An even dozen portable radios of various description were heaped on Klink's desk. Some of them probably still worked. Others had been stomped on, kicked, or peppered with bullets by the frustrated soldiers who had been sent out to retrieve them, believing they would be uncovering a nest of spies but finding only an out-of-date transistor radio spouting staticky dance hall music or the latest siren song of Berlin Betty. The radar screen in the detection truck was now clear and dark, and all the audio alert signals had stopped. Klink's hastily-scribbled will was in his top desk drawer. He had originally intended to put it into the safe, but in his flurry of panic had completely forgotten the combination.

Next to his desk, Major Hochstetter paced in silence. That was bad. But from experience, Klink was sure the Gestapo officer's silence was eventually going to give way to screams of rage, and that would be far worse. Best to try and appreciate the silence while it lasted.

"Not one radio…" Hochstetter began. Obviously the silent phase was at an end. "Not two radios… twelve radios, Klink!"

Klink nodded slowly, automatically, knowing some acknowledgement was expected of him. "Yes… twelve radios…"

"And most of them manufactured in either the United States or England!"

"Yes…"

"What is your explanation for that, Klink?"

An explanation was impossible. There was no reason that made any sense at all for all those radios to be out in the woods surrounding his camp. Hochstetter knew that. This outrage on top of his continued inability to locate Gustav Holtzmann was making him very angry… and in this time and place in the world there was nothing more dangerous than an angry Gestapo officer. Klink had taken the breath with which he intended to admit that he had no explanation to offer when the door to his office opened and Hogan entered. Klink had rarely been so happy to see anyone in his life.

Not so, Hochstetter. "What is this man doing here?" he demanded at top volume.

Klink said the first thing that popped into his head. "Hogan, you're confined to the barracks… come in." Why not? They could only send him to the Russian Front once; whatever else Klink did now, he could do without fear of additional punishment. And in spite of the fact that he and the American officer were on opposite sides of this conflict and really didn't like each other much, Klink would have chosen Hogan's company over Hochstetter's any day of any week.

Hogan approached the desk heaped with mutilated electronics. "Wow… looks like the after-Christmas clearance sale at Radio Shack," he chuckled. "Hey, you finally found some; congratulations. Where were they?"

"In the woods surrounding this camp!" Hochstetter fired back.

"So that gizmo out in the compound actually works, huh? Too bad you can't set it on Russian Woman; maybe you could turn up that lady you lost."

Hochstetter took a step forward. "Hogan, I am warning you…"

"Sorry sir." Hogan demurely lowered his gaze towards the floor. "Bad taste."

"As long as you are here, you may wish to take leave of your beloved kommandant."

Hogan turned to Klink. "You off on vacation, sir? Someplace nice, I hope."

"Hardly…" Klink managed, barely audibly.

"I'm sure the Kommandant would welcome some farewell gifts," Hochstetter went on. "How fast can you and your men knit mittens? One pair will be all he will need; he won't last long enough on the Eastern Front to wear them out."

Hogan mentally put his actor hat on, which had been the idea ever since he'd strode boldly across the compound and let himself in without knocking. "Hold on, Major, you don't mean to say you're blaming this on Colonel Klink?"

"I most certainly am."

"But you just told me you found all these radios in the woods."

"Ja, that is what I said."

"How many did you find inside the wire?"

"None, but…"

Hogan gave a low whistle and shook his head. "Well, okay, but… I can't believe you'd want to risk it."

"Risk what?"

"It's just that the Kommandant is responsible for what happens inside the camp… right?"

"And for security outside the camp!"

"That's true, most of the time, but… your men took over patrolling the area around the camp when you arrived at your order, isn't that right?"

For the first time that afternoon, Klink suddenly envisioned a glimmer of hope, instead of a glimmer of moonlight over endless fields of deep new snow. "That's right…" he realized. "They did…"

"So, I'd say it stands to reason that you're actually the guy responsible for anything in those woods that shouldn't be there. But if you want to go blabbing that all over Berlin, plus the fact that you still haven't found the Russian woman and it kinda looks like you might've lost Holtzmann too, I guess you must know what you're doing." For once, Hochstetter had no response at the ready. "What size mitten do you wear, Major?"

The entire building shook when Hochstetter slammed the office door behind him, and Hogan would not have been surprised to see a few shingles slide off the roof along with a brick or two from the chimney. "It was a simple question… can't see why he got so mad about it."

Reprieved. The Russian Front wasn't going to be seeing him anytime soon after all. "Oh, Hogan…" Klink sighed with the ultimate relief. "I don't think you have any idea what just happened here."

"I hope I haven't caused any trouble for you, sir."

Klink shook his head, nearly lost for words. "Not at all…"

"Good. Guess I'd better be getting back to the barracks." When the Kommandant didn't object, or say anything else at all for that matter, Hogan let himself out with a bit of a self-satisfied smile on his face.

As soon as Klink had his wits about him again, more or less, he picked up his desk phone. "Fraulein Hilda, inform the mess hall that I am authorizing one additional slice of white bread per prisoner for the rest of the week." It was a rare magnanimous gesture on his part… usually Hogan had to harass, cajole or otherwise instigate any additional rations. It might never happen again. But just this once, what harm could it do?

The next thing Klink did was reach into his top desk drawer and remove his hastily-penned final charge, then with the other hand reached for his lighter. He pressed the button to ignite the flame and touched it to a lower corner of the document, setting it alight. Thanks to Hogan, he wouldn't be needing it.

oo 0 oo

Back in the solitary confinement cell, Holtzmann had been looking forward to having both his bonds and his blindfold removed, until the moment when it actually happened. The first thing he saw when his vision cleared was Marya… and she was inexplicably standing next to an American officer whose face he recognized in another couple of moments. "But… you are from the prison camp…"

"That's right," Hogan nodded.

"How did you get out?"

"I didn't… you got in."

"I don't understand."

"It's probably better that way. All you really need to know is that a plane will be here tonight to pick you up and take you to England."

"Here?"

"Did I not tell you, Gussie, that you would love it at Stalag 13?" Marya asked.

"You had this planned… all of it… planned from the moment we left Hammelburg!"

"Actually for longer than that, but what do a few small details matter? You are soon on your way to England to continue your work, this time for the Allies."

The scientist suddenly didn't look too happy about that, and that concerned Hogan for a moment. "And you?" Holtzmann asked Marya.

"I will of course remain here in Germany."

Holtzmann turned to Hogan. "All right," he nodded. "Get me out of here. Quickly. Just make sure she doesn't follow me!"

Hogan had to admit, he knew the feeling. But there was no chance Marya would want to trail Holtzmann to England; she had been offered safe passage once before after one of her schemes had nearly backfired on her, and she had refused without even seriously thinking it over. Marya was in it for the duration. Sitting out the rest of the war in England wouldn't appeal to her in the least. She might one day bite off more than she could chew and end up facing the consequences, but for her that would be infinitely preferable than dying of boredom in England. She was no hothouse orchid; she was more like those tenacious bits of grass that pushed their way up through cracks in the pavement and almost seemed to enjoy the daily challenge that simply staying alive provided. Frustrating she certainly could be, but there were some aspects of her personality that Hogan admired. The trick would be never to let on to her that he felt that way.

He turned to Marya. "Okay, hand it over."

"What?"

"How about giving him his salesman's sample back? The Allies are going to want to examine the diamond along with the formula."

She considered protesting just for show, but it really didn't matter to her one way or the other. She pulled the ring off her finger and tossed it to Holtzmann with indifference; he on the other hand nearly fell off the chair he was still tied to in order to catch it and then clutched it gratefully, almost reverently. "Satisfied?" she asked Hogan.

"Ask me again after the plane takes off."

oo 0 oo

The Stalag 13 crew had been overdue for something to go off without a hitch, and they got their due at the makeshift airfield a half-mile from camp the next night, when under cover of a moonless sky they ferried Holtzmann, his briefcase and his diamond out to meet the small transport that arrived to meet him. The wheels barely had time to stop turning: the plane touched down in the open field, Holtzmann was ushered onboard, and it took off again before attracting any unwanted attention.

That was only the first of two departures from the Hammelburg woods that night. Now it was Marya's turn. She had again changed clothes, this time exchanging the borrowed fatigues for more conventional female attire that they had in their stockpile of disguises, and with the customary fur coat over it she looked exactly as she always had. "Till we meet again, Hogan darling," she purred.

He handed her the keys to Holtzmann's car. "Kinch put it back together for you… well, all except for the radio; that's a write-off. You've got enough fuel to get you to Düsseldorf at least, and I'm sure you'll manage from there."

"But of course." She puckered up hopefully, but as expected Hogan didn't appear inclined to follow her not-so-subtle suggestion.

"Um… yeah. So you'd better get going; the more ground you can cover before dawn, the better for both of us."

"Please… I beg of you… do not tell me goodbye."

He nodded agreeably. "Okay. See ya."

She smiled. "Resist me as long as you can, Hogan darling. It will make the moment when you finally surrender to me all that much more passionate."

Say what you would about her, that woman knew how to make an exit.

oo 0 oo

Hogan and his men arrived back at camp in time to catch a couple hours of sleep before morning roll call. "Another one for the scrapbook," Kinch summed up as they filed into the radio room.

"You think Hochstetter will be back?" Carter asked.

"Probably," Hogan nodded. "He's still looking for Holtzmann and Marya. But I don't think he's gonna find 'em."

"Well, I hope he takes his time about poppin' back 'round," Newkirk put in. "I've seen enough of his ugly mug to last me 'til the end of the war."

"I'll bet Klink feels the same way." Hogan gestured to the pine board lined with mousetrap clips that Carter used for film developing, which was hanging from a nail above the radio. "Put that back in the darkroom before you hit the sack, Carter. A tidy tunnel is a happy tunnel."

Carter looked perplexed. "I didn't leave that there, sir." But he went to remove it from the hook anyway. "Hey, there's a note on it. That's not mine either."

Hogan reached to take the board from Carter. There was indeed a note, written on the bottom of a sheet of graph paper covered with typewritten text and copious cursive notes in the margin. "This looks like part of Holtzmann's formula."

"Well, what's it doin' here?" Newkirk asked. "We put the photographs LeBeau made of the formula on the plane with Holtzmann to get 'em back to London."

The handwritten note at the bottom, inscribed in a flowing feminine scrawl that Hogan recognized immediately, told the full story. "You will be needing this, I am sure," he read out loud. "I removed it from Gussie's briefcase at the Hausnerhof… let us call it insurance… Marya."

"Well, what is it?" Carter asked.

Hogan was almost irritated enough to crumple it up in his fist. "It's the last page of Holtzmann's formula!"

"But I photographed the whole thing!" LeBeau protested. "Everything that was in the briefcase! All twenty pages!"

Hogan pointed to the number in the top right-hand corner. "This says twenty-one. So she was holding out on us! How do you feel about that?"

LeBeau barely missed a beat. "I'm sure she had a good reason."

And there was more. Paperclipped to the previously missing final page of the coveted diamond formula was a somewhat faded photo, the blacks and whites all gone various shades of sepia brown. Stalin's stony face was unmistakable. And right beside him, wearing a revealing low-cut black dress and holding up a glass of champagne, smiling at him with that smile…

Hogan was certain his eyes were deceiving him. "I don't believe it. Marya. She does know Stalin!"

It might have been the first full truth the Russian had ever told him.

oo 0 oo

The Aragon Ballroom. Glenn Miller's orchestra played At Last.

And 'at last' was exactly how Hogan was feeling just then. At last, everything was back to normal. There was a very enticing coterie of starlets in the ballroom tonight, just waiting for him to take his pick. Rita Hayworth was just a few steps to his left, and no sign of Orson Welles. On his right, Constance Bennett, Rosalind Russell, and Irene Dunn were plucking fresh glasses of champagne from the tray a waiter held out to them. And over there were Katharine Hepburn, Jean Arthur… this was like being a kid in a candy store. It was about time.

"Aren't you going to ask me to dance?"

That voice. Hogan turned, knowing what he was going to see before he even got there. Marya. She looked great, in that same slinky black dress she'd been wearing in the Stalin photo, but she was still Marya.

He shook his head. "Forget it. Not a chance."

"You are angry about the formula?" she pouted.

"Why wouldn't I be? You took the last page out of Holtzmann's briefcase when you knew we were gonna be taking pictures of it. You invited us to take pictures of it!"

"True," she nodded. "But how else would I have been assured that you would agree to help me get Gussie out of Germany?"

"You coulda asked!"

"I shall remember that next time."

"Who says there's even gonna be a next time? Maybe I'll get Klink to transfer me to another camp as a hardship case… maybe I won't even be at Stalag 13 the next time you drag one of your Nazi boyfriends in the front gate with another screwy plan you want my help on!"

"But we work so well together!"

"What would you consider a snafu? We had to steal the formula, then kidnap you, we had Hochstetter breathing down our necks with his radio truck, we had to convince Holtzmann to swap sides and go to England, and kidnap him too…"

"And everything turned out beautifully!"

"And what about you and Stalin?"

She shrugged. "Just friends."

"You're nuts, you know that? And you can't be trusted. And you pop up outta nowhere. And…"

"And…" She paused for effect. "You adore me for it."

Miller's orchestra still played. The dance floor was still open. Hogan glanced around. For once, LeBeau was nowhere in sight. So he still had one decision to make. "If you tell anybody about this…"

She touched a finger to her lips, then to his. "It will be our little secret."

Well... she was here, and she wouldn't allow him any peace until he gave in. And… she did look good in that slinky black dress. Hogan took Marya in his arms and they began to dance.

At last.

The End

Author's note: Dedicated to my favorite World War II veteran, my father. Thanks for watching so much TV with me, Dad!