Newkirk slept restlessly. Carter sighed as his bunkmate tossed and turned. Newkirk finally fell deeply asleep, breathing slowly. Carter yawned and tried to sleep as well. When he awoke, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Hogan sat around the stove, talking in low tones. "Anything exciting?" he asked.

"Not really."

Newkirk jerked as the bunk rattled and Kinch climbed out. "Colonel, we have a problem."

"What?"

Kinch looked at Newkirk. "Field Marshall Schiff wants you."

Newkirk looked around hurriedly. Finding the barracks empty, he glared at Kinch. "What?"

"You know that there is a Belinda Walters."

"Sure. She helped the Underground by allowing them to use her as a cover. She's an invalid." Newkirk sipped his coffee. "So?"

"So her father was very wealthy. And wanted grandchildren. She is a pure Aryan according to Schiff's research. In short, Schiff wants children by Belinda Walters. If not by him, then by a proper SS man."

Newkirk coughed. "You're ruddy joking!"

"Anyway, he's getting very persistant. The Underground is getting worried."

"And what do they want us to do?" LeBeau snorted. Kinch glanced at Newkirk and the Englishman stiffened.

"I am not seeing that bleedin' loonie again! And I certainly am not sleeping with him or any ruddy Kraut!"

"Relax," Hogan ordered. "No one is making you bed the Field Marshall. Or anyone else. If we have to, Kinch, have the Underground tell Schiff Walters is ill. We'll get a doctor's note if needed."

"Thank you," Newkirk quietly said.

"Gosh, Newkirk, it's not like we're going to pimp you out," Carter snorted.

Everyone looked at him. "I can't believe you just said that," Kinch blurted.

"I'm not an idiot," Carter said.

"It's just surprising." LeBeau turned to Hogan. "Who knew Andre knew of such things?"

"It's bleedin' scary is what it is." Newkirk looked at Carter with wide eyes. "Anyway, the big problem is to keep the real Belinda Walters from Schiff."

"We could try to get her to London," Carter suggested.

"Or marry her off," LeBeau said.

Hogan blinked. "There's an idea," he said.

"Do you mean marry Newkirk off or the real Walters?" Carter asked.

"'E means the real Walters and not actually marrying. Problem is, who? It has to be a high ranking Kraut."

Hogan sat back in his chair. "We may make up a Kraut officer." He glanced at Kinch. "Anything else? A mission from London?"

Kinch nodded. "London said they may be calling in Edmund Drake and his team."

The men all exchanged looks. "The Edmund Drake?" Carter asked. "Gosh, he's been in the French Resistance forever, it seems."

"How many men are on his team now?" Newkirk asked.

"Seven," Kinch said. "They'd all be coming in."

"Here?" Hogan asked.

"London's not sure. They said they'd contact us later in the week."

Hogan nodded. His dark eyes turned thoughtful. LeBeau began making dinner and the others played cards.

That night the five slipped swiftly along the road. LeBeau took point, moving silently. Newkirk followed, his gaze continually flicking over his shoulder and around. They found the factory easily enough and Carter and LeBeau took photos. "You're right, Newkirk, it's underground," Kinch murmured.

"Look there," Hogan pointed out. Trucks rolled into the factory. Newkirk sighed and shook his head.

"They're showing papers." He looked at Hogan. "We need to get a copy of them."

"We can stop a truck," Carter said. "We are Gestapo."

Hogan pursed his lips. "All right. Let's go. Newkirk and Kinch, wait." The men wiped greasepaint from their faces and left.

Kinch and Newkirk waited patiently, each aiming their guns and watching. "I hope you're wearing something sexy under your coat," Kinch said. "Just in case."

Newkirk stared at Kinch. The radioman grinned at him and Newkirk chortled. He turned back to his colleagues. To both his and Kinch's relief , their friends returned swiftly, Hogan gesturing to Newkirk. "We'll need your hands," he said. "I saw the papers but we need a set. You'll need to sneak inside the office. We'll get the guards out."

"You got it, gov."

Newkirk slipped off into the shadows. As Hogan pulled the men out of the guardhouse, Newkirk padded inside and swiftly rifled the tiny desk. He slid the papers in his coat and left, rejoining Kinch on the hillside. The other men joined them and they hurried to Stalag 13.

In the tunnels, Baker grinned at his returning friends. "Message from London, sir."

"Thanks, Baker." Hogan opened the note and raised his eyebrows. "Edmund Drake and his men are coming in. And we get to help. Two nights, we meet them. Newkirk, LeBeau, you'll meet them. Carter, you, me, and Kinch hit the factory."

"Same night?" Carter asked.

"Best thing. We can distract with the explosion. Newkirk, you and LeBeau go out in Abhwer uniforms, just in case."

"Yes, sir."

---------------

Two nights later, the men split up. "Be careful," Hogan warned.

"Easy pickings, mate." Newkirk slapped LeBeau's shoulder. "Come on, Louie."

Newkirk and LeBeau moved quickly and silently. They picked up their truck from its hidden spot and headed out. As they neared the meeting point, LeBeau tapped Newkirk's arm. A large German patrol roamed close. "I'll draw them off," LeBeau said softly.

"Hold on, mate." Newkirk glared at his friend.

"Non, mon ami. I am a better tracker than you. Get Drake and return to camp." He grinned. "Besides, you played with them last time." Newkirk sighed but stopped the truck as LeBeau stripped off his Abwher jacket. LeBeau slipped off and Newkirk shook his head.

Edmund Drake stood with his second in command, Frances Bonard. His men watched the area. The small, ramshackle barn that Papa Bear had designated as their rendevous point stood at the edge of a clearing. Drake looked around. The only British man on his team stood slightly apart from the others. "Keats." The man turned his head. Drake gestured. The smell of pine drifted on the air.

A faint engine noise and Drake stiffened. He gestured and two of his men left. Drake moved quietly. Papa Bear wasn't due for another 20 minutes. A cracking of branches and a muffled yell drew made him rush faster.

Gun drawn, Drake came upon three of his men pinning an Abwher General to the ground next to the barn. Peters had gagged the General and Voltaire straddled the man's hips. Walters held the man's shoulders. Drake glanced at Voltaire. "Kill him," he said.

"Yes, sir."

Voltaire pulled a stiletto from his belt. The General twisted frantically, almost throwing Voltaire off, and Voltaire paused. "Something's wrong, sir." He reached down, felt the front on General's trousers, then yanked the General's overcoat open. The knife gleamed in the light and he cut through the General's shirt. Drake raised his eyebrows. "A woman?!" Voltaire grinned, pulled open the cut shirt. Layers of binding fell away. The captive squirmed.

"Nice little fraulien, isn't she?"

Drake studied the writhing woman. "Some General's mistress, most likely." He touched her face. Green eyes blazed. "You need to finish her."

"You can't!" Keats snapped as he came over. "Let her go!"

"Let her go?" Voltaire reached in the overcoat, stroked the woman possessively. "Do you have any idea what the Nazis have done to France? To my sisters?!"

"And mine," Peters snapped. "We've been fighting the Boche! We need to fight their women too!"

The woman bucked. Walters pressed down, held the woman in the dirt. Peters grabbed an arm, knelt on it. "Filthy Kraut," he snarled.

"Let her go," Keats insisted.

"Shut up you pouf," Peters growled. "You think I'm letting some Nazi bitch go free when they rape and abuse our women every day? Make them bear their foul brats?"

"They bomb my country daily. That doesn't excuse this!"

"You only have fifteen minutes," Drake said. "I want her gone by then."

"She's a fighter," Walters said as the woman thrashed. "Who goes first?"

"Sir, you can't allow this!" Keats snapped. "This isn't right."

"One less German means nothing to me. And it's been a long year." Drake started to walk off. "Make it fast, men."

"Sir!"

"Keats, enough!" Drake whirled. "Leave if you haven't the stomach."

"Or balls," Walters muttered.

Drake walked away but spun at the sound of metal scraping leather. "You can't," Keats repeated, holding a gun on Voltaire.

Drake jerked his head at Bonard and the husky Frenchman slammed his hand into Keats' neck. "Get him out of here," Drake snarled as the Englishman staggered. "And Voltaire, hurry up with the girl."

LeBeau twisted around a tree, crept around a thicket. A shadowy figure stood, looking around. LeBeau slunk around the thicket, in the twigs. With surprised relief, he recognized Hogan. He trilled softly and the Colonel turned. "LeBeau," he whispered.

"Mon Colonel, what are you doing here? Is the factory gone already?"

"Not a chance to hit it. The road is closed. Where's everyone?"

"Boche patrol." LeBeau looked at Hogan. "I was just planning on going back."

"Good." Hogan gestured and Carter appeared.

"Kinch is back at camp," Carter whispered. "Where's Newkirk?"

"Getting Drake. Let's go," LeBeau said.

They headed for the rendevous point. As they neared, LeBeau pointed to dark splotches on the snow. He touched one. "Blood," he murmured. Hogan frowned. He drew his gun. Carter and LeBeau followed suit. A breeze change and the sour stench of bowel hit them. LeBeau swallowed and looked at his CO. Hogan walked forward, his men fanning out beside him. The deserted barn loomed in the darkness, creaking in the wind. Hogan slipped inside. Four corpses laid in a pile. Hogan hurriedly checked them. Three were dead from knife wounds, one shot. A pad of feet and LeBeau stood in front of him, holding an Abwher General overcoat. "Pierre's."

Hogan inhaled slowly. "All right. We need to find out--down!"

LeBeau had already wheeled, gun drawn. A thin man stood there, a gun in his hand. "The sun shines in Dusseldorf," Hogan said.

"But the wind is cold in Hammelburg." The man eyed Hogan. "Papa Bear?"

"Yes. Drake?"

"Oui."

"What happened?" Hogan demanded.

"I lost four of my men." Drake glared at Hogan. "Where were you?!"
 "I sent my man here."

"He never arrived." Drake gestured. "Look at this!" His voice broke.

LeBeau and Hogan exchanged looks. "Search for Newkirk," Hogan ordered. "Drake, gather your men."

"They're looking for the bitch who did this," Drake growled.

Hogan felt his heart skip a beat and LeBeau gasped. "What?" Hogan asked. "Are you talking about a woman?"

"Yes. Black haired. She wore that General's outfit."

"Where is she?" LeBeau demanded.

"After she slaughtered my men?"

"LeBeau, go!" Hogan said. LeBeau fled and Hogan trembled. "Gather everyone," he rasped. "You will tell me everything when we get you to safety."

"You know her?" Drake demanded.

"She's one of my people. She was here to escort you to safety." Hogan turned on his heel. "Come on."