A/N: Somehow, this chapter ended up being way longer than the others. So enjoy! Also, Bruno and his feelings were borrowed from canon, but I'm not sure which episode it was.

"Johnson's gone?"

"Oui, and you are coming up in his place." LeBeau had come to fetch Kinchloe soon after the latter had briefly said goodbye to Johnson before morning roll call, and now he was helping Kinchloe out of the tunnel, explaining the new situation.

"Hogan was going to switch him with Olsen, but I wanted to switch him with you instead. I said, 'He has to come above ground. I cannot bring a soufflé down a ladder. And he needs some time with people, not alone in the tunnels.'"

"Did he listen to you?"

"No. We couldn't contact Olsen. But you are up here anyway. Here. Have some soufflé. Cheese."

The light conversation in the barracks continued without much of a hitch. A few of the men greeted him, he tried to reply in each of their directions, and LeBeau directed him into a seat on what seemed to be a bench. The wonderful scent had drifted toward him minutes ago, and his stomach was near growling. When LeBeau had given him a fork and he got the first bite into his mouth, he suddenly started chuckling.

"What? What's wrong?" LeBeau sounded disturbed.

"I just never imagined..."

"That combination of gruyère and parmesan? It was difficult to get the right cheeses, even with—"

"No. That I'd be eating gourmet French food, safe, warm, and comfortable, after surviving a crash in enemy territory. It's just—strange."

"It is strange," LeBeau affirmed, now sounding proud.

Minsk chuckled; a throaty, rough—Kinchloe guessed unusual—event. "It sure is. But there's good reason to do it."

Everyone murmured agreement. The door opened.

"How did it go, mon Colonel?"

Kinchloe relaxed. Not a German.

"Well, half of Nine wanted him out ASAP, and half are hoping the longer he stays, the worse his memory will become."

"Will they never learn that man doesn't forget a penny?" wondered Minsk aloud.

"So what did you do?" asked LeBeau.

"I struck a compromise. He'll get out in two more days."

"You compromised on his sentence?" LeBeau sounded upset.

"It wasn't really a compromise. That was as low as I could get Klink to go. How are you doing this morning, Sergeant?"

After waiting a moment to make sure no one else responded, Kinchloe said, "Better."

"Good to hear. So here's the situation. You can't exactly participate in roll call in the evening, so you're heading back down as soon as Olsen gets here. Hopefully he'll be back today. If not, we need to go out looking for him."

"What happened?"

"He was supposed to be back this morning but apparently got held up. By a girl, Gestapo, or traffic, I'm not sure. It's just unusual for him."

"Which is why he always gets to go outside," LeBeau told Kinchloe.

"Because LeBeau would find a girl and never come back," Minsk needled.

"I've been here longer!"

"Have fun arguing," Hogan interrupted. "I'm going to go finish Tom Sawyer."

He walked away. They didn't continue arguing. LeBeau had gone silent. Kinchloe later discovered Newkirk was his primary sparring partner.

After a few moments, Minsk asked, "Gin?"

"Sure."

The day continued. Though people engaged him in chatter, especially with how the war was going and what news there was from this city or that bomber group, they mostly found that Kinchloe was content to sit passively and listen. He spent much of the day listening to card games that were constantly rotating people in and out (though they sounded half-hearted) and thoroughly enjoying LeBeau's cooking and the sound of people around him, their voices a constant humming.

Hogan returned at some point, but only exchanged a few words now and then. For some reason, Kinchloe got the feeling this was very unusual for him. For them all, really. But he tried to enjoy himself, listening as someone reread a letter from home out loud, there was a brief discussion about the current camp football scores, and LeBeau whispered in his ear for advice on the card games every once in a while.

Nothing much happened until that evening. "Here's Schultz," someone called.

"Late for his appointment," he heard Hogan comment. What did that mean?

And then the door opened and there was a slight chaos involving LeBeau's voice, scratching on the floor Claws? A dog?, a lot of shifting around, and a definite German accent. He froze. He had almost forgotten he wasn't part of this group; he wasn't supposed to be up here. He couldn't stand up in a line without drawing attention to himself. But after a moment of deciphering and separating all of the sounds, he realized no one was getting up.

"Why in here, Schultz? I'm cooking!"

"Well now is when I am out exercising the dogs and now is the only time you will get to see him. I will just take him back where he belongs if—"

"That's fine. Thanks, Schultz," Colonel Hogan cut him off. "Come on. Bring him over here."

There was more skittering and the guard saying, "Bruno, sit. Sit, hund." Kinchloe was surprised to feel a bump on his leg, leaving some moisture behind. "Bruno, you are not allowed to smell new people while you are training. Sit!" By now, Kinchloe was very tense. Surely the German would notice him. Would he be taken to the kommandant, his wildest hopes that had, incredibly, seemed so possible swiped from him as he was made prisoner? And how could the operation stay secret if he was found out? He stiffened at what the guard said next.

"Who is this man? I have not seen him before! Hogan, please! Why?"

"Oh yeah. Schultz, we were meaning to ask you," came the Colonel's unconcerned voice. "We found this stray outside, and he looked lost. So we brought him home... Can we keep him?"

"Keep him? No, Colonel Hogan, you can't. People are not pets and people and pets are not allowed."

"You mean I'm not even supposed to be here?" someone asked. A hubbub sprang up quickly and died down fast.

"Not ones we haven't captured! You cannot capture prisoners! That is our job! I will tell the kommandant."

"And have him taken away?" protested Hogan. "Back out there in the wilderness of enemy territory, or with the Gestapo?" Thanks for that thought, thought Kinchloe. "Have a heart. He's blind, he hurt his arm." There was a pause and Hogan put on his most pitiful, yet simultaneously reasonable-sounding voice yet. "And he's hungry!"

The others emphatically repeated Hogan's point. This was the sergeant that liked food, wasn't it? He was waffling. "Well... No. I still must report you."

"Come on!"

"Schultzie!"

"That is my final answer."

"Fine. Fine," the Colonel gave in. Kinchloe didn't like the sound of that. "You'll just have to explain why Bruno is fraternizing with the prisoners."

There was a gasp. "You wouldn't, Hogan! I'm doing this for you and the Englander," he admonished, making it sound as if he didn't have authority over the prisoners.

"That's right. In return for those candy bars. Say, if you were kommandant, would you count that as one bribe or three?"

"But, Colonel Hogan, I must report this," he whined.

"Alright, fine. Go ahead."

"I will."

"Oh, I believe you."

"I'm going to. Right now."

"Mm hm." Then, as Kinchloe heard the steps begin to move toward the door, the Colonel oh-so-casually laid down his ace. "I guess that leaves me to explain how we found our stray. "

The footsteps stopped and there was a long pause. "How didyou find him?"

Hogan immediately launched into a rapid, exuberant storytelling voice. "Well, when we snuck out the wire a few nights ago—"

"I don't want to hear it!" the guard shouted, alarmed. Bruno barked.

"Why not, Schultz? It's a great story. I'm sure Klink would love to hear it."

"No! I see nothing! Please, Hogan. I won't tell. But-but you can't keep him..." Kinchloe could imagine a look passing between them. "You won't keep him..." Another look. "Will you?" It had morphed into pleading. "Not that you are a bad person, or prisoner, but you must understand, we cannot keep you."

It took Kinchloe several seconds to realize the guard was speaking to him, by which time Hogan was already assuring him, "Not forever, Schultz. He'll be gone soon."

"Thank you, Colonel Hogan."

LeBeau jumped back in and they got down to business with the dog, while Kinchloe thought of when he'd have to leave. It didn't feel like the best thing that could happen to him.

"You can go now, Schultz," encouraged Minsk. "We'll work with Bruno."

"Yeah, get back to your rounds. We'll return him later."

Schultz verbally pouted a few more times before he left, but when he did, LeBeau got right down to business, talking to the dog and trying to explain that Newkirk was good. And soon, the whole barracks was involved. Apparently they needed the diversion. They tried introducing the dog to other Englishmen, a few borrowed from other barracks, and that all went smoothly, but when they let him sniff Newkirk's things, he would growl and bark and they had to quiet him quickly. They tried food, petting, reverse psychology, and begging. Bruno would have none of it. He was firm in his hatred of Newkirk and would growl every time. So proceeded the next half an hour of cavorting and bribing. Kinchloe could tell even the dog was getting frustrated.

"Is this even worth it? He's a German!" protested one of the men.

Bruno whined.

"Yeah, Colonel. I'm not sure he'll ever listen."

"Can we trade him out for another?" asked Kinchloe.

LeBeau must have shaken his head. "The guards love Bruno. We couldn't justify it."

"Could we trade out Newkirk?" asked someone else, in jest.

Hogan snorted. "With whom?"

They all fell silent, unable to think of a replacement for either dog or Cockney.

Kinchloe sighed. "The Führer would be proud of Br—" he began. He was cut off by a cascade of terrifying, vicious barking. There was a caterwaul as everyone tried to calm the dog without getting in the way of any teeth. In a moment, it quieted.

"Guess he doesn't like the man upstairs," Hogan mused.

"I thought he was German!"

"Bricklin?" Hogan called.

There was a hesitant "Yes?" reflected by the mood in the barracks. With Hogan's one word, everyone seemed apprehensive. "Go get the dartboard from the basement."

"What's the plan, Polkovnik?" Minsk asked.

"We're going to show Bruno Newkirk's replacement."

~~HH~~

Fifteen minutes later, they had success. Bricklin had retrieved, Minsk told him, a picture of Hitler. All it took was giving him the option of seeing Hitler or smelling Newkirk's blanket. Between Hogan and LeBeau it was made very clear to Bruno that if he didn't tolerate Newkirk, they could always replace him with someone worse. Bruno caught on quickly.

After another much quieter growl from Bruno replacing the barking resulting from der Führer's face, Hogan called a stop. "I think that's all we can do for now."

"Yeah. Without the Englishman himself."

"You can return him, LeBeau."

"Oui. Come on, Bruno. You've done well. I'll get you a special treat tomorrow, no?"

The door opened and closed.

"Fancy that. A loyal German that doesn't like his leader," someone mused.

"Loyal?"

There were chuckles around the barracks

"LeBeau's done a good job," Hogan agreed. "Hey, anyone got a cigarette? I was a little focused on my last visit to the kommandant's office."

"Sure."

"Thank you, Hoffman."

"You want one too, Kinchloe?"

"No thanks." He didn't smoke much unless he had nerves, and right now he was feeling just fine without one.

"Hey, are you from the Midwest?" Hoffman asked.

"Yeah. Detroit."

"Ever play euchre?"

"Plenty of times."

"Great! No one around here knows it. But—"

The door opened again and he heard a "Mon Colonel."

"Hold it." Hogan cut their ill-fated game of euchre short. "Five minutes to roll call. Olsen's not back. Change of plans. You're going into the tunnels."

"Don't you need the numbers?"

"Klink mentioned a special roll call. Sounds like he might be inspecting. And I'm afraid you'll be noticeable even to the kommandant as not Olsen. Easier to explain an absence than a switch. Come on."

Kinchloe started lifting himself up from the table, and didn't get very far before he got help. In no time, he was down the ladder, finally beginning to get used to moving up and down without his leg or arm twinging too terribly.

They ushered him to his cot, and were upstairs in a moment. All was quiet for a few minutes. How would they explain an absence at roll call? Would a search be made? He didn't have long to worry. Just then, he heard a voice at some distance. "I'm back! Anyone home?"

Kinchloe made a not-so-wild guess. "Olsen?"

"Yeah." He was getting rapidly closer. "Is it... Sinchtoe?"

"Kinchloe. And hurry up. Roll call's now."

Olsen cursed as might a pilot. Especially a fighter pilot. In his defense, Kinchloe thought, it was appropriate. He heard cloth being thrown and shifted as Olsen presumably changed. Kinchloe thought he heard Olsen mumble something about a parade into his clothes. Had he heard that correctly? "It's now?" he asked. The faint sound of shuffling feet above them answered for Kinch. He cursed again. "Boy am I in trouble."

"Will they go looking for you?"

"No. I'll be present, just get the cooler or privileges revoked."

"You'll be present?"

"Oh, I'll just wait till they leave and then hop in my bunk, pretend I was asleep. Now shh."

They had to time it just right. Hopefully the others would stall. They both listened carefully to the sounds above them, waiting for everyone to exit the barracks.

Kinchloe suddenly said, "Now."

"Now?"

"I've been down here during roll call. Now."

"Okay." Olsen didn't waste any more time arguing. He was up the ladder faster than Kinchloe had heard anyone do so.

He didn't hear any more from them till morning.

~~HH~~

The next day was much like the previous. Apparently, Hogan had talked Olsen out of cooler time, but they had gotten reduced white bread rations for a week, and Olsen had been held up by a last minute change in the location of the League of German Girls' annual parade, and had a time of it keeping hidden. His being a familiar face, his papers usually got only a brief inspection, but with all of the officials in town, that may not pass. Regardless, all was as the day before in camp, though more, in a way, concentrated. Kinchloe couldn't pinpoint it until hours sitting in the barracks listening to the men and the rain. And he didn't recognize the agitation building in him until he got a moment with the radio that evening.

He found himself at another checkup with Wilson in the tunnels after roll call. The medic checked the mobility in his leg, secured his arm a bit more tightly, and rebandaged his forehead. He finished tying the cloth at the back of his head, saying, "Looks like this'll be good in another day. You're making progress."

Kinchloe waited a moment, hoping Wilson would say something more, but when he didn't, he had to ask. "Is there still hope for my sight coming back?"

There was a pause. "It's too soon to call. But you've got lodging here until you get it back or we find arrangements for you here in Germany."

"In Germany?"

"Don't worry about it yet."

"But—"

"And if you really want details, ask Hogan. Things are always changing around here anyway, and I don't make the decisions."

"Wilson," came a new voice. "You seen Mayhugh?"

"No. Why?"

"Radio's getting scratchy again. I thought he might be able to fix it."

"Last time he tried it only lasted a day, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but I can't sit there with static in my ears a minute longer. You don't think he's around?"

"Well, I haven't seen him in awhile. And I think you'd be hard-pressed to get his help after that stunt you pulled a few days ago."

"Oh. Yeah. You're right."

"Could I try?" Kinchloe interrupted.

"Huh?"

"I know I can't see, but... I'm pretty good with a radio. I could feel my way around and try to fix it."

Wilson was hesitant. "Well, I'm not sure—"

"THANK you," the other man said, with much less hesitation. "I'll just give you a little tour of our setup, and if you can do anything to help it'd be much appreciated."

Kinchloe didn't realize a smile had crept onto his face. It might have been why Wilson relented so quickly. "Fine," he said. "We'll get you set up."

And now he found his mind wandering to the day that had passed as his fingers wandered over the comforting wires and screws, feeling his way around while making sure everything was tight. It was a welcome relief after the climate of the barracks all day. Nothing much had happened. The activities were all the same, which is to say, enough was happening. There were things to do, especially when Hogan had them all clean out the stove and sweep under the bunks, probably to combat the low morale. But today felt worse, and it took him several minutes and moving on to the oscillator to figure out why.

It must have started with LeBeau. He was... somber, though Kinchloe doubted if even LeBeau could tell him exactly why. And with his spirits low, it seemed everyone followed suit, adding some indescribable apprehension to the air. He had an aunt back home like that. Her cheeriness could make the whole house bright, especially during the holidays, but if she were ever feeling moody, everyone knew, and everyone else got more short-tempered than usual. He tested the base of the antenna. It made a slight rattle. Loose connection?

Of course, he wasn't sure how much of it was him. Usually, he enjoyed being quiet and tuning out the world and his thoughts. Whenever he got agitated, it was a comforting place to return to, like a soft, enveloping bed. But recently, unable to do anything but get his saviors stuck in solitary and be moved from barracks to tunnel unable to even see the world around him, that internal fog had become external, and it wasn't comforting him. It was swallowing him, cutting him off...

He sighed and put it out of his mind, focusing on finding the screwdriver left on the desk so he could tighten the antenna's junction. He was probably just picking up on and amplifying the mood to make up for his lack of sight. It'd be fine. It was just Newkirk. He wasn't sure why, but with him gone, they all seemed in a state of tension, like they were waiting for something to happen, for the other shoe to drop.

In the morning, it dropped.