An Unexpected Afternoon

Colonel Robert Hogan strolled across the compound from Klink's office, a spring in his step and a grin on his face. Okay, so yes, he had lost a few games of chess, but stroking Klink's already inflated ego had been worth it to get the three men from Barracks 8 freed from the cooler. He would really have to have words with his men; Klink really hated it when they made rude noises during roll call. Some people had no sense of humour.

That the hours wasted in the Kommandant's company had given his men the window they needed to fulfill an apparently important mission was just the icing on the cake.

What exactly was so important that his men had to leave camp in the middle of the afternoon was beyond him; Kinch had just shrugged and told him he'd see when Newkirk, Carter and LeBeau returned. He wasn't too worried; his men were professionals who could more than take care of themselves. Going by the audible bickering from the hut, Hogan was reassured that his men were all back safely.

Still congratulating himself on the masterful manipulation that saw his men released, Hogan stepped through the door to his home away from home. Making a beeline for the coffee, Hogan dimly registered the overly cheerful greetings his men bestowed upon him.

Normally, this would be enough to set him on immediate alert - the last time his men had been so happy to see him, Carter had accidentally set fire to his desk. Unfortunately, Hogan had just been with Klink, coffee was required so he didn't succumb to the soporific effects of having listened to the man speak.

Warming his hands on the life-giving brew, he could finally return his attention to his band of merry misfits.

Each and every one seemed to be looking, innocently, in any direction but his. Well, if that was how they were going to play it, he was going to catch up on some work in his office. It wasn't easy being senior POW officer, after all.

Distracted as he might have been by his men's unusual behaviour, Hogan did not fail to miss the new addition to his decor.

There, resting jauntily on a few important scraps of paper, was a large, steaming block of ice.

The Colonel blinked a few times, convinced that the perpetual winter around Stalag 13 was starting to play tricks on his mind. Sadly, his view did not change.

There was a block of ice on his desk. A block of ice. On his desk.

Hogan did not like the way that his men were smiling at him. There was a giddy sparkle in Carter's eyes, a twist of happy wickedness about LeBeau's lips, a dance of mischief in Newkirk's usually implacable features. Even Kinch seemed unable to stop his smirk.

"There is a block of ice in my office," Hogan announced, tone demanding a very good explanation.

"Oui, Mon Colonel," LeBeau agreed, smiling with far too much innocence to be believable. Thank God he was a better actor when they were out on a mission.

"Why?"

"You see, the thing is, Colonel-"

Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose. He might not know what was going on yet, but he certainly knew that he didn't want to hear any explanations from Newkirk. Or Carter for that matter. Those two were responsible for most of the silver at his temples.

"Kinch?" Hogan invited, his tone making it very clear that his would be the only voice Hogan expected to hear.

"It was Colonel Crittendon, sir," Kinch began, sending an unwelcome shiver down Hogan's spine.

Please God, I've been so good.

"I thought he was in Stalag 16," Hogan croaked, his mind dancing with images of Crittendon let loose on his camp. He would sooner dance n*** in the rain in front of the Kommandantur than endure Crittendon loose on his sector.

"He is, Colonel," Kinch hurried to reassure him. "He escaped for about twenty minutes three days ago, managing to get in touch with an underground unit. They relayed his message to us and here we are."

Hogan crossed his arms, wondering what he had done wrong in some previous existence that he was lumbered with Rodney Crittendon as an ally. "That doesn't explain why there is a block of ice melting in my office."

"Well, you see, sir," Newkirk began, using the apologetic tone of voice only Crittendon ever pushed him to. "Apparently there is a piece of top secret information hidden inside that ice. We had to retrieve it, sir."

Hogan paced back into his office, staring long and hard at the sweating block of ice ruining his desk.

"There's nothing in it," Hogan stated, confused.

"Yes sir," Newkirk agreed, that mischief still dancing in his eyes.

Hogan resisted the urge to return to the Kommandantur for another game of chess. At least that was reasonably sane. "Then why is it still on my desk?"

"We couldn't get rid of it until you'd seen it, Colonel," Carter piped up, sitting back on his bunk at the Colonel's glare.

"I've seen it, there's nothing in it. Get rid of it."

Newkirk grinned sunnily. "Anything you say, Guv'nor."

Hogan stood back, letting Newkirk and Carter remove the weeping ice from his quarters. Nobody back home would ever believe how insane his life could get. Then again, nobody back home had ever had to deal with Colonel Crittendon.

And he'd been having such a good day earlier.