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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"So that's the story, Colonel," Kinch reported the next day. "The Commander of the 504th apparently asked to delay the raid till night time so they might not be so easily spotted." He shrugged. "They knew it was a risky one, and they said he wasn't happy, so they agreed."

Hogan nodded thoughtfully. He was propped up on his bunk in his bathrobe, having given up the charade of being in perfect health, and rubbed his eyes wearily, trying to suppress a yawn. "Lucky for us he wasn't," Hogan said. "Otherwise you and I wouldn't be having this conversation." The Colonel closed his eyes against a now-less-frequent bout of dizziness brought on by the drugs he'd been given. "What made you decide to dope me up with morphine to get me out, anyway?"

Kinch bowed his head to allow Hogan a moment in private to recover. "Well, Colonel, we knew Oberholzer would be smart enough to put two and two together if we just showed up and demanded your release—but if you were ill and unable to answer questions, he might just let you go. So we asked Joe Wilson what might make you appear sick, and when we got to the plant we put on German uniforms…" He paused. "Unfortunately, you and Carter were separated, and things didn't go quite as planned…"

"So you decided to just drug me and take your chances with Oberholzer." Hogan shook his head, carefully. "The place could have blown sky high. What if the 504th had arrived on schedule?" he asked.

Kinch shrugged, awkward about being on the spot but not ashamed of their actions. "It was a chance worth taking, Colonel. What kind of operation would we have without you and Carter?"

Hogan felt himself becoming overwhelmed again. He felt like his emotions had been out of his control since he had returned to Stalag 13 and learned what Kinch, Le Beau and Newkirk had risked for his safety and Carter's. "I didn't want you to put yourselves at risk for me… but I couldn't help hoping you might do it anyway, for Carter's sake," he admitted finally. Another long pause as he considered. "But you got us both out, and you got Oberholzer out of the way as well. In direct defiance of orders, mind you… but brilliant work." One final pause. "Thanks… for not giving up."

Kinch shifted slightly, knowing how hard outward emotion came to his commanding officer. He nodded and offered a small smile. "We learned how to be stubborn from you."

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"So, Wes, still flying high after last night's success?" Humphries smiled as he came up alongside his friend in the corridor. "A nice bit of strategy, if I do say."

Dennison nodded as the two of them continued walking. "In the end it turned out I was trying too hard. All I had to do was see if we could move the raid from daytime to nighttime. Cut out all sorts of problems with visuals, and that's really all I could do. But by golly, it sure made me feel a lot better."

"You're lucky the brass agreed—I'd have expected them to say no. Daylight raids are daylight raids, and they're risky by nature."

"Maybe they like my face," Dennison quipped.

"That wouldn't be it; they'd have said no right away if your mug had anything to do with it," Humphries goaded lightly. "Hey—you might even step out from Colonel Hogan's shadow."

"I doubt that will ever happen," Dennison replied. "And I've been thinking, Lewis: I really struggled with this mission, but it gave me a lot more respect for Hogan. I mean we've got fighter escort and experience in daylight raids now; he had nothing, and yet he still managed to pull it all off—and brilliantly. He must have gone through this kind of stress all the time. I don't know how he coped and stayed as charismatic as everyone says. Maybe it's not so bad having his presence floating around here. Gives me something to aspire to."

"You could do worse." The Major grinned. "Where are we going?" he asked, as they continued walking.

"I've been called down to the radio room. But I suppose you can come, too."

"Oh, good; more time with the currently famous Colonel Dennison."

"You want my autograph?"

"Nah; all those X's look the same to me."

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"We thought you deserved to hear what happened yesterday, Dennison," the Colonel's superior officer said.

Dennison furrowed his brow, already surprised to see General Alfred Butler standing before him. "'What happened,' sir?" he asked.

"We already know that by changing the timing of the raid over the plant near Hammelburg, dozens, possibly hundreds of men's lives were saved." Butler paused for a moment and seemed to think. "But it turns out that the change accomplished more than one objective."

Dennison exchanged puzzled glances with Humphries. "Sir?"

Butler glanced at Humphries, who merely blinked back, and then turned his attention back to Dennison. "We received a message today from Papa Bear. The Jerries found out about the plans for the attack due to a breach in our radio security, which has now been rectified. If we had gone in when intended, it would have meant guaranteed huge losses to our side. Also, at the time the raid was supposed to happen, Papa Bear himself was unavoidably at the munitions factory. If the strike had proceeded as planned, we would have lost the greatest undercover operator the Allies have in Germany."

Dennison gasped. Humphries merely raised his eyebrows. "And there's a message you need to see," Butler added. He glanced again at Humphries, then nodded. "It is classified, gentlemen."

Dennison took the paper offered to him and quickly scanned the contents before reading aloud. "'Gestapo Major on his way to you now.'" He paused and looked at Butler questioningly, but received nothing but a blank stare in return. "'Suspects existence and location of operation. Jerry reeling from attack on plant. Due to change of timing, Papa Bear and cub safe and sound. Special message to Commander of the 504th: Thanks for looking after my boys. Regards, Papa Bear.'"

Dennison looked up at Butler and considered speaking while his mind was still reeling, but changed his mind. He looked at Humphries beside him, whose eyebrows were now floating high on his forehead. Finally, he stammered, "'…my boys'?"

Butler's face remained unreadable. "Look after the 504th, Dennison," he said at last. "It's very important to people working on the inside. More important than you may ever know."

Dennison nodded numbly. Colonel Hogan…. So you're not sitting out the war after all. He smiled, thinking how often he had been told about Hogan's perseverance and clear inner strength. I should have known there couldn't be two men like you.

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"I'm fine, Joe," Hogan said before the medic even had a chance to speak. He turned back to watching some of the men play volleyball in the compound from his vantage point near the barracks, leaning against the wall, one of his feet braced up against it.

"I didn't say a word!" Wilson protested. He held up his hands to show he had nothing with him with which to poke and prod the Colonel. "Just watching the game, same as you."

"Uh-huh," Hogan said, unconvinced but willing to let it go. His eyes followed the worn ball as it traveled back and forth across the net. Then he closed his eyes and sighed as a light, cool breeze swept past.

"You okay?" came Wilson's voice immediately.

Hogan felt the medic's hand on his arm. "I'm fine," he said, opening his eyes. "No more dizzy spells, no more falling asleep without notice. Honest." He threw a glance at the Sergeant and smiled tolerantly at the man's worried face. "Not even any more being sick to my stomach. No thanks to you and that nice extra dose of morphine you told the fellas to give me," he said lightly.

Wilson shrugged apologetically. "Sorry about that," he said. "But they said they were desperate and I couldn't think of anything else."

"Well, it worked. And… thanks."

"I'd say 'Any time,' but… I'd rather not."

"Me, too." Hogan closed his eyes again as his mind drifted to memories both long ago and recent.

"Colonel Hogan, watch this!" Hogan's eyes lit up as he watched a young recruit excitedly prepare for his first landing at the controls of a B-17. "It's gonna be a perfect landing; you'll see!"

Hogan nodded. "You're doing well, Brighton. But you'll do better if your landing gear is down."

The young man grinned as the tips of his ears turned red. "Whoops. That won't happen under combat conditions, Colonel. Honest."

Hogan smiled patiently and looked out his window. Suddenly he was standing in the middle of the compound at Stalag 13, and another young man, a prisoner of war, was standing in rags. "I'm cold, sir."

Hogan frowned deeply, then looked at the torn jacket, the dirty, worn gloves, the shredded boots. He turned and found himself in Klink's office. "Sir, the men in Barracks Six are freezing in this winter weather. The blankets we have just aren't enough, and you promised long underwear after the stove broke down, when we did that extra work detail in the motor pool. It's now been three days and we've got no stove and no underwear. It's time to pay up."

Klink shook his head. "We do not have any long underwear at the moment, Colonel Hogan. I told you yesterday that those supplies have been delayed."

"'Delayed?'" Hogan echoed, annoyed. "Then why is Schultz suddenly waltzing around like Nanook of the North?"

"Sergeant Schultz has enough blubber to keep the entire guard house warm for a week."

"And it doesn't hurt that he's got long underwear on either," Hogan retorted. "Le Beau saw it when Schultz reached over for our strudel."

Klink waved his hands dismissively. "All right, all right. Long underwear. I'll have the guards bring it out tomorrow."

"Today," Hogan persisted. "It's going to be below freezing again tonight, and unless you want to see ice pops at roll call in the morning, they'd better get into something warm now."

A mocking laugh from behind him made Hogan turn around. "You have nothing now." Major Oberholzer was suddenly there, shaking his head as Hogan bartered for the well-being of his men. "You used to be the Commander of a legendary Bomb Group. Now, you are the leader of a group of impotent boy scouts." The Major moved in close to Hogan's ear. Hogan closed his eyes. "How does it feel, Colonel Hogan, to have lost everything?"

You took it from me, Hogan said to himself, as humiliation and desperation began to fill his emptiness.

"Look out, Colonel Hogan!"

Hogan stopped the errant volleyball only inches away from his face and held it fast. Corporal Monroe trotted over to the Colonel and Wilson, puffing and red-faced. "Sorry about that, Colonel," he said, taking the ball Hogan offered.

"Oh, and hey," Monroe added, with just a quick glance back toward the game, "I heard you weren't feeling too well the last few days—glad to see you up and about, sir."

Hogan nodded slowly. "Thanks."

"And that long underwear, sir?—It's great! I can't take the cold, you know—that thin Florida blood. And even though the stove came back—well I never got around to returning the long johns to the Krauts." A mischievous grin. "Last night I dreamt it was Betty Grable keeping me warm, and not some Kraut underwear. Thanks again."

A small smile curled the edges of Hogan's lips. "Glad I could help." He watched as the young flyer raced back to the shouting players and resumed the game with vigor.

How does it feel to have lost everything? echoed in his mind again. But as Hogan watched a play suddenly dissolve into a four-man pile-up, he resolved the conflict within him: I haven't lost everything, Oberholzer, Hogan replied inwardly; I've just got something totally different.

His thoughts focused on Carter, Newkirk, Kinch and Le Beau. I don't have to be in the air to have a good crew.