Name, rank, and serial number. Name, rank, and serial number. Name, rank, and serial number.

It had been drilled into his head since basic training, and it hadn't seemed to matter; as soon as he uttered his name, rank, and serial number, the interrogating officer, had started laughing. After leaving the cramped interrogation room, he'd returned with a few more officers, and their reaction had been very much the same.

It kept happening. Every new officer brought into the room seemed to take delight in his name, right up until a short, pissy-looking Gestapo officer stalked into the room, barking in well-formed English for his information.

Name, rank, and serial number . Nothing more, nothing less, and the befuddling questions about his father and mother, mixed in with questions about his airbase, went nowhere. It seemed to be going about normal, though he couldn't really tell, over the course of a few days when the largest general he had ever seen entered the room.

It had been four days since he'd been allowed a wash, and a shave, and he was keenly aware that he looked like shit. With his right arm strapped to his side to keep from aggravating the injury he'd sustained in his wreck, he couldn't look less like the soldier he was supposed to.

"So," the general didn't even acknowledge his salute; his beady eyes looked him over, again and again; it seemed to be a common theme for the week. "You're uncooperative." Silence had worked so far in his life, so he stuck with it. "And quiet too, hmmm." The silence dragged out. The man muttered to himself in German and vanished through the door. When the locks slid into place, he settled back into his seat and wondered what everyone was getting so fussed about.

Tracing the name and number on his dog tags, Sergeant William Klink wondered why anyone cared about his name.

#$#$#$3

"Heads up," Carter said as the gate opened and a familiar black staff car rolled through, followed by a truck. "That's a new prisoner."

Hochstetter leaped out of his car, already looking cruel and gleeful, and the figure that climbed awkwardly down from the truck wasn't a familiar figure or even that remarkable. Tall, wiry, his arm strapped to his side, and he moved with the delicate care that most guests of the Gestapo displayed.

"What have we here?" Newkirk wondered as the figure straightened to an impressive height, gazing around the camp for a moment before his guards pushed him forward. "Right."

"New guest?" Hogan appeared at Newkirk's shoulder as he was wont to do, without warning. "Hmmm, one of Hochstetters. Kinch, get on the coffee pot." The radioman vanished into the barracks. "I'll go see what this is about."

#$#$#$

"Major Hochstetter!" Colonel Klink straightened from his desk, "you did not." He paused as the two guards escorted an American flyer into his office. "There is a protocol for prisoners, Major." The man slapped the file onto the desk, and for a moment, Klink paused. The new prisoner was tall, thin, with thick black hair, and gentle blue eyes, he looked German , and if it weren't for the uniform, Klink would have thought he was German.

"This is a unique prisoner," Hochstetter nearly purred, "possibly the most unique prisoner you have had."

Klink had excellent instincts and a sense of self-preservation that had kept him alive since the rise of the Nazi party, and every single alarm bell in his head was ringing. "Truly?" he flipped open the file and blinked in confusion at the name staring up at him. "Major Hochstetter. If your attempt at a joke is to."

"It is not a joke," the little man seemed too pleased for his peace of mind. He turned, and the man straightened as well as he was able with his injured arm.

"Kommandant!" Just in time to rescue both the sergeant and the colonel. "This is against the Geneva Prisoner of War," his words jerked to a halt, and he glanced between Klink and the younger Klink. "Huh."

"Colonel Hogan, allow me the pleasure of introducing your newest compatriot Sergeant William Klink!"

Hogan blinked a few times and Sgt. Klink only glanced between them, visibly confused. Colonel Klink wasn't doing any better. The office was silent for a moment, and Hogan shrugged. "Well, we'll have a new player for our Chess tournament. Sergeant, Welcome to Stalag 13; it's home away from home. I'm sure the commandant's given you the usual spiel, so let's."

"Not so fast!" Klink slapped his hand on the table. "I have not given my speech. Be warned….Sergeant Klink." If at all possible, Hochstetter's smile widened. "There are no escapes from Stalag 13. Any attempts will be punished severely!" The man was staring at the sergeant for a long moment that stretched into an uncomfortable silence. "Go."

"Come on, sergeant," Hogan hustled the confused man out of the office, his own mind reeling as Major Hochstetter and the Kommandant got into an argument. Hilda jumped to her feet as they walked by, and Hogan grimaced when they hit the compound. "We'll need to get Wilson to take a look at that arm, and we'll need to debrief you."

"Wilson, sir?"

"Our medic," Hogan considered the man. He was a younger version of Klink, that much was clear, but his voice was of a soft midwestern accent, and he carried himself with confidence and care, but not arrogance. Certainly none of the taut-string nervousness from the Kommandant. "So, what's the story?"

"I managed to land half a plane," the pilot admitted, "reconnaissance, but I got injured as I hit the ground. I destroyed the plane before I was captured," he blinked a few times. "Sir….the Germans have been strange since I got captured." He hesitated. Hogan waved for him to continue. "I've only given them my name, rank, and serial number, but when the first fellow heard my name, he started laughing. Then there were all sorts of officers wanting to know my name and my parents and all sort of things. Nothing military at all."

"Your name is William Klink?" Hogan asked, glancing back at the office and then at the face that reminded him too much of the commandant.

"Yes, sir."

"Where were you born?"

Now the man flushed faintly, a coy look of shame that had never crossed the commandants face.

"It says Lafayette, sir."

"It says?" Hogan paused, and the man blinked awkwardly at him.

"I'm…well. It's strange, but I was dropped off at an orphanage when I was just about a day or two old. Just a piece of paper with my name. I'm."

" Oh ," Hogan repressed the urge to groan, "right. Well, let's keep that under wraps. Don't let the Germans find out."

"Why would they care?" The man asked, "Sir, I wouldn't tell them, but."

Hogan stopped again, waving off his team. "Do you know the name of the colonel you just met?"

"No, sir."

"Did he look familiar?"

"I've never seen him before, sir."

"That's not," Hogan paused, "his name is Klink. Wilhelm Klink."

"Oh, "the sergeant blinked, " oh ." He clutched at his chest, his face draining of color. "What…you don't suppose they think we're related, sir."

"I think that's exactly what they think," Hogan told him plainly.

"What would it matter?" the man looked faint, and by the time he settled him into the creaky cot set aside for Wilson's patients, the pale look had only worsened. "Sir, I'm…I." He blinked rapidly as Wilson approached and then paused. "Why would it matter? It, no. I'm." He seemed to struggle with the words and finally stared helplessly at Hogan. "They aren't going to care about that, are they?"

"I think they are." He hustled him over to Wilson and into the infirmary.

"What's your name, soldier?" Wilson was brisk and efficient. Checking on the work already done and made minor adjustments as he saw necessary.

"Sergeant Willaim…." he hesitated, and Hogan nodded. At the byplay, Wilson glanced around. "I am….Sergeant William Klink." To the medics' credit, he only blinked and shook his head. "No relation."

"Yeah? You look a lot like him. What's your dad look like?"

"I." Klink grimaced.

"You need to get better at lying," Hogan ordered. At Wilson's stunned expression, said. "Not one word."

"Sir, everyone is going to be able to tell."

"It's a coincidence," the sergeant protested. "You don't expect me to have gone my whole life only to meet my father on the other side of war, and in a prison camp he's commanding? That's…crazy…, sir."

"It doesn't have to be crazy. The Germans will believe it. Hochstetter clearly does."

"But what does it mean? I'm just…a sergeant. I'm not anyone important."

"We'll see about that." Hogan muttered, "but Klink is going to try to corner you and question you."

"Name, rank, and serial number." Bill echoed faintly.

"Until I tell you otherwise."

"Until? Sir?"

"Don't worry too much about it." He ordered, already trying to think of new ways to spin this. "If they care, then we can do something about it. Right now, we need to make sure that they don't know. Name. Rank. Serial Number."

"Name, Rank. Serial Number," he agreed, not sure what he was agreeing to. "Yes, sir." a confused, befuddled expression crossed the man's face, and he turned to leave.

Hogan, confused and deeply uncomfortable, took off for Barracks 2 as quickly as he could manage. As soon as he could, he hopped down the ladder.

"Kinch, I want you to ask London about one Sergeant Bill Klink," rattling off his serial number, unit, and commanding officer, the man quickly tapped off his message.

"So…he's colonel's son?"

"He looks….exactly like Klink."

"Exactly?"

"If Klink had hair and a sense of humor and an American uniform, this is what he would look like."

"Scary thought," Kinch muttered. "But we'll see if he's telling the truth. It might take some time."

"That's fine, we'll keep him under watch, but I think our main concern is going to be the colonel."

'Klink?"

"How would you feel if you found out you had a secret son fighting for the Nazis?" Hogan asked. Kinch grimaced. "Besides, I think there's more to this story."

"Like?" Newkirk wondered, he wanted to get a look at the newcomer, but only Hogan's orders kept the men from crowding him.

"Like who his mother is."

"Sir," Carter piped up, "why?"

"Because it takes two to tango," Hogan tugged on his collar.

"Are you going talk to the kommandant?" Newkirk asked, and Hogan grinned.

"I think I"m going to let him sit on ice for a bit." Hogan mused. "Kinch, keep an eye out for the calls he might put out. Carter, go make friends with Sgt. Bill."

"Yes, sir!" Carter nodded, bounding up the ladder.

"Blimey, I didn't think he had it in him."

"Who, Carter?"

"The kommandant."

"If the name didn't tie it up," Hogan said, "the sergeant is a dead ringer for the bald eagle." It was going to be interesting, that was for sure.

#$#$3

Colonel Klink had not moved from his desk since Hochstetter had stormed out. He hadn't touched the pile of paperwork either, and it was only after Sgt. Shultz brought him lunch, and did he jolt into motion. Flipping the file open, he paused at the image of the wounded and tired man.

Sgt. William Klink.

Sgt. William Klink.

Sgt. William Klink.

Slowly letting out a breath, he stood, paused, and dropped back into his seat.

No, no ! It was too absurd to even consider! It was beyond the realm of possibility…except….except. Reaching for the phone, he picked it up before dropping it back into the receiver.

No….no. Rising again, he scurried from his office and wondered if the sergeant's wounds would have him in the infirmary or not.

"Colonel?" Frauline Hilda asked from her desk. "Is something the matter?"

"I…the new prisoner. Where did he go?"

"He is with Sergeant Wilson," she said. "He was badly injured."

"How badly?" He barked, freezing when she retreated. "My apologies, Frauline Hilda….how badly do you think he was injured?"

"He looked like he was in a lot of pain," she admitted. "Kommandant…this prisoner…is his name really?"

'I don't know!" he cried. "I don't know!" What he needed were answers. He needed to talk to the prisoner….he needed to talk to him.

#$#$#

There was only one guard in the infirmary, and as soon as William had settled onto the too-short cot and tried to rest, he'd been promptly ignored. That was fine by William, who had enough on his mind as it was.

Despite Colonel Hogan's strangely flippant attitude, the revelation that his father could be the prison commandant of this prison was driving him up the wall. True, William hadn't gotten much of a look at him, but every seemed certain that they looked alike.

William didn't look like anyone. He never had.

His father.

Every cell in his body fought against the other, and torn between utter elation and despair, William eventually passed out. Exhaustion too much for even his aching shoulder. He woke to soft voices in German that he couldn't understand and jerked out of sleep to find a tall lanky corporal, the fattest sergeant he'd ever seen, and a narrow private all standing over him. They seemed to be deep in discussion, which paused when he opened his eyes.

"What?" Clutching his aching shoulder, he tried to sit up, only to fall back. "What?"

"Do not move!" The sergeant suggested nothing like the barking order he'd gotten before. The man seemed much kinder. "You will only hurt your shoulder."

"What do you…what's?" Clearing his eyes, he looked between the soldiers. The corporal and private put their heads together to whisper. "What's going on?"

"I am Sergeant Shultz!" the fat man announced. "Sergeant of the guard!"

William blinked, adjusting against the ratty pillow. "Okay?"

"Yes," the chair creaked as the man sat down. "You are new to Stalag 13. Welcome! It is not so bad."

"Uh." Was the man trying to make friends with him? Was this something Germans normally did? "I…disagree."

"Yes, well. Of course, you do." He looked back at the other soldiers, shooing them away with a fatherly wave of his hand. They moved but seemed captivated by William's face. "So…Klink, huh?"

"I didn't choose it."

"Who would?" The fat man laughed, elbowing him. William winced. "Ha! A funny coincidence! When I heard that another Klink was here, I wouldn't believe it! It was too funny." Over the fat man shoulder, the thin colonel stalked into the infirmary. "Can you imagine! Another Klink?" Insult pride flashed over the older man's face as he approached, clearly having overheard every word. William grimaced, looking between the sergeant and the colonel as the man continued. "I am sure that!"

"That you will be just as useless on the Russian front!" The skinny man barked, and Shultz jerked to his feet. Horrified by the dressing down happening in rapid-fire German, the pilot watched the fat man salute again and again as he retreated from the infirmary until only William and the kommandant were left behind.

Huffing and tucking his riding crop back under his arm, Kommandant Klink sat in the vacated chair. "Don't bother rising, sergeant." He said, despite the fact that William had had no intention to move. "Now." He hesitated; the watery blue eyes focused on Williams's face and then on his injury. "I trust Sgt. Wilson has taken a look at this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good…" He went quiet. "I…erm."

William was just as entranced and confused as the colonel. The man really looked like him…or maybe it was the other way around. The same straight, narrow nose, the high eyebrows and cheekbones, and even the same eye color. Colonel Klink, tightly wound and nervous, fiddled with his riding crop for several moments.

"Shouldn't Colonel Hogan be here?" William finally asked when the observation became too much.

"What? Why?"

"He's right!" Hogan announced, appearing from a dark corner with a smile that William wanted to slap off his face. "I should be here! Kommandant! What brings you here?"

"The file says he was very uncooperative!" Klink announced hastily, not realizing that he had no reason to justify his presence. "I was just."

"Interrogating an injured man!" Hogan clucked. "That's low, Kommandant. Hasn't he been through enough?"

"I was not!" The colonel paused. "I was simply speaking to him, Colonel Hogan."

"Yes, sir." Hogan's smile never faded, and with the interaction clearly shafted, the Kommdant retreated from the room. "So?"

"Sir?"

"So, what's your story?" Hogan asked the third person to steal the chair beside his cot in less than ten minutes. They had privacy, which baffled the younger prisoner.

"Sir?"

"Let's start off easy; how old are you?"

"Ah, 25."

"So, twenty-five, where are you from?"

"Lafayette, Indiana."

"Your parents?" William grimaced, turning away from the man with a sigh. "Well?"

"I don't…have any, sir." It didn't usually bother him to admit it, but given the circumstances, he didn't want anyone to know.

"So, what's the story?" Hogan's eyes were sharper than expected and wholly focused on him.

"I…was left on the steps of St. Annes just a few days old." He could hear the nun telling him the story. "They left a note to tell me my name, but there wasn't anything else. I grew up in the orphanage, and when I aged out…I traveled and worked." Hesitating, he sighed. "Everywhere in America, I suppose."

"When did you join up?"

"Last year, I was in Philly."

"Philly, have you got a favorite city?"

"Erm, Milwaukee or Chicago. Keeping to the midwest was easy, and I like the great lakes."

"Why'd you join up then?" Hogan asked.

"I wish I could say it was for my country or because I wanted revenge…but."

"But?"

"I didn't have anything better to do." He finally admitted. "I'd done just about every job out there. Cook, the baker, a cowboy, spent some time as a logger, made good money on the barges, and…well. Seemed the only thing left to do was enlist."

"Barges?"

"Down in on the Mississippi river."

'Is it nice down there?"

"Hell no, err." Hogan waved him off. "The weather in the south is unbearable. It's why I stuck to the boats on the lakes."

"Why not join the navy?"

"Oh, they wanted me, but I figured I'd like to fly."

"Fly?"

"I liked flying," William admitted. "I liked seeing the pilots and planes in the newsreels. I always like the idea of flying, so I'd gotten some crop-dusting experience."

"You were a pilot before the war?"

"I have a certification for just about everything, sir." William wasn't a bragging sort of man, but he did work hard and he appreciated just how much he learned. "The nuns used to tell me that the only fool is someone who doesn't take the time to learn, and I never wanted to be a fool. I flew out in Kansas and some places in Arizona.

"Huh." Impressed, Hogan leaned back. "Where haven't you been?"

"Hawaii, Florida, or Texas."

"Why travel so much?"

"I…see, I grew up different, sir. I didn't have parents, so I…didn't have any place to tie me down. I figured that I'd travel to find the place I wanted to settle. I was thinking of heading to Maine to see what it might be like there."

"Know how to play an instrument?"

"The guitar," William wondered at the curious spasm across the man's face. "I had one for a while before I enlisted. Sent it back to the nuns so they could have another kid learn."

"Huh."

"Sir, the sergeant…the fat one."

"Shultz."

"Sir, do people really think that I'm…well." He waved his one good hand. "Is that why you're having me stay here because I look too much like him?"

"You're pretty clever," Hogan admitted.

"Spent a few months as a Private Eye in Indianapolis, but I guess I understand the men being uncomfortable." He understood, but he didn't like it. It wasn't his fault that he looked like the old man. "Sir, why…why is it so important for the Germans to think that I'm not…well."

"It's not easy to explain, sergeant."

"Sir," hesitating, William straightened. "I think I have a right to know….to be a little prepared." Hogan's focused gaze would have made a man who hadn't been raised by Catholic nuns nervous.

"Would it make a difference?"

"Sir?"

"Would it make a difference if it turned out that Colonel Klink was your father?" His serious tone pushed William to look across the dilapidated infirmary.

"I…don't think so. Not so much for the war, but maybe for me. Name, rank, and serial number make it impossible…but I. I guess if it is true, I'd like to see what kind of man he is." Hogan snorted. "But I guess, sir. He didn't look like he knew I existed at all LIke he….like he just had no idea. I saw his face when I was brought in, I don't think he even. It's got to be a coincidence, sir. I feel crazy even thinking about it. I feel crazy with everyone looking at me like I'm about to yell Seig Heil and start goosestepping."

"I doubt you're about to start heiling all over the place and goosestepping." Hogan admitted, "but it's not that crazy."

"Sir." William side-eyed the colonel harder than any man would probably get away with, but Hogan wasn't even looking at him. "Every German from my captured to here was acting…crazy."

"Crazy?"

"Odd, like they all really think that."

"I think most of them do."

"But don't they think it's just an accident or a coincidence?"

"They might if you didn't look so much like the colonel," Hogan rubbed his chin. William hunched in on himself despite his injured arm. "He's infamous, Sergeant. There haven't been any successful escape attempts from Stalag 13."

"None?" He straightened up. "None, sir?"

"None, not for lack of trying. He's the only officer in the German military to even succeed with this; that's what makes everyone pay attention."

"Then why did that little major freak out?"

"Major Hochstetter hates Klink."

"Politics,' William hissed with surprising vehemence. "Ugh."

"Ugh is right. "

"Colonel," the lanky corporal stuck his head in the door. "Roll call."

"Coming, Langendshiedt." Hogan stood, holding William down. "Don't worry about roll call, they know you're here, and Wilson said to not jostle that arm too much."

"Yes, sir." William watched the man depart, and as soon as he was left alone in the infirmary, he closed his eyes with a groan and wished he could write his old caretaker.

#$#$3

"So?" Hogan's men gathered in his office. "What's the verdict?" Newkirk watched as Hogan leaned against the bunk. "Is he Iron Guts' lad?"

"Everything he told me lines up with what our intelligence could find on him. There wasn't much, and they're still looking."

"He moved around a lot," Kinch agreed. "There's not much of a file on him, but they're still digging."

"I don't want to go out and say it," Hogan nodded to his second, "but we don't want to jump to conclusions. We need evidence from Klink."

"If Klink didn't know about him, then how are we going to figure out if he really is his son?" Lebeau piped up.

"Because," Hogan mused for a long minute, "Klink is going to figure it out for us." At their skeptical faces, he explained. "Klink doesn't have a lot of history, so it won't take him long to narrow down whoever the potential mother is…or."

"Or the mother might come here," Carter suggested, "depending."

"Exactly. It's big news for a guy like Klink to have a secret son that was raised in America. I"m surprised that Burkhalter isn't here already."

"What does the sergeant think of it?" Kinch asked.

"He's not sure what to think, but he probably already agrees with it. I don't think he's ready to accept it. We're not going to get him into a barracks until I can be sure that nothing is going to happen and no one tell him about our operation."

"You think he'd tell the kommandant?" Carter's eyes went wide. "Sir?"

"He said he joined up because he didn't have anything else to do. Until we get a number on this guy, we say nothing."

"Sir?" Kinch straightened.

"A man without family or loyalty to any place in particular," Hogan shrugged. "I want evidence that he can be trusted…even if the colonel is his father…especially if the colonel is his father."

"Yes, sir." Newkirk agreed, an ugly gleam in his eyes. "I'll be happy to help."

#$#$#$

Roll call at o'dark thirty was probably the worst thing about being in the military but really reminded William of his time in the orphanage. The medic helped him stand, adjusting his sling and helped him stand for roll call. During the course of the night, he'd gotten next to no sleep, his shoulder burning worse and worse with each passing moment.

It wasn't his imagination when heads, German and otherwise, turned in his direction. German guards slowed as they approached, and when the Kommandant came stalking out of his office bellowing. "REEEEPOOOORRRRRRTTT!"

The fat sergeant turned from Colonel Hogan, saluting sharply and calling out in German.

"How do you feel?" Sgt. Wilson asked quietly as William swayed in place.

"Something," he muttered, blinding pain racing up his shoulder. It wasn't normal, and only his grip on Wilson's shoulder kept him upright. "Something's wrong?"

"It shouldn't take much more," Wilson's eyes skipped over him. "Did I miss something? Are you in."

"I?" Dimly aware that his shoulder probably shouldn't feel both broken and shattered, William hoped that he wasn't about to make a complete fool of himself. "Sergeant." He tried blinking away the sweat in his eyes. "Sergeant."

"Hold up!" Wilson ordered, "Steady!" But it was too late, William's knees buckled, and he was dimly aware of a dozen pairs of jackboots heading his direction before his vision faded. "COLONEL!"

#$#

Klink was not a particularly merciful man, and this was something he was willing to admit. Petty, cowardly, selfish, and rude, his heart was high in his throat the moment he saw the lanky Sergeant Klink collapse against Sergeant Wilson.

Son or not, it was always a horrible sight to see a grown man collapse into a heap amongst armed soldiers. Despite the work Wilson had already done, he was calling for a stretcher with a steady and commanding voice, doing his best to wake the man.

Hogan ushered men back, and Klink didn't even mind getting snapped at to order a truck to take Sgt. Klink to the hospital.

If the American hadn't suggested it, he would have done it himself.

Getting him to the hospital wasn't difficult, nor was pushing past the civilians to get him into surgery, but once the noise and chaos had died down, he was left wringing his hands in a nearly empty waiting room as the pilot was prepped for surgery.

What he should have done, was return to camp and leave Corporal Langendsheidt to look after the prisoner…but he didn't. He paced up and down the waiting room, only pausing when General Burkhalter appeared.

"Sir!" Saluting, he wrung his hands together. "What brings you here?"

"I was on my way to Stalag 13 when I received the news that…this pilot was taken into the hospital." Pursing his fat lips, the man squinted. "That he collapsed during roll call."

"The medic is unsure…and I have not received news from the doctor," Klink blustered. "I assure you."

"Is he your son?" Burkhalter asked without an ounce of preamble, and the nervous pilot's brain shuttered to a halt. "He bears a remarkable resemblance to you, Klink. He even has your name."

"He does…and he does, but I." He froze. "It is…just. I don't know ."

"How do you not know?" Burkhalter demanded, "how could you not know?"

"I…my…I" He flustered, wishing Hogan was there to smooth things over. "I have not yet spoken to my…former…partners. I do not know because."

"Colonel Klink, there is a distinct possibility that you have a son who was raised as an American! Do you realize what this means?"

"That his mother truly did not wish to marry me," Klink sank into a chair. Burkhalter let out a deeply aggravated sigh. "That's assuming he is my son. He might not be! It is possible."

"Check his dog tags for his blood type," Burkhalter suggested. "At least the blood will tell some if you are not related."

"Oh…yes." He jerked around, pulling the dog tags from his pocket. The nurses had handed everything over to him before getting him into surgery. Bloody, messy dog tags with a broken chain hung from his gloves, and he turned them over. "Ah…oh."

"What is it?"

"It's my type." Klink grimaced. "But."

"Who could his mother be?" Burkhalter asked, and Klink's mouth snapped shut. "Well?"

"Ah…well." He resumed pacing.

"There cannot be so many options," the man sneered. "Not too many to choose from?"

"No," the insult sailed over the balding scalp. "No, but for the pregnancy to go unnoticed, they would have had to leave for a month. They would have had to travel to America!" He paused and jerked his head. "No, no, we do not even know if the sergeant is an orphan or if his parents."

"KLINK!" He jerked around again. "Look at the evidence before you, Colonel Klink!"

"It is a coincidence! We simply do not know, and he is not speaking! I…I cannot have." He paused. "I wouldn't know about my son, Herr General. I wouldn't have…raised him!"

"Ah," very quietly, the general sat beside the colonel. "A failure then."

"I would be a failure, to have failed his mother by not taking my responsibility! To fail my son by allowing him to be raised in… America !" Burying his face in his hands, he breathed steadily until the door opened, the doctor appeared, and the men shot to their feet.

"Colonel…Klink?" Glancing at the name on the paper and then at the colonel, the doctor hesitated.

"Yes, yes, what is it?"

"It broken bit of bone, Colonel." The doctor reported. "It was wreaking havoc against the rest of the muscle. I am surprised he lasted as long as he did with it in his shoulder; it would have been extremely painful. I have removed the fragment and reset his shoulder, but I would not suggest removing him for a few days."

"Only a few days?" Burkhalter asked.

"Really a few weeks, but given that he is a prisoner."

"Under the Geneva Convention!" Klink sputtered the opening to every single one of Hogan's arguments, only for the general to wave him down.

"Realistically, how long should he remain here?"

"Sometimes, but a medic will be able to care for him once the threat of infection has passed. Your corporal is stationed in his room, but he will not come out from under the anesthetic for a while." Hesitating, the doctor asked. "Is there…a relation, Colonel?"

"No!" Klink barked. "There is not. Thank you, doctor. Is that all?"

"For now."

"Good, good." He waved the man off, turning to Burkhalter. "Well."

"Investigate this…but quietly." General Burkhalter ordered, pausing when Klink hestited. "What?"

"What if…what if he is , General Burkhalter? What if…what if he is my son?"

"We will answer that when the time comes." The general mopped his brow, he didn't get paid enough to deal with situations like this. "Now, are you going to stand around all day, or are you going to investigate?"

"Of course! Of course," the man was off like a shot. It didn't take long to bully his way back to the ward and past the shocked corporal on duty outside the sergeant's door.

Sergeant William Klink actually looked worse than the colonel, his face pale and drawn with his eyes closed under the painkillers. The waness was probably made him look even more like the colonel, with tired bags under his eyes and the bevy of bandages and a cast that kept his shoulder and arms immobilized.

If the name hadn't been enough, Burkhalter might have already suspected a relationship between the men, the coincidence was simply too much to ignore or avoid. There were differences, of course. The American sergeant's voice was softer, his eyes were softer, and rounder than the colonel's, and his chin wasn't as pointed.

Gertrude was going to be disappointed.

#$#$#$3

Climbing out of anathesia was probably the most uncomfortable thing that William had done in ages, besides his entire enlistment. He was tired and utterly worn out and blinked to find that his entire right shoulder and arm was immobilized. At some point, he'd lost most of his uniform, and he couldn't even feel his dog tags.

"Hmm?" Turning his head to see a nurse peering down at his chart with Corporal Langenshiedt standing at her shoulder. The soldier waved politely, deeply confusing the already-muddled man, who decided that the best thing to do was to fall fast asleep.

The second time he woke to a throbbing that seemed to go bone-deep, the sun had fallen below the horizon. An orderly seemed to be moving around the room.

An almost familiar orderly. The man, who looked a lot like Newkirk, leaned across the bed, staring down at the befuddled pilot. He asked something in German, which Bill could only guess at, and when he didn't have an actual answer, asked again.

"What?" He tried to move, but the orderly scoffed and retreated. Alone again, William fell back asleep.

#$#$#

"So?"

"Didn't seem to understand a word," Newkirk answered, lighting a cigarette. "But it looks like the surgery went well, and he's on the good stuff."

"Good," Hogan wrapped his arms around himself.

'"Klink was there," the Englander continued. Hogan froze. "Pacing up and down the hallways. He made everyone pretty nervous."

"He really believes that this guy is his son?" Carter wondered. "Can you believe it?" Hogan didn't answer. He turned around to see Kinch standing with a new piece of paper.

"Kinch?"

"Word from London. They investigated the sergeant."

"And?"

"Mother Superior Ann of St. Anne's Orphanage in Lafayette is listed as the sergeant's next of kin. He wrote her pretty regularly, and the last letter he was working on before he got shot down was still in his bunk. It's basically just him telling her about his day. According to the nun, he was there until he aged out and sent money every once in a while. They're looking into all of the jobs he mentioned, but they verified the PI job in Indianapolis."

"So he's just…American?" Lebeau wondered. "So what if he is Colonel Klink's son? What difference would it make?"

"For Klink? A lot. For the sergeant…I don't know."

"Why does it matter so much to Klink?"

"It's his son," Newkirk said suddenly. "I mean, his son that he didn't know about…now a prisoner."

"And Klink is old money and old school. If he has a son he didn't know about, then that means someone hid him, and that someone might even be his mother." A shiver ran through the collected men. "So, this means a lot."

##$#

The social niceties had been observed, and while there wasn't an actual explanation, there wasn't a total lack of explanation when Colonel Klink was seated in the well-decorated front parlor of Duchess Brigit von Hinkel. There was a decent pot of coffee, which he would have normally pounced upon, but he was far too nervous to consider touching the eggshell teacup.

"Wilhelm!" Decades had passed, but Brigit had hardly aged. The lines around her eyes were negligible, and even the weight of four children had fled. Swanning into the room, she greeted him with a tense smile. "It has been decades since we last spoke!" Sinking into the couch, she poured herself a cup of coffee. "I must say, I was surprised to receive your note."

"Ah, my apologies, Duchess." He fiddled with his riding crop. "How is your husband?"

"Felix is very well," she smiled, genuine emotion crossing her face. "He is due to return in a few days."

"Ah."

"He has not been home in a year now. I will be most pleased to see him."

"I am certain." The wood twisted a bit under his fingers.

"What about yourself? I see that you are still in a luftwaffe…and a colonel."

"Ah, yes!" He nearly jerked to his feet and sat back down.

"Still not a general?"

"Ah…no. I…I always regretted out we ended things." He said. "You…rushed away, and all of my letters back, unanswered."

"I," she took a breath. "Did not know you sent any."

"Many," pausing for a moment, the awkward silence stretched out. "I had always hoped to rekindle our relationship…but you married."

"Yes, I did."

"And well." The countless luxuries around him spoke of her husband's enormous wealth. It was just as well that she was visiting their flat in the city and not out on their sprawling country estate.

"Yes, Felix is a wonderful husband."

"And your children?" He nodded to a portrait hanging over the mantle. The General, the Duchess, and four young girls in matching outfits.

"Our daughters, all find women now. My youngest is nearly 16."

"You must be very proud of them?" Again, he wondered how he was supposed to broach the topic.

"I am; tell me, what use does the Luftwaffe have for a pilot who cannot see out of both eyes?"

"I am….I am a prison Kommandant for Allied flyers."

"Pilots," she scoffed, "destroying our German cities!"

"Yes, yes," distracted, he waited for a heartbeat. "A most…peculiar prisoner came to Stalag 13 recently."

The duchess blinked a few times, a guarded wariness in her eyes. "Yes?"

"And…the most peculiar thing…is that this, erm, pilot bears a bizarre and striking resemblance to myself."

Hiding her mouth behind her teacup, the woman took a sip. "Oh?"

"And," he summoned his thimbleful of courage. "My name." She froze, and he pressed on. "Did we…have a…child, Brigit?"

"I think it is time you left, Colonel." She stood, "my husband will be home soon, and."

"Sergeant William Klink," he stood, "is currently a prisoner of war, Duchess. He is an American pilot and recovering in the hospital!"

"My husband will not want such a coward in our home!" She tried to push him towards the door. "Get out!"

"Then what are you doing here?" He barked. She froze, mouth falling open. "I want an answer. I want to know if you abandoned our child in America! I want to know if you…lied to me, abandoned a child and."

"Get out!" She shrieked again, shoving him toward the door. "Out! Get out of my house! Get out! Never come back!"

"What did you do?" He turned, horrified as the realization sank in. "Brigit? What did you do?"

"Get out!" Tearful and furious, she froze, chest heaving with emotion. "Get out! I didn't do anything I… I." She pushed, and in the hallway, he froze as the door slammed behind him.

"I'll," a servant stood a few steps away. "Take you to the door, sir."

He followed as his mind churned, hardly realizing he was in the staff car until Corporal Langendsheidt cleared his throat. "Sir?"

"Hmm?"

"Sir? Back to camp?"

"No," he stared up at the enormous house, meeting the woman's eyes as she stared down on the staff car from a window. "No, the hospital again."

"Yes, sir." Pulling off the estate, he sank into his thoughts until they pulled back in front of the hospital. Hurrying inside, he hesitated outside the door to the prisoner's room before pushing to door open to find the man staring a the blank ceiling with a glazed, medicated look in his eyes. They flickered over to Klink after a moment, and the colonel's courage failed him. Bolting into the hallway, he retreated to the waiting room, back to the car, and ordered to be returned to camp.

As soon as he was in his office, he threw back a schnapps, and then another, and a third before his hands stopped trembling hard enough to crack the glass.

He had a son. He had a son. He had a son, and his name was William. He was a grown man, a soldier, and an American .

His son was a prisoner of war. Klink was laughing before he could stop himself, hysterical horror falling from his lips, he went to pull back another drink, only for a firm hand to stop him.

"Maybe take it easy, Colonel." Hogan pulled the bottle away.

"You should not be here!" He said severely.

"Hilda got a bit scared when you started laughing," Hogan's brown eyes were warm, and he flattered himself, concerned. "You don't seem to be doing well."

"I. I. Terrible news," he croaked. Did it matter if he told Hogan? It wasn't like the prisoner could tell anyone, but they could make William's life a living hell when he returned.

"Terrible news? Did you get engaged to Frau Linkmeyer?"

"I think I would have preferred that to…to this… betrayal!" He stood, jerking away from Hogan and storming around his quarters. "This lie! This horrible! I cannot even conceive how she could do something so wretched and deplorable!"

"Kommandant?" Hogan hadn't moved.

"How could she? How could she lie to me! How could she abandon me!"

"Sounds like heartbreak," the American observed.

"Heartbreak is too light a word!" He shouted, overcome with a rage he hadn't felt in decades. "This is…this is!" He collapsed back into his chair. " Hogan !"

"Congratulations!" Hogan waved his hands. "It's a boy!"

Klink stared down at the cigar pressed into his hands, bemused. "This is my cigar."

"Sure is."

"Where? No matter! He is…" he wasn't sure how to broach the topic of conversation. He wasn't sure how to explain himself or the bizarre situation. "He is…" For once, Hogan was silent. He let the bemused colonel disseminate the information. "My son." He looked up, wondering or hoping to see disgust or mockery. Hogan's face was clear of any such emotion.

"He looks just like you."

Klink let out a bitter laugh. "Yes, he does."

"But a more handsome version of you," Hogan said with his usual cheers, " And a much better temper."

"Ha! I wouldn't know." he leaned back into the couch, every bit of rage seeping away and leaving only a clawing sense of guilt. "I...I have a son !"

"So go visit him; what are you waiting around here for?"

"I have a son! I don't know anything about him! I don't know where he was raised, if he even…how, what. He's American ."

"We're not all bad," Hogan defended. "I suppose you could hate him for that, but."

"I don't hate him!" Klink sat up. "I don't know him. He doesn't know me. What if he thinks I'm awful? Does it matter if he thinks I'm awful? Oh, what if he thinks that I'm an absolute coward, be quiet!" he snapped at Hogan before the man could open his mouth.

"Well…you could go visit him."

"No. I cannot."

"What about his," the words trailed off. "Mother?"

"What about her?" Klink demanded. "She is," he rubbed his forehead. "None of your concern."

"Alright, but if she comes here and."

"Comes here?" Klink laughed, hollow. "I doubt she will be too concerned, her husband."

"Husband?"

"Husband," he waved a hand.

"How is the sergeant, we are pretty worried about him since he collapsed in the middle of roll call."

"He…he is going to be fine. The surgeons removed the bone fragment and drained the wound. He is now in recovery. Hogan! I realize that this news is deeply alarming, but if your men attempt anything or retaliation."

"Why would we do that?" Pressing a hand to his chest, Hogan looked hurt.

"He is…my son." Klink blustered.

"He's an American," the man said, and the German appreciated the fact that he wasn't digging that point in. "And my man."

"He is my son."

"And I'm his CO."

"He's my son!" Klink jumped to his feet.

"And my soldier," Hogan straightened, "and I can sympathize, but I'm not letting anything happen to one of my men just because he's related to you."

"I!" Klink puffed up with anger, only to deflate as he realized what the man meant. "Oh…you'll…look after him then?"

"I'm the senior POW officer."

"Yes, well."

"But for his safety, we can put him."

"In the VIP quarters!"

"No," Hogan said so flatly that it deflated the man. "The infirmary."

"Will Sergeant Wilson look after him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, when he returns from the hospital…the infirmary will be ready?"

"I mean, it's already ready."

"Right, of course." For a long moment, the two colonel's shared the silence.

"Hell of a shock," Hogan finally said, and the German laughed bitterly.

"I would have done right by her," he said eventually, sounding older than ever. "I would have. We might not have been perfect, but I would have."

"I believe you."

"Why…why did she think I was so unworthy to be her husband? To be a father? I think…I think I would have made a decent father." Watery blue eyes fixed on Hogan, who shrugged. "I would have tried my best."

"Well," pursing his lips, Hogan struggled to find something to say. "Talk to him. Maybe you'll like the man he's turned out to be."

"He won't talk to me," Klink mourned. "Name, rank, and serial number."

"He's dedicated."

"Do you think he suspects?"

"I'd…talk to him," Hogan suggested. "Or, better yet, let me talk to him."

"You?"

"Sure, do you think he's going to talk to a prison kommandant about his personal life without the go-ahead from his CO? Besides, you could use that sort of information."

"I would never!"

"And," Hogan placated him. "He has every reason to suspect."

"But," subsiding, he scrubbed at his eyes before polishing his monocle. "Very well…if you'll talk to him."

"It will cost you," Hogan warned.

Klink sighed; of course, it would. It always did.

#$#$3

William was bored. Pain was one thing, but once you adapted to it, you needed something else to occupy yourself. Which was why he'd coaxed the nurse to give him a paper and some broken pencils. It hadn't taken long to put her likeness down on the paper and then fill it in with some background flowers and trees. He'd done the same to the next nurse, and by the third nurse, the news had spread, and he had several sheets of paper, a much better pen, and a few more pencils.

He'd gotten a decent sketch of his doctor, a nearly perfect rendition of the orderly who had fallen asleep in the chair just inside his room and was in the final stages of adding the background of the room when the door opened sharply.

It jerked the orderly awake, and William blinked up at the sight of Kommdandant Klink.

"Ah! Sergeant…you're awake." Out of the corner of his eye, William noticed the orderly's mouth drop open as he looked between the colonel and the sergeant. "Wonderful."

It didn't look like the man thought the situation was wonderful. The older Klink looked like he was going to be sick.

"Colonel." He would have straightened, but his arm was immobilized, and he didn't have the energy. Any question on his tongue died away as Colonel Hogan poked his head around.

"Sergeant! How are you feeling?"

"Sir?" He struggled to figure out what was going on. "I…I don't remember what happened."

"You collapsed during roll call," Hogan perched on the side of his bed while Kling fluttered by the door. "Pretty suddenly, too, scared the hell out of the guards. But you're doing well now. They say that they got everything out, and it doesn't look like sepsis."

"That's good, sir."

"Very good," Hogan's eyes twinkled. "But you'll be in the infirmary for a while once we get you back. Don't worry; it's practically the warmest place in camp."

"Yes, sir." William wasn't exactly sure what was happening, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. Did the two have an agreement? Was Hogan here to soften him up?

"Hey, these are great." Hogan plucked the first portrait from the pile. "Wow, she's a beauty."

"Thank you, sir."

"And your drawing is good."

"Thank you, sir." He watched the Kommdant lurk a little closer, peering over Hogan's shoulder at the picture and then at William. 'Is…everything alright?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"You're…here." He gestured with his pencil.

"I am the Senior Prisoner of War officer," Hogan said plainly.

But why was he here ? "Yes, sir." Why was Klink here ?