AN: In graduate school, I took a class on African-American religion. About half of the class was African-American and also about half, both black and white, had grown up in the segregated south. So I, a young white female from the north, learned a lot by listening to my classmates' stories and experiences. I also watched Hogan's Heroes for the first time during this class so I think that was part of the reason why I was drawn to Kinch as a character. Other than the fact that he is a great guy! And because I was taking this class, I couldn't help but wonder how Kinch's experience at Stalag Thirteen would have been shaped by race and segregation. After a lot of research, I wrote this story as just one possible answer to my musings and I hope that it has been as meaningful for you to read as it has been for me to write.

Also, I owe a great deal of debt to my two betas: jodm and konarciq. This would have been a lesser story without their input. Finally, I wish to thank all of you have who have read, reviewed and sent me words of encouragement. It does mean a lot. Enjoy.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Unforgettable

After evening roll call, four men gathered in Hogan's quarters. The others in the barracks had an inkling that something big was going on, but the details of their orders had been restricted to just a few.

Hogan wanted them to come to a decision before sharing their orders with the others, but Kinch still didn't know what his answer was going to be. London was going to make contact in a just a few short hours and they needed to decide whether they would convey their acceptance of their orders or whether they would try to convince HQ their impossibility and hope that they agreed.

As he looked around the room, he could tell that no one had slept. Each of them had wrestled with their own personal demons. He didn't ask what the others' were. That was between each man, his conscience and his God.

Hogan looked determined as he said, "I understand that this has been difficult for all of you and I know that if we take this mission, things will only become more difficult. But I believe that we have been offered a unique opportunity. There are German people out there fighting against their own government, because they believe that Hitler and his followers are destroying their country and they need our help.

"We are in opportune position to assist both them and the Allies by being the source of information inside of Germany that HQ needs. This operation has the potential to save our fighting men, to fight this war from a place that no one will ever think to look. Our countries are asking us to serve. I am prepared to accept these orders. But I need to know where you all stand."

Kinch gulped. How was he supposed to respond to that? Yes, he'd agree to what was basically a suicide mission. In the hands of any other commanding officer, he would have had an easy decision. Yet, Hogan made him think that maybe they had a chance. His CO had been doing the impossible ever since he had arrived in camp. What was another impossible task to him?

"You know where I stand, Colonel," Newkirk said. "This is nuts!"

Newkirk was right. Kinch should agree. Yet, when he opened his mouth, he echoed Hogan's words from that fateful night in the cooler from a couple weeks ago. "Only if it fails."

Hogan didn't miss a beat. "If it works, we could change the course of this war."

Pain was etched on every inch of the Englishman's face as looked at his CO. "Promise me this will work."

"I can't promise you that, Newkirk. But I wouldn't ask if I didn't think that we had a chance."

"It's easy for you to take this risk," LeBeau countered. "Your family is safe. If we try this and fail, we could lose more than our lives. We lose our chance to go home and protect our families and our homelands."

"I never said this would be easy," Hogan replied. "But if we will pull this off, France and England will gain the most benefit."

When the room grew silent, Hogan asked again. "We need to make a decision. I believe that we can carry out these orders and I can think of no better men to help me in this mission than the three of you. But if I am to do this, I can't do it alone. Can I count on your support?"

There it was again. Hogan being genuine. How could he say no to the first truly genuine officer he had every met? And more importantly, how could he say no to the chance to finally make the difference he had always longed to make?

Looking Hogan in the eyes, Kinch took the measure of the man standing before him and he did not find him lacking. If this mission was to succeed, it would be because Hogan was the right man for the job and he could think of no better man to pull this off.

Decision made, he said, "I don't know if it will work. But you are right, we need to try. I am with you, Colonel."

A few moments later, LeBeau spoke softly, but he gained confidence and volume with each word. "I want to fight, and if I have to stay in this camp to do so then I will stay. I'm in, mon Colonel."

All attention turned to Newkirk, who after a few moments of awkward silence threw up his arms in frustration. "You make it bloody hard on a guy."

Feeling guilty, Kinch turned away. Knowing how hard his own decision was he didn't want to add to the pressure. But he couldn't deny that they needed the Englishman's skills if they were going to pull this off

"You don't have to say yes," Hogan said gently.

Newkirk sighed. "Yes, I do, Guv'ner. Me country is asking me to stay." Then flashing a slight grin, he teased, "Besides, no self-respecting Englishman can back down from a fight that even a Frenchman would enter."

LeBeau gave his mate a friendly slap on the shoulder. They had chosen the difficult path, but it was a path they would go down together. This time there were no cigars, no cheerful declarations of anticipated glory. Every single one of them realized that they had agreed to something extremely dangerous. Something that would probably get them all killed. But, succeed or fail, Kinch found comfort in the fact that he had already achieved something incredible. He had finally found a place where he was treated not just as an equal, but as a friend.

What was another impossible mission next to that?

Six Months Later

He was alive.

He should be dead.

He would be dead if he didn't start moving, and fast.

Undoing the straps of his parachute, the soldier tried not to think about the series of events that had led him to this point: the fiery plane, the plunging leap into the darkness of night, the fate of the men he had served with. All he had time to think about was the fact that he was now stranded in the middle of enemy territory.

Freed of the parachute, he looked up at the sky, searching for the North Star. He quickly found his bearing and starting sprinting west. It was a long shot, he knew. But with luck, he might be able to cross into neutral Switzerland or find Allies in occupied France. After all, he must be a lucky man to have survived getting shot down.

Unfortunately, that luck quickly ran out.

He ran for a couple of minutes before he heard footsteps that sent him diving for a nearby bush. But he had failed to move quick enough to avoid being spotted.

"Hey, over here!" a skinny man dressed head to toe in black clothing cried out in English. Was that an American accent?

A second man, also dressed in black, replied in what was definitely a British accent. "Quiet, Carter. Do you want the patrol to hear us?"

Unsure of whether this was real or whether he had hit his head upon landing, the soldier crawled back out from underneath his bush. "Who are you?"

"I'm Newkirk and as you heard, the loudmouth is Carter. We are your local neighborhood travel agents."

"What?"

"We're here to rescue you," Carter explained.

"Oh." He wasn't being very articulate, though in his defense, he was still in shock from the whole jumping out of a plane over enemy territory while not knowing if his friends were alive or dead.

"Follow me," Carter ordered. "We can take you someplace safe."

Perhaps his luck hadn't run out after all. Realizing that there was no better option, he decided to take the risk and follow the men wherever they led. Though that decision was sorely tested when he saw the destination his so-called rescuers had in mind.

Too shocked to be angry, he spluttered out, "Is this some sort of joke?"

Newkirk smirked. "It's the one place the Krauts will never look."

In a bizarre way, the Englishman's reasoning made sense so he offered no further protest even as they crept within range of the spotlights. Suddenly, the one named Carter ducked down behind a tree stump as the spotlight passed by his location. But instead of moving on once the coast was clear, he swung the top of the stump open like a door and climbed inside.

His jaw dropped in shock, but a poke in the back from Newkirk got him moving again. When he reached the stump, he quickly mimicked Carter's actions and went down a rabbit hole and entered into another world.

It was in that new world called Stalag Thirteen that he experienced things that changed his life and his expectations of what could men could achieve. For during the next couple of days, he walked through an underground city of rooms and tunnels bigger and grander than the camp above.

He ate food prepared by a French chef, who made some of the best meals he'd ever had, even though the man had to work with the worst of ingredients.

He wore civilian clothes made by the cheeky Englishman and his helpers. And if he was not mistaken, he saw German uniforms on the rack.

He smelled explosives on the clothes of the American who had spotted him, which suggested to him that there was an even greater purpose to the organization here.

And he took orders without a second thought from a colored radioman, even though his presence and his authority went against everything he had ever been taught.

The whole experience was completely surreal. And as he stood before the American officer in charge of it, all he could do was say, "Thank you, sir."

Hogan smiled and said, "We're just doing our duty. And I promise that we'll return you safely to England so you can get back to doing yours."

To his amazement, the officer's words came to pass, and he stood on British soil once more. He was immediately debriefed and ordered to keep quiet about all that he had seen.

But as much as he tried to forget those fateful few days in order to protect those brave men, he couldn't. He couldn't forget those men who helped him get out of Germany. For all of those men were, in a single word, unforgettable.

The men he had met in Stalag Thirteen truly were the unsung heroes of the war.