Disclaimer: I do not own 'Hogan's Heroes' or 'Twelve O'clock High', the only thing I own is the plot. All rights belong to their respective owners and creators.
This work is complete fiction and any resemblance to actual people or missions (unless specifically stated) is coincidental.

He climbed down into the radio room with Baker, "Any luck?"

Baker shook his head, but kept trying as Hogan began to pace and think. No matter how many ways he looked at it, there was only one reason why the Nazis would have had that information before he did. There's a leak, somewhere.. possibly even high up in London operations…

Act II

Hogan had been wandering the tunnels aimlessly. He'd only stopped pacing once to wish the other heroes, who were dressed in their phony German uniforms, luck on their mission then he was back to pacing.
London was unavailable and that did little to ease his worry. Worry, which in turn, fueled his restless movements. He ran a hand through his mussed hair and wondered how many gray hairs he'd gain tonight. If this kept up then at the end of the war, he'd be all salt and no pepper.

"Sir!" Baker called out, interrupting his train of thought. "I finally got London."

Hogan hurried over and sat on the edge of the table, "do they have Big Bad Wolf?"

Baker listened to the tapping on the radio, "they say he's in bed with orders not to be disturbed. They want to know if you'll speak to the Butcher."

Hogan frowned as he tried to remember who was code-named 'Butcher'. When the name wouldn't come to him, he shook his head. "Tell London that I need to speak with Big Bad Wolf directly. Wake him up."

Hogan resumed pacing. If there is a spy in London, it's better to be safe than sorry, he reasoned. He knew how damaging a leak could be, especially at this stage of the game.

The Nazis had been halted on the Eastern Front years ago and the Soviets had pushed them almost completely out of the Ukraine. Any military strategist worth his salt knew that invasion by the Western Allies was coming. That's why Germany ratcheted up their production lines to produce more tanks, aircraft, and munitions than ever. That's also why the fuel refinery was such a major target.
The way things stood, there was a delicate balance between the two forces and one edge might be all that was needed to determine the winner.

"Well?" Hogan asked, more sharply than he'd intended, as his pacing led him back to the radio.

Baker shook his head, "they aren't responding any more."

Hogan glanced at his watch and began to think, "when's shift change?"

"Sir?"

"Kinch always said that each telegrapher has their own distinguishable sound," Hogan said, sincerely hoping that this was true.

"Yes, sir, everyone's touch is different," Baker confirmed as he caught on to Hogan's line of thinking. "I usually pick up a new hand after roll call, so they probably switch out every four to six hours… you don't think they're purposely trying to prevent communication with Big Bad Wolf, do you?"

Hogan scratched the stubble on his cheek, "I don't know. It might not be the telegrapher, but perhaps their commander. I do know that I've never had trouble getting in touch with him before."

"You think there's a traitor in London operations?" Baker asked. He had been pondering that possibility since they'd spoken with Schultz, but the idea that the people he was in contact with daily could possibly be traitors made him apprehensive.

"Maybe or maybe not," Hogan replied. "Could be a leak, instead. Some guy… or girl, had a date and bragged about something they shouldn't have and that got back to Germany."

"And not connecting us with Big Bad Wolf?" Baker asked. He wanted to believe that it was just a leak, but deep down, he had a nagging feeling that it was a spy.

Hogan shrugged, "maybe a new officer who doesn't want to get him outta bed."

He grinned, "Trust me, Big Bad Wolf didn't get his code name for being a sweetheart. This is probably just a coincidence, but we need to play it safe, just in case it isn't."

Baker thought about that for a few moments. This operation had been up and running at full speed for over two years. It was nothing short of a miracle that they hadn't been caught. However, if there was a spy, why hadn't he alerted the Gestapo to their little ring?

"We'll try again after roll call."

"You want me to wait for the boys?" Baker asked. He already knew that Hogan would want to do that himself, but it didn't hurt to offer. Hogan shook his head and sent the sergeant on his way.

Hogan took Baker's vacated seat and scrunched down in the chair, extending his legs out in a relaxed, but still semi-alert manner. I'm not likely to get more than a nap, anyway, he thought as he checked the time.

TOH~HH

Harvey wasn't the least bit surprised that the Colonel was still in his office when he came in the next morning. The Major had withdrawn to his quarters just after midnight, leaving Gallagher to finish up the mission plan with Group Captain Sherburne. Sherburne, to everyone's surprise, had arrived shortly after suppertime to deliver his report orally.

Harvey stepped into the Colonel's office and began the difficult process of dragging him away from his work. It took almost twenty minutes to convince Gallagher that he wouldn't be fit to fly without sleep.

First, he'd protested that the duty roster still needed filled out, but Harvey assured him that he could finish the roster, while Gallagher slept, and have it posted within the hour.
Then he tried to argue that the mission required some tweaks. Sherburne said the mission was as put together as it could be and that he was going to bed. Gallagher watched him leave, still hesitant when Harvey reminded him that Doc Kaiser would have no choice but to ground any pilot who tried to run a mission on no sleep.

Finally, seeing that there was no use in arguing, he agreed to lay down. But not before giving Harvey strict instructions to wake him up at 15:00 hours. Harvey followed his commander into the outer office and settled into his chair while Gallagher headed for the officer's quarters.

As the group's Adjutant, Harvey knew the men and Colonel Gallagher almost as well as the back of his hand. He knew the people Joe liked to fly with, as well as those he'd rather not have in his group on a sensitive or difficult mission. Knowing all of this, he quickly settled on the men and began to fill out the flight roster, so it could be posted.

"Sorry, I'm late," Sergeant Alexander Komansky said as he came through the door an hour later. His brown hair was a little disheveled and he wore an apologetic smile. Komansky was the Colonel's flight engineer and friend. Well, as good a friend as an officer and an enlisted man could be. "Ground chief wanted to know a few things about how the Lily was flying."

Harvey gave him a hint of a smile, "don't worry, Sandy, the Colonel isn't in. He spent all night on mission prep and only went to lay down a little while ago."

Komansky looked relieved as he dropped into his own chair by the door. The Colonel had been plotting this mission since Komansky had come back from debriefing, but he hadn't shared any details. Then that limey officer showed up and they'd shut themselves away in the Colonel's office. Komansky pulled the paperwork from his drawer and tried to dig right in, knowing that Harvey was rarely in the mood for superfluous conversation, but there was something gnawing at him.

What's so special about this mission? Sure, General Britt had delivered orders in person before, but the Colonel seemed concerned about this one. He couldn't put his finger on what was different.

"Major Stovall," Komansky began, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. "Is there something I need to know about this run? Something special, I mean."

Harvey kept his head down over the typewriter. He was typing out the orders for the bulletin board with the hunt and peck method. "Such as?" he asked, distractedly.

Komansky shuffled through his paperwork. If there was one thing Harvey was good at, it was keeping a confidence. You'd have to be in order to handle military secrets every day, Komansky supposed… but if there was something he needed to know then doggone it, he wanted to know.

"Is there something particularly dangerous about it?"

Harvey let out a small chuckle, "it's a war, Sandy… all these missions are dangerous."

"I know that!" Komansky snapped, jumping up from his desk and crossing the room, "but, I get the feeling that there's something more to this mission. Something I'm not gonna like."

Harvey looked up. Losing his cool was not uncommon for the quick tempered sergeant, but this was dangerously close to crossing a line. "If there is anything you need to know," he said, keeping his voice even. "I'm sure the Colonel will include it in mission briefing. As for whether you'll like it… the Army doesn't much care what you like or don't like. Now, I suggest you finish your work,"

Harvey grabbed the duty roster and pushed his way past Komansky. "Maybe after lunch, you should lay down for a nap, too. You're on the Colonel's crew." he tossed the last bit over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him.

TOH~HH

"This had better be good, Papa Bear," Lieutenant General William Pritchard, growled into the microphone. It was just after two o'clock and he had been in conference with his own superiors since breakfast. Pressure was being exerted to get results and get them quickly. The last thing he wanted to deal with was the outrageous commander of their biggest espionage unit in Germany.

"Are you completely alone, sir?"

"Yes, go ahead," Pritchard barked, his patience wearing thin.

"Sir, I'm afraid that there might be a leak in your backyard. Krauts are prepping for a party in the Hammelburg area and they seem adamant about their source, over."

Pritchard straightened, his annoyance replaced with concern. "Are you sure about that, Papa Bear?"

"Affirmative. Krauts are bringing two or three dozen doughnuts. Suggest you postpone the party to a later date, over."

Pritchard became suspicious, "this wouldn't be a ploy, would it? I understand you have baby bears caught up in the party."

"Negative, I'm alerting you to complications with the party. You decide how you want to proceed."

Even over the staticky white noise, Pritchard could hear the indignance. "Okay, Papa Bear, apologies, but if you're right we need to deal with this quickly," he paused as an idea started to form. "Papa Bear, have your man stand-by. I may need you later."

"Roger, we're standing-by."

Pritchard shut off the radio before he strode over to the door and yanked it open. He'd expected to find someone at the door eavesdropping, but they were all at the other end of the office. They were curious, he could tell, but they'd also been in this business for quite awhile and knew better than to ask questions. His adjutant, Captain Carmichael, hurried over to him.

"You may resume your duties," Pritchard told the British communications officers as he cleared the doorway before hurrying down the hallway.

He didn't say anything to Carmichael until the elevator door closed, "Jack, we're going to drive back to my office and dismiss Miss Ellery," he kept his voice low, so that only the two of them could hear. "Then I want you to go to find Bob Kinney."

"Of CIC?" Carmichael's voice raised in surprise.

"Quietly," Pritchard hissed with a quick glance toward the elevator operator. "I don't want anyone else to know."

The car ride back to his office was eerily silent. Not that Pritchard was usually a chatterbox, but he would always asked how Miss Ellery, their British driver, was. Uncomfortable with the silence, she attempted to initiate conversation. But, much to her disappointment, she received only monosyllabic replies from Carmichael.

Pritchard, for his part, wasn't intending to be rude. He just had a lot of things on his mind. He'd been fleshing out his plan for uncovering this mole and wondering who he could trust to bring in. I trust Carmichael completely, he thought, watching the streets of London pass-by from the car window. And of course, Bob… but how do I know if I can trust anyone else? What if this is much bigger than I think?
An image of their operation in Germany flashed through his mind… What if the Nazis have their own Rob Hogan? He shuddered at that horrifying thought before dismissing it. One Rob Hogan is more than enough for this war and thank goodness he's on the right side.

"I think that will be all for today, Miss Ellery," Carmichael said, as they pulled up to their building. The two officers got out with Pritchard heading up to his office, while Carmichael waved Miss Ellery on. Once she was out of sight, he set out for the Savoy.

"Good morning, General," the receptionist chirped. Her breathy, New England accent and bright smile did little to calm his nerves.

He managed to return her smile, hoping he didn't appear as anxious as he felt, "Morning, Addie. Have their been any calls for me?"

She dug out her message pad and read through the messages, "Not for you, but Captain Carmichael received a wire from the home. I think his wife must've had the baby." A real smile crossed his face as she looked at the door behind him, adding, "I could have sworn he left with you."

"I had him run an errand," Pritchard replied. "I'm sure he'll be quiet pleased. Hold all my calls, Addie. I don't wish to be disturbed."

She gave him a cheerful, 'yes, sir', as he walked toward the elevator. Each and ever person came to attention when they spotted him. He knew all of them by name, a number of them he knew well enough to consider them friends. How any of them could be an enemy agent?

True, most of them had access to the information about tonight's mission… and it certainly wouldn't be hard to slip away without being noticed… Stop that, Pritchard chastised himself, before stepping onto the elevator. Being cautious is one thing, falling into senseless paranoia is another.

In the twenty minutes it took for Carmichael to return with Bob Kinney, Pritchard had worked himself up and then calmed himself back down, several times. He could hardly contain his relief when he spotted the younger men coming into the outer office.

"Bob," Pritchard greeted as he stood and went around his desk to shake Kinney's hand. He showed the civilian to his office before turning to Carmichael, "Keep watch on the door, Jack. I don't want anyone to listen in or to interrupt us." Carmichael nodded and stayed in the outer room.

Pritchard shut the office door and motioned Kinney to sit. He took his own chair and offered a weak smile, "I'm glad you came."

Kinney tossed his panama hat into the other chair as he sat. Without his hat, his wavy blond hair fell across his forehead causing him to look much younger than his thirty years. "Captain Carmichael said it was urgent, but wouldn't tell me what was up," he tapped the arm of his chair with his finger as he studied the General's office. "I presume this isn't a social call."

Kinney listened carefully as Pritchard explained. The longer the General talked the more Kinney could tell that he was jumping between two possibilities. There was no mole, Papa Bear was mistaken and there was a sensible explanation for the Germans' actions… or the mole was the only sensible explanation for the Germans' actions.

"This Papa Bear," Kinney began, "is he a reliable source? Sometimes German informants turn out to be double-agents. Is it possible that the Abwehr are releasing bad information through him?"

Pritchard chuckled, "Not unless they managed to flip one of our own."

Kinney wasn't amused. "It's happened before," he said, gravely.

Pritchard's smile faded as he sobered, "I know it has, but not with Rob. His father and I served together in the last war." He nursed his coffee mug, "I was one of the first people young Rob told when he decided on going to Texas for the aviation program…"

"Anyhow, Rob is as trustworthy as they come," Pritchard concluded, clearing his throat when he realized that he'd been reminiscing. "I was hoping that you would look into it. This is your line of work, not mine… but if you have a suspect, I was thinking we can confirm it by releasing fake information and seeing if it makes it's way to Rob."

Kinney's eyes twinkled with mischief, "It might not be your line, but your instincts are spot on. I just have one minor change. Instead of using the phony information to confirm our mole, we'll use it to smoke him out." He pointed to the phone, "but first, I want you to call off this mission."

"I was going to do that anyway," Pritchard grabbed the phone. "I have to let Ed in on the leak."

"No, the fewer people who know the better," Kinney said. "Just tell him the mission is postponed until further notice and that will give me time to set up my trap." Seeing the General's grim expression, he added, "This should be resolved in a next week, two at the latest. Just relax and continue your normal routine, okay?" Kinney stood and scooped up his hat.

Pritchard nodded waiting for the agent to shut the door before picking up the phone. He asked the operator to put him in touch with General Britt and to scramble the call.

"Ed Britt."

"Hello, Ed, it's Bill," Pritchard focused all his attention on keeping a normal tone of voice. "We need to postpone that run over Hammelburg."

"I don't understand," Pritchard could almost see the frown on his friend's face. "I thought knocking out that refinery was top priority?"

Britt's voice crackled on the line. Pritchard hesitated, wondering if someone was listening in on his call. "I'm postponing it until a later date," Pritchard said, more tersely than was necessary. "You will scrub the mission and that's an order!"

He barely waited for Britt to acknowledge before hanging up. He placed his elbows on his desk and rubbed his temples. You scrambled the call, everything is fine, he told himself.

Just relax, he repeated Kinney's words. Normal routine.

TOH~HH

"Ten-hut!"

The steady hum of conversation halted almost immediately as the men stood and snapped to attention. Gallagher closed the door behind him, walked down the center aisle and up the steps to the platform. He looked over the men and admired Harvey's selection before giving the at-ease order. The men resumed their seats on the long benches the lined the briefing hut.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Gallagher began by taking the pointer Harvey offered, "Our mission today is Hammelburg." He indicated the tiny town on the map, "more specifically, a refinery located a mile east of Hammelburg."

He turned back to the men, "This refinery is one of the biggest producers of aviation fuel for the Luftwaffe. Its strategic size and location enable it to serve the Nazis well. I cannot stress how important this target is."

The men listened intently, taking notes as Gallagher laid out their course. He went over the reports of previous missions which stated that flack along their route was manageable and fighter activity was low. He finished his briefing by stating that, although this mission had been attempted twice before, he had confidence that this would be their last attempt and it would be successful. He handed the briefing to the weather officer, who explained the high and low fronts and the effects they would have on the mission.

Sherburne only half listened to the weather officer. He was more than a little confused. Surely, he was going to warn them about Stalag Thirteen…

He glanced over to Gallagher, who had taken the seat beside his. "Shall I brief them on the camp and the RAF's tactic?" he asked, quietly.

Gallagher shook his head ever so slightly, "That won't be necessary, Group Captain." He stood and looked at his watch. Addressing the men, he added, "Takeoff is set for seventeen hundred hours. Dismissed."

The hum of conversation resumed as the men began to shuffle out. Each pilot heading to the airfield to look over their planes and do specific flight planning with their crews.

Sherburne glared at him. "What was that?" he hissed, "you didn't tell them to be cautious… that hundreds of our boys might be in the cross hairs. You stupid Yanks will bomb the dickens out of them."

"This isn't an RAF mission," Gallagher replied, stiffly. "This will be done with my crew and it will be done my way. Now, if you don't have anything further to say, why don't you let this stupid Yank finish your job?"

"I won't have you bombing those men," Sherburne narrowed his eyes and wagged his finger in the American's face. "I'll get this stopped, you mark my words. I'll get this stopped!"

He marched down the middle aisle, making no effort to conceal his anger as he slammed the door shut. Gallagher winced at the sound and cursed under his breath. You and your temper, he thought with a sigh. He caught sight of Harvey out of the corner of his eye.

Harvey was quite possibly the best Adjutant with whom Gallagher had ever worked. He'd been with the Nine-Eighteenth longer than even General Savage.

He kept the office running smoothly, making sure that the enormous amount of paperwork was always completed. He took enough weight off Gallagher's shoulders so that managing this group didn't crush the young commanding officer. But most importantly, he was at times Gallagher's quiet conscience. Right now, that conscience was working him over.

"You agree with Sherburne that I should've told them about the camp?" Gallagher prodded. Harvey didn't say a word as he gathered up the papers from the briefing. "Suppose I had told them, what then?" Gallagher continued, although he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Harvey or himself. "The bombardiers would have that in their minds when they bomb… You tell me, would you like to have that responsibility weighing on your mind?"

Harvey stayed silent, but the pointed look he was giving said everything. Gallagher looked away, "They'll do the mission, Harvey. Whether the Nine-Eighteenth carries it out or not, London will get somebody to destroy that refinery."

"I never said not to do the mission," Harvey spoke carefully. Unlike Sherburne, he wanted to convey his point in the least combative way possible. "But if they come back feeling like the king on top of the mountain and then the press and public work them over for killing comrades that they didn't even know were down there… they'll take it out on you."

Gallagher rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands. "Yes, they will," he agreed, "but if I tell them and they take it into account… they'll miss."

"You don't know that," Harvey challenged.

"Yes, I do," Gallagher insisted. "No one wants to be responsible for getting their comrades killed. Whether consciously or unconsciously, they'll miss. London will have my head and we'll have to do this run all over again. We're knocking it out and knocking it out tonight… the least I can do is give them a little bit of moral deniability."

"And where do you get some of that?" Harvey asked, softly causing Gallagher to look at the floor. "Let me fly with you, Joe," he asked, hopefully. "I'll switch out with O'Brien and fly co-pilot."

Gallagher gave him a weary smile, "We both know your night vision isn't what it used to be."

He looked at his watch, "I'd better get going, but thanks, Harvey."

He was almost at the door when he turned back, "Maybe get some passes ready for the men. We're sure to get some down time when we get back."

"Yes, sir," Harvey said, dutifully as the door closed behind the Colonel. He placed the papers he'd gathered into a briefcase and went back to the office. He would normally watch the men take-off, but he just couldn't. Maybe he was being melodramatic or letting his imagination run away with him, but he had a sickening feeling that when the group got back, nothing would be the same.

He'd been with the Nine-Eighteenth under Colonel Davenport's command, when morale was so low that they were the most undisciplined group in the Air Corps. Davenport wasn't a terrible commander, he was just too easy-going. All of that changed when General Frank Savage took over.
His strict, but sometimes abrasive, demeanor made short work of the discipline problem and in time, gained him the trust and respect of his men. There were a few wrinkles after Joe had taken over, but they ironed out easily as he settled into the job. They had some moments of lower morale, but nothing like Davenport's command.

He settled into his desk and made the conscious decision not to think about Joe, the mission, or the inevitable repercussions. He had paperwork to do… It wasn't his job to fly planes anymore, just this desk. His days flying detestable missions were over when the last war ended. They didn't need an old fogy like him gumming up the works. Yes, they were more likely to succeed without him.
He managed to convince himself to focus on the work and was only briefly aware of the planes taking-off.

He was working on filling out the passes for the returning crews, when he heard the door open. Without looking up, he said sharply, "Not now, can't you see that I have a mountain of paperwork to do?"

"I understand that the Army insists on having paperwork done, but not at the exclusion of answering phone calls!"

"General Britt," Harvey shot to his feet and saluted. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize it was you."

Britt limped up to Harvey's desk, "You would have if you had answered that blasted phone."

Harvey frowned, he'd been caught up in work, but he was positive the phone had not rung. "I received no calls." Britt ignored his comment, instead asking where the Colonel was. "He's on the Hammelburg mission," Harvey said. Britt muttered a curse under his breath and Harvey felt a wave of dread wash over him, "Is something wrong, sir?"

"Call the radio tower and send the order to abort," Britt snapped.

Harvey grabbed his phone and put it up to his ear, "Operator, connect me with Archbury Tower," he waited, somewhat impatiently, as the operator connected them. "This is Major Stovall. Send an order to Ramrod to abort the mission. Yes, I'll stay on the line for confirmation." Harvey waited for several minutes as the tower contacted Gallagher. "Yes, I'm still here… mm-hmm, yes. Well, keep trying and let me know if you reach him."

"I take it they didn't get a hold of him," Britt groused.

"No, sir. They're still trying, but he's either out of range or his radio's out," Harvey said. "If I'm not out of line, may I ask why the mission was scrubbed?"

Britt stared at the door, lost too deep in his own thoughts to even hear Harvey. After a couple of moments, he said, "I'll be using Colonel Gallagher's office to make some private calls, would you send in some supper for me?"

Without waiting for a response, he limped into the office and shut the door. He eased himself into the chair and pulled the telephone receiver from it's cradle.

"Get me General Pritchard at Wing Command and scramble the call."

He was just as in the dark as Harvey was, and he didn't like it one bit. He might have to use up every ounce of political capital he had, but he wouldn't stop until he had some answers.

TBC...

Author's Notes:

CIC stands for the Counter Intelligence Corps. They were an intelligence service that focused on investigating possible acts of sabotage, subversion, and allegations of disloyalty. They also did background checks on the military personnel who had access to classified materials.
In 1943, they were ordered to cease domestic investigations and were shipped to the various theaters.
In 1961, the CIC were consolidated into the Army's Military Intelligence Branch.

The Savoy is a hotel in London opened in 1889 and is still open today. During World War Two, the Savoy was a favorite among American Officers, diplomats, and journalists, as well as being the common meeting place for many of the Allied leaders.