"Colonel, we've got company." Kinchloe pointed to the window facing the main yard of the compound. "Staff car. SS."

"Anyone we've dealt with before?" Hogan asked as the others crowded around the window.

"Doesn't look like it."

Two men dressed in black SS uniforms got out of the car, walking briskly up to Colonel Klink's office. One of the men was quite tall and broad-shouldered with a square jaw. The other was shorter, thinner, and frequently looked around with pale blue eyes. As soon as both men were inside the building, Hogan and the rest of his team went into the back to listen in on the bug cleverly disguised as a coffeepot.

"Please, have a seat, gentlemen!" Klink was saying. "Would you care for some schnapps, a cigar—"

"We are not interested in hospitality, Colonel," one of the men said. "We are here on vital business. Now, I am Standartenführer Kaschel, of the SS Sorcery Division. This is Hauptsturmführer Veidt. I am aware that you have met before."

"Yes, we have." Klink grew quiet for a moment. "You came to Stalag Thirteen two years ago looking for… magic folk."

"And we are back again, looking for magic folk," Veidt said. "We would like to talk to you and your staff about this man." The sound of paper shuffling was heard, followed by Veidt saying, "This is Private Johann Lechner, an ice Conjurus. He escaped one of our facilities two weeks ago, and we want him returned."

"We have intelligence that he was last seen in Hammelburg," Kaschel added, "and we would like to know if any of your staff saw him."

Hogan looked at Kinchloe. "Who went to Hammelburg in the last two days?"

"Corporal Langenscheidt, Corporal Kielholz, and Sergeant Schultz," Kinchloe replied.

Hogan paced the room a bit before turning to Carter. "How long was Lechner waiting for you yesterday?"

"He never said," Carter replied. "I don't even know how long he was in Hammelburg."

"So there's a good chance at least one of the guards saw him."

"Possibly. There's not much we can do about it now. Doesn't mean they know where he went, though."

Klink's voice came through the coffee pot. "By all means, gentlemen, ask anyone. I can tell you that I was in Hammelburg three days ago, but I did not see this man, unfortunately. May I ask, though, why you are searching for a German soldier?"

"You may not ask," Kaschel said.

"To satisfy your curiosity, Colonel, we are looking for this man for the same reason I came to camp two years ago," Veidt replied. "That is all you need to know."

"I remember him," LeBeau said quietly. "That bosche came here shortly I had been captured, looking for magic folk. He and some other officer went around interrogating everyone, prisoner and guard. They were shocked when they found not one person in Stalag Thirteen had magic, saying it was statistically impossible."

"They're that common?" Carter asked.

"Apparently, yes. They're probably doing horrible things with them, but I have no idea what they're doing specifically."

"Well, no wonder the kid down in the tunnels wants to leave," Newkirk replied. He turned to Hogan. "Sir, we should get him out as soon as we can, leave no chance of the SS recapturing him."

"They're not going to just let him vanish," Hogan said. "Not if they're personally coming out here to find him."

Carter looked up when a shadow appeared in the doorway to the room. Lechner was standing perfectly still as he observed the group, though he tilted his head when the men looked over at him.

"What are you doing out of the tunnel?" Hogan asked. "A guard could come in at any moment."

"I have come to ask when I will be getting out of here."

"We haven't figured that out yet. Go back down before someone sees you."

Nodding slightly, Lechner turned to leave. Once he was gone, Hogan said, "Carter, go talk to him. See if you can get anything else out of him."

Without question, Carter descended down the bunkbed hatch into the tunnels below. He hadn't gone more than a few feet when he saw Lechner sitting on the ground, head on his knees. Carter knelt by him, hoping their conversation would go better this time around. "Hey."

"Your colonel does not need to know the details about me to get me out of here," Lechner said.

"If we didn't have our operation to protect, we would have gotten you out the night you arrived, but… we can't afford to have the SS tearing around the camp to find you."

"They do not even suspect I am here."

"No, but the fact that you vanished in an area with heavy Underground activity will get them suspicious, especially since the Gestapo already suspects that Colonel Hogan is involved."

"And you have dealt with them before. Why can you not deal with them now?"

"Because we don't know if this attempt will be our last. If we can get as much information as we can, we can stay several steps ahead of Kaschel—"

"Kaschel? Standartenführer Kaschel?"

"Yes. He just arrived asking if any of Klink's guards were in Hammelburg."

Lechner hugged his knees tighter.

"You have a history with him?"

Lechner nodded, eyes filling with tears.

"You can tell me."

Instead of answering, Lechner covered his head.

"We're not trying to hurt you, and we're not going to send you back to him." Carter moved closer, putting his hand on Lechner's shoulder. "I know it hurts, but we have to make sure he can never find you again, and we need your help for that."

Lechner gently squeezed Carter's hand while still covering his head. "I am not ready," he sobbed.

The interviews with the guards didn't yield much information. None of the guards who had been to Hammelburg in the last two days had seen any sign of Private Lechner. Kaschel was rubbing his face in disappointment as Corporal Langenscheidt left Klink's office. "This is going to be harder than we thought," he sighed.

"This is definitely one thing we cannot control," Veidt replied. "It is entirely possible that only one person saw Lechner."

"I doubt it." Kaschel sat up straight. "I will contact the local Gestapo and have them question the citizens. I refuse to let this trail go cold."

"It is still entirely possible that Lechner has moved on to the next town."

"All the more reason to ask around. We won't get ahead of him if we just wait around for the next tip." Standing, Kaschel turned to face Klink. "We appreciate your cooperation, Colonel. Should you see anything out of the ordinary, a call would be nice."

"Oh, that won't be a problem at all, Standartenführer," Klink said, standing to open the door for the two SS officers. "Good luck with your search, gentlemen. I'm sure you will catch this man sooner or later."

Kaschel raised an eyebrow before sighing and leaving the room. Once he was gone, Klink's expression changed as he locked eyes with Veidt. It had gone from eager-to-please to fear in a heartbeat.

Veidt left without saying a word. He wished he hadn't made eye contact with Klink at all, because he remembered that expression from two years prior.

It was late summer, 1940, when he entered the camp in Standartenführer Fritz Wahler's staff car. The newly-formed Sorcery Division of the SS was setting about its search for magic folk across the territories of the Reich, and Veidt had already gone to several POW camps, picking up everyone and anyone suspected of having just one drop of magical blood in them. Stalag 13 was next on his list, and this time, his superior and head of the entire division, accompanying him.

"You have done a remarkable job so far," Wahler said to him on the ride in.

Praise. Purpose. After years of not having much of either, Veidt was happy to be receiving both. The recruitment posters promised that he would finally have something to fit into. He was ecstatic that his superior was recognizing his contributions, and grinning like a fool.

"You do the talking. Pretend I am not there," Wahler instructed.

A nervous twinge started in Veidt's stomach. How can I pretend he's not there? He's the head of the whole division! I can't screw up in front of him! Swallowing, he said, "Whatever you wish, sir."

Wahler was indeed silent as they left the car to meet the camp commandant. Klink hadn't been expecting them at all, which had been what Veidt wanted. Unpreparedness was key; it gave the magic folk less of a chance to hide. As he had done before, Veidt asked Klink to line up his guards and prisoners. When Klink asked why, Veidt explained, "We are looking for magic folk. Warlocks, Conjurus, vampires, werewolves, psychics."

"You cannot be serious. Magic is so dangerous. You couldn't possibly be trying to use it," Klink said, suppressing a laugh.

Wahler stepped forward, breaking his silence. "Magic is a tool, one we can harness," he said. "Do you question every order that comes before you?"

"N-N-No, I-I—"

"I did not ask for blabbering. Line up your men. Now."

The sheer terror on Klink's face cut through Veidt like a hot knife, but at the same time, he knew Wahler said that this was his job. Was he disappointed? "Sir, I can—"

"You may run into people who do not think we are capable of undertaking such a task, my friend. I will show you how to deal with that."

Nodding, Veidt followed Wahler's lead. Wahler investigated the guards first, and came away disappointed to find not a single one of them was magic. Veidt was certain he watched Wahler's blood pressure spike when Sergeant Schultz said all he knew about magic was pulling rabbits out of hats and coins out of someone's ear.

Then came the prisoners. Klink feebly tried to argue that the Geneva Convention didn't allow the SS to do this, but Wahler turned to say that he didn't give a damn what the Geneva Convention said, and that he would have Klink "dealt with" if he spoke up again.

Again, no magic folk were found. The only thing they found were a pair of prisoners, one British and one French, daring to argue with them. The Frenchman even tried to swing at them.

"I find it positively adorable someone of your stature would attempt to strike me," Wahler said.

Veidt had no clue what the French prisoner shouted in retaliation, but he imagined it was quite vulgar. Wahler had slapped and punched prisoners—and even guards—who dared stand up to him, but he decided against hitting the Frenchman because he thought he would "accidentally kill him."

It was shocking that no magic folk were in Stalag 13. It seemed statistically impossible, but Wahler couldn't deny it. When he finished his search, he marched back up to Klink, relishing in the colonel's terror. "I hope you feel special, Colonel. Your camp has achieved the statistic impossibility of having not one magic person in it. For now, you may go back to your day, but—" Wahler stood over Klink, "next time you question my orders, I will turn you into a guinea pig for my work."

"Right. I will not question you again. You have my word," Klink said.

Wahler stepped away, smirking. "Good. We will return at some point, after you acquire more prisoners. Come along, Veidt."

Veidt followed Wahler, but he looked back at Klink as they headed back to their vehicle. Klink was standing still, looking afraid for his life. Nothing else existed in his eyes except terror. Veidt glanced back at Wahler. After not being able to showcase what he had learned over the last several months, he was still determined to impress his superior. He was determined to still have some form of praise given to him afterward.

"What are you more afraid of?" Veidt asked, walking back up to Klink. "Us, or magic?"

"What do you mean?" Klink gave him a nervous smile. "I am not afraid of you."

"Oh? Your expression and your tone say otherwise. I am honestly surprised your commanding officer thought you were a good idea to be in charge of this camp."

"No one has ever escaped from Stalag Thirteen since I was assigned here. I rule with an iron fist."

"You wouldn't know iron fist if you were struck with one," Veidt hissed. "We have undertaken this mission with the sole intent of making a better Germany, and you choose to cower in front of us, as if we were the enemy!"

"I think he got the message, Veidt," Wahler said. "We have other places to be."

Disappointment crashed over Veidt. When he got in the vehicle next to Wahler, he said, "Did I go too far?"

"He stepped into his place once I was done with him," Wahler replied. "I don't want him and others like him to be too scared. After all, my work is for their benefit as well. Eventually, they will see I was their protector all along. I just don't want anyone standing in the way."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"Your heart was in the right place, my friend. Don't apologize for that."

Veidt didn't dare turn back to look as he left Klink's office for the second time. My heart was not in the right place then, he thought. I did not even have one.

Carter climbed up the ladder back into the barracks, finding everyone had gone back to their daily lives. "The SS left?" he asked.

"About two minutes ago, yeah," Newkirk replied. "None of the guards who were in Hammelburg saw anything. Kaschel said he's going to have the Gestapo ask around."

"And you know what that means," LeBeau added. "Hochstetter will come around and assume the colonel knows something."

"This is too out there, even for Hogan."

"This is Hochstetter we are talking about. He would assume the colonel made him slip on ice."

"Good point." Newkirk sighed. "Did the ice fella tell you anything, Andrew?"

"He has a history with Kaschel," Carter replied. "Wouldn't go into any details, though."

"He does realize we're trying to help him, right? He did seek us out after all."

"Yeah, but whatever happened deeply upset him. All he said to me was that he wasn't ready to talk about it."

The bottom bunk raised behind Carter, and Kinchloe's head appeared. "Well, I've got something that might help us out a bit."

"Let's hear it," Newkirk said.

"London did some digging on Kaschel. He's the head of the Zauberei-Abteilung, or Sorcery Division. The original head, Fritz Wahler, was assassinated just a few months ago, and Kaschel's been trying to put stuff back in order. Wahler had a massive project dedicated to the study of ice Conjurus, but all his research was destroyed by whoever killed him. Kaschel's been trying to get that put back together. He's been using civilians and soldiers to conduct his research, and it's… well, it's gruesome."

"Anything about Lechner?" Carter asked.

Kinchloe shook his head. "London did mention that the Underground typically doesn't deal with magic. That's left to a magic resistance group called the League of Gentlemen Sorcerers and Lady Witches."

"Well ain't that a bloody mouthful," Newkirk muttered.

"Can we contact them? They might be able to help Lechner better than we can," Carter said.

Kinchloe nodded. "I asked. London said they'll get back to us in two hours."

"I'm gonna go tell Lechner." Carter waited for Kinchloe to leave the ladder before hopping down himself. He jogged down to the last place he saw Lechner, only to find he wasn't there. Shrugging, Carter went to the room they had given Lechner, thinking he was asleep. Walking in, Carter saw the cot was empty. There was no sign of Lechner anywhere.

Frowning, Carter left the room, searching the entire tunnel complex. The tailoring room and his makeshift chemistry lab had nothing. Oh, no, no, no! Carter sprinted back up to the barracks. The bunk bed wasn't even fully raised when he said, "Lechner's gone!"

"What the hell do you mean, 'Lechner's gone?'" Newkirk asked.

"Lechner is gone. He's not in the tunnels." Carter looked at Hogan. "What're we gonna do?"

Hogan rubbed his face, cursing to himself. "We'll have to go looking for him tonight."

"Tonight? By then, he'll be gone. There's no way he's sticking around."

"That's probably why he left," Newkirk said. "We didn't move fast enough for him."

"He'll get caught by the Gestapo!"

"Carter," Hogan said sternly. "Keep your voice down. I don't want Lechner getting caught any more than you do, but we need to make sure his tracks are fully covered before getting him out of here. We need to know who he talked to in Hammelburg before the SS gets to them." He paused, then regained eye contact with Carter. "Lechner seems to trust you the most. I'm going to send you out alone tonight to do a little detective work."

"By tonight it might be too late, sir. He can't have gotten far."

"I did see him sitting in the tunnels when I went down to talk to London," Kinchloe added. "He probably hasn't been gone for more than fifteen minutes."

"Alright. Carter, go after him, but I want you back before evening roll call."

"Right, sir." Carter practically dove back down into the tunnels. There's no way Lechner got far if he left only fifteen minutes ago. I can catch him in the woods. Carter was confident, but also unsure of how Lechner would respond to being pursued. Would he respond violently? Carter had never met a Conjurus before, but knew they possessed dangerous powers. He kept telling himself that he would approach Lechner gently, but knew that no matter how gentle he was, Lechner was still deeply troubled by something. There was no way of gauging his reaction.

Arriving at his hotel room was the first time Veidt had been alone all day. Kaschel planned on staying until he had definitive proof that Lechner had moved on to the next town, and so Veidt had to stay as well. You volunteered to do this, so you have to see it through. He just needed a chance to go out without Kaschel.

The hotel was on the nicer side, frequented by traveling German officers and government officials. The largest window had a narrow balcony, which was covered in ice and snow from last night's storm, and looked down at Hammelburg's busiest street. German soldiers and officers from all branches of the Wehrmacht and SS were mingling with the civilian populace. Veidt watched them go about their lives for a moment before turning away, an ache of loneliness building in his chest, very dull at first, then blooming into something akin to a burn. He sat on the bed. None of this would have happened if you weren't so melancholic.

He was on that sea again, sitting on the tiny raft, hugging his legs. The sea monster's tentacles weren't just his memories, but his flaws as well. He refused to look at them, instead remaining focused on looking down at his boots. I created this. I have no one to blame but myself.

A knock at his door yanked him from his thoughts. He smoothed his clothes as he went to the door, and opened it to find Kaschel standing in the hall, still in his uniform. "Hello, sir," Veidt said, nervously.

Kaschel grinned at him. "I am not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Oh, no, sir. I was just… deep in thought, that's all. About our task."

"That is understandable, but you cannot dwell on it forever. I already made the necessary calls to the Gestapo. We can rest for now. Actually, I came to ask if you would like to join me for lunch."

"I am not particularly hungry, sir."

"At least have some tea or coffee. You seemed rather moody when we were at Stalag Thirteen, and I figured you needed a hot drink or a meal."

"I suppose a hot beverage would be good for me."

Kaschel nodded. "Come, then."

In another life, Veidt thought, Kaschel would have made a good friend. Outside of work, with people he was comfortable with, Kaschel was a decent person. Working with subjects for experiments was a completely different story, and a completely different person. He had changed since Wahler's death back in September; in some ways, Kaschel was nicer outside of work, and meaner during his work.

The two sat down in a restaurant on the first floor of the hotel. It wasn't very busy—a few other tables were occupied by German officers. Some were with lady friends, others were with comrades. Kaschel was very polite with their waitress when she came to ask what he and Veidt wanted. When the waitress left to get their coffee, Veidt asked, quietly, "I am surprised you did not ask her if she has seen Lechner."

"No sensible person simply opens a conversation with a question like that," Kaschel replied. "They must be comfortable with answering you first, otherwise they are more likely to lie in order to get you out of their hair."

Veidt nodded a little. "I see."

The waitress returned with their coffee. Kaschel was methodical as he added his cream and sugar, all the while glancing over at Veidt, who was a bit more generous with his sugar. He had tried black coffee once, and it was among the many things in life he deeply regretted.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Kaschel asked.

"Yes," Veidt replied. "Why?"

"You still seem distracted. You do not need to worry about Lechner. He will be back in our hands before we know it."

"I understand, sir. Sometimes I forget you are in charge now and not Wahler."

"Wahler would be certainly be furious right now. However, if he were here, this would not have happened. I have no desire to continue some of his more, shall I say, mad projects, but his research into utilizing the basic abilities of the Conjurus to protect our soldiers in hostile environments had promise. Our men in Stalingrad could certainly use that right now."

"Do you think things would be better with Wahler alive?"

"That is hard to say. He had a vision, but it did not align with the rest of Command. They were never going to give him what he needed, and considering the power at Wahler's disposal with how many witches he had at his beck and call, I suspected an internal strife would break out sooner or later. We would be weakened from the inside, and the Allies would mop up whatever was left. Wahler would have been better off waiting until the war was won to carry out his vision."

"But he was not going to wait."

"No. Himmler granted Wahler what he wanted because he felt Wahler could produce something of value on the Eastern Front. Of course, that never happened, and all we are left with is basic research and a few side projects that might produce something useful. Getting Lechner back and continuing to study him is important to getting that confidence back in the Sorcery Division."

"Why do we need Lechner specifically?" Veidt knew that Lechner was important, but up until now, he never thought to ask Kaschel why.

"Lechner is a very unique specimen. Not only is he a proven Aryan—over six generations' worth of perfect Germans—but he is also a full-blooded ice Conjurus. His parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and onwards, were all ice Conjurus. Not one impurity in his line. We cannot afford to lose him. He is exactly what Wahler was looking to create. The very definition of perfection. His blood is the key to convincing Command that we are worth their time and attention."

Veidt maintained a stoic expression as he took a sip of his coffee. He didn't want to imagine what would happen to Lechner if he was recaptured. If he was that valuable, obviously Lechner wouldn't be killed. No, things far worse were in store for him.