By the time you receive this letter, I shall be gone and with me, I take all the love and memories. Love which I find myself equally wishing you felt and hoping you do not. For if you feel as strongly as I do, I could not bear to leave. I would be able to stay - in your arms - and pretend the world around us is not in complete utter chaos. However, I hope that you do not feel as do, for if you do not, my head just might be able to persuade my heart to give up silly notions of the fairytale ending.

I pray to any deity willing to listen that we make it through this awful war and that maybe - just maybe - I will see you again. In that time, my dearest, I hope that we will find an answer to the one question. Was it ever real?

Colonel Hogan looked up from the brief letter - hell, it was hardly more than a note - and was surprised to feel his throat tightening and the bothersome sting at the corner of his eyes which signaled impending tears. It didn't make sense. He'd seen her the night before last. They'd shared wine in the kommandant's office and he'd held her close, whispering the lines he'd always used while tucking the stray lock of hair that always escaped her braids behind her ear.

It didn't make sense.

"Colonel?"

He looked up and his eyes met Kinch's soft, concerned gaze. The radioman, his second-in-command… his friend. The question didn't need to be asked, it was simply understood.

Hogan pushed the words out around the lump and he folded the note. "Helga's gone."

Kinch looked down. He'd read the note before Hogan had. He felt as if he'd invaded the Colonel's privacy, but he hadn't known when he'd opened it that it was far from the usual camp correspondence. "Yes, sir."

Hogan closed his eyes for a moment then cleared his throat. "We'll need to get our hands on any information Klink or Schultz has," he finally said, the emotions boxed back up and hidden from view. They had an organization to protect. He did not doubt that Helga - already vetted and cleared by O.S.S. and S.O.E. - would not betray them; however, London would be asking questions. "Have LeBeau whip something up for Schultz and I'll get on Klink. We'll also need to arrange someone to take her place."

Kinch frowned slightly before returning his neutral expression. "Yes, sir." He repeated, acknowledging the command before leaving the Colonel's quarters. He closed the door behind him softly and shook his head. He was no fool, but he knew well enough that Hogan would not be discussing his feelings. He had the biggest sabotage and informations operation to run and a pesky little thing like heartache wouldn't be getting in his way.

Not for the first time, Hogan thanked his lucky stars for Kinch. Had the sergeant pressed, he thought perhaps he might not be able to hold himself together. Memories flooded his mind. The first time he'd made contact with bright, blue eyes. Her smile. The laugh that he could almost hear playing over in his mind. The warmth of her body against his…

He dug a cigarette out of the pack in his jacket pocket and lit it with his zippo. Blowing out a puff of smoke, he wiped a hand over his eyes and reread the note. He then held the note over the small flame, watching as it engulfed her words, and thinking about the last question.

Was it ever real?


Author's Note:
Hello, this may sound a little silly coming from someone who's posted over twenty stories, but I'm absolutely scared to death to post this.
It's just a little snapshot, but I thank you for taking the time to read it.

All the best,

L.E. Wigman