(First fanfic! Have not beta read. Critiques much appreciated.)

If he were pressed on the subject, Colonel Robert E. Hogan, USAF, would have thought his German counterpart would have deserted months ago. In the pitch-darkness of a frigid February night, Kommandant Wilhelm Klink could be seen bumbling through the woods. Loaded leather suitcase in hand, he tripped over an exposed root in the snow-covered trail.

"Fick dich!" He swore softly at the offending piece of vegetation. He quickly righted himself, and with case in hand, he continued deeper into the forest. The wind whipped violently around him, blowing harshly against the mild protection of his brown civilian jacket.

Following silently at around 30 paces, Col. Hogan and three of his fellow inmates kept pace with the oblivious German. All were dressed in the tailored black garb of the dreaded Gestapo, and equipped with standard ČZ vz. 27 issue sidearms. Hogan had always been impressed with the level of professionalism put into their recreated uniforms.

Moving his arm up and down, he gave the silent signal for his men to hurry up. Sergeant Kinchloe USAF, Corporal Newkirk RAF, and Senior Aircraftman Morse RAF proceeded through the sparse underbrush. Moving like field mice over the tangled mess of branch and ice, they stalked their fleeing jailer. Capturing and returning Klink to his post was a top priority.

Keeping aware of his bleak surroundings, the Colonel reflected briefly on the object of their pursuit. In Hogan's opinion, Kommandant Oberst Wilhelm Klink was a thoroughly unremarkable man. Mid-40s, balding, fastidious to a fault, and adorned with a gold monocle; he looked less like the affeared dictator of a military prison camp and more akin to a caricature in a children's fairy tale. Stalking the grounds, stiff-backed, the inmates often likened him to a rather irate goose. This, of course, was less flattering than the chief POW's nickname of " Iron Eagle."

His unusual appearance was exacerbated by his stranger-still personality. One got the vague impression they were interacting with a character, more than a man. High volumed tut-tuting and strutting around the camp, exaggerated expressions, and wild gesticulations with the ever-present riding crop. Having risen through the ranks by sheer length of tenure, he presented no notable accomplishments or merit.

Yet it was this same boisterous but mediocre who was the true cornerstone in the Stalag XIII Underground operation. His sheer blind obliviousness to Hogan's more outrageous schemes made him the perfect unwitting accomplice. The American might even put in a good word for him after the war. Maybe.

Snap* *Crash* A loud "Sohn einer Hündin!" could be heard just ahead. Colonel Hogan gestured for the rest of his party to stop.

Klink had stumbled again. Falling to the ground, Hogan could see his left shoe caught in a mole hole. The Oberst lay still for a moment, then raised himself slowly. Reaching over to inspect his ankle, he hissed loudly. A full two minutes ticked by before he attempted to move. A first attempt at standing failed, with the ankle being unable to support his weight. A second attempt saw him sadly drag his weight over to a young tree. Slowly he used the small shrub to climb to his feet.

The suitcase lay a few feet away. Klink hobbled the small distance and carefully picked up the small leather case. Pausing to collect himself, he continued down the winding path.

Hogan was confused. The small country trail headed toward the Northeast. In another few miles, the Oberst would reach Feuerthal. Unless Klink was defecting to the Russians, this was clearly the wrong direction.

On they went. Minute by minute dragged on as the POWs watched Klink drag himself forward in the darkness. The whipping wind and frigid air biting into any exposed piece of skin. Snow and ice seeping into boots and through socks. Chilled to the bone, Colonel Hogan wondered why Klink wasn't even smart enough to flee during the summer months.

Finally, at long last, Oberst Klink dropped to his knees in the middle of a small clearing. He braced himself against the suitcase on the ground and glanced at his watch.

Sensing this was an ending destination, Colonel Hogan signaled a halt. Softly padding across the snow, Newkirk hurried to Hogan's side. The Corporal's skin, although normally pale, was starting to tint a mild blue.

"Hell of a time to run, isn't it Gov?" the Englishman tutted quietly. Huffing in agreement, Hogan was filled with an overwhelming feeling of anger toward his German counterpart. Until last month, Luft-Stalag XIII was a POW camp for airmen shot down on German soil. Built to accommodate roughly 2.000 inmates, the camp had swelled to 10.000 over the past month, with an influx of POWs being moved West ahead of the Russian advance. With the delay in extra Red Cross packages, everything was in short supply; food, medicine, clothing, and fuel. What little they had was distributed to the most in-need.

Colonel Hogan had even thought Klink to be a decent allocator of resources. So far , with the Senior POW's cooperation, he had managed to efficiently stretch supplies. Starvation was not yet rampant as it was in nearby Hammelburg. Yet the camp still teetered on the brink of disaster.

Crunch* *Snap* The hard trample of feet moving over wood and snow could be heard coming from the East. Klink snapped to life as he struggled to his feet. A short distance away, a man could be seen emerging from the opposing end of the clearing. Dressed in plain civilian garb, and dragging a small crate, he tread through the snowy night.

The two converged in the middle of the clearing. A slight waning moon as their only light. Hogan and Co creeped forward to the edge of the tree line to observe the interaction. From Klink's wild gesticulating between the two objects, the observers surmised that some sort of negotiation was occurring.

Suddenly, the conversation turned for the worse. In the dim light, Col Hogan saw the dim image of the stranger lunge for Klink. With a swift fist, he clocked the Kommandant square across the jaw. Oberst Klink fell to the ground with a thud.

Unwilling to let their vital resource be ground to a pulp, the senior American officer burst forth from his hiding spot. Rapidly gesturing for his comrades to follow, he sprinted towards the commotion.

"Was zum Teufel geht hier vor?" He roared across the clearing.

The stranger took one look at their uniforms and fled, grabbing for Klink's case, and leaving the box he had arrived with behind.

Klink was out cold in the snow. His monocle lay inches away from his face, where it had flown off upon impact. What a sorry sight.

Hogan sighed. "Alright, let's lug the Kommandant back."

Coming up from behind, Kinch wryly chucked. "Guess nobody escapes Stalag XIII after all."

"Holy shit! G-g-gov, y-you oughta take a look at t-this." Aircraftsman Morse stuttered. His slack jawed stare at the stranger's open suitcase sparked a curiosity. Leaving the felled Oberse where he lay, the inmates gathered around the open case.

It seems the man left a treasure trove behind. A whole box of krankenträgers medical kits. There were at least 20 packages inside containing vital medical equipment and drugs. Cardiazol, Penicillin, iodine, aluminum tablets, and more! It was practically Christmas.

"What in the world do you think the Kommandant traded for all this?" Newkirk wondered.

A low moan shook the mesmerized inmates out of their stupor. The Kommandant stirred and reached to clutch his face. Colonel Hogan, moved immediately to his side. Taking stock of the older man's injuries, he noted the severely cracked monocle. Tiny crystalline shards of glass bloodily clung to his cheek. That would hurt like hell in the morning.

Clouded blue eyes looked up at him in confusion? "Colonel Hogan?" He slurred. Clearly the blow to his head was serious. Possible concussion. "You're here!" A small smile graced Klink's face. "You're always there…right when I need you." A frown. Hogan was surprised the Kommandant didn't question his presence outside of camp. He chalked it up to the head injury.

"Shhh sir, I think you've had quite the night." Hogan gently prompted as he hefted the older man to his feet. Klink was having a difficult time standing on his own.

A long pause as Hogan contemplated his next move. "Do you trust me to get us home?"

"Hogan, I'd trust you to take me anywhere" He responded wearily and promptly fainted. Hogan carried him all the way back to camp.