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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Oberholzer's words drove into Hogan like a knife. Take him to the munitions plant near Hammelburg? The munitions plant that the 504th would be bombing in less than twenty-four hours? Fear charged straight through him, turning him even colder inside. But he had already steeled himself against the German and gave away nothing. "I'm not allowed out of camp," he quipped instead; "the Kommandant kind of frowns on prisoners leaving whenever they feel like it."

A short bark of a laugh was the Major's reply. "You won't need to worry about that, Colonel," he answered. "I'm sure Kommandant Klink will have no trouble agreeing to let you go with me."

Oberholzer whirled around and clamped Hogan's restrained forearms hard as he stared into his face. Hogan tensed even harder and used all his strength of will not to avert his eyes from the German's gaze. "Let me make it a bit clearer to you, Colonel Hogan," the Major practically growled. "The Gestapo has very reliable intelligence that says the Allies are planning to bomb that plant."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "That's not 'intelligence'; anyone knows it's bound to happen eventually," he said evenly.

"I am going to take you there tonight."

Hogan said nothing, instead just keeping his eyes intently on Oberholzer's face. Don't look away. Don't look away….

"Doesn't that worry you, Colonel Hogan?"

"Should it?"

"I should certainly think so. You see, tomorrow the 504th Bomb Group is going to execute a daylight raid to try to destroy that munitions factory."

"Are they?"

"You should know; you are the one who gave them the target," Oberholzer answered.

"Was I," Hogan stated flatly, as though not believing a word of it.

Oberholzer sighed. "Doesn't it bother you? That you could be killed by men who used to be under your command?"

"Unless you're planning to keep me there for the rest of the war, I can't see how you can guarantee that raid will happen when you want it to," Hogan answered.

A thin smile from the Major that Hogan couldn't stomach. "Actually, Colonel Hogan, I'm hoping that raid is diverted."

"Of course you are."

"But not for the reasons you would believe. You see, there is a reason for me taking you to that plant."

"Care to let me in on it?"

Oberholzer finally straightened and let go of Hogan's arms. The Colonel let out the breath he had been strangling within himself as he struggled to endure the closeness of the German. Playing this game with the Gestapo officer was taxing him both mentally and physically, and this session had been particularly long. Hours of psychological cat-and-mouse; the ever-present, thinly-veiled threat of physical violence; the unyielding fear that his men would be targeted; the unrelenting humiliation—it had all taken its toll on Hogan, and he was beginning to feel beaten today. But they were finally reaching what Oberholzer was really driving at, and Hogan knew he needed to continue to stay alert so he could figure out how to combat this persistent enemy. It was a difficult task at best. He followed the Major's pacing form with tired eyes.

"When our office learned of the 504th's plan to bomb the munitions factory near Hammelburg, my superiors knew that you had to be involved. Do you remember Colonel Feldkamp, Hogan?"

Hogan bowed his head and nodded. Someone like Feldkamp, with his penchant for doling out terrible abuse, was hard to forget. Hogan said nothing.

"Colonel Feldkamp has never given up his suspicions about you, and he has been kind enough to pass those ideas on to me. But we decided that we were going about flushing you out the wrong way." Another small smile, this time accompanied by a shake of the head. "The Colonel, he has such a short temper. He says you did not respond well to it."

Hogan flinched involuntarily. No, he thought, I didn't. Not when I was awake or when I was unconscious.

"Have no fear, Colonel; Oberst Feldkamp will not be returning. I have approached the matter of your unveiling in a slightly different manner. I am going to take you to the factory that the 504th is intending to strike. And when the Allies learn that the leader of their valuable operation is there, I am quite certain the attack will never happen."

Hogan cocked his head. "You're losing me. If you're so sure I'm the head of some big secret operation, what makes you think I wouldn't just order them to bomb the place anyway?"

"I don't doubt that for a minute, Colonel Hogan. You are a fine and dedicated officer. But regardless of your orders, your men here would do everything in their power to stop that raid, including either using the radio—or trying to escape from Stalag 13 to get word out via the Underground. Then when they fail, thanks to the increased patrols outside the camp here, and the strike goes on as planned, the 504th Bomb Group is decimated by the waiting German defense forces, and your men are captured and exposed. And it happens in one nice, neat little package, all thanks to their loyalty to you. You lose again, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan was sure his heart stopped beating. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, he knew Oberholzer was right: if his men knew Hogan was sitting in a factory about to get bombed out of existence, there would be little that would stop them from trying to get word out to Allied Headquarters, including the danger to their own lives. "You're dreaming, Oberholzer," Hogan managed to whisper hoarsely. "Feldkamp was wrong, and now you're wrong." Then, a little more strongly: "Even if you're right about the raid, all that will happen is a factory will be destroyed, I'll be dead, and you'll have nothing to show for it."

"I think not, Colonel Hogan. And I'm going to tip the odds in my favor even more before we go."

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"The boys did great today, Wes." Humphries smiled and nodded as Dennison took his outstretched hand.

"Yep," the Colonel agreed. He drew his friend into the room, offering a cup of coffee. "They sure did. That aircraft factory is only a distant, miserable memory." He sat down at his desk with a heavy sigh. "Makes for a long day, though."

"That it does." Humphries sat and regarded Dennison for a moment.

"Something I can help you with?" Dennison asked eventually. "Or is it just that you love my haircut and can't take your eyes off it?"

"Just wondering why you're still up." Dennison raised an eyebrow. "Well, early start tomorrow," he said simply.

Dennison shook his head tolerantly. "Don't play sweet and innocent with me, Lewis. I know exactly what you're driving at. The blasted plant at Hammelburg."

"Mm-hm," admitted Humphries through a sip of coffee.

"The answer is no; I still don't have a solution." Dennison sighed. "And I'm still up because I'm still not happy with just going ahead and doing it. My boys are tired, some of them aren't terribly experienced, and according to that Papa Bear fella it's a very heavily guarded installation. Taking them in there under those conditions… well I just don't like it."

"Can't say I blame you; so what do you do?"

"I stay up all night thinking of what to do before it's too late to do anything."

"Do you think Papa Bear is right?"

Dennison shrugged. "It wouldn't be unusual for the plant to have Ack-Acks all over it. Besides, everything that's come from him has been right so far." He shook his head. "There's another one I hear about all the time—Papa Bear."

"He's gotta be some kind of amazing agent—imagine working in the heart of Germany all this time and not being caught."

"I wonder who he is," Dennison pondered.

"You and I are never gonna find out, that's for sure," Humphries replied. "He's a more heavily guarded secret than the Norden."

"Must be quite a job—imagine the excitement!"

Humphries eyes widened. "Are you kidding? Imagine the risk!"

"Risk?" Dennison echoed. "Well, maybe a little," he conceded when his friend snorted at the remark. "Hey, look—this guy could be a Nazi who's selling secrets. He might be playing on the right side, but for the wrong reasons!"

"Or he might be a genuine Allied agent who's been planted there and who takes his life in his hands every day!"

"Who knows?" Dennison said with a dismissive wave. "Whoever he is, I'm glad he's working for us."

"And so? What are you gonna do?"

Dennison sighed. "I'm gonna pace my office all night, and then panic quietly."

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Hogan was been released from solitary confinement just before the day's last roll call, and he was exhausted. But he couldn't find sleep, so he gathered his men in his office and took the time, in a muted, almost emotionless way, to explain to them what Oberholzer was planning to do.

"But, Colonel, if he takes you there, the 504th is gonna—"

"We've gotta get word out, sir," Kinch said, hoping he'd drowned out Carter's words. He looked at Hogan openly, and saw a weary, almost resigned man in place of the bright, confident commanding officer he was so used to seeing. "We can't just let this happen."

Hogan shrugged and brought a hand up to gently rub his ashen face. The wounds from the too-tight shackles on his wrists didn't go unnoticed, angering his men even more. "You can't stop it," the Colonel countered softly. Then, as though making a sudden realization, Hogan brought his hand down, looked at his men intently, and addressed them strongly. "You hear me? You can't stop it—you're not to do anything to endanger the operation to get me out. No radios, no escapes. Whatever Oberholzer does to me, he's not going to get all of you. Understood?" Hogan's men shifted uncomfortably but did not answer. "Understood?" Hogan waited with barely-concealed desperation for the group to at least nod their agreement. "No one's gonna blow our cover for this creep. That's an order."

It was Newkirk who found his voice first. But it was quiet and clearly full of things he knew he could not say aloud. "Okay, gov'nor. If that's the way you want it."

Hogan nodded briefly, not looking the Englishman in the eye. "That's the way I want it."

The awkward silence that descended on the group was broken by loud voices from the common room. Hogan immediately got up and left his office, followed by the others, to see what was causing the ruckus. He stopped when he realized it was because German soldiers had entered the barracks. And not on their own.

Oberholzer was with them.

Raising his chin and tugging at the bottom of his bomber jacket, Hogan made his way to the stove, where he knew he could see everything happening in the hut. He stood staring boldly at Oberholzer, and the Major simply glanced at the American and started a slow, seemingly aimless wander around the room.

Hogan decided to take the high road. "Well, Major, I didn't expect to see you in our humble little home," he said. He dropped the bright, falsely cheerful tone as he nodded toward the two guards that accompanied Oberholzer and added, "You usually just have your goons come for you."

At that last sentence, Oberholzer paused, then turned slowly and smoothly on his heel toward the senior POW. "Yes?" he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I have been too keen to let others do this part of the job for me." He moved in closer to Hogan and stopped only when he was practically in his face. Hogan set his jaw as his men watched tensely from around the room. "Clearly my presence here disturbs you."

Hogan's voice remained level and calm. "I don't like the barracks being used as a garbage dump."

The hand holding Oberholzer's gloves tightened into a fist that raised up in anger and rushed in toward Hogan's face. Hogan didn't move, defiance smoldering in his eyes, not looking at the knuckles poised to send him flying across the room. At the last possible second, Oberholzer seemed to think better of the move, and he stopped, his hand quivering inches from Hogan's cheek. The German let out a low laugh, then lowered his hand. "That's a shame, Colonel Hogan," he said in a low voice; "that's all it has been since the first downed flyer was brought here."

All of Hogan's men felt the sting of that statement, and they bristled but waited for Hogan's reaction. The Colonel's stillness and silence kept the unease in the room at its peak. Finally, Hogan chuckled softly. "You just can't see reality, can you, Major?" Hogan glanced at his men, then continued with calm conviction. "Even if you were right, which you're not, I'd rather be here surrounded by these downed flyers until I'm ninety-five, than spend one more minute with you."

Pride started to replace the humiliation. Somehow, Hogan had done it again. The prisoners breathed a little easier, though since the Colonel was clearly not relaxed, they could not be, either.

Oberholzer finally moved his eyes away from Hogan's face and surveyed the room. "Tell me, Colonel Hogan," he said, walking a small path around the hut, "how long have you lived with these men?"

Hogan stood stock still. "You keep telling me you already know everything about my time in Germany," Hogan said evenly. "Why don't you tell me?"

"You were assigned to Stalag 13 in late October of 1942… which means you have been with these men for approximately five months." Hogan said nothing. "Surely that is enough time for you to have created some strong ties with them."

The eyes of Hogan's men bore into the Colonel. He tried not to look back. "I don't ignore them when we pass in the compound," Hogan conceded.

Oberholzer laughed. "And that's all? I don't think so, Colonel Hogan. You see, despite what you try to portray, I see right through you," he said. He continued to smile. "Your Achilles' heel is your command. Your men. Your responsibility."

"D'you think?" Hogan replied, the words dripping with sarcasm

"Which one of these men means the most to you, Colonel?" Oberholzer asked. He moved slowly, deliberately, from one man to the next, bringing his face uncomfortably close to each of them. He looked closely at Kinch, who drew himself up to his full height and stared back unwaveringly. "It wouldn't be you," the Major said with a note of distaste. "I have been told you do have some taste, Hogan… and making friends with a black man would refute all that."

Hogan felt the blood rushing to his face as his temper soared. As Oberholzer turned to see the impact his comment had had on the Colonel, Kinch shot his commanding officer a pleading look, and, with considerable difficulty, Hogan maintained his self-control, the only outward sign of his anger being slightly flushed cheeks. He stayed silent.

"What about this one?" Oberholzer said as he approached Le Beau. The Frenchman did not bother to hide his abhorrence of the German officer. "No," he said dismissively, wrinkling his nose. "Not a Frenchman. Certainly not this one." The Major continued his rounds and stopped before Newkirk. "This one?" He narrowed his eyes and examined the Englishman carefully. "A bit scruffy, the Englander… and a bit of a rebel, I suspect, from the look in his eye… Perhaps him?"

Oberholzer turned back to Hogan to judge his reaction, then he turned deliberately back to Newkirk and suddenly grabbed the Corporal by the sweater, nearly jerking him off his feet in surprise. Newkirk quickly regained his footing and gripped Oberholzer's wrists to force them away. With a mighty shove, Newkirk managed to get the German off him, and he growled angrily, "Why, you filthy little—"

"Newkirk!"

Hogan's voice, full of reprimand, stopped the Englishman's tirade before it really had a chance to fly. Newkirk dropped his fists to his sides, and he lowered his eyes. "Sorry, Colonel," he muttered.

Oberholzer let his eyes linger on Newkirk for another moment in silence, before he shook his head and moved on to the man fidgeting beside him: Carter. The young Sergeant had spent the last five minutes staring at his commanding officer, trying very hard to get some strength from Hogan's steely resolve, and doing everything he could not to give away how nervous the Gestapo officer was making him just by being in the room. He remembered so clearly Hogan's words to him only this morning: Try not to worry; that's my job, and he was repeating them like a mantra in his head. But now, as the Major stopped before him and looked in his eyes almost curiously, Carter couldn't help but squirm and sweat. He looked back at Hogan, who nodded almost imperceptibly, and swallowed hard.

"What about you, my friend?" Oberholzer asked.

Carter bit his tongue; he knew the Colonel didn't want any trouble. I'm not your friend, pal.

"You have nothing to say?" Oberholzer persisted. Carter remained silent, feeling the eyes of everyone on him. "You are very young," the German continued. Still no answer from Carter. "Colonel Hogan, does the United States let children fly now?" Hogan said nothing. Oberholzer looked back at Carter. "Tell me, Sergeant, how old are you?"

With a worried glance toward Hogan, Carter said, "Old enough, sir."

Oberholzer smiled softly. "'Old enough'? What a curious answer. Old enough for what, I wonder?" He ran one finger down Carter's face. "Old enough to shave?" The finger moved down to cross the American's neck. "Old enough to die?"

"Leave him alone, Oberholzer," Hogan said sharply. He made no move toward them, nor indeed any move at all. His eyes remained fixed on the German officer.

Oberholzer's hand fell to his side. "Ah… so it is this one." He smiled as he looked Carter over once again. The young Sergeant wiggled uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "He may not be the closest to you…" Oberholzer nodded and stepped away, "but he is the one you feel the most need to protect."

Hogan felt a cold chill as his heart dropped into his stomach. "These men don't need me to protect them, Oberholzer."

Oberholzer laughed, delighted. "It's too late, Colonel Hogan! You have already given yourself away!" He gestured for one of his guards to come to him. "Corporal! This man will accompany Colonel Hogan to the munitions plant near Hammelburg." He looked at Hogan, whose eyes had filled with pain at the knowledge that he had led one of his men into danger by not being able to silence his outrage. "Now, Colonel Hogan. If you were going to allow the Allies to blow up the plant, and thus sacrifice your own life… perhaps you will see things differently with one of your men's lives on the line as well. The ball… is in your court." He nodded to the guard nearest Hogan, who locked a pair of handcuffs tight onto Hogan's wrists and then pushed the Colonel toward the door of the barracks. "Say goodbye, Colonel Hogan. Let's go."