Back on the Aragon Ballroom dance floor. Kay Kyser's orchestra played Ma, He's Makin' Eyes at Me.

Hogan frowned. That sure wasn't his first choice of romantic soundtrack in a dream. Tommy Dorsey had done a much more satisfactory job the other night. But he had a girl in his arms and he was on the dance floor; who was he to complain? So he'd pick up the tempo a little… nothing wrong with a foxtrot once in a while. Maybe the next one would be a waltz.

He could only see the top of this girl's head as they foxtrotted across the floor. She was short… certainly not Claudette Colbert again. Well, what did it matter? She was a girl, wasn't she? And she could sure dance; she wasn't missing a beat, fairly bursting with energy.

"So…" he ventured in his best opening-line voice. "You come here often?"

Judy Garland tilted her head back and gave him a big all-American-girl smile. "Oh, gosh, no. Mr. Mayer doesn't let me stay out late."

Hogan very nearly tripped over his own feet. "Uh…" There was no subtle way to say this, but he had to know. "How old are you…?"

She laughed, seemingly not the least bit offended. "That's a funny thing to ask. Why; is it important?"

It sure was. It had everything to do with whether the thoughts that had been going through his head when this dream had started were legal or not, for one thing. "Well…"

Before he could decide how to continue, Mickey Rooney arrived on the crowded floor, darting in and out and elbowing other couples aside as he jostled his way towards the two of them. "Hey, Judy, willya look at the time? We gotta make tracks!"

Judy glanced at Hogan's wristwatch and gasped. "Gee willikers!"

"I told ya! Boy, are we gonna be in dutch!" Mickey grabbed her arm and pulled; Hogan lost his grip and the two of them raced for the door hand in hand. "Come on!"

"Thanks for the dance, Mister!" she called over her shoulder as she ran, her blue gingham pinafore swishing around her knees, just before they rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

A five-foot-tall pipsqueak with red hair and freckles had just run off with his date. Hogan scanned the ballroom to see if maybe Claudette had come in without his noticing… or Carole… or Ingrid… or anybody who wouldn't use the words 'gee willikers' and be saddled with a ten o'clock curfew.

Well, there was LeBeau, standing at a nearby table lighting a flambé for Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. With the way his luck was running tonight, Hogan wasn't even tempted to ask her to dance; Bogart would probably deck him with one punch. That, he didn't need. "Don't tell me…"he sighed.

LeBeau gave a sympathetic shake of his head. "Better luck tomorrow night, mon Colonel."

oo 0 oo

Hogan dragged himself down from his top bunk to the strident shouts of "Raus, raus!" coming from the main barracks, coupled with the urgent knocking on his door to alert him as if Schultz's voice wasn't already more than enough to jolt him out of a sound sleep. This was Marya's fault. It had to be. He'd had a perfect track record with the starlets in his dreams up to now, night after night, but now this had to happen and wreck his winning streak. The strike-out had her name written all over it, in Cyrillic characters.

The prisoners had barely drifted into formation when their attention was diverted to the front entrance and the large black car that sped in as soon as the gates swung open wide enough to admit it, kicking up a small cloud of sand from its rear wheels as it turned the slight arc toward Klink's office. Whoever it was meant business. And before anyone even had a chance to emerge from the car, Hogan had a pretty good idea who was inside: the SS flag flying on the front fender was a more than adequate calling card.

"What's Hochstetter doing here?" LeBeau asked, as they all watched the compact man dressed in head-to-toe black leap out of the car and stalk up the steps that led to the kommandant's office.

"Search me; he didn't call ahead." It was never pleasant to see the Gestapo major arrive in camp, but some of his visits were more badly-timed than others. Hogan had a feeling this one was no coincidence.

Schultz, no fan of the Gestapo either, was nearly rattled enough to lose his count when he saw the major arrive. "Ach du lieber…" he muttered half to himself. "Now what does he want?"

"What do you mean, 'now'?" Hogan asked.

"Late last night, he telephoned the Kommandant," Schultz confided. "He was very angry."

"I'd call that normal," Newkirk put in. "Ain't never seen him when he wasn't."

"Angry about what?" Hogan pressed the talkative sergeant.

"The major received a call from the man who came here with… that woman." Schultz glanced over his shoulder to ensure that nobody from his own side could hear him spilling the information. "He says she is missing."

"That was kinda careless of him," Kinch said.

Carter nodded enthusiastically. "Right. How can you trust a guy with anything if he can misplace something as big as a woman?"

"It is true!" Schultz affirmed. "I was supposed to go back to their hotel last night to drive them to Herr Holtzmann's factory, but she was gone! Major Hochstetter thinks she has been kidnapped."

"Who'd wanna kidnap her?" Newkirk asked. "Not ol' Klink, for sure… he was chuffed to see the back of her yesterday."

Schultz gave a shrug and shook his head. "Who knows? All I know is that I am glad to be out here instead of in there."

His satisfaction was short-lived. A moment later a window opened wide, and Klink's voice called out, "Schultz! Get in here, on the double!"

The heavyset guard looked so completely demoralized at moments like this that Hogan probably would have pitied him even if he hadn't been so basically likable in the first place. "Come on, Schultz; I'll go with you." No need to mention that it would be the best way to find out what was going on in there; let Schultz think he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart.

"Danke, Colonel Hogan… but, could you go instead of me?"

"This is wartime, Schultz… we all must make sacrifices."

oo 0 oo

It was a typical scenario in Klink's office: Klink sat at his desk, a human dartboard for the accusations being hurled at him by the ranting Gestapo major who didn't seem as interested in hitting the bullseye as he did in finding out how fast he could spew his verbal projectiles. "You will not lie to me!" he roared at the kommandant, who was bent backwards in his chair as far as he could possibly go without tipping over onto the floor.

"Of course not, Major Hochstetter…" Klink managed to stammer. "I most definitely have not lied to you… uh… you might recall that you haven't actually asked me any questions yet, so I can be most confident about that…" The knock on his office door could not have been more welcome. "Come! Quickly!"

Without missing a beat, the major spun on his heel and focused on Schultz as soon as he entered the office, and the sergeant withered visibly under his scrutiny. "And you, Sergeant Schultz!"

"Y-y-y-yes, Herr Major…?"

"What do you know about this matter? You drove them to the hotel last night, ja?"

"I know… that… that… that I drove them to the hotel last night… ja… of that I am completely certain!"

"Bah!" On noticing that Colonel Hogan was there as well, Hochstetter nearly imploded. "And what is this man doing here?"

"Oh, I'm in charge of the Lost & Found." Hogan, as always, inserted himself effortlessly into a conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with him. "I heard you misplaced something. If you tell me what it is, I'll have the boys take a look around for it. Car keys? Pocket knife? Skull-and-crossbones tie clip?"

"Something a little more unusual." The last word was practically grated into shreds across Hochstetter's vocal cords. He turned once again to Klink. "The Russian woman, the one who accompanied Holtzmann… you will tell me where she is, now!"

"But I have no idea where she is now," Klink protested helplessly. "I have not seen that woman… and I might add that I'm very happy not to have seen that woman… since she and Herr Holtzmann left the camp yesterday afternoon with Sergeant Schultz, who drove them to the Hausnerhof at their request. If she has gone missing, I know absolutely nothing about it. Of course, you are perfectly welcome to search the camp if you like…"

Hochstetter slammed his hand, palm down, onto the kommandant's desk. Nearby and looking on, Hogan couldn't help wincing… that had to hurt, but you'd never know it from the major's face. "I do not need your permission to search this camp, Klink!"

"If you'll pardon me, Major," Hogan piped up again, "what makes you think the lady would be here in the first place? It seems to me that she wouldn't have any reason to come back here on her own, and if there's one thing it would be hard to smuggle in without any of the fellas noticing, it's a woman. If she were here, all you'd need to do would be to follow the sound of the wolf whistles."

American slang was one of the rare things that could occasionally derail the single-minded Nazi in mid-tirade, and this did the trick. Those two words made absolutely no sense to him when used together. "Wolf… whistles…?" he repeated, clearly perplexed.

Hogan demonstrated the time-honored two-beat tune. "You haven't heard anything like that, have you?"

"I haven't," Klink shook his head.

"Neither have I," Schultz agreed.

"There, you see? Simple. She's not here. Glad I could help."

He hadn't actually thought that would do anything except aggravate the major further… but that was fun, so it was well worth the time and effort he had put into it. True to form, Hochstetter came to the end of his patience abruptly and withdrew his pistol from its holster. "I will see for myself."

"Okay, but don't say I didn't try to save you some time. I know how busy you are."

"And you will go with me."

"Actually I can't; I was just about to…" Hogan stopped in mid-sentence when the major's pistol leveled at his spleen. "… go with you…"

oo 0 oo

The thick, deep red liquid that LeBeau lovingly stirred in a dented enameled saucepan on top of the stove was eye-catching, there was no doubt about it. He was so involved in his work, he was practically dancing with the spoon. "Lemme guess," Newkirk offered, looking on from his perch on the top bunk where he thumbed a two-year-old copy of Atlantic Monthly. "Your beret's faded out, and you're gonna dye it back to the original color."

"Not even close," the chef assured him.

The British corporal shrugged and turned back to the tattered magazine he was barely paying attention to. "Well, that's all I had… anybody else care to have a go?"

"Whatever it is, that pan's never gonna be the same," was all Kinch cared to venture.

Sitting on his own bunk, Carter fiddled with the basket full of rags and brushes that they used for the occasional tidying of various buildings. "You guys are just stalling… if we don't get started cleaning up the rec hall there won't be any movie Saturday night; Klink warned us at roll call."

LeBeau scooped up a small sample of his latest creation and took a sip from the wooden spoon, nodding his approval. "If you must know, I'm making borscht."

"We had to ask…" Newkirk sighed.

"It's for Marya."

"Really? I'd've guessed you were sendin' it off to the Eastern Front as a welcome to the Russian Army when they cross the border."

"I think they'll be able to follow the smell," Kinch said.

"It's only boiled beets and a little cabbage," LeBeau protested.

Kinch arched an eyebrow. "You just proved my point."

Carter, cleaning basket in hand, got to his feet. "Well, I'm gonna go get started on the rec hall."

"You do that," Newkirk nodded dismissively, flipping another worn page of his magazine. "We'll all be by with white gloves a bit later on to see how good a job you done."

"With that attitude, I don't think you should be allowed to see the movie." With that, Carter swung the barracks door open with firm resolve.

And slammed it shut a split second later.

"What's with you?" Kinch asked.

"Major Hochstetter's headed this way, and he's holding a gun on Colonel Hogan!" Carter squawked in a panic.

Their collective blood ran cold. This could be it. Hochstetter might have come tearing into camp at top speed because he'd finally discovered their escape and sabotage operation, and they might all be just a few seconds from an on-the-spot trial for espionage that would last only as long as it would take to make nooses in the ends of five ropes. There was no time to do anything but say a quick, silent prayer… then they took deep breaths, held their positions, and tried very hard to make it look like there was nothing, absolutely nothing, amiss in the barracks, and never had been.

Schultz was the one to push open the barracks door, then immediately stood aside and allowed Colonel Hogan, followed closely by Major Hochstetter and his gun, to enter first. Two of the other guards brought up the rear. "Hi fellas," Hogan greeted them with false bravado, a particularly striking contrast since he also had his hands in the air. "Hope you don't mind, but I brought some friends along… there really wasn't time to call ahead."

"The more, the merrier." Kinch eyed the Gestapo major warily. "Anything we can do to make them feel at home?"

Hochstetter wasn't having any of it. "You will tell me where the Russian woman is! Now!"

"There ain't no birds 'ere, sir," Newkirk shook his head. "Russian or otherwise… and that's a real shame, I might add."

Hogan's eyes had gone straight to the simmering, fragrant pan on top of the stove. Oh, swell. Here Hochstetter stood screaming about a missing Russian, and there LeBeau stood cooking a pot of borscht. Why not just wave the old hammer-and-sickle? How could Hochstetter possibly miss the fact that Marya was practically right under his nose?

Speaking of noses, the major's had indeed noticed LeBeau's steaming concoction. "What is that? The odor is revolting."

LeBeau could only stand wordless next to the stove. Fortunately, Kinch picked up the fumble. "Uh… it's a pesticide, Major." He reached for the basket containing Carter's cleaning supplies and dug until he found the tin atomizer. "We've noticed some insects around some of the buildings… we wanted to take care of them before they got out of control."

"Right," Hogan nodded. "In fact, there's a whole nest of them near the door to Colonel Klink's quarters."

"Big, ugly buggers they are," Newkirk joined in. "You don't want somethin' like that gettin' outta hand. Next thing you know they'll be swarmin' in the barracks, and that we don't need."

"So LeBeau here…" Kinch elbowed the silent Frenchman to ensure that he hadn't yet passed out from fright. "LeBeau here cooked up an old recipe that his grandfather used to use when he was an exterminator in Fontainebleau. Works like a charm. Carter was just on his way over to spray around the foundation of the kommandant's quarters."

"I was?" Then Carter tried again, and this time his voice didn't go up high and crack so badly on the second word. "I was… I was just on my way over. Right."

"Well, don't forget this." Kinch took the pan off the stove and carefully poured the dark crimson soup into the open mouth of the dented flit gun, then gestured for Carter to screw the spray top down tightly.

"And be careful," Newkirk told him. "You don't want that stuff gettin' on you. Might take the skin off right down to the bone."

"It smells absolutely lethal," Hochstetter grumbled, turning away in disgust.

"Okay if I go ahead then, sir?" Carter asked.

"Go; what do I care? Get that… that whatever it is out of here, quickly."

"Thank you." Carter nodded politely and then gratefully ducked out the door with his 'cleaning supplies'.

Hochstetter turned and shouted after him, "And keep away from my staff car! If you spill even one drop of that on my car I will have you shot!"

"Got it!" Carter called over his shoulder as he hustled away from the barracks. Now to spray hot borscht all over Klink's front porch… that was definitely something he hadn't expected would be part of his day when he'd awakened that morning, and he couldn't help chuckling to himself as he ran. Crazy war...

As the rest of the prisoners stood and watched, Hochstetter supervised Schultz and the two other guards in their 'barracks inspection'… more accurately, a ransacking… that turned up no contraband of any size or shape, most especially not a five-foot-eight-inch White Russian with an hourglass figure. When Hogan started for the door and courteously invited the major to accompany him to Barracks Three to continue the search, Hochstetter only screamed "Who needs you?" and stormed out, gesturing for only the German guards to follow him. As soon as the door slammed shut, the four prisoners heaved a collective sigh of relief and sank into their seats at the battered wooden table in the middle of the room.

"That was close," Hogan acknowledged for the entire group.

"And how," Newkirk added.

A faint tapping noise reached their ears. Everyone immediately knew what it was, but only LeBeau was willing to make the effort to get to his feet and cross the room to the bunk connected to the trap door that covered the tunnel. He hit the secret panel that triggered the mechanism and the bottom bunk swung open.

A moment later, Marya was at the top of the ladder and popping her head up from the hole like a jack-in-the-box. "Do I smell borscht?"