A/N: Thanks to my reviewers! I hope I can deliver.

Topside, they had called Wilson in and were trying to get themselves together before roll call. LeBeau was fine, so he was watching the prisoner in the tunnels. Their first order of business was putting Carter's arm back in place. Kinch offered to hold him still while Wilson pulled. Newkirk just barely stuffed his cap into Carter's mouth before he started screaming. Hogan winced from his spot at the sink as he washed the cut on his wrist and the captain's blood off of his hands.

Once it was over, Carter felt much better. He removed the cap himself. "Sorry about that, Newkirk," he apologized.

"S'alright. I'll just wash it three times tomorrow."

"Hey!" Carter protested. Newkirk smiled, glad to have Carter here with him.

Wilson checked their various cuts and bruises, and spent a little extra time on Carter. After checking his pupils and asking him some questions, he turned to Hogan. "Don't give him anything to do tomorrow. I want him to rest. Probably not a concussion, but let's not push it. I'll come over in the afternoon."

"Alright. Thanks, Wilson."

"Sure thing."

After that, they went to bed, Kinch, Hogan, and LeBeau trading off watches on the captain. Just before roll call, they handcuffed him to the sturdiest tunnel support they could find and headed upstairs.

Roll call passed smoothly, except for a tense moment when Schultz's eyes bugged out, catching a glimpse of Hogan's hands.

"Colonel Hogan," he whispered. "I-is that blood?"

Hogan frowned, looked down, and saw the spot he had missed. He rubbed it off, then smiled at Schultz. "Nope."

Schultz looked at him a moment longer, then decided all would be better if he believed him. Hogan still found it strange-convenient, but strange-how Schultz could choose to be convinced. He looked genuinely relieved. "Gut."

Carter's bruise was easily explained away by saying he fell off his bunk and hit his face on a misplaced footlocker. Since it was Carter, it actually passed as believable.

The next few days passed uneventfully. Franz was either biding his time planning a grand escape or had resigned himself to the situation. In any case, he didn't try anything, especially after they cleaned his wound.

The argument going over in the barracks the next few days was constant. Kinch was the biggest advocate of just leaving things be and getting the man to London without any more trouble. Hogan, for his part, was debating both of the ideas, wondering whether inflicting injury would really make him easier to get back. He may not be able to walk or climb on his own, which would make him difficult in another way, but he also wouldn't be able to attack.

They were a little bit worried about Newkirk. He was all for the injury route.

"It won't be any more than 'e's done to others," he argued.

"Newkirk, it's unnecessary."

"'e already tried to escape once."

"And with a warning he'll be shot and his arm the way it is, he shouldn't try again."

"Are you okay, Newkirk?"

"It's fine, I get it. So we don' 'urt 'im."

~HH~

Franz hadn't been privy to these arguments, but with his proximity to the radio room and his unobtrusiveness, he had learned more than the heroes may have wanted. He was keeping close tabs on when there were more and when there were less people in the tunnels. His sense of time was a little off underground, but he could tell when the day began and ended based on their activity. He was also just close enough to hear radio transmissions, and plenty of code names. He hardly slept. He had to be ready to gather any information he could. They fed him occasionally, and allowed him to free his hands when someone was there watching him.

And on the third day, he heard a transmission to the Underground. "Papa Bear, this is Chicken Little. Come in, Papa Bear."

"I read you, Chicken Little."

"You have a package ready?"

"Yep. A hot one."

"We're ready for pick up. Tomorrow? 2400 hours?"

"Works for us."

"Good. Over and out."

Tomorrow at midnight. He didn't have much time. He didn't want to do something so atrocious, but he couldn't avoid it.

~HH~

He got as much sleep as he could the following day. They seemed to be on a pretty regular schedule. He supposed one got used to those in a prisoner of war camp. He knew he'd gotten used to them just being in the military. The people weren't always the same, but they switched out at the same time. Whoever had first shift for the night brought him a meager meal. He could handle any of them, except perhaps the radioman. But he was hoping it wasn't Newkirk. He was too watchful. He wouldn't let his guard down like the others.

As the last day shift with, thank goodness, the radioman, came to a close, he tested his mobility. He couldn't do much bound, but he stretched his arms as well as he could, preparing. The radioman—oh, what was his name?—looked at him, but didn't ask questions. He figured that might be the case. He never did say much. He took the time to review his mental map, and considered what he would do when and if he got out. Going straight to the guards or even the kommandant of this camp wouldn't work. If they weren't on the prisoners' side, they were stupid enough to botch an investigation into what Franz had seen. And the colonel heading this operation was likely smart enough to discredit him. He couldn't stick around here. By now, General Burkhalter would know he was gone, and would know the underground was involved because the Frenchman Dubois had disappeared. If Franz showed up, with a modest but believable story (not the whole thing— even Franz still found it unbelievable), the general would have good reason to bring a surprise inspection to the camp tonight, before they had time to hide their operation. Perhaps even before they knew he had gone. He just had to get to town and get a car for emergency purposes from someone who could recognize him without papers. That would be easy enough. The general had stayed in town many times, and the hofbrau was open late. He would just ask Bertram.

The Frenchman, uh…LeBeau, appeared.

"Kinch, le Colonel wants you on the radio."

Kinch, that was it. And LeBeau had brought his dinner. He was taking next watch. Good. Not good, but… convenient.

"Ugh," Kinch complained.

"You'll get sleep sometime tonight."

"Thanks."

The radioman got up from the crate he was sitting on, stretched, and left. Franz listened to where his footsteps were going as LeBeau set down his meal. They continued well down the hall.

"Here." LeBeau kneeled down to finger at the knots of his binding, and in another minute, loosened the rope. He set it aside and gave Franz the plate. Franz stretched, then ate in silence, biding his time. He carefully erased the Frenchman's name from his mind, and waited for the perfect moment.

~HH~

When Hogan saw Kinch walk into the radio room, he had pity. Kinch looked so very tired, as he wearily looked up, asking what Hogan wanted.

"Nevermind, Kinch. Why don't you get some sleep? Send Newkirk down."

Kinch did a poor job at hiding the glee that sprung up at the prospect of sleep, even as he protested. "Well, I don't want to trouble Newkirk with something I could do…"

"Newkirk asks for trouble, doesn't he?"

Kinch smiled. "Yeah. I suppose he does. Alright. Goodnight, Colonel." He left down the tunnel and Hogan heard the bunk ladder creak. One set of feet went steadily up, and a minute later, another came sloppily down. Maybe they needed to practice some simple discipline around here. Calisthenics? Marching? Hogan couldn't think of anything that wouldn't require him to lead the men and thereby also participate. Oh well. It wasn't really a problem.

~HH~

Franz put his fork down quietly. He thought he would play the resigned, respectful prisoner, and held out the plate to the Frenchman without moving or getting up. The Frenchman retrieved the plate and turned around to place it beside the crate on the ground. Then the rope was taut between Franz's hands and he started moving all at once.

~HH~

"You called, Colonel?" Newkirk's eyes were half-lidded and bright with sleep.

"Yep. Ready to call the Underground and wrap up our package?"

"Oh, you better believe—" Hogan hadn't heard anything, but before Newkirk even had time to look alarmed, he was off like a shot down the tunnel. Hogan ran after him in time to hear yelling.