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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A tiny smile touched the edges of Hogan's mouth as he slept.

"What do you think of Kommandant Klink?"

"I can't tell you that," Hogan replied. "It's not nice to put down people your friends might admire."

A low, amused laugh from beside him in the car. "The Kommandant is not that bad."

"No, I suppose not… for a guy who can order you shot any time he wants."

"Do you really think the Kommandant could do that?"

Hogan slowly, painfully, turned so he could see the young, unmoving soldier beside him. "When you're being held prisoner by the enemy thousands of miles from home, Gunter, you believe anyone could do that."

"Who is the enemy, Robert?"

Hogan frowned. His head was pounding, his leg and shoulder were ablaze with pain. He didn't understand the question. So he didn't answer.

"Who is the enemy?"

Hogan struggled with a reply. "That depends on… whose side you're on," he panted. The throbbing in Hogan's temples sharpened.

"And whose side are you on, Robert?"

Hogan groaned and moved uncomfortably in his sleep.

"The right one," Hogan burst, as an insistent pain raced like lightning through his body. Why don't you just move? he thought, frustrated, as he looked at the back of Kleinschmidt's head. Then, straining to reach out with his injured arm, Hogan pulled on the young soldier's shoulder to draw him up from the steering wheel.

The American recoiled in despair at the sight that greeted him: the face of the Corporal was reproachful, mournful in death. "You are denying me," Kleinschmidt accused sadly.

"No… no, I'm not," Hogan said. He shivered violently, flooding his senses with fear and stoking the already-roaring fire in his wounded body.

Hogan clutched at his blanket, and with a soft cry arched weakly off the mattress. Beads of sweat sprung onto his brow, as real pain echoed the agony of his dream.

"You're dead…. I'm talking to myself. You're not here!"

"Do you think you will survive without me here?"

"Please." Hogan's arm fell to his side. His sore neck could no longer hold his head up. He closed his eyes, but he could still feel the sorrowful eyes of the guard upon him.

Hogan sank limply onto the bunk. His tight fist slackened and released the blanket.

"Please… you're not here."

"But I am, Colonel Hogan. God in His mercy has kept me here to sustain you. I am here!"

"No!" Hogan lurched forward, and as he reached out again as though to banish the vision, Kleinschmidt disappeared, leaving him alone in the car with a still, unbearable quiet.

Hogan shifted in the bunk, groaning as he writhed to escape this torturous dreamscape. Sweat poured off him, soaking his clothes and his hair. Then the images disappeared, and he fell into an unrestful dreamlessness.

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"Colonel Hogan is sleeping," Newkirk said, managing to make those four words sound like more of a threat than a statement of fact. He stood up and moved toward the front of Hogan's door, where Kinch, Le Beau, and Carter had already gathered when Klink and his second—his expected—visitor appeared in the barracks.

Klink let out one of his nervous laughs from beside Major Schafer. "Now, now, now, Newkirk!" he sang. "The Major has an appointment with Colonel Hogan!"

"If I recall, the Colonel specifically said he wouldn't be available for this 'appointment,'" Kinch remarked coldly.

"Oui, Kinch, he did. I think the words he used were, 'Over my dead body,'" Le Beau added, his eyes still locked on the two officers.

"Yeah," Carter said, his face set in a deep frown. "And we don't like him like that."

Klink laughed again, wildly this time. "Oh, that Hogan!" he said. "He has such a marvelous sense of humor!" His face became all at once both serious and pleading as he turned to the prisoners. "Now get out of the way and let the Major through," he said through his teeth. The two guards who had accompanied the German officers readied their rifles.

"Colonel Klink, Colonel Klink!" Schafer said, speaking for the first time since the confrontation began. He smiled, his tiny dark eyes gleaming. "I can't see this being a problem. As a matter of fact, I think it's just charming!"

"Charming?" Klink repeated, shooting a glare at the prisoners.

Hogan's men looked at each other, bewildered but still on guard.

"Of course!" Schafer replied. "How protective they are of their commanding officer while he is recovering. How delightful that they want to look after him. I think it's a perfect addition to this story. Imagine it," he said, turning fully to Klink and ignoring the prisoners: "this American Colonel, badly injured in an accident that killed one of the Third Reich's loyal soldiers, willingly treated by dedicated doctors and nurses, then returned to the camp for a full recovery, to be cocooned in care by his fellow prisoners, and allowed to be so protected by the compassionate Kommandant of the Stalag!" Schafer smiled, even as the expressions on Hogan's men grew more sour with each word, "It's a dream!" he said, pleased with himself.

Klink looked warily at the men blocking Hogan's door. So many thoughts went through his mind at once: that Hogan would never stand for it; that the men standing in front of the door would not cooperate; that the "dedicated" doctors and nurses Schafer was referring to were hardly "willing" when Hogan was brought to the hospital; that the "compassionate Kommandant" label might not go down so well with General Burkhalter; that if he didn't cooperate now, there might be other consequences to deal with later… "Well," he said, finally, laughing again, "Major, I can certainly see your point of view about this. Uh, however, I'm not so sure the—"

"Colonel Klink, I am so glad you see this the way I do. You know, sometimes," he said with a small, confidential laugh of his own, "people are afraid to go along with me here—but once they know that I answer directly to Reichsminister Goebbels, they always cave in. I am glad I did not have to wave that noose in front of you, Herr Kommandant."

"Me?" One final, exaggerated laugh from Klink. "Why, Major, you must understand, I intend to fully cooperate with you and the Reichminister, of course!" Klink moved out of the way of the guards, who at his nod, once again raised their rifles, and practically growled, "Now move."

Still glowering, Hogan's men slowly parted. Klink opened the door and gestured for Schafer to pass into the room. He followed close behind, as did the prisoners who had tried to block their way. They found the American Colonel lying on the lower bunk, drenched in sweat, eyes closed, the room still holding the fading light of the day.

Klink looked guiltily at Hogan, then fleetingly at the prisoners, then with apology at Schafer. "Well," he said with a tiny laugh, "Hogan is asleep."

"Now there's a news bulletin," Newkirk remarked darkly.

"We told you he was," Le Beau added.

"And the medic says when the Colonel's asleep, we're not supposed to wake him up," Carter declared.

"Never mind, Carter," came a sigh from the bunk. All eyes looked back at the Colonel, who was now looking with strained tolerance at the intruders. "It's pretty hard to sleep with all the noise from certain—" The word Krauts was on his lips, but he refrained from using it—"uninvited guests," he said pointedly.

But Major Schafer felt none of Hogan's unhappiness—or he didn't take it into account—and he approached the Colonel and stood above him. "Colonel Hogan!" he said. "I am Major Schafer, from Berlin."

"How nice," Hogan replied, with none of the vitality and enthusiasm of his visitor. "I believe my men mentioned I was declining all requests for interviews."

Schafer ignored the rebuff. "Do not worry, Colonel Hogan, I will not tax your energy. I know you have much healing to do. It was quite a serious accident."

"Really," Hogan replied, his voice full of sarcasm. "What brought you to that conclusion? That somebody died?"

Schafer shook his head mournfully. "Yes; it was very sad, very sad, indeed. I understand you had just gotten to know the young guard with you in the car."

Hogan's men drew themselves up and moved as one closer to the bunk. This was going into a territory in which they knew Hogan was particularly vulnerable right now. Hogan glanced at them, then turned an almost threatening stare on the Major. "He died on impact. I don't know anything about him," he said in a hoarse voice. You are denying me, flitted through his brain. With conscious effort, Hogan ignored it."Anyone will tell you that," he said, his eyes landing on Klink.

Klink, who had been fidgeting nervously behind Schafer, stepped forward. "Yes, Major, that is true. The investigation did show that Corporal Kleinschmidt died almost immediately—and the car had not gone very far outside the camp when the accident happened. So there wouldn't have been very much time for him and Colonel Hogan to get acquainted."

Schafer turned back to Hogan. "And yet there are these persistent stories…" he continued. Hogan began to look hunted, almost scared. His men drew even nearer. Schafer nodded temporary acquiescence. "Never mind. We can get to that later." Hogan's fearfulness melted into a quiet desperation; in his present condition, he couldn't just walk away from Schafer. He was trapped here, and trapped with his memories. Or were they hallucinations? He had not been able to reconcile what he remembered with the facts. One version of events or the other had to be wrong. Didn't it? "In the meantime, Colonel Hogan, I am going to learn more about your treatment following the accident. From what I understand, Colonel Klink was most compassionate about your situation."

"Yeah, he's all heart," Hogan shot back. He felt a twinge of guilt at his tone of voice when he saw Klink frown. Klink had done the right thing. Of all the Germans he'd met, Klink was the one who always seemed the most at odds with cold duty versus genuine humanity. But right now, to Hogan, he was a weak-willed pawn who was allowing Schafer to make the senior POW's life more painful and confused. And he could feel no sympathy for that. "Colonel Klink was a responsible Kommandant," Hogan amended flatly. It was the best he could manage at the moment.

Schafer nodded, smiling benignly. "He was, indeed, Colonel." Klink's spirits seemed to lift.

Hogan took in and let out a deep breath. He saw his men exchanging glances; they knew what he was going through, he realized. He only wished they didn't have to witness it. "I'm tired," Hogan said, blinking sleepily. "So if you gentlemen will excuse me." He closed his eyes and turned his head away, wishing the whole world would just disappear.

A short, expectant silence followed. When nothing filled it, Kinch said, "You heard the Colonel. He needs to sleep. Come on, fellas; let's clear out."

Hogan's men murmured assent and filed out of the room, with Newkirk bringing up the rear. He stopped as the Germans didn't seem to be following. "That includes you," he said.

Schafer continued watching Hogan's still form for a few seconds longer, then turned, smiling, to the Englishman. "Of course," he said. "Thank you for bringing me here, Kommandant," he added, nodding at Klink. "I believe I shall have quite a substantial story on my hands." A final glance at Hogan as Schafer left the office. "Whether Colonel Hogan cooperates willingly… or not."

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Klink shook his head unhappily as he watched Captain Lehmann examining the index cards in the little filing drawers in his office. That quarterly inventory report had been perfect—perfect! It was exactly the way Berlin always wanted it—written in singular, duplicate, triplicate. Accounting for every little thing in camp and how much it cost and where supplies went and what was left. And now, an auditor was here. An auditor! As if Klink didn't have enough to think about without someone asking him to justify the number of blankets that had given up the ghost and the number of potatoes that had been distributed to the prisoners.

He felt trapped. Inside his office, there was Lehmann, looking for any inconsistency to possibly bring trouble raining down on Klink's head. In the outer office, there was Schafer, trying to make Klink look like a Luftwaffe version of Florence Nightingale; how bad would that look to his superiors? And on top of that, there was Hogan. He was clearly not in the mood for any of this, and Klink couldn't blame him one bit. The accident had been a terrible waste of life. And the way Hogan had been trapped for hours with only a dead man for companionship—well, that was—

Klink shook his head to clear those thoughts away. He had gone through all of this before. More than once. And it was troubling to him that whenever he thought about it, though he was devastated by the death of one of his own men, he was still worried about how Hogan was coping. He shouldn't care how the American was handling this. And yet he did. And Klink was forced to wonder if that made him less of a German officer than he was supposed to be. And why that thought somehow didn't bother him as much as the possibility that perhaps most German officers were not as humane as they should be. Because if they, too, fought this inner battle, they certainly did not show it.

Schafer called out from the antechamber. Klink sighed despondently, then braced himself to pretend to enjoy the circus, when all he wanted to do was run away.