A/N: There has never been a first name given to Hogan's close friend from the RAF, Group Captain Roberts, so I decided to give him the first name of Reginald.

Chapter 28-The Show Must Go On

By the time Newkirk let the door of the barracks close behind him, He saw Carter waiting; the door to Hogan's quarters was closed. "Where's Kinch and LeBeau?" he asked.

"Kinch is with the Colonel," Carter explained. "Wilson's there as well. LeBeau's keeping an eye on von Herwarth."

"Are they in the tunnel?"

"Yes," Carter added. "Peter, von Herwarth really feels bad about what happened."

Newkirk headed towards the double bunk in the corner that covered their tunnel opening. "He's gonna feel a whole bloody worse after I'm done with 'im!" he hissed, his anger evident. "He's just ruddy lucky he didn't kill the Gov'nor!" He slapped the hidden mechanism and as the lower bunk rose and the ladder dropped, Carter raced forward and grabbed his friend's arm before he could climb over the bed frame and onto the ladder. "Carter, let go of me arm before I deck you!"

"No. Right now you're angry with von Herwarth. Heck, we all are. But beating him to a pulp won't change anything. We should just be grateful he didn't kill the Colonel and that he'll be all right."

Newkirk pried his friend's hands off of him. "It might not change anything, but it'll make me feel good."

"Peter, please!" The two men stood staring at each other when the door to Hogan's quarters opened and a tired Kinch followed by Wilson, walked out with Kinch pulling the door closed behind him. Seeing them, Newkirk slapped the hidden mechanism again allowing the tunnel entrance to close before both Carter and Newkirk hurried over to them, anxious.

"How's the Colonel?" the Englander asked worried.

Wilson let out a deep breath. "He'll be fine. The bullet only grazed his temple. A quarter of an inch further over and he'd probably be dead. I cleaned the area and after treating it applied a bandage. He's been given two aspirin for pain. I also gave him a sedative and right now he's sleeping and probably will for awhile. Don't let anybody disturb him." He handed a bottle of aspirin to Kinch. "Give him two every four hours for pain after he wakes up because he's still going to have a beauty of a headache."

"No problem," Kinch replied quietly.

"I have to update Klink and get him to excuse the Colonel from roll call for a few days." He ran a hand over his hair. "I'll check on him again in the morning. If anything happens, have someone get me." Wilson then walked out of the barracks leaving the trio and the other prisoners alone.

Guthrie paced Klink's office with hands clasped behind his back; a dark look on his face. Seated behind his desk, Klink watched the Gestapo Major go back and forth nervously. He could tell that the Major was planning something and whatever it was it wouldn't bode well for Hogan or Corporal Newkirk. There had to be something he could do. But Klink knew that this was Hogan's area of expertise. He always seemed to have an idea or plan as to what to do in difficult situations. And what could be more difficult than this?

"Major, I still don't understand what makes you think Colonel Hogan and Corporal Newkirk are lying about the shooting. I mean, why would they lie about it?"

"Because Klink…" was all Guthrie would say. When he noticed the Kommandant gazing at him with a puzzled expression, he let out a deep breath and rolled his eyes in disgust. He stopped pacing and turned a harsh glare on the Kommandant. "Because they are liars, Klink. They are both prisoners and liars. And Hogan is the worst of them all. His kind always lies. If you were a loyal German you would know that."

Klink didn't need to ask the Major what he meant by 'his kind.' He noticed Guthrie was about to say something else but was stopped by a knock on the door.

"Come in," Klink announced, grateful for the interruption. The door opened and Sergeant Wilson walked in. "Yes, Sergeant Wilson. Have you finished your examination of Colonel Hogan?"

With a wary glance at Guthrie, Wilson turned his full attention to Klink. "Yes. That's why I'm here, Kommandant. He then repeated what he had told Hogan's men. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the Gestapo Major smirk. Wilson stared at him, his eyes blazing. "You find this amusing, Major?" he asked.

Guthrie glared at the camp medic. "I suggest you remember to whom you are speaking, swine," he hissed. "I'm not your Jewish Colonel or one of your little swine fellow prisoners."

Klink licked his lips. "But Colonel Hogan will be all right?" he asked Wilson in an attempt to diffuse a potential explosive situation. He was glad the medic turned back to him.

"I'm positive, sir. But I recommend he be excused from roll call for about 3 or 4 days."

"Of course, Sergeant. Colonel Hogan's excused from roll call for the next 4 days. But I'll have Sergeant Schultz check each day to make sure he's in his quarters. And there will be hell to pay if he isn't. Understood?"

"Absolutely, sir. Unless you have any more questions, Kommandant, I'll return to barracks two and inform them of your decision regarding the Colonel and roll call." He saluted Klink who returned his salute.

"Dismissed, Sergeant," Klink said. He and the Major watched Wilson give one final dark look at Guthrie before he turned and exited Klink's office. Once the door closed, Guthrie turned his angry stare back at Klink.

"I think, Klink, when I leave here in a few days so will you be." He saw the Kommandant wilt before his eyes and swallow hard. His smile made Klink shudder. "But don't worry. You won't be going to a labor camp like your American Colonel. No, Klink. You will be going elsewhere along with your Sergeant Schultz."

"Where…where will Schultz and I be going, Major?" Klink stammered.

Guthrie smirked then chuckled. "You'll like it. But you both will have to dress warmly. I hear it's very cold there."

Kinch looked at his watch as he sat at the table in the barracks sipping hot coffee with the others.

"Is it time yet?" asked LeBeau.

"No," said Kinch. "But in four more hours." Just then he noticed Carter give Newkirk a nervous look. "What's going on? Did something happen while I was helping Wilson?" When he didn't receive an answer, the radioman looked first at one and then the other of them. He saw Carter lick his suddenly dry lips.

"Newkirk was going to beat up von Herwarth for what happened to Colonel Hogan before you and Sergeant Wilson left the Colonel's quarters."

Kinch grinned as he took another drink of coffee. "He wasn't the only one," he said. "But after I thought about it I knew it wouldn't change anything. Besides, we have something much more important to do later."

"Like plant that bleedin' listening device, you mean," said the Englander wearily.

"Exactly. We have to keep our heads and our wits about us. Besides, we have to protect the Colonel right now from Guthrie because I don't trust that bastard not to find some way to take advantage of what happened."

"He's right," Newkirk reluctantly agreed. "Until the Gov'nor's recovered we have to keep watch over him and protect him from any harm." He suddenly grinned with amusement. "Besides, I can always beat up von Herwarth before we send 'im to England."

Carter look horrified. "Newkirk, you can't be serious!"

LeBeau and Kinch smiled when they both saw the twinkle back in Newkirk's eyes. "He is toying with you, mon ami," LeBeau said with a grin.

Carter at first appeared confused; then, a lopsided grin appeared on his face as he looked at his best friend. "Oh, okay," was all he said.

In his quarters, Hogan slept peacefully. But it didn't stop the dreams of danger, being close to death and disillusionment.

The year was 1941 and Hogan was now a Colonel in the US Army before his thirty-fifth birthday. Having received his promotion in 1940, he was the youngest man to reach the rank of full Colonel. He knew most guys his age were at best the rank of Major, maybe even Lieutenant Colonel; but he had worked hard and impressed his superior officers with his capabilities, intelligence and ingenuity so was easily promoted to the rank he now was. But instead of it being a happy time for him regarding his accomplishments, it was a time of sorrow and worry due to a revelation that disillusioned him regarding his idol, Charles Lindbergh and of his own father.

Although now stationed in England on the Lend-Lease program between England and the United States, Hogan had one day received a letter from his mother in which two newspaper articles were enclosed inside. Putting the articles aside for a moment, Hogan unfolded the letter. It was written by his mother.

'Dear Son…

I'm sorry it has taken so long to respond to your last letter, but things have calmed down enough to allow me some spare time to sit down and write you. This letter is to tell you that we are all as well as can be with the exception of your father. As you know he has been ill of late from his time in the POW camp due to the poor diet and conditions, and having recently had what the doctors said was a mild heart attack, but he is recovering nicely. Try not to worry. The doctors say he will make a complete recovery. He sends his love as do I and your brothers and sisters. Enclosed are two articles your father found in two newspapers and at first was hesitant to send to you, knowing of your admiration for Charles Lindbergh. But after much discussion, we decided it would be best for you to see them and make your own decision. Also, as we have heard the rumors of possible US entry into the war, please be careful and take care of yourself.

All our love,

Mom, Dad, and your

Brothers and Sisters'

Hogan was extremely worried about his father and his declining health, and had been since he had returned from the POW camp. How could he not worry? Hogan swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He couldn't imagine his life without his father in it. He recalled all the times his father had been there when he was a child; when he was growing up and had problems as he was raised Jewish; and other than when he away because duty called and had to serve his country, he always loved being able to talk with his father about everything, including things about the military, war or even current events, or just to be a kid when things became too much for him. His father had never tried to avoid or refuse to answer his questions. Hogan ran a hand down his face and sighed. He knew his mother had been reciting the Jewish prayer of recovery daily, and as proof it was working, this letter stated that his father was recovering and would be all right. She did say it had been a mild heart attack after all. He had written his parents shortly after receiving the previous letter telling them he loved all of them dearly and that he was reciting the prayer of recovery as well, and that he would be careful. As it would be difficult now with the possibility of the US entering the war, Hogan knew he'd have no chance to get back home and see his father, so, all he could do was to keep reciting the Jewish prayer of recovery every chance he got believing with every fiber of his being that by doing that, his father would recover completely.

Suddenly curious about what the articles were about, Hogan sat the letter down and picking up the articles unfolded them and began to read.

The first article explained that Lindbergh had been invited by the governments of both France and Belgium to tour their aircraft industries and how Lindbergh had been especially impressed with the highly advanced aircraft industry of Nazi Germany. OK, Hogan told himself. Not that he wanted to hear about how impressed his idol was with the aircraft of Nazi Germany, but it wasn't the worse thing in the world. But it was the next sentence which gave him pause.(1)

Hermann Goering, a high-ranking Nazi official, presented Lindbergh with Germany's medal of honor and the aviator had accepted it. Hogan let out the deep breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He had heard of the rumblings in Europe and believed that eventually the United States would enter into the war; it was just a matter of time. And Hitler was trying to succeed at dominating Europe. So how could his hero accept a medal of honor from the Nazis? It was beyond comprehension. He then picked up the other article and began to read.(1)

Lindbergh and his family had returned to the United States in 1939. But in 1941 he became a member of the America First Committee which was an organization opposing America's entry into World War two. In fact, the aviator was the leading spokesman for the committee. But what floored Hogan the most was that Lindbergh had not only criticized the current President, Franklin D. Roosevelt's foreign policies, but also charged that the British, Jewish, and pro-Roosevelt groups were leading America into the war. Hogan was further stunned reading that Lindbergh had subsequently resigned his commission in the Army Air Corps after being publicly denounced by Roosevelt. The article ended stating that some Americans were accusing Lindbergh of being a Nazi sympathizer because he refused to return the medal he had accepted.(1)

Hogan slowly put the article down and stared blankly into space. His hero was accusing the Jewish among others of leading America into the war? How could he say that much less infer that Jews were partially to blame? Was Lindbergh anti-Semitic? Was that it? It was bad enough that he refused to return the medal he was given, but he was anti-Semitic. Hogan's head was spinning; Lindbergh had shook his hand at the pilot ceremony, he smiled and praised him and his family. And all the time he….

Hogan shook his head in disbelief and sadness. "I looked up to you," he said to nobody. "I admired you…" he didn't finish suspecting that Lindbergh possibly or probably didn't know he was Jewish which was why he was so nice to him that day. He resigned himself to the knowledge that as a pilot the aviator was unsurpassed, but as a human being, well, that was another thing altogether. Fortunately, he would separate the two from now on.

But the more he thought about it, Hogan didn't want the US to enter the war either, but then again, if and when they did, he was ready to serve in whatever capacity they needed him to. But until then, even though he had just been assigned to the RAF on the Lend-Lease program and was an exceptionally qualified pilot, all he could do was serve in an advisory capacity with any RAF crew he flew with because the United States was not involved in the war. He then thought about his family and was glad he hadn't told them about how close he had come to dying while serving in such a capacity. They were worried enough just hearing the rumors and with his father's illness. They didn't need worrying about him on their minds as well. He remembered the incident as if it had just happened which it practically had as it occurred July 8th, 1941, just before he had previously written his parents.

Hogan was the co-pilot in the B-17 Flying Fortress plane which had a crew of ten, and was part of the North 90 Bomber Squadron; the pilot was Group Captain Reginald Roberts known as 'Robbie' with whom Hogan had become close friends. And when Roberts needed a co-pilot for this mission over Germany, he wanted Hogan, but not because they were close friends, but because he considered Hogan's capabilities as a pilot far exceeded those of the others, including Roberts himself.

It was suppose to be another bombing mission using the B-17s which they had received from the United States early on. With his skilled crew, and Hogan co-piloting, Roberts believed they would be successful with dropping their load over the target.

While Roberts and Hogan were concentrating on the mission, Hogan suddenly felt a chill run down his spine although there was nothing between them and their target. Moments later and now over their target, Roberts gave the order to drop the bombs. One by one the bombs were released from the belly of the plane. As the last bomb was being prepared for release, Hogan spotted a squadron of thirty Messerschmidt rapidly approaching in their direction.

"Robbie, looks like we have some uninvited guests coming!" he shouted. Roberts had seen them as well. Suddenly three of the enemy aircraft broke away from the squadron and came after them since they were the lead plane and began firing at them. There was a sudden cry from Roberts as the window next to him shattered showering him with glass and blood began pouring down his arm and chest. He had been hit by flying glass and gunfire.

"Robbie!" Hogan cried. "You okay?" Getting no answer but hoping his friend was still alive, Hogan glanced over his shoulder as another round of gunfire pierced the belly of the plane causing it to rock. "What happened?" he asked the bombardier.

"Sir, that second hit caused our last bomb to get stuck half out and it's armed!" yelled bombardier Casey.

"How long until detonation?" Hogan asked. He already was planning a way to get them over water enabling them to drop their bomb before it exploded as there was no way to land a plane with a live bomb hanging from it's belly. And, as the US was not yet involved in the war, to drop the bomb over their target now would result in a swift end to his military career not to mention his being turned over to the Germans as a war criminal.

"It'll go in an hour, sir," Casey informed him.

Hogan made a decision. "Okay. Hughes, get up here and bring the first aid kit. Roberts has been injured and he's bleeding badly."

"Yes, sir," Flight Engineer Hughes replied grabbing the first-aid kit and scrambling forward towards the cockpit.

"Dorsey…" Hogan addressed his navigator while keeping his eyes open for more Messerschmidt.

"Sir?" Dorsey barely could hear his name called.

"Find me the fastest way to the English Channel so we can unload this thing. We have less than an hour before it detonates. If we can't get over water we'll either go up in the biggest ball of flames anyone's ever seen, or I'll have to try and land her in the Channel and we'll have to bail out. Either way, we're probably dead."

"Roberts is still alive, sir," Hughes said. "But he's passed out. I've done the best I can for now, sir. But he needs a doctor."

"Okay," Hogan replied not looking at the man. "Back to your station." Hogan saw his flight engineer scramble back to his position and glanced momentarily at his unconscious friend. "Hang on, Robbie. I'll do my damnedest to get us safely back to London."

With a crippled plane and a ticking bomb hanging out of its belly, Hogan struggled to stay in the air when another burst of machine gunfire caused the window next to him to shatter also showering him with glass and he felt pain in his arm. He then felt something warm and wet run down the side of his face. Touching one hand to his temple he saw blood covering his fingertips before he noticed the blood also running down his arm. "Damn!" he muttered knowing he'd been hit, possibly by flying glass. But he didn't have time to worry about being injured; he had a crew to save. So, taking in a deep breath, Hogan gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm and spoke without turning.

"Dorsey, what's the quickest way to the Channel…."

Thirty-five minutes later Hogan managed to get their crippled plane over the waters of the English Channel. Looking out the broken window, he spoke into his microphone. "Okay, we're over the Channel, you've got to release that bomb! Now! We only have twenty-five minutes remaining," he added looking at his watch.

Holding his breath, Hogan kept his shaking hands on the wheel struggling to keep the plane over the water and in the air, but knew in another few minutes it would be over one way or the other. Hogan kept a close eye on his watch. They were now down to fifteen minutes.

Finally, with three minutes left….

"Got it, Colonel!" Casey yelled excitedly. "It's free!"

Hogan looked out his window just in time to see the bomb splash into the water below and shortly afterward there was an explosion with water shooting upward. The crew let out a few cheers at their narrow escape, but all Hogan did was smile. He glanced again at Roberts and saw the faint rising and falling of his chest and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Let's go home," he said.

Hogan touched his temple again and winced. Damn that injury to his temple still hurt, he thought. Robbie! What about Robbie? Is he all right? I have to find out. Opening his eyes and bolting upright he noticed he was sitting on a bunk. He touched a hand to his head again and groaned. The headache was pounding furiously. But despite that he had to find out about Robbie.

"Mon Colonel, are you all right?" someone asked fearfully.

Who are you?" Hogan asked softly with closed eyes, not instantly recognizing the voice. "What are you doing here? How's Robbie?" He massaged his forehead.

LeBeau, who had been sitting at Hogan's desk, slowly got up and approached the bed. He put a hand on his commander's shoulder; a look of worry was on his face. "Robbie, Colonel? Who is Robbie?" LeBeau reached deep into his mind to try and recall the name Robbie without luck. Finally, taking Hogan's face in both his hands, LeBeau turned the Colonel's face towards him so they could look at each other. "Mon Colonel, it is me. LeBeau."

Shaking his head again, Hogan looked at the little Frenchman. "LeBeau? What are you doing here? Where are we? What happened?" Pulling away, Hogan looked around trying to get his bearings.

"We are in your quarters, Colonel. At Stalag 13. You were wounded when von Herwarth shot you accidentally. We are lucky he did not kill you."

Hogan took a deep breath now looking at the Frenchman, his mind clearing. He checked his watch and noticed the time.

"Did Guthrie leave camp yet?" he asked swinging his legs over the edge of the bed putting his feet on the floor. Using his hands, he slowly tried forcing himself to his feet and swayed a bit, but was caught by LeBeau who steadied him. Hogan didn't fight the help.

"Oui. We have already had evening roll call. But you should really rest, mon Colonel," he said. "Kinch has everything under control."

"I'm sure he does, LeBeau. But I need to be there."

Understanding, LeBeau helped his commanding officer to slowly walk towards the door of his quarters and into the common room where only Carter sat at the table drinking coffee; the other men were either on their bunks or sitting around talking.

"Hey, Colonel," Carter said, his face brightening. "Boy were we worried about you."

Hogan forced a smile to his face. "I was worried about me as well, Carter. Thank G-d von Herwarth is a lousy shot. But you know what they say. The show must go on regardless."

(1) Charles Lindbergh was invited by the governments of both France and Germany to tour their aircraft industries. Also, in 1938, Goering did present him the German medal of honor which caused an outcry in the US among those opposed to Nazism. And he did resign his commission in the USAAC after being denounced by President Roosevelt. But it was his outspokenness about the Jewish, British and pro-Roosevelt groups leading America into the war that caused many to label him anti-Semitic and a Nazi sympathizer. It was these remarks that damaged his illustrious career irreparably and it never recovered.