March 15, 1943, Early Morning, Stalag 13, Germany

The cheerful morning was a deceptively calm front to the storm brewing just outside the razor wire fences of the camp. The excitement was steadily building in the four men who stood alongside the gravel road, three in worn Allied uniforms, and one in a snappy Axis major's tunic. Hogan felt very uncomfortable in the tight fitting boots and gloves, and the putty on his nose was itching just enough to be noticeable. Then something poked him in the side. "Ow! Hey, what are you trying to do, Newkirk?" He kept his voice as quiet as possible.

"I forgot to take out one of the pins," the Englishman held up the shiny metal as evidence, and then pocketed it. "I'd been looking for it. It's my lucky one, ya know."

"Well, thanks," he said sarcastically, tugged at the uniform. "It's just my day. I'm the luckiest pincushion in Germany. How do I look?"

If I may say so sir, done right as rain, right as rain," Newkirk gave the outfit a glowing, proud look. The others rolled their eyes.

"It's very good," Lebeau conceded. As good a copy-job as 'The Little Drummer Boy' we had."

"It's good Colonel." Kinch quietly agreed with them. He'd been quiet the whole morning, never seeming to get into the spirit of things. "I think we might just have a chance."

Hogan glanced at his watch. "After all this work, it had better. Kinch, you're sure he's coming in on the west road?"

"According to the microphone in the guest quarters, he is." They were discussing Major Lang. Yesterday, with a little help from the Heroes, Rommel had forgotten to take his latest army check to Lucy. He had intended for her to cash it in at their bank once she returned home, but Hogan's men had carefully hidden it until the right time. He had found it early this morning and sent Lang into Hammelburg, his money-conscious Swabian nature unable to let such business go unfinished. The hapless major was on his way back to Stalag 13; Kinch was sure of it. "Oh, and Carter knows the plan, unless he's managed to forget again." They all knew that could happen. "Schultz is up to his ears in chocolate bars, with more promised to come if he does his job."

"Good, good," Hogan peered down the road. "Look, if you hear anything's gone wrong on this trip, I want no action, all right? No foolish rescue business, or anything to endanger this camp. We'll be far enough away that no one will suspect Stalag 13. I don't want you to do something that might make them think otherwise. Whatever you do, don't come after us."

"All right, sir," Newkirk's joking manner disappeared; Hogan meant business. "We wanna wish ya the best of luck, guv'nor."

"Get ready," Hogan changed the subject as they heard the clear sound of an engine approaching. The three raised their arms high in the air and marched out to the middle of the pavement. Hogan followed behind, his gun pointed at their backs. The long Horch staff car pulled around the bend and into view, heading back to camp. They saw surprise on the Major's face as he caught sight of the little parade. To avoid running them down, he quickly pulled the brakes.

"What is the meaning of this?" he called, suspecting nothing, his own gun tucked in its holster. "Why are you blocking this road?"

Hogan waved his empty gun at his men, and they filed complacently toward the car. "There's been an attempted escape, Major. I need transportation to get them back to camp."

"But it's only right over-" As Hogan came closer, he saw Lang's eyes widen in confusion, then recognition. Time to act! "Hogan! What are you-?" He was cut off when Kinch reached out, opened the door, and yanked him from his seat. With a startled yelp and a cloud of dust, the German staff officer tumbled to the ground, where a waiting Newkirk wrapped a thick handkerchief around his mouth and sat on him. Lang bucked wildly, his eyes bulging in anger; sputtering, incoherent cries floated up to their ears.

"Blimey!" Newkirk chuckled. "I feel like I'm at one of those American rodeos." He caught a shiny jackboot as it tried to nail him in the spine. "Now, none 'o that." A stream of muffled German curses was the only reply. "Touchy, that's what 'e is."

Hogan knelt down beside the struggling German, lowered his head to speak. "They say everyone has a twin somewhere in the world, Major. Unfortunately for you, I don't think you'll find this amusing." He received an angry glare. "We need a favor. As you've probably guessed, I'm taking over your job. All I want in return is your willingness to pose as me for a few days." There was a loud snort of derision, and curious, Hogan pulled the rag down.

"Are you out of your mind, American?" Lang spat out-very quietly, as he noticed the Luger hovering beside his ear. "I would never help you!"

"I was afraid of that," Hogan replied. "But see, I've got some leverage. Maybe we can make a deal. One, we can shoot you, go into camp, shoot Rommel, and all get shot ourselves. A real party, but not exactly what I had in mind."

"Go on," Lang snarled, clearly not liking the thought either.

"Or, you pose as me, I pose as you. We kidnap Rommel, and you save your skin." He held his breath.

The response was instant. "Impossible! I would never betray the field marshal!"

"Too bad," he sighed, started to stand. "Because if we don't get a replacement, our mission's in danger for sure. We've got our orders, but if we can't kidnap him…We're to remove him some other way." He was trusting in the man's loyalty for his leader, hoping the threat would be enough. Lang understood now, narrowed his eyes.

"You wouldn't-"

"'E would, mate," Newkirk told him cheerfully, patted his head. "There's no love lost between us."

Lang shifted his gaze back to Hogan. "If I agreed-If I agreed, would you still kill him?" So he was considering! It was a chance, however small.

"Scout's honor," he ignored the puzzled expression. "We'd do everything in our power to remove him safely from Germany."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"You don't. But what have you got to lose?"

ooooooooooooooooooo

"We sure are gonna miss ya, Colonel," Kinch shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. The others had already left with Hogan's half-unwilling double. "You'd better be careful. We need you back in one piece to keep this place in business."

"Trust me, I need myself back in one piece to keep this place in business," he stabbed a finger in his chest. "I'll be as careful as possible. You all do the same."

"Goodbye, Colonel," he extended his hand.

Hogan grasped it warmly and grinned. "Goodbye, Kinch. Keep the home fires burning. I hate to come home to a cold house." He reached for the parking brake as eased the car into motion. Just before, he rounded the corner, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Kinch stood in the middle of the road, looking more lost than he had ever seen him. They'll be over it soon. After all, we know our duty.

oooooooooooooooooooo

What sort of a prison camp was this, Rommel wondered, tossing another pair of pants into the suitcase. Corporal Daniel had offered to pack, but he sent him instead to ready the car. They needed to be on their way. Are all prison camps like the one Klink takes so much pride in? As he strapped on his Luger, he mentally ticked off his notes from the last three days. The prisoners had practically the run of the camp; dinner the first night never seemed on the level; the sergeant of the guard never knew anything if something happened; Hogan always seemed to be manipulating Klink. It's a good thing I'm not responsible for something like that. I'd rather take Africa and its supply shortages any day. One day, this is all going to blow up in Klink's face, courtesy of some general with a short fuse. He stuffed the last sock in and placed himself firmly on the suitcase. It slowly closed under his weight and he latched it. How did Lucy ever make it fit so well?

The suitcase landed with a thud by the door, followed by his heavy briefcase. He heard a knock on the door as Major Lang poked his head in and saluted. "Are you ready, sir? The train leaves shortly, and Corporal Leighstat has the car running." His voice was higher pitched than normal, but Rommel let it pass without comment. He must be nervous going to Berlin. "Should I alert the train station of our arrival?"

"No, I don't think so. All that will cause is a lot of fuss and incompetence. We've made the arrangements. I'm ready." He gathered up his cap, marshal's baton, and briefcase, then glanced pointedly at the remaining luggage. "It's not heavy, Major, but I've run out of hands. Grab that, will you?" He didn't wait for an answer, knew the major would take the bag.

Outside, it was bright and cold. The sun was just beginning to rise, sending her rays dancing across the rooftops. It was all too peaceful; he could even hear a chorus of birds. The beauty of it could almost make one forget about the war, almost, but not quite. For he also saw the grim, barbed-wire fence, heard the rough voice of a guard shouting at some wayward prisoner. Somewhere in the distance, a war plane steadily droned through the sky. And it's all our fault- he quickly jerked his mind from its present course. Such thinking led to other thoughts he could ill afford to spend time on.

"Herr Feldmarschall," Daniel was coming around the front of the car as Lang loaded the bags. He opened the back door. "We're ready when you are, sir."

Rommel turned to a hovering Klink, who snapped to attention. "Colonel, I thank you for the use of your camp."

"No trouble at all, Herr Feldmarschall," Klink assured. "Maybe when you get to Berlin, you can put in a good word for me?"

"Colonel, I might try to remember you, but I make no guarantees. In all honesty, I feel I can neither recommend you nor denounce you, as I have nothing to compare your camp with." He saw Klink's face fall with disappointment. "Your hospitality was above adequate, however." Klink inflated again. Yes, he's Prussian. "Heil Hitler."

Just before Lang climbed in too, he looked to Klink and saluted, his eyes twinkling with some unexplained amusement. "Heil Hitler!" He called, throwing out his arm. "See you around, Kommandant."

It was a breach of protocol, but Klink didn't argue. The more friends the better. "Heil Hitler!" he replied as the car pulled through the gates and crunched down the gravel road. He frowned the minute it was out of sight and waved his fist in a sharp swipe. "Hospitality? Of all my character traits, he noticed my hospitality? That's going to get me promoted for sure. Ha!"

He noticed the Englishman lurking a few feet away. "Maybe you'll be promoted to head tea server of Berchtesgardens," Newkirk snickered. Klink huffed and turned on his heel. Too much of Hogan is rubbing off on his men.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Hogan rode in silence, felt every bump and dip in the ragged German road. He proceeded to study the countryside, with an occasional side look at Rommel and his driver. Daniel was listening to the radio, his face an expressionless mask as he soaked in Goebbal's propaganda. Rommel's head was down, his mind buried in the papers from his briefcase. Hogan squirmed on his seat, glanced behind them, saw no sign of Carter or his motorcycle.

"Calm yourself, Major Lang," Rommel commented distantly, his eyes still focused on his papers. He had sensed Hogan's edginess. "Berlin isn't so bad. Besides, most of the wolves there are toothless when it comes to you and me." He finally looked up, smiling. "All I want you to do on this trip is to keep pulling me out of arguments with Himmler and Goering. We tend to collide on several, eh, issues." Up in the front seat, Daniel snorted.

"Yes sir." Hogan lowered his voice. Come on Carter. Another 15 minutes and we're at the station. Anytime now. Miracle of miracles, he could hear an engine in the distance, and forced himself not to look.

Daniel did look behind them, and gasped. He slammed his foot on the pedal and the car surged forward, throwing Hogan and Rommel back.

"What on earth!" Rommel winced as his head was jerked against the window. He braced himself and turned to look as well. Hogan saw his expression darken. "A fighter," he pronounced with deadly calm, turned back around. "The map! There's a turnoff coming up soon, a lesser road," he told Daniel. "Let's try to make it."

"Yes sir! I thought enemy fighters couldn't make it this far in. Bombers maybe, but not fighters!" Daniel had the pedal on the floor.

"Tell that to the British," Rommel replied tightly.

"That's not British," Hogan said without thinking. Rommel gave him an odd look. He hadn't known Lang knew about the different planes. "Looks more like French resistance." The plane was getting closer, a long, thin fighter painted sky gray with no markings. It had obviously spotted them and even now was changing its course. Hogan found himself praying a desperate plea, Please not now, not now. Let him miss. Please let us get away. It felt strange to wish for a Frenchman's failure, but Hogan had different plans. They roared down the road, literally taking flight over the larger bumps. 70, 75, 80 mph. Hogan begged the car to go faster. He gripped the door with white fingers and glanced behind again.

Three more specks had appeared behind the first plane, but they were Luftwaffe, pursuers of the French plane. The smaller resistance fighter seemed to waver with uncertainty, but it stayed after them, getting closer and closer. The Luftwaffe were firing; they could hear the distant, sporadic chatter of their guns over the noisy engines. The Allied plane held its own fire, determined to make its shots count. Hogan was impressed in spite of the situation.

Daniel struggled to control the bucking vehicle as it flew down the gravel and asphalt lane. He could see the turnoff just ahead. But finally, the Frenchman opened up his own guns. Bullets sprayed the road right behind them, kicking up sharp puffs of dust. They all instinctively ducked. This could be it, Hogan thought. Ironic that he might die by Allied hands.

Author's notes: Well, there we go. Are Hogan and his German buddies going to make it? Another long chapter, and what do you think? Finally, some action.