Thousand Thousand Thousand

by M. Vernet

On a fairly routine mission, Newkirk and Carter run into two Luftwaffe brothers who boast that they have designed an aircraft that will bring the allies to their knees.

Note: The Horten Brothers and Alexander Lippisch were real life innovative aeroplane designers for Germany during WWll. I was not able to find out exactly why the Hortens never quite finished their Amerika Bomber Project. It sent a chill down my spine to read how close Hitler came to bombing America with nuclear bombs. It makes me wonder if there are real unsung heroes out there who by unknown deeds of clandestine espionage prevented Hitler from obtaining his goal. Here's to all the unsung heroes of WWll. Maybe in some small way the Hogan's Heroes fandom keeps their memory alive in the personas of our heroic characters.

I own nothing. I am paid nothing. I borrow historical figures, but put them back unharmed.

Thousand, Thousand, Thousand

"LeBeau, watch the door."

"Oui, mon Colonel."

The Frenchman scurried to the door of barracks two as Kinch, Newkirk and Carter gathered around the table near the potbellied stove. It was past lights out and only the stove gave off a sparse light from its meager fire. The prisoners of Stalag Thirteen were tired and cold in the bleak November night. It was snowing again, covering the dismal confines of the camp in a fresh layer of pristine white.

Hogan paced and tried to warm his hands by absently rubbing them together. He wasn't worried. Just a routine mission assigned by London. Nothing to worry about. He stopped pacing and poured the last dregs of coffee into his battered mug. He looked at Carter who was resting his head on his gloved hand and gazing sleepily at Newkirk who was going on about something Carter had done to annoy him earlier that evening. Carter smiled and Newkirk knocked Carter's arm with a smirk, making Carter sit up and chuckle to himself.

Kinch shook his head, his dark watchful eyes taking in everything."What did London have to say, Colonel?" Kinch resident night owl also grabbed a mug, but found the pot empty. Hogan poured half his coffee into Kinch's mug without a word. "Thanks." Kinch responded as he sank wearily onto the bench.

"An aeronautics engineer, Alexander Lippisch wants to defect and…" Hogan began his briefing.

"Hey! I've heard of him," Carter cried enthusiastically. "He invented the delta wing, you know that airplane wing that sorta looks like a boomerang." Carter immediately made a very good likeness of a delta wing out of his two hands complete with lifelike sound effects. "Boy, I'd like to fly in one of those babies. Some designs you have to fly them lying down and…"

Newkirk slapped his hands bringing the imaginary plane to a stall. "You balmy twit. Turn off your bloomin' engine and listen to the Gov'nor."

"Sorry, Colonel," a chastised Carter mumbled,

Hogan took a deep breath and let it out trying not to sigh. Carter was a good man and key in this plan, but he was so young. Hogan smiled to himself. No one had ever been that young and naive. Carter was one of a kind.

"As I was saying. London wants him in the worst way. Which is why they gave him to us."

Kinch snickered a little at the Colonel's comment, but kept listening.

"Lippisch has had a falling out with Willy Messerschmitt the aircraft manufacturing big shot. He's worried about his current benefits being… cut out." Hogan made a slash motion against his throat and his team nodded in understanding.

"That's good for us because he's motivated to get to London as quickly and smoothly as possible. He's been feeding London his schedule since Messerschmitt keeps him on a short leash. This coming weekend he's been invited to University of Heidelberg to receive an honorary doctorate. Afterwards he's traveling to Hammelburg to attend a reunion of the Hitler Youth Flying Club that he was a member of and mentor to years ago. He'll be at the Hammelburg Hotel on Sunday that's when we snatch him up."

Lebeau cocked his head a little to better hear the plan that he knew was coming. The other three core members of Hogan's unsung heroes fidgeted in their seats.

"Carter, I want you to attend the reunion as an avant-garde inventor and professor of aeronautical engineering from Heidelberg University, an admirer of Lippisch's work. We'll have to come up with a few experimental aircraft designs for you to show around, the more unusual the better. They don't have to actually work, just take along some blue prints. Kinch can…"

Carter held up a hand. "That's okay, Colonel. I… I already have some made up for real. A couple of them might actually get off the ground… maybe."

"Andrew! You are not thinking about that ruddy flyin' pie plate you are always goin' on about?" Newkirk sputtered.

"Well, yeah, Newkirk. It's not a pie plate, it's a flying saucer. I'll have you know round is a very aerodynamic shape!"

"Certifiable, you are, mate! The men with nets will be comin' for you soon." Newkirk turned to Colonel Hogan. "Colonel, you are not sending Andrew in alone on this. He's looney as a Cheshire cat. He needs a keeper."

Kinch and Hogan exchanged glances knowing this was Newkirk's odd way of saying he was volunteering for the mission. Hogan continued. "The underground is providing us with a car, but Heir Kartermeister, here is going to need a driver. That's where you come in Newkirk."

"Look, let's keep this real simple, men. You show up at the hotel Sunday after roll call. Carter you engage Lippisch in conversation, discretely introduce yourself. He'll be expecting you. No need to tell him who you really are or any details of the plan. Just stay in character. It's safer that way."

"Newkirk - you stay in the background, watch Carter's back. Don't let him or Lippisch out of your sight. There is a car scheduled from the University to pick up our… guest after dinner. Kinch and I will make sure it's cancelled. We don't want to tip off Messerschmitt."

Hogan began pacing again, his agile mind going over possible problems and coming up with solutions at the same time.

"Carter, you sit with Lippisch at dinner and keep the chatter on plane designs, volunteer the services of your car and driver in front of witnesses. Leave as soon as possible but not too early. Don't draw attention to yourself. Best to wait till the other guests are full of kellerbier and busy socializing."

"You'll meet with our contact a quarter mile outside the camp where the main road curves to the right. There is a good spot to pull off there by the sign to Hammelburg. The contact will take care of the car. The three of you come in through the main tunnel. Easy as apple strudel, right guys?"

LeBeau let out a snort and some grumbled French. "Obviously, Colonel, you have never made a French apple strudel from scratch."

~~~HH~~~

"Thousand! Thousand! Thousand!" A boisterous shout accompanied by the clink of heavy beer steins filled the small barroom of the Hammelburg Hotel.

Newkirk, dressed in the double breasted driver's uniform he designed himself, rested one of his black riding boots on the brass foot rail of the bar. He was nursing his second beer just to take away the chill of the night and steady his nerves, the first one having gone down quickly and smoothly. The pretty barmaid seemed to recognize his imaginary plight of waiting for his master and not wanting to be drunk behind the wheel, so she fed him leftover tidbits from the kitchen and flirting smiles.

Newkirk was glad he'd made Carter wear wire-rimmed glasses with his tweed traveling suit. It gave Carter something to fiddle with. He pretended to clean them while stealing glances at his buddy waiting at the bar.

Newkirk watched Lippisch light another cigarette. The tall, thin man resembled Basil Rathbone's Sherlock Holmes with his shock of dark hair and chiseled features. He seemed to be reasonably calm. Dinner was going perfectly. Carter getting into the head of his character had come across as a charmingly eccentric inventor. Carter easily made the announcement that he would be glad to take Lippisch back to his hotel in Heidelberg after dinner.

The only snag was two brothers by the name of Horten who insisted on Kartermeister and Lippisch joining them after dinner for one stein for the road. Newkirk started to drum his fingers on the bar and moved a bit closer as he tried to listen in on Carter's table of four.

Carter delicately sipped his unfiltered kellerbier as if he had never tasted beer before. He had declined any alcohol up till then on the pretense of his persona being a teetotaler. He had no intentions of screwing up by getting too loose. He smiled at the brothers.

"Tasty! But now tell me what was the meaning of that toast?"

The Horten brothers were well known in aeronautic circles. Lippisch had inspired them as young teens to design nurflugel-one winged, gliders and planes. Now, both brothers wore the uniform of officers of the Luftwaffe, with solid successes designing bombers behind them. Both brothers were handsome and trim in their dark nazi uniforms. But their personalities were as different as could be.

Reimer, the younger brother, was the genius dreamer and designer of the siblings. Shy and closed off, the constant slump of his posture and dreamlike quality of his voice gave the impression that the weight of world was keeping him grounded, while his mind was off flying free in the clouds.

Walter was the older brother by two years and the social one of the pair. Gregarious as he was overprotective of his little brother, he did most of the talking and steered the conversations exactly where he wanted them to go.

Walter took another sip of beer and banged Reimer on the back causing him to frown as he spilled a few drops. "Thousand, thousand, thousand," Walter repeated. "Heir Goring's three times a thousand performance requirement. He has announced a need for an aircraft that can carry one thousand kilos of bombs, a distance of one thousand kilometers at a speed of one thousand kilometers per hour. My brother and I have been working on the Amerika Bomber Project and have built a prototype to suit the requirements. We should have this war won and Amerika in ruins by the spring!"

Lippisch looked at Carter who had gone ghostly pale and quiet, causing the nervous defector to find his voice. "Wonderful, boys! To think I knew you two when Walter was trying to send Reimer off the barn roof with your first wood and glue glider! What… marvelous news!"

"Thank you, Alexander. That is good of you to say. You know how much Reimer and I admire you."

Reimer leaned over and asked softly, "Heir Kartermeister? Are you alright?"

Carter took another sip of beer. "Oh, yes, yes. I am not used to drinking is all. So let me see if I understand. Your new plane will be able to say, bomb New York City or the Capitol in Washington?"

"Easily," said Walter with a gleam in his eye. "All that will be left of the great White House will be rubble. And the best part is we have come up with a way to use a charcoal outer coating that will make the plane invisible to radar. The Amerika President will never see us coming. Jai?"

Carter sipped from his beer again and tried to smile. "You say you have a prototype?"

Walter answered. "Yes, it only has two working engines right now, it will boast six jet propelled engines when it is done. But we have taken it for test runs at our place in Karsbach that is not far from here twenty kilometers I believe."

"Thirteen point nine kilometers southwest of here," corrected Reimer, a smile hardly ever graced his face but he aimed a sweet one at Carter. Reimer touched Carter's hand briefly. "August, may I call you August? Why don't you and Alexander come stay with us for a few days? I can show you my plane."

Carter swallowed and faked a cough to give himself time to think. A stealth plane ready to bomb American soil? He had an opportunity to see it and maybe read the blueprints. He had a slight possibility of sabotaging it. Newkirk was going to kill him. He glanced at the bar and sure enough Newkirk was heading over.

Lippisch knew it was time to leave. "How gracious of you, Reimer. But I have such responsibilities at the factory. I was lucky to get away to attend this function and it was delightful to see you boys again. I wish you great success."

Walter flashed a smile that hardly covered his relief at having the evening end. There was something about August Kartermeister he didn't like. He mentally shrugged. Perhaps it was the fact that his little brother was so taken by him. Reimer hardly ever gave out social invitations, preferring to work on his designs in the solitude of his country farmhouse. Walter decided he would be big about it and allow his brother his odd little friend. He seemed harmless enough.

Carter had to act quickly. He didn't want to endanger Newkirk or Lippisch. "Reimer." he said, quietly. "Thank you. I would love to spend some time with you and see your marvelous designs. Excuse me while I see Alexander to my car and speak to my driver. I will return shortly."

Reimer nodded his head enthusiastically and smiled up at his brother. Walter gave him a sigh and an indulgent pat on the head.

Newkirk said nothing till after he helped Lippisch into the car and closed the door with a solid slam. The light yet blustery snowfall was keeping everyone inside. He looked around and seeing no one, grabbed Carter and pulled him into the shadows.

"Blimey, Andrew! I was sweatin' blood there at the end. The last thing we needed was bloody Luftwaffe bastards sniffin' around. Now get in, mate. Let's go home."

"Peter, I… I'm not coming."

"Wha'?"

Carter stood up straight. "You heard me. And you heard them. I… I'm going to Karsbach and check out that plane. They said it was made to Goring's thousand, thousand, thousand, specifications. It's a stealth bomber undetectable by radar. They are going to bomb America, buddy."

Newkirk grabbed Carter by the lapels and pushed him against the car.

"You," he snarled, "Are gettin' in the bloody backseat with that bloody kraut and I'm takin' you home, ya daft, git."

Carter gave him a half smile, his blue eyes open wide. "Home, Peter. What would you have done if you could have prevented the bombings of London, huh, buddy? I know you would have done anything to save your home. Heck. I woulda helped you, if we'd been pals then. They want to bomb my home now, I know you understand. You have to let me go, Peter."

Newkirk relaxed his grip. He knew that stubborn look in those familiar eyes. The argument was over before it even started. "Andrew… you betta come back. You betta just take a quick gander and get your fanny right out. No 'eroics. Just dissapear in the night. Get in touch with the underground. I'll come get ya somehow. The Colonel will work out what needs to be done, after he murders me in cold blood, that is." He shook Carter one more time out of frustration. "Ya hear me ya balmy… idiotic… "

Carter gave Newkirk a quick hug and patted his back. "I love ya too, pal. I promise just in and out. No heroics. Be safe, Peter."

Newkirk watched Carter straighten his jacket and put on his glasses as he walked away. He shook away the thought that it might be the last time he ever saw his best mate alive.

~~~HH~~~

Hogan helped Lippisch climb down into the tunnel. He looked around in amazement as Hogan took his hand and shook it. "Welcome to the Stalag Thirteen Traveler's Aid Society, Heir Lippisch. I'm Colonel Robert Hogan, the manager of this fine establishment and your tour guide for today."

"I am flabbergasted, Colonel. All this under the very eyes of the German army. You have done a remarkable job."

"Thank you, Heir Lippisch. We'll be getting you out on a submarine to London tomorrow night."

"Ah, Alexander please. I am not military, just... a lover of flight. Are… were you a pilot, Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan was half-listening to his guest while trying to catch Newkirk's eye. LeBeau and he were now deep in conversation and out of earshot. Hogan glanced up the ladder, the trap door on the stump was tightly closed.

"Excuse me, ah… Alexander. We'll talk later." Hogan turned to the Frenchman. "LeBeau take Alexander. Get him settled."

"Of course, mon Colonel." LeBeau swiftly took Lippisch's arm and steered him towards a warmer back tunnel where a cot was set up for him along with a small heater, a coffee pot and a few packs of cookies and chocolate saved from extra Red Cross packages.

Hogan spun on his heel and faced Newkirk. "Where's Carter? You said it went well. On the ladder you said, 'All's well, Colonel.' Where is he? He's not…"

Newkirk wasn't surprised at the controlled panic in Hogan's voice. He felt a little panic stricken himself. Worry over Carter could do that to a person.

"Carter's not dead, Colonel, 'e's not been 'urt. I… well… I left 'im behind at the 'otel. Ya see, there were these brothers in the Luftwaffe they was..."

"Carter's been captured? They saw through his disguise, didn't they. This was a stupid plan. Too simple. Carter didn't even have a weapon on him. Do you know where they took him? Heidelberg? Berlin?"

"Karsbach." Newkirk took both the Colonel's arms in his and tried to calm him down.

"Gov'nor, Andrew's fine, 'e did a great job. Ya know how 'e is when he gets a German character livin' in 'is 'ead. Andrew got an invite to stay at the 'orten brothers place so they could show him their new stealth bomber. Andrew said it fit Goring's thousand, thousand, thousand, specs and was gonna be used to bomb American cities."

Hogan's eyes grew wide. "Thousand, thousand, thousand. Yeah, I've heard old guts and glory speak of that. These Horten brothers achieved it?"

"The prototype is almost ready. That's why Carter left with 'em. 'e wanted to get a good look at it. They have a place in Karsbach. It's less than twenty kilometers away, Sir, 'e'll will be alright. Andrew 'as to be alright."

Hogan sighed and shook his head slowly. "Newkirk. It's Andrew. Alone. Unarmed. With two Nazis. I gave you one order! Don't let him or Lippitsch out of your sight! What part of that order did you not understand, Corporal? You must have known what I would say to that. How could you let him go?"

Newkirk moved away, wiping his face with his hands. "I 'ad no choice. 'e turned those big blue kicked kitt'n eyes on me in full force. Wanted to save America, 'e did. I didn't stand a chance."

Hogan tried to reel in his anger. He paced back and forth a few times, took off his hat and ran his fingers through his thick hair. Then he sighed and smiled sadly. "Guess you didn't. Go on, get changed. I want you to tell me every detail of what happened tonight. Meet me in my quarters, I think we both need a drink."

~~~HH~~~

The old farmhouse that belonged to Reimer Horten could have illustrated a Grimm's fairy tale. Elaborate gingerbread trim and carved wood vines with cuckoo birds wherever your eye rested made the house seem more like a creature of the black forest than a lived in home. Twenty acres of undisturbed property surrounded the house and a large aircraft hangar with a short but functional landing strip sat at the end of a winding gravel drive. The original barn now held assorted vehicles, small glider wings and other nurflugel plane parts.

Carter, dressed in silk pajamas provided by Reimer, took an ornate poker adorned with a wolf's head and played with the fire at the small tiled fireplace in the guest bedroom. Walter had gone to bed early, but Reimer had wanted to talk to his fascinating new friend till well after midnight.

Reimer had been polite and enthused over everything Carter said, sitting closer and touching Carter more freely as the time ticked away. Carter finally excused himself to retire and Reimer had shown him to his room and offered him everything he could think of for his comfort. Carter sighed as the fire came back to life under his care. He really needed to put August Kartermeister out of his mind for a while.

Boy, oh, boy, Andrew. What were you thinking? These guys are Nazis for pity's sake. Colonel Hogan is gonna kill you. I'm gonna miss roll call tomorrow, that's for sure. I wonder if you can be AWOL if you're a prisoner of war? Maybe I'll be a private when I get back. Oh, well. A private can make bombs as well as a Sergeant can, If the private is me of course.

The window rattled and Carter looked out at the full blown blizzard raging outside. He sighed deeply. He went back to his musings while poking the fire.

Gee whiz. This storm is like the ones back home in Bullfrog. Blasting along the plains, so white and swirly you needed a rope strung from the house to the barn to feed the horses and make it back. I'm definitely stuck here tonight. I'm sure glad Peter was on the road before this hit. He must be back by now. Safe in his bunk. I can't believe I miss my lumpy bunk, but I do. Guess I don't really miss the bunk, just falling asleep to the sound of my buddy's soft snoring. Not a safer sound in the world.

Carter's train of thought was interrupted when he heard a few noises that sounded like they came from the kitchen. He listened a bit more then relaxed. He figured it was probably just Reimer tidying up. Carter's August demeanor battled for space in his brain.

Reimer said the older couple who work for him would not be back till the morrow. He is a fine fellow, isn't he and very appreciative of my work. Look at how he cares for me. Silk pajamas a warm bed, a full stomach. He does not think my flying saucer plan is idiotic. As a matter of fact the refinements to the fuselage he suggested were very helpful.

Carter frowned at the German accented voice in his head.

Get out of my head, August. You're not me. Reimer is a Nazi. A kraut. He wants to bomb America. I've got to make a plan to stop him and his brother. Tomorrow I'll insist on seeing the stealth bomber. I'll get all the information I can out of him. Then I'll decide what to do. I can do what needs to be done. I'll think real hard. I'll try real hard to do what Colonel Hogan would do.

There was a tentative knock at the door. Carter let his August persona answer but he tightened his grip on the poker.

"Jai?"

"Good. You are still awake, August. It is Reimer. I have some cocoa for you."

Carter carefully put the poker down and rose from the hearth. He opened the door to find Raimer who was dressed in pajamas and a matching robe. He carried a tray with two steaming mugs of cocoa on it. He smiled and placed the tray on the little tea table in front of the fire that was flanked by two cozy chairs. He sat and waved a hand to the other chair.

"Please, my friend. I know how hard it is to fall asleep in a strange bed. Please sit. Join me."

Carter blinked a few times, letting August settle in his mind. August was lonely and misunderstood. August had no friends and had seldom had a kind word aimed his way. August liked Reimer.

"Thank you, Reimer. With such a storm raging outside some hot cocoa is just the thing."

Reimer picked up a mug and handed it to Carter. "One thing about these blustery November storms, their winds cannot keep up such fury for long. No doubt this one will die out with the dawn."

Carter sipped his mug and let the creamy sweetness coat his throat. He hadn't had real cocoa in so long and this was delicious. August took the opportunity to add his internal opinion.

Is it so bad to have my basic needs met? To have plenty of wood for a toasty banked fire that lasts the night? To have plenty of wholesome food and all the warm fresh bread you can eat in a day? To feel safe and sleep without nightmares of fire and blood? To live in a fairy tale house and build planes that fly in the clouds free above the barbed wire of a prisoner of war camp?

"Ahhh, Very good. Reimer. Like my mother used to make for skating parties when I was a child."

"Are your parents still alive, August?"

Carter thought a moment and August told him.

"No, I have no one. No one cares for me."

Reimer reached over and took Carter's hand. He played with the ring on his finger. "You are not married, August?"

Carter grabbed his hand away. "No, this ring was my brother's. He… he was a pilot, he died." Carter gasped when he realized he had slipped into his own life. The lines between reality and fantasy were wavering in his weary mind. He felt unbearably sad and suddenly confused.

Does August have a brother that died too? How terrible for him to feel that loss. So many deaths in this war. August is so alone.

The ring was his grandfather's wedding band. His father had given it to Carter's older brother Sammy when he'd turned eighteen and Sammy, a big Sioux warrior of a man, wore it on his pinkie finger. Carter smiled at the memory of Sammy placing it on the only finger it fit, the ring finger. Sammy tried to "kiss the bride" leading to a tussle where both brothers had ended up in the lake fully clothed, shivering and laughing. Sammy gave it to his little brother who he enlisted to keep it safe.

"I am so sorry, my dear August. I too had a brother, Wolfram, who was killed flying a bomber over Dunkirk."

Carter was overcome with a strange feeling of floating. As if he wasn't in his body at all. He let August take over and answer. He patted Reimer's arm. "We have much in common then both intellectually and emotionally."

Reimer smiled and said sweetly. "I think we shall be good friends you and I. Come, your hands are like ice. Come get into bed. I will tuck you in. Jai?"

Reimer took Carter's hand and led him to the cozy bed. It was in a nook under an eave, built into the wall, boxlike and enclosed on three sides. Thick velvet draperies hung across the open fourth side.

Reimer pulled open the drapes and pulled back the goose down comforter. Carter let August be tucked into the welcome softness that enveloped him. For the first time in what seemed like forever he allowed someone to take care of him. His belly was warm and full and his tired, thin, achy body floated on a cloud of silk and softness.

Carter allowed August his moment of comfort. When Reimer whispered "Gute Nacht," he allowed him to gently push the hair from his brow. And when Reimer reached down breathlessly and kissed his lips, he allowed August to ever so briefly kiss him back before rolling towards the wall and shutting his eyes to the sound of the heavy drapes being pulled closed.

~~~HH~~~

The prisoners of Stalag Thirteen stood in their apel lines waiting for the Kommandant to make his appearance. The men stamped and champed in three inches of snow that would soon be three inches of slush and mud as the sun warmed the camp. The only thing to thank the weather for was the fact that Colonel Klink would be brief, darting in and out of his warm office before his breath could turn to icy smoke in the frigid air.

Hogan was personally thankful for the weather because Sergeant Schultz would not notice that Carter had grown four inches overnight and was now a dark haired aeronautics engineer bundled in a worn flight jacket, gloves with an earflap hat hiding his face. In this weather a correct count of prisoners should be enough to keep Schultz quiet.

Klink's shivery shout of "Dismissed." found everyone hurrying back inside to warm up.

Hogan caught up with Lippisch before LeBeau escorted him into the tunnel for his breakfast briefing on the plan to meet the submarine from London. "Thanks, Alexander for your help. Don't worry everything's a go for tonight. The weather will be clear. Kinch and LeBeau will take you out after lights out."

"I can't thank you and your men enough, Colonel Hogan. But what of that boy, Carter? Have you heard from him?" Hogan shook his head and gave LeBeau a beseeching look.

"Let's get you downstairs, Alexander," insisted LeBeau. "I'm sure the Colonel has a well thought out plan for rescuing Carter, but we need to get you set up for your trip now."

Hogan smiled at LeBeau who winked back. They both knew that Hogan had decided the best course of action was to trust Carter and give him time to do what he had to do and get back to camp. That decision had not gone over well with anyone especially Newkirk who after bordering on insubordination and mutiny, had calmed enough to indulge in sulking and giving him the cold shoulder.

Newkirk was having a half-hearted game of solitaire at the table. Kinch was finishing up passing out LeBeau's hearty breakfast that used day old bread and German bratwurst but under the Frenchman's skilled hand tasted like his Grandmama's best cassoulet. After everyone in and below the barracks was served, Kinch spooned out two more plates and tried to give one to Newkirk.

"Ta, mate. But I'm not a bit hungry this mornin'." Newkirk gathered up his cards and gave his full plate and now empty seat to Baker.

Kinch insisted. "You should eat, pal. What if we have go out in this cold to get Andrew?"

"What if Andrew's out there in this cold. Who's makin' sure 'e's warm and fed, eh? I'm goin' for a smoke."

Hogan watched Newkirk walk past him and out the door giving it a good hard slam. He felt a slight nudge at his elbow. "Eat, Colonel. It won't do Carter any good to starve yourself."

Hogan smiled up at his right hand man who always seemed to have his back. He took his plate to Carter's bunk and sat down. He motioned for Kinch to join him. Kinch grabbed his coffee cup and sat next to the Colonel. "Thanks, Kinch."

Kinch knew the thanks was for more than breakfast. He gave Hogan a small smile. "I'm sorry I gave you a hard time about Carter. There is something about that kid that makes me crazy with worry whenever he sets a foot outside camp. Hell, I worry when he's in camp too, blowing himself up every chance he gets. I don't envy you being his commanding officer."

"Apology accepted. I understand how you feel. It's killing me that Carter might have been lost in that storm last night."

Kinch sipped his coffee deep in thought. "Andrew is a like a kid in many ways. His laughter, his stories, even his somewhat creepy enthusiasm about bombs makes it easier to bear the oppression of this place. I would do anything to keep him safe and whole. But Andrew is also a man, a good man and a soldier. He listens and learns from all of us. Especially you, Colonel."

"I keep hoping he'll just show up calling me boy and telling some outrageous tale."

Kinch nodded. "Andrew is always full of stories. Sometimes he sits with me late at night in the radio room and tells me Lakota legends and myths. He's told me many tales of mystical snowfalls and creatures of the winter woods."

"Andrew is at home in the snow," Kinch continued. "This slushy fall snow would mean nothing to him. And I'm sure he was able to find shelter for the worse of it. He may be in Karsbach right now enjoying coffee and sponge cake biding his time till he can slip out and come back to us."

"I hope so, Kinch. Were you able to contacted the underground yet?" Hogan asked.

Kinch nodded and said in a whisper, "I told them Papa bear has a missing cub in Karsbach. There will be eyes looking for him. I just pray he doesn't get exposed somehow."

Hogan put down his plate on Carter's bunk. He ran his fingers over the threadbare blanket. "Kinch. I don't think I can take losing another one of my boys."

Kinch knew his Colonel still mourned those members of his flight crews that had perished under his watch. He hated putting any of his men in harm's way. Kinch put an arm around Hogan and patted his back. "He'll be fine, Colonel. I can't imagine him any other way."

Outside in the brisk sunshine, Newkirk finished his cigarette and flicked it into the snow to watch it sizzle and finally go out. He imagined Carter scolding him gently.

Use the butt bucket, Peter. We'll only have to pick it up later when we police the area, buddy.

He looked up at the clear blue sky that was just the color of Carter's eyes. "Cor, blimey, mate! Then come back and tell me to clean up my mess! Please, mate. Please, be alright. I swear I'll take betta care of you from now on. I'll pinch ya an extra blanket and share me bisquits with you 'alf and 'alf. No more missions without me by your side, you daft yank. Ya 'ear me? Please, Andrew. Ya gotta come back."

Newkirk stilled his trembling lip and lit another cigarette.

~~~0~~~

The gentle series of knocks on the door didn't rouse Carter from his deep sleep. Neither did the sing-song voice of Frau Mueller when she opened the guest bedroom door a crack and called out, "Guten Morgen, Heir Kartermeister. The Master has sent a tray for you. I am coming in!"

Frau Mueller and her husband were a local couple whose children were grown. They lived on a nearby farm and worked for Reimer Holten when either of the brothers were at home as housekeeper and groundskeeper. The pleasant round faced woman delighted in taking care of the old house but had no love for Nazis.

Her son was a professor at Heidelberg University and her daughter was still unmarried and lived at home with a little side hobby of working for the underground. Frau Mueller was very proud of her children, and proud that she had once taken a small part in an elaborate scheme involving the sweet boys in that awful prisoner of war camp near Hammelburg.

Frau Mueller set her tray by the fireside table and huffed at the cocoa mugs left from the night before. She frowned and brought one of the used mugs to her nose and sniffed. Wrinkling her nose, she took a taste of the white powder that had settled in the dregs of the cup. She put down the mug.

Sleeping powder. That awful little rat of a man is at it again. Drugging his guests. I hope Heir Kartermeister is alright.

Frau Mueller hastened to the bed and pulled back the draperies. She gasped in shock bringing her hand to her mouth and exclaimed, "Lieber Gott!" She stared at the man to be sure.

I know this boy! It is that sweet Andrew who blew up that nasty munitions factory that took over the toy shop last year. What is he doing here?

"Andrew," she whispered as she shook him gently. "Andrew, wake up now. I need to talk to you and I think you must need the coffee."

Carter slowly opened his eyes and blinked several times to clear the mist from his eyes. He rubbed his head. It felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

"Peter? That you? Wha'd I drink last night? Did I miss roll call?"

"My dear boy, remember me? Frau Mueller? You must clear your head. You are at the home of Reimer Horten. You must tell me why you are here so I can help you."

Carter looked around him, his bleary sight settling on the matronly figure beside him. His eyes opened wide and he squeaked out a. "Oh boy, oh boy. Frau Mueller? I remember you. What are you doing here? Wait. What am I doing here in bed… with you… I mean not with with you... Reimer! Oh, I remember everything, I think. Why am I so groggy?"

Frau Mueller sighed and helped Carter to stand. She sat him in a chair and gave him a cup of sweetened coffee. "Do not worry, dearheart. I made the coffee myself and it has not been drugged I assure you."

Carter took a long sip and blinked again. He shook his head hoping to clear it. "Drugged? I was drugged? Reimer drugged me?"

"Jai. In the cocoa last night. It is not the first time I have seen him do this. Why are you here? You must tell me quick!"

Carter glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "I was undercover and I met Walter and Reimer at a bar. They think I'm August Kartermeister - an eccentric plane designer. They invented a bomber that can make it to America. I'm here to see it and maybe destroy it."

Frau Mueller nodded. "My husband Claus thought perhaps they were working on a new plane. He catches glimpses here and there. But the brothers are very careful not to leave plans and things around. Everything is locked in the hanger. We did not know what they are up to for certain. I am sorry I did not tell my daughter our suspicions and save you this dangerous mission."

Carter smiled at his grey-haired ally. He took her hand and kissed it. "I'm glad you didn't put you or your husband's life in danger. Leave that to us crazy Americans, okey dokey?"

Frau Mueller simpered like a young fraulein. "You are a charmer, I remember. You and that tall, dark and handsome Colonel of yours. Are you married Andrew? I have a lovely daughter…"

"Uhhh… no… well… you said Reimer drugs his guests?"

Frau Mueller clasped her hands in front of her and scowled. "Horrible little snake. Jai. I think he does it so there is no snooping around. But I think sometimes he enjoys them being helpless. Oh! Did he harm you, dear boy? Do you remember?"

"I feel fine, except for a headache. I… I think he just put me to bed and… I think he kissed me goodnight! Yuck! Why would he do that?"

Frau Mueller reached over and patted Carter's head affectionately. "Never mind that. You must dress and meet the brothers in the hanger. Do you think you can leave this evening? You should not stay another night."

"I intend to leave late tonight, but I may cause some destruction, you know me. I'll wait till after dinner when you and your Hubbie go home. I want you safe at home before I start any trouble."

She nodded. "I will bring you some warm clothing and some food for your journey. I will hide it in the closet. I also have…" She smiled and turned around coyly, Carter looked on curious and amused as she fussed with her ample bosom. She turned and placed a oddly warm key in Carter's hand. "... an extra key to the side entrance to the hanger. The hanger doors lock on the inside, but this door leads to the brother's office."

Carter rose from his chair and laughed. "You are an amazing woman." He gave her a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek.

She blushed. "Go on with you, you flirt." She suddenly grew serious. "Do not drink anything Reimer gives you. I will oversee your meals and I will watch you eat them. Only eat what I give you myself. You be careful, dear boy. Gott segne dich."

~~~0~~~

Carter finally got his look at the inside of the Horten's hanger. He was honestly astounded and didn't have to fake August's overwhelming praise of the stealth bomber.

The HO229 bomber was dark as midnight and shaped like an overly wide arrowhead without its shaft. It was sleek and aerodynamic, with a fifty-five feet, sixteen point seventy-six meter wingspan. Six jet engines were tucked under the wings, three on each side of the bubble cockpit. It was relatively lightweight so it could carry a payload of a thousand kilo bomb.

Reimer gently closed Carter's wide open mouth. He laughed at the look on Carter's face. "August! You take my breath away with your silent praise. Please take a better look."

Carter smiled. "Thank you, Reimer. This is the most amazing aircraft I have ever seen." Carter had to be very careful now. Walter was above them hanging on a catwalk outside the office that led to the hangar floor. He was taking in their conversation and their actions. August needed to behave.

I could be part of this. This is history. Reimer obviously likes me and would take me under his wing. I could be August for the rest of my life.

Carter gritted his teeth and took August firmly in hand.

August! Find out what we need to know.

"The charcoal added to the varnish gives it it's black finish and makes it undetectable," Reimer explained.

"You have flown it at night?"

Reimer smiled at his interest. "Yes. we keep the fuel topped off so that we can take it out and test it. The two engines work very well for testing."

"I imagine it would be difficult to keep aviatic jet fuel here. Such an explosion hazard!"

"Jai. We do not keep fuel here. We have another plane come in and deliver fuel right to the plane. We are very high up on the Fuhrer's favorite projects list. We get all we need easily enough," Reimer boasted.

"We have a 300 gallon fire truck made for aeroplane crashes in the barn and have installed a state of the art smoke sensitive sprinkler system. We are very cautious about keeping flammable materials safely stored away from the hanger.

Carter looked around carefully.

Hummmm. Setting off an explosion here would be tough. I don't see any ingredients for a big blast. And a fire could be put out quickly and efficiently. Maybe I could set the bomber's wing fuel tanks on fire. That might work. But I need time to steal the blueprints from the office. Colonel Hogan would definitely want the specs on this demon plane. Go on August. Talk to the little devil. I need more time to think.

"You must be so proud of you and your brother's achievements."

"Are you proud of me, August?"

Carter turned to Reimer and smiled.

"I think I will in the future look back on this day as the proudest moment of my life. When a genius like you deigned to call a man like me friend."

Reimer was clearly moved by August's words. He reached out and pulled him into a hug. He whispered in his ear. "We could be wonderful together, liebling. You must stay with me."

"Reimer!" Obviously Walter was annoyed at his brother's display. "It is past time for luncheon. I think our guest must be bored and hungry by now."

Carter tried to stall for time. "I assure you, Walter. I am not hungry at all. And how could I possibly be bored? I would very much like to see the cockpit before I join you and your indulgent brother for lunch. Would that be alright?"

Walter growled out a reply. "A brief tour. I am quite hungry and unaccustomed to wasting time on inconsequential things."

After Walter stormed out, Reimer took Carter's hand. "Come. I will put you in the cockpit of my plane."

~~~0~~~

Carter spent the rest of the day listening to Reimer plot and plan August's life. Reimer was delighted to have such a friend and would do anything to keep August by his side. He wanted him to give up his teaching career and live with him, helping him with his more imaginative designs.

August simpered at the praise and marveled at being wanted. He gave some awkward excuses that he had to fulfill his obligations and work till the end of the semester. At Reimer's persistent pleading he finally promised to stay a few more days. August could not hide how happy he was to be wanted in any way. August let Reimer sit close, but acted very shy and hesitant when pressed into a kiss.

August, at Carter's insistence, made Reimer promise to give him the time he needed to get used to the idea of having a relationship with him. The type of relationship was never voiced but Carter knew it made him feel uncomfortable. August on the other hand was in his glory.

Carter didn't have to fake a headache after dinner. He certainly had one. He assured Reimer he just needed sleep and that they would have plenty of time to talk and plan tomorrow. Carter managed to get away with Reimer only kissing his ring. August thought that was endearing.

Back in his room he locked the door and checked the closet. Frau Mueller had left him a knapsack with bread, cheese, cookies and apples, and a warm overcoat, donated by Heir Mueller. He went to the window. A massive black walnut tree was close enough for him to climb out the window, jump to a sturdy branch and climb down.

Carter paced nervously in front of the crackling fire.

Andrew, you sure are in a pickle. A doozy of a pickle. A whole barrel of Gherkins. What should I do. What can I do? I hate it here. I wish Peter were here. I bet he'd pop that old creepy Reimer right in the schnozzola. I miss the guys. I miss my lab and my bombs. Boy, I miss my bombs. I wanna go home to the camp. I want Colonel Hogan to smile at me and say, "Good job, Carter" and mess up my cap.

Carter heard the sound of raised voices and ran to the door. He unlocked it and opened it a crack to listen. Walter was speaking.

"Reimer I do not understand why you are arguing with me. I am saying that it is fine for you to have a friend, but he can not stay in the house with you indefinitely. People will talk Reimer and you know what they will say. This behavior can not be tolerated."

Reimer's voice was high pitched and anxious.

"I am a grown man, Walter. You can not tell me what to do. I have spent my life hiding my heart's needs, doing as society deems proper and appropriate. I have found someone who takes away the ache in my heart. I want you to be happy for me!"

Walter countered his voice deep and unwavering.

"And, brother. I have spent my life tidying up your messy affairs and keeping you out of jail. Have you forgotten that Austrian who died from a drug overdose in your last house? You are a Nazi officer, Reimer. You can not continue to have wild indiscretions that your brother will sweep under the rug for you. I am tired of it! Grow up, little brother. Have a fling if you must, but August Kartermeister will never be accepted by me!"

Carter heard rustling and the sound of the front door opening. "Reimer, I am going to Heidelberg for a few days. When I get back I want him gone."

Carter closed and locked the bedroom door. He ran to the window and watched Walter pull away in his car. Carter tried to figure out what he was feeling. August was devastated and lonely and wanted to comfort Reimer. Andrew was frightened for his life and wanted to be with his Colonel, someone who could make sense of everything rattling in his head. He banged his overheated brow against the icy window pane. His warm breath formed a miniature cloud that disappeared on the frozen glass.

"I want to go home."

Carter lifted his aching head. He had made his decision.

When Reimer goes to bed I'll simply steal the blueprints and the plane, fly it towards the camp, parachute out, crash it, watch the devil ship burn and go home. Yeah, that's a plan the Colonel would approve of. Easy as pie.

There was a soft knock on the door and Reimer asked, "Still awake, my August?"

Carter held his breath, glad that the only light in the room was the dying fire. He heard Remer soft, "Gute nacht, liebling," as he sighed soulfully, gave up and headed towards his own bedroom.

August whimpered in Carter's mind.

Can we not stay here where it is cozy and warm and I am loved?

Carter answered in a tight whisper. "Sorry, August. You did a good job. You kept me safe. But now it's time to say goodnight."

Gute nacht, Andrew.

~~~HH~~~

Carter listened anxiously till he was sure the sounds in the shadows were not made by Reimer.

Holy cow! This old house has more creaks and groans than a wheezy old man crawling out of bed. It's pretty late now. I think it's safe to go.

Carter went to the window and opened it slowly and cautiously. The crocheted curtains fluttered as cold air rushed in the room. Carter gazed up at the star studded night sky.

Clear and cold. Bomber's moon, too. Lots of light to navigate by. I've got that goin' for me.

Carter had on the warm woolen overcoat Frau Mueller left for him, the knapsack securely on his back. Balancing on the sturdy outside window sill, he reached for the nearest tree limb. He stifled a yell as he leaned forward and his foot slipped on an icy patch. He grabbed onto the branch which shuddered with his weight sending clumps of disturbed snow to the ground landing with dull thuds.

Carter soon regained his footing and climbed down, jumping the last few feet and tumbling into crusty snow. He flung the melting snow off his sleeves as he got to his feet, then hid behind the massive trunk of the tree trying to catch his breath.

Smooth, Andrew. Can you at least try not to sound like a bleedin' elephant in a pink tutu trying to ballet dance? Hey! That sounded like Newkirk. He'd be frantic trying to keep me quiet by now. Plenty of room left in the old noggin' guys. I can use all the help I can get tonight.

Carter tried to calm himself as he stared in apprehension at the old farmhouse and waited for a light to come on. It remained dark and peaceful. He finally relaxed and crept across the gravel drive, heading for the hangar. With one more look towards the house, he opened the side entrance with the key Frau Mueller had given him. He made his way to the office and the locked file cabinet where the blueprints were stored.

Reimer kept his files and the hangar in impeccable order. Carter had noticed earlier that Reimer kept a large metal flashlight by the door. Carter grabbed it and switched it on. He looked around and managed to find a likely screwdriver and a thin file in a neatly organized tool box that would work as burglar's tools. Cater grimaced at the noise he was making. The cabinet lock was a simple one and Carter soon had it open. He found the blueprints easily and stuffed them into his pack.

So far so good. Now I gotta open the hangar doors and get myself into that cockpit. Ohhhhh, boy! Now I'm excited! More excited than the first time I flew Grandpa's crop duster. More excited than when we had that big forest fire and we filled that little darlin' up with water and doused those hotsy totsy trees. Holy Moly that was hot work. I still remember singing my eyebrows on that one. Even more exciting than when Lieutenant Perry wasn't feeling so hot and let me fly that Boeing Fortress into London after our mission. He was a good egg, for an officer.

Carter realized that during his mental ramblings, he had managed to open the hangar doors and was ready to climb into the dark plane. He pulled down the ladder on the undercarriage that led to the cockpit. He climbed in part way flicked his flashlight around and grabbed a parachute stored neatly in a fitted compartment behind where the prone pilot reclined as he flew the bomber.

Carter climbed in, but couldn't stand up all the way in the compact cockpit. He now had a chance to really inspect the plane. He only caught a glimpse of the rear of the plane with Reimer earlier. He slowly let his light guide his glances around the inside of the stealth bomber. He looked around taking mental notes on how things were arranged and his curious eyes landed on the enormous bomb bay. Carter's blood ran cold.

My, God! This is fitted for an atomic bomb! Is Hitler that close to having a working atomic bomb? I hate those things. Had a ruin a good thing didn't they? If an atom bomb hit New York, millions of people would die! Even more would be hurt by radiation. We sure are stupid sometimes. Jeezo peezo! I gotta destroy this plane. You sure got a tough row of buttons to shine, boy. Move your behind!

A wide eyed, terrified Carter scrambled to put on his parachute. Suddenly the light in the hangar came on and Carter heard an angry call. "Show yourself, schweinhund."

~~~HH~~~

"Ohboyohboyohboyohboy!" Carter fell on his belly and reached down to pull up the ladder. A shot rang out and he yelped in pain as as a bullet lodged itself in his outstretched arm. He lost his grip on the ladder and it fell back with a loud clang.

Carter looked down the hatch to see Reimer standing before him in his dark Luftwaffe overcoat and white scarf over his silk pajamas. He was shaking with rage, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. In his hand was a Luger and it was aimed at Carter's heart.

"August? What does this mean? What are you doing?"

"Reimer, it… it is not what you think."

Reimer scowled. "I think you are a filthy spy. A traitor to our Vaterland. I think you have used me abysmally and toyed with my affections. Get down from my plane." Reimer pointed briefly to the ground with his gun sidestepping the small puddle of Carter's blood accumulating under the ladder.

Carter gingerly cradled his arm against his chest and maneuvered himself down the ladder awkwardly. He stood in front of Reimer. Only August could save his hide now.

Please, August. I don't want millions of people to die because I failed. Save us, August.

"Reimer, please, try to understand. I love the Vaterland, but this plane, Reimer. Atomic bombs? You know what destruction that would cause no matter whose side wins or loses the war. I can not believe you would want your wonderful design to carry that horrific weight. Let me go. I will destroy the plane and you can say whatever you want as a cover story. Then the Horten name will forever be remembered for your great achievements, not for bringing destruction upon the world. I love you, Reimer. I know in my heart you are so much better than this. Let me save you from yourself, liebling."

Reimer bristled yet didn't hesitate in his reply. "What do you know of my heart? I am proud to build planes that further the cause of the Vaterland. I am proud be in the Luftwaffe! The Fuhrer is a visionary. I want the new German Empire to be greater than the Roman Empire. I want to reshape the world in our image. And if you do not want that August, then you are not the man I thought you were and you are not the man I thought I could love."

Reimer raised his Luger. "No, please, Reimer. I do love you. Please!"

Reimer hesitated at August's heartfelt cries. Carter saw his chance. He pulled the heavy metal flashlight from his coat pocket and swung it at Reimer's gunhand. Reimer cried out as the gun fell from his grasp. Carter gritted his teeth against the searing pain in his upper arm and moved in to hit Reimer above the right ear with his makeshift weapon.

Reimer fell to the floor. Carter dropped the flashlight, nearly falling himself from dizziness as he bent over to pick up the gun. He stood above Reimer as the stunned man held his head and struggled to remain conscious. He tried to focus on Carter.

"August? Go ahead kill me. I do not wish to live with this heartbreak and loneliness. Walter always said I was pathetic. End my pathetic life, please."

Carter didn't know what to do. If he killed Reimer, there would be no more brilliant designs of destruction to threaten the land he loved. But August was asking for mercy for the only person who ever showed him kindness. "August doesn't exist," he whispered to himself. "But Andrew does."

He raised the Luger and Reimer closed his eyes and nodded his consent, ready to die.

Carter stepped closer and brought the gun down on the back of Reimer's head. He'd be out for hours and Carter could get away. Carter clicked the safety in place and shoved the gun into his pocket. He took Reimer's white silk scarf and wrapped it around his still bleeding arm, struggling to make it tight and pulling it with his teeth to make a secure knot.

With great difficulty, Carter made it back to the dark deathwing. He grunted with effort to pull up the ladder and secure the hatch. He laid down in the oddly designed pilot's seat and examined the instrumentation in front of him reaching with his good arm caused a bolt of pain to shoot through him. He ignored the pain and flipped the toggle switches that allowed the fuel and oil pressure to rise. Then he hit the engines.

A satisfied smile briefly flitted across Carter's face as the whine of the jet engines filled the hangar. In a perfect world Carter would have let the engines warm up so that the oil cooled by the November night coated the engine parts. But tonight he was only interested in going home.

If he was lucky the flight to the camp would be less than an hour. He planned to ditch the plane right outside of camp in a burned out field that had already been the crash site of a fireball of a British Lancaster a year ago. Hopefully, like the lucky boys on that unlucky plane, Colonel Hogan would be able to get to him before the camp guards had been rousted from their warm bunks. All he had to do was get the Colonel's attention. Carter pushed forward carefully on the throttle and taxied the stealth bomber onto the runway.

~~~HH~~~

Hogan and Newkirk sat at the table drinking endless cups of coffee. LeBeau and Kinch had headed out earlier to deliver their aeronautic package to the submarine from London. Lippisch had been gracious in his thanks. Assuring Hogan and his team that they had a friend for life and wishing them luck on finding their missing boy.

Hogan tried to be gracious back, but a sardonic little voice kept insisting that he wouldn't need luck to find his boy, if his boy hadn't bravely put his life on the line for Lippisch.

"Gov'nor, when Kinch and LeBeau get back, let me go after Andrew. If we can get that car again I could just go pick him up. Say I got worried about 'im or misunderstood my orders."

"Peter. I told you. I'm waiting to hear if he's still in Karsbach. If he is, I'll be able to get a message to him and he can get a message to us. I'm sending you out until I'm sure and certainly not alone."

"But, Sir…"

He was interrupted by the bunk to the tunnels opening. Hogan and Newkirk stood as LeBeau and Kinch dressed in blackout gear told Hogan all had gone as planned. Newkirk sat LeBeau down immediately with a steaming cup of coffee in hand and a blanket around his shoulders. Kinch waved the Colonel's mother henning off as he tried to do the same. Kinch pressed a blue paper into his Hogan's hand. "Baker just got in this message from Karsbach, Colonel."

The Colonel read it out loud. "Lost bear cub guest at Grimm's gingerbread house. Leaving for home tonight. Bringing souvenirs."

"Blimey. I think I'm relieved. Why do they always have to make the messages so

'ard to wrap your understandin' around, eh?"

Hogan smiled and tapped Newkirk's head with the note."You have to read between the lines. This message tells me volumes. Our Andrew is alive. He spoke to someone of his plan and that means he has someone he can trust working with him. He's heading home, probably with the blueprints of the stealth bomber. He may show up at any time. This is definitely good news."

More than relieved, Hogan grabbed Kinch and pushed him down to sit in front of the stove. Newkirk brought the hot coffee and Hogan wrapped him in a blanket as Kinch made clucking noises at his Colonel, setting them all to laughing.

LeBeau had been telling them details of the night's successful mission when Hogan held up a hand. "Hey! Listen. Do you guys hear that?"

Silence followed and the distinct sound of jet engine's whine grew louder.

Newkirk stood and ran to the door and opened it a crack looking up at the sky. "Gov'nor! You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

Kinch opened the door a little more. The whine had become louder. "There! I saw something against the moon. It was like a black shadow."

Hogan took a few steps outside and LeBeau came and stood in front of him. Hogan rested his tense hands on the smaller man's shoulders. Kinch and Newkirk brought up the rear.

The engine whine grew steadily louder until it seemed just overhead.

LeBeau gasped. "Mon Dieu! Do you see it? Like a winged demon in the moonlight."

They all could see and hear the dark plane overhead. It buzzed the camp over and over, diving then pulling up into the night sky to make another run.

Kinch shook his head. "That's got to be Andrew. Only Andrew would buzz a POW camp with a prototype death plane."

Newkirk muttered, "That balmy Yank stole the stealth bomber! I'm gonna kill 'im!"

"Somebody get a flashlight," 'Hogan spoke briskly. "I think he's waiting for a signal from us."

Newkirk ran inside and came back quickly, pushing the light into the Colonel's hand. Hogan waited for the plane to make another run and flashed the light at where he thought the cockpit would be. The plane dipped its wing in salute and flew away to the west of the camp.

Kinch frowned. "Where is he going to land it, Colonel? There's nothing to the west but woods."

Hogan looked to the west with a puzzled frown on his face. Hogan had gone very still. Then he grabbed Kinch's arm. "He's not going to land it. He's going to crash it and let it burn."

All four men looked to the west of camp when a sound like thunder shook the ground and a ball of fire lit up the sky.

~~~HH~~~

Carter smiled as he caught the flicker of Hogan's flashlight on his last run.

They saw me! I'm almost home!

He gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm and pulled the nose of the stealth bomber up, giving his right wing a slight dip as he roared over the camp. His head ached, his blood pounded in his ears.

I've got to gain enough altitude so that I can bail out safely. Too low and my shoot won't deploy. I'll hit the ground like one of my whizzbangers. Splatt. Well, geez, Andrew. Good job being graphic. If I think about it, I'm more likely to hit the trees and break a leg or two. No, no. That image is not any better. I'll just think about the fuss LeBeau will make over me. How Newkirk will sputter and yell. Kinch will look me over and run for the Doc. And Colonel Hogan will try to make me feel better. That's good 'cause I'm not feelin' so good right now.

Carter wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve, trying to fight the encroaching gray area right outside his vision. The engines pinged and sputtered as Carter forced them to climb almost vertically into the night sky. Carter was going to aim the nose right at the ground, cut the engines and hopefully bail out in time to watch the devil plane go up flames.

A red light was blinking a warning that the right engine was losing oil pressure.

Oh, great. I knew it was too cold a night to take this bird up without a warm-up. My altitude is still too low. Oh, well. In for a penny, in for a dollar… or something like that. This engine just has to last a few more minutes. And I need to last a little bit longer.

Whoops! Thare she blows! Nice fireworks for my friends to watch. Whew! That wing sure caught fire fast! Those flames are awful close to the right wing Good thing I'm planning to bail. Oh, yeah. I better do that little thing. Now, Andrew or you're goin' to be crispier than Red Cross macaroons.

"Yeeeeeeeee! Haaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Carter unlatched the clear bubble of the cockpit. It was torn out of his good hand by an incredible gust of wind that took his breath away. He fell more than jumped out of the plane, tumbling onto the wing and rolling through the flames. His right knee crashed against the overheated engine before he found himself freefalling through the November sky.

"Yeeeeowwwww!"

Ohboyohboyohboy! Charcoal covered wings, that's not a good idea in a fire. Do not panic. Remember your training. Get away from the plane. Count, Andrew! Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Tuck and roll! Tuck and roll!

Carter pulled open his chute and drifted up into the night sky just as the still aerodynamic flaming plane took a nose dive and glided gracefully towards the ground. Carter felt the heat and smoke following the ascent of his chute like fingers of fear trying to grab hold. He coughed and sputtered as he tried to steer himself away from the flaming carnage with one arm.

Here we go! Gee whiz, for something that could cause so much death, it's such a pretty thing. It's gliding like a blackbird. It's gonna hit!

The plane hit the ground with a thunderous roar as it exploded on impact. The unmistakable odor of burning jet fuel filled the clearing and sent billows of smoke into the sky. The flames, fuel and oily smoke coated the pine trees bordering the crash site setting them on fire too. Pillars of tree shaped flame soon surrounded the area, the crackling of pine cones adding to the sounds of destruction.

"Urggggggg!"

Oh, darn it to heck and back. That hurt. This is gonna hurt worse.

"Aaaaaaaaaaa!"

Carter floated away from the crash and into the tall pines. Branches struck his body and made him scream in agony as they batted at his injured arm and knee. Carter jerked and shuddered till he finally stopped falling and found himself suspended only a few feet above the ground. He tried to catch his breath, but it hurt to even breathe between the pain in his battered ribs and the acrid smoke that burned his lungs.

I gotta get down. I gotta move away from here and towards the camp. Oh, this is gonna hurt.

He released his safety harness and tried to tuck and roll as he fell from the tree. He managed to not break any bones, but he found he couldn't move except to bring his injured knee up and curl into a ball. Desperate to stay conscious, he forced himself to look around. He could see the flaming skeleton of the damned wings of the downed plane. Glue and ash wood smoldered like the firebird in the tales his Grandpa had told him. The firebird brought fire to his people, but he made them earn it first.

Andrew struggled onto his belly, clutching his arm and gasping for clean air. His mind was confused and muzzy.

I'm not far from the camp. Come on Andrew, you just need to hold on a little longer. Oh, boy, I can't leave my chute. Even Schultzy could see it's a German plane and a German parachute. Pretty soon the Gestapo is gonna be looking for August Kartermeister. August is going to be interrogated, tortured and shot. I made him a traitor.

Carter started a tortuous crawl towards the blue spruce where his parachute was billowing in the scorching breeze. His hand clawed at the sticky bark as he used it as leverage to get to his feet. He tried to reach up to pull the chute out of the tree. Pain like he had never felt before radiated down his arm. He clung to the tree trunk and closed his eyes.

Oh, my arm, my arm, that hurts. I can't. I can't. Oh, the gods help me. Sammy, Oh, Sammy. Help me!

Carter heard the barking of dogs followed by the sound of the camp's sirens. The heat from the fire was warming the bark under his hands. It felt alive, as if a solid heart beat in its center and lifeblood flowed through its wood. Carter's fading soul latched on to the strength of the tree spirit.

Sammy? Is that you? Help me brother. I need to hide this chute. You can't let the Germans find me. If they find out I'm not August, I'll blow the Colonel's whole operation. I can't. I won't do that to them. I'd rather die. I'd rather die. Help me, brother.

Carter felt a fierce determination give strength to his failing body. He gritted his teeth and grabbed onto the dangling chute and pulled with a painful grunt. The parachute tumbled awkwardly into his arms. Carter swiftly gathered it up and staggered towards camp, only to trip over a log and land face down in the thick underbrush.

Just before the flames and shadows of the night faded into blessed blackness, Carter heard the timid but determined voice of August in his head.

Do not fret, Andrew. Go to sleep and rest your weary mind. I will take your pain. I will take the punishment I deserve for betraying Reimer and my country. Hush, now. Someone is coming.

~~~HH~~~

Scotty Wilson, the camp's medic, put away the last of his equipment with a sigh. Carter's long, lean body was stretched out on Hogan's extra bunk in his personal quarters. Wilson hated treating any of his boys outside of the somewhat sanitary infirmary walls, but he understood the need to keep Carter hidden from prying German eyes.

Wilson placed his palm on Carter's forehead using the time tested method to test for fever. If he left it there, gently stroking away the frown lines of pain and giving the boy the comfort of a human touch it was no one's business.

"How is he doing, Scotty?" Hogan closed the door on his worried men, chain smoking and drinking coffee while waiting on news of their friend. Carter's hard won blueprints of the stealth bomber were spread out on the table. A few of the more knowledgeable airmen were studying the plans, sharing whispered comments and horrified expressions.

Hogan's hushed tone told the medic the Colonel was deeply concerned. Wilson stood and Hogan immediately took his stool. The Colonel's critical eye taking in his unnaturally still and quiet Technical Sergeant. Hogan took Carter's hand in both his own.

"Overall, I think he'll be fine in a few weeks. Ready for you to send out and get himself almost killed again. I took a goddamn filthy black widow bullet out of his arm. Lucky he wrapped the wound in a pretty Luftwaffe silk scarf or he probably would have bleed to death."

"But don't worry," Wilson continued. "Andrew will have his chance at a doozy of an infection since I had to operate in this shithole you call your quarters. He banged up his knee, pretty good. Dislocated his kneecap, but I got that sucker back in place without anesthetic. He only sobbed for a few minutes when I did that and…"

Hogan looked up, allowing Wilson his tirade. "What the hell, Wilson? You think I wanted to send Andrew out alone? You think I ever would have let him take on a mission like this without me right beside him? How do you think I feel seeing one of my boys hurt like this. Do you really think so little of me after all this time?"

Wilson closed his eyes. He tried to get his breathing under control. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I just feel so damn responsible for Andrew. I keep patching him up and he keeps getting blown apart. How many times can that happen before I'm not good enough, and we lose him?"

"I feel the same way, Scotty," Hogan admitted. "He went above and beyond this time. I studied the blueprints Andrew had in his knapsack. This plane he crashed could have taken the lives of millions of Americans, not to mention the horror stories I've been hearing about the aftermath of atomic bombs and radiation. Our Andrew is a damn hero and here he is suffering in this camp. I know all my men suffer. I don't know what's worse. Being the reason why they suffer or watching them take it without complaint."

Wilson nodded and placed a hand on Hogan's shoulder. "He should be okay, Colonel. I shot him up with penicillin. He's got a lot of minor cuts and bruises, one of his ribs is cracked but not broken. He's gonna be hurtin' that's for sure. Do you think you can get some oral pain killers on our next drop? I've got morphine, but I know he doesn't like it.I can mix him up some opiate based powders he might tolerate if you can't."

"I'll see what I can do, Wilson. And thanks for giving Andrew your all."

Wilson shrugged and grabbed his crumpled hat placing it on his head. "There's some good news, Colonel. He doesn't have a head injury. He should be back to talkin' a blue streak in no time."

Carter stirred and moaned in his sleep. Hogan leaned in and smiled. "That a boy, Andrew. Let me see those baby blues."

Carter opened his eyes and looked around with droopy eyes. He scowled, "Wo bin ich? Wer bist du?"

Hogan gently squeezed Carter's hand. "It's alright, son. You're safe back at the camp, Andrew."

"Nein! Nein! Ich bin August. August Kartermeister. Verletzt. Verletzt."

"Easy, son. Easy." Hogan turned panicked eyes to his Medic. "He says he doesn't know where he is or who we are and that he hurts. Only he's saying it in German."

Wilson immediately prepared a shot of morphine.

"Danke, Heir Doktor," Carter said quietly as the shot took effect.

Hogan and Wilson exchanged puzzled looks. "I swear, Hogan. He has no head injuries."

"Then what's going on?"

~~~HH~~~

Newkirk seemed to know exactly what was going on.

"You know 'ow Andrew gets 'is 'ead 'round these bloody German roles 'e plays. I bet Eva Braun 'erself would take Andrew for bloody 'itler if 'e showed up at 'er bunker one night. Andrew's just worried and confused. Doesn't know the damn mission's over. Doesn't know 'e's safe yet. Andrew's not bonkers."

Wilson sat with Carter while Hogan briefed Carter's barracks mates on his injuries. He included the fact that Carter seemed to think he was August Kartermeister. Hogan watched the group of worried faces looking to him to ease their concern for their friend.

Hogan tried to smile reassuringly. "Look, Carter will be fine. He just needs to take it easy and get a lot of rest. One thing I want all of you to help with. If he does think he's August Kartermeister, play along, but keep him away from the guards. August is going to be a wanted man. The Gestapo is probably looking for him as we speak. We have to make sure Carter's alter ego doesn't get noticed or that he doesn't gets it into his head to turn himself in."

Newkirk spoke first in a sea of nodding heads. "Don't you worry none, Gov'nor. I'm not lettin' Carter out of my sight till 'e gets 'is 'ead on straight again."

"Oui, mon Colonel," said LeBeau enthusiastically. "We will all watch over Andre'. I'm sure he is just delirious, thinking he is a dirty bosch. I will make him my famous soupe au poulet and he will be back to himself in no time... If I can find a chicken."

A young flyboy named Huxley who hailed from the Bronx lifted his voice from the back of the room. "Sir? I… I heard a rumor, ya know, that the Krauts were gonna bomb the crap outta New York with the plane Carter ditched. Is that true?"

Hogan considered a moment, then he nodded. "The Germans are close to having the ability to attack American soil with atomic bombs. But Carter's little bonfire put that day off indefinitely."

"Jeez, Sir. An atomic bomb? My whole family woulda been wiped out! Not to mention all the other people who woulda died. I tell ya, Sir, that Carter is a goddamn hero. If he needs anything you just call on me and I'll come runnin'. You hear what I'm sayin' here? Ahhhhhh, Sir?"

Hogan smiled. "I hear you, Huxley. Carter is a true hero, although good luck convincing him of that. You're all heroes in my book. Dismissed."

Newkirk immediately headed towards Hogan's quarters to talk to Wilson. Kinch came up to Hogan as the others dispersed.

"I don't like this one bit, Colonel. If Andrew is suffering from some sort of mental breakdown, he needs more care than we can give him. He needs to be sent to London as soon as possible for a psychiatric exam. We can't just lock him away here in camp like a crazy relative in an old romantic novel."

"I know, Kinch. Wilson said he won't be able to walk any distance for several weeks till the swelling in his knee goes down. That might work to our advantage. The Gestapo will be looking for someone with a gunshot wound. I'll make up some story for Klink about Andrew falling off the roof, or slipping on some ice. If he checks on him, we'll show him the knee injury. He won't put two and two together. Hopefully Andrew will remember who he is when his mind isn't clouded with pain medication. Wilson said Andrew doesn't react well to drugs even penicillin leaves him dopey."

Kinch shook his head. "A pharmacist who has trouble taking medication. That's our Andrew. Maybe that's all it is. Newkirk is convinced Andrew doesn't realize the mission's over. That he's afraid of getting out of character because he might accidentally betray us."

Hogan sighed wearily. "Andrew didn't know who I was. I saw it in his eyes. They just weren't… Andrew's eyes. It was damned creepy."

"Colonel, if Andrew needs it, I'll personally carry him to the submarine bound for London."

Hogan looked into the misty brown eyes of the man he had come to think of as his trusted friend and confidant. He saw the sorrow and determination there. He placed a hand on Kinch's shoulder and squeezed. "I know you would, Kinch. Let's pray it doesn't come to that."

~~~HH~~~

"Per? Mein Gott! They have arrested you too?"

August had awoken and searched the little room with his eyes. He shivered as the bitter wind rattled the frosty window glass and seeped through the gaps in the thin wooden walls of his prison. He had deduced he had been locked in prison for stealing and crashing Reimer's plane. He was resigned to his fate and only wondered why they had bandaged and cared for his wounds if they were going to shoot him.

A snore came from the bunk above his and he could just make out the profile of his driver, Per.

"Nein. Nein. Per why are you here in this terrible place?"

Newkirk jerked awake at the anxious cry from his best mate. He sat up and hopped off the top bunk, quickly falling to his knees at Carter's bedside and taking his hand.

"Good mornin', mate. Oh, but just look at ya. I thought you'd never wake up. You're a sight for sore eyes, I tell ya. Blimey, mate. I bin that worried about ya."

"Per? Why are you speaking so? Why have they arrested you? Do not worry, my friend." Carter squeezed the hand in his. "Now that I am awake they will want to question me. I will tell them what I have done and you will be released. Are you alright Per? Have they tortured you?"

"Bloody. Hell." Newkirk blinked his eyes a few times. Carter even looked different. He certainly sounded different. Just like August Kartermeister should. "Listen, mate. It's gonna be alright. You're back at the camp. You know, Stalag Thirteen. Me, all your other mates and the Gov'nor of course will keep you safe. You got no worries. We won't let those Nazi bastards find you. You can drop the act, Andrew."

"Oh, poor, poor, Per. They must have beaten you harshly to have rattled your brain so. I can barely understand your garbled speech. So brave to have undergone such torture for me, dearheart. Do not worry, you have been a good and faithful servant and I shall take care of you now. I won't let them hurt you again."

"Cor. Blimey. You've gone right round the bend and over the edge, haven't ya?"

Carter tried to reach for a glass of water waiting on a banged up foot locker at his side. He closed his eyes and moaned as fiery pain shot through his body.

"There, there, easy does it, mate. Let me help." Newkirk gently raised Carter's head and helped him drink. "Now that's betta. Wilson said to call 'im if you want somethin' for the pain. Should I call him for ya?"

"Wilson? Is he the doktor? I… I think I remember him speaking to me. Giving me a shot and easing my pain. A kind man in such a horrible place."

"That's right, Andrew… I mean August. Scotty Wilson is the medic here at the camp. You and 'im are thick as thieves, although I'm your best mate. You like to talk 'is ear off about making pills and such. Do you remember wantin' to be a pharmacist after the war?"

"Oh, Per. What have they done to you? I am a Professor of aeronautical engineering at Heidelberg University. That is all I ever wanted to be. And you have been my driver for years. Do not frown so, dear Per. I will help you remember who you are."

Newkirk put his head down on Carter's bed. He felt a warm hand pet his hair.

"Bloody. Bloody. Hell," he muttered into the too thin blanket covering his lost friend. He heard the door open and felt Carter reach down and squeeze his neck as if to protect him. Newkirk looked up at the awkward smile on Colonel Hogan's face. He tried to stand, but Crater grabbed at him with all his limited strength. "I will handle this, Per," Carter soothed.

Hogan looked from Carter to Newkirk. Newkirk shook his head sadly.

Hogan crossed his arms. "Ahhh, Heir Kartermeister. August. May I call you August?

Carter nodded. "You are an American?"

Hogan frowned briefly at the lack of recognition. "Yes, I'm Colonel Hogan. I'm in charge of the camp and in charge of you."

"Camp? Per mentioned Stalag Thirteen. I am in a prisoner of war camp? The one near H… Hammelberg? They put us, Per and I, in a camp full of… our enemies?"

"I assure you, August. You'll be well taken care of. I won't let anyone harm you. The Gestapo doesn't know you are here. None of the Germans do. Not even the Horten Brothers. Hopefully they will assume you died in the crash. We… ahh… found you after the crash and hid you here."

Newkirk smiled and chipped in. "That's right mate. You just sit tight and rest up. Don't talk to any bloody guards and you'll be right as rain in no time."

Carter smiled indulgently towards Newkirk and patted his head. "What happens to me, Colonel Hogan, does not matter. I deserve to be shot." Carter's lip began to tremble and tears pooled in his eyes. "My only concern is for my trusted servant, Per." Carter lifted his chin to indicate Newkirk.

"Do whatever you want with me, but I must insist you let him go. He knows nothing, and has done nothing wrong. I am quite dismayed of your treatment of him so far. He is an innocent. He knew nothing of my… my… traitorous actions." Carter's tears were flowing freely now. He was too weary and sore to fight them.

"Cor. Blimey, Andrew, I mean August. Don't cry, mate. It's alright. See? The Gov'nor isn't gonna hurt us. I don't want to leave. I'm wantin' to stay right 'ere till you're all betta. I'll take care of you. I promise."

Carter turned fearful eyes towards the Colonel. "Please, Sir. You see the state of mind my man is in. He is almost imbecilic. You will promise me he'll be safe?"

Newkirk muttered, "Imbecilic? God love 'im, 'e's delirious."

Hogan cleared his throat trying to swallow a small laugh at Newkirk's expression. But there was nothing funny about the pain filled eyes pleading with his. "I promise to keep both of you safe and away from the Gestapo. What you did, August, you may think was treason. But my men and I think you performed a humanitarian act. You saved millions of American lives and stopped perhaps the most horrendous act of the war and that's saying a lot. In our eyes you are a hero and we will protect you."

Carter wiped at his eyes and nodded. "Yes, but I'm afraid I am no hero. What I did I did for selfish reasons. I… I… wanted to save Reimer from himself. This war has taken his humanity from him. But I could see the good in him still. Now his kind soul will find peace someday." Carter closed his eyes briefly and sighed as if his heart was breaking for his Nazi friend.

Hogan watched him, his own heart tightening in his chest, wishing he could find a way to reach his man. Carter opened his eyes and addressed Hogan firmly. "As long as Per is kept safe, I'll follow your orders, Colonel."

Hogan couldn't help himself. He leaned over his hurting man and brushed his hair back affectionately. "I have a plan, August. I want you to impersonate one of my men who is missing in action, an American bombardier and explosives expert, Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter…"

"Oh, Jai. I understand. I will take his place. Take on a new identity. An explosives expert you say.? Well, I do have an affinity for fireworks."

Hogan kept up his gentle ministrations as his injured Sergeant slipped into a fitful sleep. He pulled the blankets up to Carter's chin and tucked them around his injured arm, checking his temperature to make sure he wasn't too cold or too warm with a fever. Then he offered a hand to Newkirk who had sunk to the chilled floor. "Come on, 'Per,' let's get you something hot to eat."

"Bloody. Bloody. Bloody. Hell," groaned Newkirk.

~~~HH~~~

The next morning, August awoke to a small Frenchman fussing with his pillows and tucking a napkin under his chin.

"I have your breakfast. I know you must be famished." LeBeau did not wait for an answer, but shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into Carter's mouth. Followed by a long sip of sweetened tea.

"Another spoonful, mon amie. You must build up your strength." LeBeau would have none of August's turning down food when he knew his friend needed nourishment.

"I thank you, Monsieur, but I have no appetite."

LeBeau sighed and lowered the bowl of cinnamon and apple oatmeal, one of Carter's favorites. "It is very hard to get cinnamon, you know. I will not have you waste it."

August opened Carter's mouth and allowed the persistent Frenchman to feed him. He might not have an appetite, but the little Chef had been so kind to make him a warm breakfast and it was temptingly delicious.

"Why are you being so kind to me? The French are a passionate people and do not forgive their enemies easily."

LeBeau stirred the remaining oatmeal absently. "I am doing it for my friend Andre'. He would want me to be kind to you."

"Andre'? Oh, Andrew Carter, the man I am to impersonate. He was your friend? But he was an American flyer, not a part of the French resistance, what could you have in common?"

LeBeau looked in his friend's eyes, searching for the Andre' he knew. These eyes were sad, lonely without true friendship or inner light. "Yes , Andre' and I have nothing in common. That is what I like about him. He is innocent. Untouched by the pain of having to watch his homeland brought to its knees. He is helpful and loyal to me. I love him as I love my own family. He is not even aware that I watch his weight and make sure gets enough to eat. That I watch his back and try to keep his spirits up when this place gets to his kind heart."

LeBeau snuck in one more spoonful of oatmeal.

"He lets me teach him things about France and in turn he tells me fascinating things about Bullfrog, North Dakota. Many a night I have forgotten my troubles and rode off with Andre' on one of his tales, into the sunset like an American cowboy with my trusted guide at my side. Andre' makes me feel happy."

August gave LeBeau a puzzled frown. "You really are his good friend. I envy you two. You enjoy a precious gift. I suppose facing the hardships of war makes for unusual friendships. When the war end will the two of you still be friends?"

LeBeau leaned in and said with all sincerity, "Andre' will always be my friend, mon frere de la cour. I will never forget him. After the war is over I have promised him I will show him Paris and I will not break that promise."

"I hope you and Andrew can keep that promise some day." August rubbed Carter's brow. He was aching and bone weary. "I am sorry, Monsieur. I can eat no more. Would you ask the good Doktor if I may have something for the pain? It is becoming bothersome to me."

LeBeau patted Carter's leg. "Oui, mon amie. I will get him right away." LeBeau gathered up the breakfast things on a tray and headed for the door.

August closed his eyes and said quietly. "Merci, Louis."

LeBeau turned and smiled at the now sleeping Carter. He'd never told August his first name.

~~~HH~~~

Seven days later, Wilson deemed Carter well enough to get out of bed and try out his crutch. After the storm the weather had turned mild and most of the camp was outside basking in the fall sunshine. August was still running the circus in Carter's mind, happily pretended to be Andrew Carter. He was thoroughly enjoying the masquerade. He had never been around so many fellows who truly cared about him. Carter was a lucky man when it came to close friendships. August kept Per close to him and hoped his constant attention would bring the poor man back to reality.

Wilson helped Carter get on his feet and out the door. He stood squinting in the sunshine and took a few wobbly steps. His knee had healed nicely, thanks in part to Carter's friends giving him rub downs, encouragement and helping him exercise his knee in the lumpy bed. But he had no stamina and was already tired. Discouraged, he took an awkward perch on the rickety bench outside of barracks two.

Hogan and Kinch had just been having a heated discussion about what to do with Carter. Hogan wanted to give Carter's mind time to recover and Kinch wanted him back in London at the psychiatric hospital there. They weren't angry with each other, both only cared about what was best for their Technical Sergeant and friend. They turned towards Carter and smiled.

Wilson beamed like a proud father as he led Carter towards Hogan and Kinch. He gave his report before heading to the mess hall. "Colonel, He's making great progress. No infections. He just needs gentle exercise to bring back the muscle tone in his arm and leg."

Kinch sat next to Carter and threw an arm around his shoulder. "Oh, Andrew! That's great!"

August shyed away. This huge man of color still frightened him a bit even if Per said he was a 'stand up mate, one of the best.'

Kinch withdrew his arm sadly, his heart tightening in his chest. He looked up at Hogan who met his gaze solidly. They both wanted their Andrew back.

August adjusted the glasses on his face that Carter didn't need but August insisted on wearing. "Colonel Hogan, have they finally given up the search for me?"

Hogan bristled at the soft German accent coming from his Sergeant. He looked around the camp before he answered. "I think so. Walter Horten contacted the Gestapo, and Klink was ordered to search the area for you. But it didn't generate much interest. They pretty much concluded that you died in the crash. Less paperwork that way."

"Seems the Fuhrer's very fickle about his pet projects especially about aircraft designers who don't deliver on time. The Horten brothers' funding had been revoked. No Gestapo agent is going to care about pursuing a case for someone on the outs with the old maniac. I think you're safe now, August."

Carter shifted as he removed his glasses and pocketed them. He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his head.

Hogan and Kinch exchanged worried glances. Kinch asked gently, "Does your head hurt, buddy?"

Carter looked up with tears in his eyes. He tried to take a steadying breath. "I have ruined the Horten brothers. I did not want that. I am a traitor. What will become of me?"

"Take it easy. Nothing is going to happen to you. " Hogan placed a hand on Carter's shoulder. "Nothing that you don't agree to." Hogan looked at Kinch who nodded.

"You can stay here with us. You can really become Andrew Carter. Or… we have the ability to send you to London. To the hospital there. You could be safe there till the war is over."

"Hospital?"

Kinch cleared his throat. "Well, we'd have to send Andrew Carter back. We'll need to give London a reason, like… Andrew went on a mission, he was undercover as a professor of aeronautics. He got hurt and now he thinks he's August Kartermeister."

Kinch waited, hoping that the information would stir some memories in Carter's mind. Carter looked in the concerned brown eyes and for a moment Kinch saw his friend struggling with pain beyond words. Then he was gone and August's voice spoke quietly.

"Sergeant Kinchloe, I thank you, but I will stay here with Per. I will do what I can to help you and when the war ends I will turn myself in."

Kinch put his arm back around Carter's shoulders not caring if it made August uncomfortable. "Don't worry, buddy. We'll take care of you, even after the war."

August brought a smile to Carter's face, sinking into the firm embrace. The three men tensed when a Gestapo car pulled into the yard. Hogan wasted no time. "Kinch - find Newkirk and get him into the tunnel. Come on, August, we need to get you inside."

Carter struggled to his feet, grabbing onto Hogan for support. Carter glanced up at the visitors. He gasped and tightened his hold on Hogan. "Mein Gott. The Horten brothers!"

"Damn! Hochstetter too!" Hogan cursed.

Carter and Hogan were almost through the door when Hogan heard the familiar bellow of Sergeant Schultz. "Halt!"

Hogan had staged a "fall" as his cover for Carter's injuries. The night they rescued Carter they asked the good hearted Sergeant Schultz to carry Carter to Hogan's quarters. Wilson explained the gunshot away by showing Schultz a huge bloody nail and claiming Carter had fallen off the roof and landed on it. The Sergeant left quickly after that, not wanting to see any more blood and reported the accident to his Kommandant, who waved the incident away with a fluttering hand. He had an annoying search for a traitor to perform.

The big man made his way across the yard and puffed out his orders. "Colonel Hogan, the Kommendant wishes to see Carter."

Hogan turned to help Carter, but Schultz stopped him. "Nein, Colonel Hogan, only Carter. Rrrrrright away!"

August found himself being held up by large sturdy arms in a warm grey greatcoat. "Do not worry, Carter. I will not let you fall," Schultz said kindly. "These Luftwaffe dummkopfs think you are the Professor they were searching the woods for. Just tell them who you are and then... I will help you back to your bunk. It is not good for you to be out walking around like this so soon after your fall from the roof."

August was frightened out of his wits. He trembled against the gentle Sergeant, who just continued to walk carefully and give August his support while grumbling at his superior's folly. By the time Schultz maneuvered Carter and his crutch around the Kommandant's office and into a waiting chair, August was sweating and hyperventilating from sheer terror. August offered a plea to the only person who could help him now.

Help me, Andrew. I'm not as strong or as smart as you. I only wanted to stop being lonely for a while. You have so many friends. Friends that love you. That would die for you. I wanted to experience that love.

Carter closed his eyes and brought August's fear under control.

Well, Bucko. It's about time you gave up the control in here. Kinch was ready to put me in the nuthouse. I was of no use to the Colonel like this. LeBeau had the saddest eyes when he talked about Paris and Newkirk's been bouncin' off the walls with worry. Even though it was sort of funny that you thought he was looney tunes. Still, it wasn't nice to do that to my buddies.

Carter could hear Klink going on and on about how Carter could not be August in disguise because he has never had a prisoner escape from his camp.

Alright, August. Let me handle this. Thanks for saving me all that pain from my injuries. I do appreciate not going through that. But, you got carried away.

Carter opened his eyes. Hochstetter was blowing a gasket over something. He raised his hand that held his gloves.

Boy, oh, boy. Old Hochstetter's sure is spittin' mad. Wonder if it has somethin' to do with me? Ouch! Hey! That hurt! Why's he smackin' me in the face? Maybe I should pay more attention.

Carter frowned and tried to concentrate. Slowly, like waking up from a dream, he began to comprehend what was going on. Hochstetter was asking him a question.

"Why won't you answer me? Did you impersonate this Professor? Did you steal the Horten's plane and crash it?"

Carter smiled. He was back in control. "No, Sir. See. I fell off the roof in a snowstorm and I've been recovering. Been out of it mostly. Wilson gave me stuff for pain. I couldn't have piloted a plane if my life depended on it."

Hochstetter smirked. "You fell off a roof in a snowstorm. You injured your knee? And your arm?" Hochstetter viciously grabbed Carter's injured arm twisted it and squeezed. All Wilson's hard work was for naught as the stitches opened. Carter cried out as Hochstetter pulled open Carter's shirt to examine the wound. "Where you shot before or after you fell off the roof, Heir Kartermeister?"

Schultz couldn't stand to see his little friend treated so roughly. He cleared his throat and timidly addressed his Kommendant who was unusually pale. "Heir Kommandant. It… it is not from a bullet, it is from a nail. I saw it myself when I carried Carter inside that night. A huge bloody nail found its way into his poor little arm when he fell off the roof."

Klink saw a way to end all this foolishness. "You were there? You saw him fall and saw the nail?"

Schultz looked at Carter who was panting away his pain. Carter smiled and nodded just once as if to say, "Do what you need to do, Big Guy. I forgive you."

Schultz took a deep breath. "Jawolle, Kommandant. I saw everything."

"Admit it, you swine!" Hochstetter hit Carter with his gloves again.

Carter had had enough. "Gee whiz! What's with the gloves? I'm not this August fella, and smackin' me around isn't gonna change that. Quit takin' your mistake out on me!"

Hochstetter rounded on the quiet Horten brothers who were standing at attention in deference to Colonel Klink who they respected because of his past as "The Iron Eagle" of the Luftwaffe. The brothers respected anyone who could fly. They considered Hochstetter nothing more than a glory seeking policeman. But he did serve a purpose. He helped them find August.

"Enough of this!" cried Hochstetter, his eyes flew between the two brothers. "Tell me now. Is this the man who you took into your home? Is this the man who stole the stealth bomber?"

Walter nodded at Reimer and Reimer stepped forward. Carter hung his head and waited for to hear his death sentence. He knew Hogan was hearing every word back at the barracks through the coffee pot receiver and hoped he had a plan to save the operation. He didn't care for himself, if he could he planned take all the blame. He would never betray his Colonel or his friends.

Reimer gently lifted Carter's chin seeking August in this odd American's eyes. Reimer began to smile but tried to remain composed. His lip trembled slightly. Carter let August say goodbye. A warm feeling of contentment filled his mind as his creation found the thing it had strived to attain. Friendship and love. August slowly faded and Carter felt a gentle tug at his mind. Thank you, Andrew.

Reimer caressed Carter's still stinging cheeks. Then straightened Carter's clothes grimacing sadly at the new blood on his shirt. He took extra care to zip up his coat and place his hat back on his head. He gave Carter a pat on the head and sighed. He turned to his brother and shook his head. They both smiled. Walter addressed Hochstetter.

"Sorry, Hochstetter. This poor soul whom you take such joy in abusing is not August." He approached Klink. "I am so sorry to waste your valuable time, Heir Colonel. If you would allow your efficient Sergeant Schultz to take this sorry little prisoner back to his barracks, perhaps we might dine together? My brother and I would love to hear about your experiences, Heir Iron Eagle."

Klink fairly glowed with Walter's praise. "Of course. It would be a pleasure! Schultz - take Carter back. Make sure Sergeant Wilson sees to him."

Hochstetter glowered at the brothers as he turned purple with rage. He swung around to grab Carter, but Walter stood in his way. "Go home, Hochstetter. Leave this prisoner alone, you embarrass yourself beating an already cowered boy. You are better than that, Jai?"

"Baaaaaah!" Hochstetter stormed out the door.

Walter helped Carter to get up and whispered in his ear. "We wish to defect."

Carter looked at him and then Reimer with wide-eyed wonder. Carter smiled and nodded. "You got it, boy, " he whispered back.

~~~HH~~~

Hogan unplugged the coffee pot, his heart still beating hard against his chest. Just a moment ago, he thought his world was collapsing. He did have a contingency plan if his operation's cover was ever blown. But he never wanted it to come to that since he was never able to figure out how to get everyone out of the camp safely. He could destroy the tunnels and stand in front of a firing squad himself, but when he imagined who would be by his side, he was undone.

Kinch finally let go of Newkirk who, after Hochstetter made Carter scream, was bound and determined to end the war himself. He'd been ready to take out every bloody kraut in the the entire camp and do something to Hochstetter's anatomy that Kinch thought couldn't be done.

LeBeau had door duty again and was literally bouncing with nerves. "Hochstetter is leaving, Colonel, the brothers are not with him." He held his breath till he saw Schultz nearly carrying Carter across the camp. "They're coming, Colonel, but slowly. Carter doesn't look like he's going to be able to walk very far."

Newkirk pushed past LeBeau and ran out the door, not caring that Hogan always said reacting too soon or too emotionally to bad news was a dead giveaway that they had been listening in.

Newkirk reached Carter and lifted his chin to see the bruises forming on his face. Carter tried to smile but even that hurt. Newkirk glowered at Schultz. "How could you let that bloody Gestapo bastard hurt him, eh? You know what he's been through lately."

"Peter. Lay off the big guy," Carter told him. "He did real good. He made old bust-a-gut Hochstetter look like Bozo the Clown in front of company. Didn't ya Shultzy? Ya know my Great Uncle Floyd used to get purple in the face like Hochstetter. He went to a world series game in 'thirty-four, Cardinals versus Tigers, I think. Anyway, when the Tigers lost he busted a gasket and keeled right over into the dugout. Spilled his Cracker Jacks right on the coach's head."

"Andrew? Is that you, mate?"

"Huh? Hey, Buddy? I'm not feelin' too hot."

Schultz was ready and scooped his little friend up in his arms. Newkirk stood with his mouth open trying to take in what he just heard. Schultz scolded him. "Newkirk! What is wrong with you. We must get him to his bunk. Pick up his crutch. Newkirk!"

Schultz shook his head and moved his mass towards barracks two. LeBeau was waiting and opened the door. Schultz placed Carter gently on his own bunk. Wilson patted Schultz's back and started to undress Carter to see what damage had been done. He took off Carter's hat and a paper floated to the floor.

Hogan picked it up and palmed it, not wanting Schultz to see it, just in case. Then he ushered the softhearted guard out of the barracks. "Thanks, Schultz, for taking care of Carter. I owe you one. Come around later and I'll see if LeBeau can whip up something for you."

Schultz pulled himself up to his full height. "Colonel Hogan, you do not owe me anything. Carter is a good boy. I was happy to help him… but of course if LeBeau is perhaps baking some pastries later…"

"Sure, Schultz. The only thing bigger than your heart is your stomach," Hogan told him.

Schultz strutted out the door chuckling to himself.

Newkirk was bursting with his news. "Colonel, Andrew's back! I 'eard 'im, 'e was goin' on about a daft Uncle of 'is just like 'e always does!"

Kinch and LeBeau both started asking Newkirk excited questions, Hogan held up a hand. "Hold on guys. This note fell out of Carter's hat." Hogan rested one leg on the edge of an empty bunk and opened the note. "It's from Reimer Horten."

They settled down wanting to know what was in the note. Newkirk sat on the end of Carter's bunk watching Wilson carefully re-sew the pulled stitches the exhausted man's arm.

Hogan cleared his throat and read out loud.

Dear August,

I will still call you August because I wish to remember my gentle little friend who helped me to see the folly of my beliefs. I have decided I do not wish to be remembered as a designer of weapons of death, but as a creator of wings for man. I had forgotten this about myself and you helped me find myself again. I ask you now for your help. My brother and I wish to work not for one side or the other but for the benefit of all mankind. I leave our lives in your hands. I know you will do the right thing. If I never hear from you again, please know that a part of my heart will always be set aside for the fond memory of my August.

Yours,

Reimer Horten

The room was quiet as he folded the paper fully intending to burn it as soon as he read it to Carter. A soft North Dakota accent drifted up from Carter's bunk. It was a joy to all who heard it.

"Ummm… I guess I got a little lost in my role this time, huh, guys?"

A mixed chorus of "Carter! Andrew! Andre'! Son!" filled the barracks' air.

Newkirk was the first to compose himself. "See, Gov'nor? I told you 'e was back!" Newkirk grabbed Carter's good leg and gave it an affectionate jostle, bringing a bright smile to Carter's face. "I'm glad you're back, mate. Don't you ever worry me like that ag'in!"

Wilson was all smiles as he gave his seat to Hogan. The Colonel placed a light hand on Carter's newly bandaged arm and peered into his eyes appraisingly. "You really back with us Andrew? What do you remember about the crash?"

Carter glanced around at his friends' worried faces. "Well, I remember bailing out over the woods at the west of camp, hitting my knee and getting tangled up in a tree. I managed to get my chute down then tried to get back to camp. I fell." Carter grimaced at the memory of the pain, reached up and rubbed his arm where he was shot.

Hogan gently patted his hand to reassure him he was safe. "It hurt real bad Colonel," Carter said. "I remember asking… my brother's spirit for help."

Carter halted and looked towards the wall. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat that was restricting his words.

Newkirk leaned in. "It's alright now, Andrew. You're on the mend and doin' great."

Kinch added reassuringly, "Sure, buddy. You'll be on back on your feet in no time."

Carter looked back at Hogan who smiled at him and said, "Andrew. You went through hell. We've all been there. There is no shame asking help from above at a time like that."

Carter gave him a watery smile and continued. "I remember feeling like I was sleeping, but at the same time awake. I didn't feel the pain anymore. I knew August was talking to you guys, but I couldn't get through. I guess old August took over for a while. Colonel? Does this mean I'm nuts?"

Hogan chuckled and ruffled Carter's hair. "Naaaa. It just means you're the best darn undercover agent in the whole war. You put your heart and soul into a role because I ask it of you. But next time you get to be the driver, then maybe you'll get home safe and sound."

Newkirk bristled. "Ohhhh. That's right. That's fair. Blame the supportin' actor if the production fails. Cor. Blimey. This is a tough room."

A few men laughed and a few more groaned at Newkirk's humor. Wilson chuckled, then clapped his hands. "Come on boys. Let Carter get his beauty sleep. He needs it." That pronouncement was enough to get everyone moving.

Carter waved his hand in thanks as his buddies wished him well. But he needed one answer before he could rest. "Colonel, are we going to save the Hortens?"

Hogan took a deep breath, releasing it slowly to give him a moment to think. "I'll talk to London tonight."

"Thanks, Sir. Part of me is glad, is that okay? I mean they are Nazis. I… I… "

"Andrew, it's okay to want to save them. Compassion, especially in wartime is what makes us different from the Nazis. Look. Wilson's right about you needing your rest. Newkirk? Keep an eye on him."

"Yes, Sir. I'll sing 'im a lullaby if I 'ave too."

~~~HH~~~ Epilogue

November proved to be a fickle month and as it ended, it gave the men of Stalag Thirteen one more sunny day to last them till the spring thaw. Carter limped his way to his favorite bench with its view of the west woods. He felt stronger and no longer needed a crutch, thanks to Kinch's personalized exercise regimen. He had started to gain back the pounds he lost thanks to LeBeau's hearty meals and Newkirk's pilfered sweets.

He sat for a while, watching the breeze snatch random leaves from the trees that were ablaze with color. Some of the sugar maples, softly lit by the afternoon sun looked like they were covered in flickering flames. Carter shivered thinking of the night of the crash.

"Andrew? You alright mate?" Newkirk placed a colorful quilt that had somehow come into his possession over Carter's shoulders. Newkirk had made a bargain with the powers that be to take better care of his mate and he wasn't going to welch on his bet.

"Hiya, Peter. I'm fine. Just thinkin'." Newkirk smiled as Carter snuggled into the warm blanket without raising a fuss. Carter had come to appreciate all the brother-henning sent his way.

"Sure, ya are." Newkirk leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Andrew, the Colonel got word that the Horten brothers made it to London. They're goin' to be workin' with Lippisch for the duration."

Hogan had arranged for the Karsbach underground to deliver that particular double package to London. He didn't want Carter to be anywhere near Reimer Horten, and since Reimer had shot Carter, he couldn't quite guarantee that the package would arrive without a scratch if his team were the delivery men.

Carter nodded. "Good. That's… good. I mean Reimer really was a genius, maybe some good will come of this."

Newkirk cocked his head. "Stranger things 'ave 'appened. Stranger things, mate."

"You said it, Peter. Stranger things like me letting an imaginary character take over my mind."

"What's wrong, Andrew? I thought we went over this. You were in a bloody mess and you did what you had to do to survive."

"I know. But it was so confusing. Some of the feelings I felt seemed so real. I guess I'm worried about losing myself again some day."

"Andrew. I'll make you a promise. If I ever think you're losing yourself again. I'll pop you one right in the jaw and you'll be right as rain."

Carter chuckled. "Thanks, Peter. I knew I could count on you to set me straight."

"Anytime, mate. Anytime. Come on in, now. It's gettin' bloody cold out here and I'd murder me Auntie Min for a cuppa." Carter winced as he began to stand, his knee stiff after sitting so long. Newkirk gave him a hand up, waiting for him to be steady on his feet. Carter noticed that the only other voice in his head besides his own had a distinctive cockney accent.

Cuppa tea sounds grand, mate. Just grand.

The End