"Okay, that's one problem taken care of."

Hogan leaned his shoulders against the upper bunk next to the door, and folded his arms, an attitude his men had learned to recognize. He'd listened to Newkirk's report without comment, even passing over the shooting of the SS man as an unfortunate necessity. Graf and his driver were now being held by Kurt and a few trusted men, pending further instructions. There was a slight risk that the Gestapo man would end up shot while trying to escape, but given what was known of him, Hogan wasn't prepared to waste energy worrying about that. Right now, he had other priorities. Hence the tension in his stance, and the deep cleft between his eyebrows.

"So what's next, Colonel? Can we get Mills out of the cooler now?" asked Kinch.

Hogan's frown deepened. "Not yet. Graf's out of the game, so once we've done a little cleaning-up work, that should be the end of the outside threat. But the men in Barracks 18 are too worked up for Mills to be safe there. Until we can fix that, the cooler is the best place for him." He paused, his jaw firming. "For now, he's okay. So let's concentrate on Cooper. We can't risk having an informer in camp. He's got to go, and fast."

Newkirk rested his elbows on the table, idly shuffling a deck of cards. It helped him think, or so he claimed. "It wouldn't be that hard to arrange something," he remarked in a casual tone. "It's surprising how easily a man can accidentally get his neck broken. One little fall down the well, and the job's done."

"No." Hogan straightened up, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jacket. "He goes back to England to face a court-martial. The question is, how do we do it without wrecking Klink's perfect no-escape record?"

A long silence followed, until finally Carter sighed. "Gee, it's kind of a shame that Gestapo guy didn't take Mills with him. I mean, not that I wanted him to, but if he had, we'd have rescued him, and he could have gone right back to England, and seeing as the Gestapo had him, it wouldn't count as an escape from Stalag 13, so it wouldn't look bad for Klink."

Newkirk glowered at him. "That'd be all very nice for Mills, but it wouldn't have been a lot of help with Cooper, would it?"

"Wait a minute," said Hogan suddenly. "Wait one minute."

Gripped by a sudden thought, he stood gazing at Carter as if seeing past the innocuous exterior. The rest of the men waited in keen anticipation, and a ripple went around like an electric current as Hogan smiled.

"Carter," he said, "you just gave me an idea. And you're just the man who can pull it off."

As a general rule, any maintenance of the barracks buildings had to be carried out by the prisoners. It was an ongoing battle against third-rate materials and fourth-rate construction, so the guards weren't surprised when the following morning, straight after roll call, the occupants of several huts set to work on some long-overdue repairs. It didn't worry the goons a bit. As Schultz pointed out, if the prisoners were busy, they couldn't be making trouble.

Had he bothered to check, he might have noticed the absence of one or two familiar faces around Barracks 2. But Hogan had been right when he predicted that Schultz wouldn't put himself to the effort. The prisoners could always count on that.

Hogan himself was standing outside the barracks, ostensibly supervising his men, but ready to run interference if any of the guards got curious. He glanced over his shoulder as the door opened and Kinch came out.

"So far, so good, Colonel," he said. "Carter and the other guys have gone out through the emergency exit. They'll pick up Graf's car from where we left it, should drive into camp in about twenty minutes. I just wish there was some way we could let Mills know what's going on. He must be feeling pretty scared right now."

Hogan nodded. "Yeah, once we get clear of this business, maybe we should start work on digging a side tunnel into the cooler. I have a feeling it'll be a useful addition to the network. Did you make the call to Klink?"

"I sure did." Kinch's voice modulated into the sharp, acidic tone which passed on the phone for that of General Burkhalter. "After hearing what Herr Graf had to say, I have agreed to the Gestapo taking custody of one of your prisoners, Klink. Needless to say, it is important that this should not come to the attention of any officials of the protecting powers. So you will also hand over any files relating to the prisoner in question, and record that he was transferred to another Stalag. Furthermore, you will not speak of this to anyone. Is that clear?"

"Sounds pretty clear to me. You almost had me running for cover." Hogan glanced across the compound towards the cooler. "All right, so now it's up to Carter."

There was a small window, high up on the wall on the other side of the bars. The glass was too grimy to see through, but at least it let in some light. Since dawn, Mills hadn't taken his eyes off it. It was all he had left.

He lay on the cot with which his cell was furnished, his head pillowed on his folded arm. He had no idea how long it would be until his Gestapo persecutor came back for him. He didn't know why he hadn't been taken yesterday. All he knew was he'd been given one more day with that little square of daylight outside the bars.

The main door of the building crashed open, allowing the sound of voices to reach him. He recognized Colonel Klink, sounding nervous and eager, but the other voice was unfamiliar, and it wasn't until they were halfway down the stairs that he could make out any words.

"...in fact, Major Hoffmann, I'm always ready to co-operate with the Gestapo. I'm only sorry that Herr Graf wasn't able to come back, so I could give him my personal assurance..."

"I will be sure to pass on your regards, Kommandant." An ice-cold voice, clipped and emotionless. "Now, about this prisoner..."

"Yes, of course. Right this way."

Mills had closed his eyes. He heard their footsteps stop in front of his cell, then after a few seconds of silence, the stranger barked an order: "On your feet."

"Yes. On your feet. At once," added Klink fretfully.

Or what? thought Mills. But he stood up, and looked the SS major in the eye with as much defiance as he could muster, while Hoffmann studied him with indifferent blue eyes.

"You have his file, Colonel Klink?" he snapped out

"Oh, yes, Major, I have it right here." Klink held up a folder, but before Hoffmann could take it, a commotion at the top of the stairs interrupted the handover.

"Hold it right there, Kommandant. You know perfectly well that this is a clear violation of Article 23 of the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention." Colonel Hogan had pushed his way past the guards on the door, and now came racing down the stairs.

Hoffmann's eyes narrowed as he looked over the intruder. "Who is this man?"

"Colonel Robert E. Hogan, senior prisoner-of-war officer," replied Hogan with brisk efficiency. "And if you think you can just march in here and order Colonel Klink around, let me tell you..."

"Hogan, this is none of your business," hissed Klink, going bright red.

"Anything to do with the safety of my men is my business. You know the rules, sir. At least, you should by now, seeing how often we talk about them."

"Yes, I know." Klink's voice dropped to a growl. "But now is not the time..."

"Well, then, you know that an air force man has to be interned with other air force men. No exceptions."

Mills was too shocked to say anything. All he could think was that Hogan must have lost his mind, if he thought he could intervene at this late stage.

"Your awareness of the regulations is impressive, Colonel," observed Hoffmann impassively. "However, I have authorization from General Burkhalter to take this man into Gestapo custody. You can address your protests to the general. Kommandant, the file."

He tweaked the folder from Klink's feeble grasp, and started perusing, while the Kommandant adopted a blustering tone: "You heard the major, Hogan. He has authorization. So it's nothing to do with me. Now return to your barracks, or I'll have you thrown in the cooler."

"Well, you won't have far to throw me," said Hogan. "All right, I'm going. But I'm making a formal protest about this. Let me tell you, Colonel, you haven't heard the last of..."

"One moment." Hoffmann's voice cut across the promising diatribe. "Kommandant, this man's name is Mills, correct?"

Klink turned his back on Hogan and his protests. "Yes, Major, that's correct. Sergeant Mills. It's all there in his file."

"So I see." Hoffmann scrutinized the document in his hand for a few seconds longer, then slapped the folder shut. "This is the wrong man."

"No, Major Hoffmann," said Klink, with a nervous giggle. "This really is Sergeant Mills."

"Of course he is. But he is the wrong prisoner. The name on the order is Cooper."

Mills felt his head spinning. He swayed on his feet, but somehow managed to stay upright. What the hell...?

Klink gave another titter. "I don't understand. There must be some mistake. Your colleague Herr Graf definitely said the man in question was Mills. At least, that's what I thought he said."

A glint of steel showed in Hoffmann's eyes. Without a word, he extracted a folded sheet of paper from his inner pocket, and held it out. Klink took it, and read it through in silence. "Well, this is certainly General Burkhalter's signature," he mumbled.

"And you're right," added Hogan, peering over his shoulder. "The name on it is Cooper, all right. Not that it makes any difference, as far as I'm concerned."

"Hogan, you've had your final warning. Stay out of this. Major, if you'll come with me, I'm sure we can straighten this out." Klink moved closer to the major, deliberately shutting Hogan out, and started edging towards the stairs. "I'll have Cooper brought to my office, and..."

Mills stared after them, then at Hogan, who met his eyes briefly, but with the hint of a smile, before he set off after the two German officers, already launching a renewed protest. The big door slammed shut behind them, leaving him alone. He stood dazed for a few seconds, then slowly retreated to the cot and sat down, curling his fingers around the edge of the thin mattress, unable to grasp what had just happened. All he could make out was that he was still here. They hadn't taken him.

Only a couple of days ago, Hogan had asked Mills to trust him. Now one thought arose from the confusion in Mills' mind. Without hope, he had given Hogan his trust. He couldn't work out how, but he was quite certain that somehow, that trust had just been repaid, in full.