First, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY for Hogan's Heroes today Sept 17, 2015 as it is the 50th anniversary of the first airing of the show. Yay!

Second, thank you to all of you guys who read fics and leave reviews and write fics and talk about the show and are just in general awesome folks. The fandom is only as good as it's fans and with Hogan's Heroes, it's one tremendously awesome fandom!

Third, Thank you to TinySprite and BitsandPieces and my twitter gang.

Now yes, go read. "Time for some thrilling heroics." (Where's that quote from? LOL)

Nighttime

Newkirk was laying perfectly still, impatiently listening to Herman breathing across the room. The guard had settled in the chair next to the door and was beginning to doze. If he would just fall all the way asleep, Newkirk's crazy scheme might have a shot. If he wasn't asleep, Newkirk would just end up shot. The Brit shifted under his blanket, wishing he had his overcoat yet again. It was chilly on the floor and he'd taken off his uniform blouse to sleep in just the woolen pullover and his pants. The jacket wouldn't have added much in the way of insulation.

He only had another couple of hours before Dietrich would show up to relieve Herman. The two always switched off between one and two in the morning. He hadn't ever checked to see exactly what time it was when they switched. He'd been more interested in making sure he woke up when it happened so he could avoid Herman kicking him as a farewell for the few hours the guard would be gone. Newkirk wasn't certain exactly what grudge Herman held against the English, above the normal fact that they were enemies in the war, but whatever it was, he held to it religiously. Burkhalter's annoyance when he was caught meant only that Herman was a bit sneakier and didn't hit or kick Newkirk as hard. Newkirk was fairly practiced at taking a fraction of a hit or kick by rolling with it or moving aside but his dignity didn't feel any better.

There was a soft snuffling noise as Herman's head tilted over into the wall with the softest of thuds. Newkirk listened and breathed a soft sigh of relief when the guard seemed to finally be asleep. The chains on Newkirk's wrists had long since been wrapped in a corner of blanket to muffle their movements as the Brit unlocked them. He could now slip out from under the blankets and leave them rolled up in a ball to approximate the sleeping form of a cowed British airman. As long as no guards poked the blanket pile, it might fool the casual glance.

Ghosting over to the door, Newkirk held his breath while pressing his ear to it to listen for any disturbance or outer guard. There was nothing at all and he reached for the doorknob silently, Herman only inches away sleeping.

He had the handle turned and began to slip it open when the door tapped the leg of Herman's chair. Newkirk froze and waited while Herman let out a soft grunt and then settled back into sleep. Once he'd quieted, Newkirk eased the door back to closed and released the handle gently. Kneeling, he felt down the chair to the leg and found that Herman, not being at all stupid, had set his chair so the leg blocked the door from opening.

Getting to his feet, Newkirk clenched his fists. He had no doubt that Herman's act was more to ensure he was awakened by Dietrich or any odd official trying to enter to avoid being caught sleeping rather than to prevent the seemingly completely terrified and cowed POW from escaping. But right now, the reason behind the act mattered little. He couldn't open the door. If he couldn't get out of the room, he couldn't go help those prisoners.

He padded silently to the window and peered out at a completely dark courtyard. The Allied bombing raids meant that all windows were blacked out and almost all outdoor lights were extinguished to prevent an area from becoming a target. He leaned his forehead against the glass and gazed out blankly, trying to think. Hogan would think of a way out of this. Hogan would be able to rescue those agents.

His eyes fastened on the thin ledge outside of the window, barely visible in the light of a thin crescent moon. Newkirk smiled to himself. He wasn't Hogan. He was a Cockney thief. He'd bet his last lucky penny that Hogan couldn't climb a wall like a cat to burgle the homes of people wealthier than they should be.

But Newkirk could. If he could climb up a wall to get into a window to steal things, he could climb down a wall to get to the prisoners too. He stretched, feeling the pull of his broken rib and making a mental note of the damage and how it would limit his movements. The stiff bruising would make it a slow climb but there wouldn't be any reason he couldn't do it. His eyes took in the distance. If he was misjudging his abilities, he'd not be likely to survive the fall, so he might as well go for it. He couldn't be punished for attempting an escape or rescue if he were dead, so why worry over that possibility?

The window slid open silently and he slipped out into the chill air quickly so he could close it before the cold air woke up Herman. Balanced on the thin stone ledge, Newkirk peered around himself as best he could and began to work his way downward. He quickly discovered that he was woefully out of practice and that his stiff bruised muscles were not at all pleased to be practicing right now in the middle of the night in the cold air. His uniform wasn't nearly warm enough, especially not with his blouse removed. The stone was nearly frozen under his shaky fingers and the protrusions that seemed so prominent from inside the window suddenly seemed much more shallow out in the danger of the open air.

No thinking about it now. Just moving. Newkirk tried to move as quickly as possible but his progress down the sheer wall seemed to be excruciatingly slow. When he was younger, this had seemed so easy, he'd scaled walls like this like a squirrel. Newkirk grimaced. 'When he was younger', as if he were an old man now. He snorted softly to himself. He could do this easily now. Well, it would have been easy if he hadn't been beaten and starved and doing it with a broken rib.

A door opened somewhere below him and he froze in place. It was some Heer guard, wandering out to have a cigarette. After a few minutes of walking around the parking area, checking cars and smoking, the guard went back inside, never noticing the POW clinging to a wall above the courtyard. If he had looked up at the wall, Newkirk was certain he would have seen his outline easily. He took one deep breath in and went back to working his way down the stone wall.

The ground under his foot startled him. He'd been concentrating so hard, he hadn't noticed how far down he was. Dropping behind some shrubs, Newkirk checked the area and began to work his way around the building looking for the cellar entrance. He had to go around one corner of the hotel before he spotted the alcove and the single guard standing there.

A quick survey showed that the guard was alone. The door behind him was probably locked and Newkirk wondered briefly if there would be a second guard inside but decided that there would be little reason for that back up. If there were a guard inside, he'd just have to deal with it once he dealt with the outer guard and the lock. He watched the bored guard. The German never even bothered to look around or walk a line, just stood there. Newkirk slipped closer until he was crouched only a few feet away and then suddenly wondered what he was doing in the middle of Germany by himself about to take down an armed German guard. He didn't even have a stick. A quick search of the bushes turned up a short piece of wood and he gripped it for a moment. He didn't feel any better with a stick and put it back down.

Watching the guard stand there, Newkirk finally scooped up a tiny pebble and tossed it over the guard's head to draw his attention to the opposite side and slid out of the brush and behind the man. Now he stood silently right behind an armed German guard and he didn't even have the stupid stick. His eyes lit on the holstered gun at the guard's waist and he gently unsnapped the leather holster and removed the handgun without alerting the guard. Now he was armed.

Suddenly he frowned. Well, he couldn't very well shoot the guard, not without bringing every German in five blocks running. So now he stood silently behind a German guard who had a rifle while he himself held a completely useless handgun. Even the stupid stick would be more use. He puffed out a breath in complete exasperation at himself and suddenly froze when the guard felt the puff of air and whirled.

For just one second they both stared at each other in shock. Newkirk at his own stupidity and the guard at the sight of a RAF airman who had to all appearances teleported to behind him with no warning.

Newkirk smiled. It never hurt to smile. "Well, 'ello!" When the guard jerked his rifle up, Newkirk swung as hard as he could and hit the man just under the edge of the helmet with his stolen handgun. The guard went down in a heap and Newkirk stared down at him for a moment. "Blimey, I must be loony." He turned to the door, spitting his lockpick out and working the lock quickly. "I am going to have strong words with Colonel Hogan about 'is being a bad influence on me sense of self-preservation, I am. This is ridiculous." The door opened easily and he stepped inside cautiously. "Anyone in 'ere what doesn't want to be in 'ere anymore?"

Faces appeared out of the darkness. "Who are you?" "What is going on?" "Where is the guard?" "He's English!"

"Who's in bloody charge?" Newkirk found all four of the agents were wearing ankle shackles and he knelt to began unlocking them. "I can't 'elp you more than getting you out of 'ere, but you'll be free." He turned to look out of the open door into the darkness and thought quickly. "You 'ave to take the guard with you. Dump 'im somewhere no one will find 'im, but get 'im away from 'ere. Maybe the SS will think 'e was an agent too."

"Who are you?" One of the agents gripped his upper arm. "How many people are with you?"

Newkirk laughed softly. "No one." He shrugged off the grip and unlocked the last man's chains. "Just get away, you're on your own, mates. Just take the guard with you, I 'it 'im pretty 'ard... good luck." He pushed them out of the door, handing over the gun to the last one out and watched the little group pick up the limp body of the guard and disappear into the streets. With any luck at all, they'd know a safe house and a route to get them far away.

He stuffed his lockpick back into his mouth and exited the cellar, closing the door and relocking it. Working his way back around the building didn't take as long now that he knew where he was going. All he had to do was to get back into the room, without alerting any Germans and without waking up Herman. Piece of pie, as Carter liked to say.

He rubbed his hands together and got ready to climb.

End Chapter

Thank you for reading!