scene, and ran awkwardly as fast as he could manage, away from this nightmare.