See Part One for warning/title/disclaimer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was good to have the whole group gathered around the table, eating and drinking together, celebrating Kinch's return as if he were the prodigal son. Schultz didn't seem to mind whatever conversation was going on around him that he shouldn't hear. He gobbled the goodies LeBeau provided and before long, was sitting at the end of the table, laughing at Kinch's impersonation of Stalag 14's stout, officious kommandant, complete with a raspy, nasal-twang that grated on the nerves of the prisoners and guards alike. Apparently he was a humane man, but a bit of a caricature all the same.

A knock at the window temporarily interrupted the festivities, and LeBeau hurried over to see what it was. McAllister was crouched by the window.

"Burkhalter's car just came through the gates," he whispered.

"Oh, no. Thanks, McAllister." LeBeau turned back toward the expectant looking group. "Burkhalter just arrived."

"Oh, brother," Hogan said, looking at the table of debauched food and the semi-inebriated men sitting around it. The name "Burkhalter" seemed to be bringing them around quickly. "Move the stove and dump everything on the table down the tunnel."

"But there are dishes and wine and–"

"Carter, we've got about two minutes to clean this up. Now move!" Hogan shouted, getting out of his chair more swiftly than he had moved in weeks. Kinch and Newkirk opened the tunnel entrance while the others gathered around the dining table and carried it to the opening. Together, they simply tipped it, and what didn't go down the hole on its own was given a helpful push or kick. Meanwhile, Hogan wheeled the serving cart back to the kitchen while Schultz and LeBeau raced around the sitting room picking up all evidence of before-dinner cocktails and snacks. Both winced when they heard various crashes from the kitchen, and didn't even want to imagine what Hogan was doing with the incriminating evidence he found there.

"I hope he saves the cake," Schultz said as he and LeBeau stuffed the dirty glasses and plates into a nearby cabinet.

********

Klink was enjoying the last of his wine, his dinner plate empty, when Burkhalter and another, more decorated officer strode in the door of his quarters.

"General Burkhalter, what a pleasant surprise." His heart dropped into his shoes at the thought of the merriment the prisoners were making, with his authorization, over in the guest quarters.

"I have been in Hammelburg on business all day, and I am tired. I do not wish to return to Berlin tonight. You will have your guest quarters prepared."

"Of course, Herr General," Klink responded. Though Hogan was in the more desirable of the guest units, Klink did have an additional space, and he would give Burkhalter his quarters and take the guest room himself. Klink picked up the phone and called the guard on duty. "Have the guest quarters made up immediately, and send someone to prepare my room for General Burkhalter at once," Klink ordered. After hanging up, Burkhalter shook his head.

"I prefer the guest quarters, Klink. There is no need to give me your room."

"But, sir, Colonel Hogan–"

"What about Colonel Hogan? What does this have to do with him?"

"Since his operation, he's been recuperating in the guest quarters. It was doctor's orders," Klink hastened to add as Burkhalter gave him a wide-eyed look that warned of an impending explosion.

"You would inconvenience a General of the Fuhrer's Staff to accommodate the comfort of a prisoner of war?!"

"I thought lodging here might be more convenient for you, sir."

"Why?"

"Well...you're already here," Klink offered, wondering how he could possibly say something so stupid.

"And given two minutes, I could be there." Burkhalter shook his head. "I've seen what I came to see, Klink. You are still coddling Hogan and treating him as a guest and not a prisoner. Nowhere in the Geneva Convention does it mention opening your guest quarters to sick prisoners. That's why you have an infirmary, and if Hogan is unwell, he must be lodged there."

"Our infirmary is in very poor condition, Herr General. There is a leak in the roof and the mattresses–"

"You are still arguing with me, Klink." Burkhalter didn't wait for a response before continuing. "I'm breaking up this little friendship of yours, Klink. You have lost sight of who the enemy is. There is nothing like a little time at the Eastern Front to bring that into very clear focus," he concluded, smiling wickedly. "Within the next few days, another officer will arrive to take your place. Meanwhile, you should busy yourself with putting the camp in order. You will stay on a few days to familiarize the new man, and then you will be transferred to a combat unit."

"But, Herr General, I have never been anything but loyal to the Fatherland–"

"Then I am sure you stand ready to serve the Fuhrer were you are most needed. At the moment, that is somewhere outside of Moscow." Burkhalter started for the door.

"I thought you were staying the night, sir," Klink said.

"I wouldn't dream of inconveniencing Colonel Hogan. You have made a very unwise choice here, Klink. I hope it was worth it." With that, Burkhalter walked out the door and got into his staff car, which then sped away and through the front gates.

********

Klink walked into the guest quarters and was stunned at what he saw. The sitting room was in perfect order, and only Hogan sat on the couch in his pajamas and robe, reading a book. LeBeau was in the kitchen washing dinner dishes, the water and quiet sounds of plates and utensils being moved about were audible where Klink stood.

"I thought Burkhalter would be with you," Hogan said, letting out a long breath. "I'm afraid you're missing a few plates. We had to clean up pretty fast."

"How did you get everything so pristine so quickly?" Klink almost forgot his misery for a moment. The prisoners couldn't have even been finished eating their meal when Burkhalter arrived, let alone dispersed and back to the barracks.

"You really don't want to know."

"Burkhalter is transferring me to the Russian Front." Klink sat on the other end of the couch.

"Why?" Hogan asked, his voice rising. "I thought he was going to let this whole issue about the hospital and the blood donation slide."

"He showed up here tonight and wanted to stay in the guest quarters," Klink explained, and Hogan closed his eyes, his face falling.

"And you objected because I was here."

"I was offering him my room, and I was going to take the lesser quarters. I have another guest room."

"That wasn't the point." Hogan sighed. "He was testing you."

"And as usual, I failed."

"I could have moved."

"There was no need. I offered him the best we had here for accommodations." Klink got up and started pacing. "I'm finished, Hogan. It's over."

"I told you we wouldn't let that happen, and I meant it. I just need time to think. When is he transferring you?"

"Probably within the week. In a few days, a new kommandant arrives, and I'm to familiarize him with the camp before I leave."

"That buys us some time." Hogan started to get up, and smiled when Klink automatically turned and offered him a hand, which he took, grateful for the help. He could make it up from the couch now, but every motion seemed to pull on his incision and irritate his ribs. "I'll think of something."

"Let's face it, Hogan, there isn't much way to undo this."

"He's been ready to skin you alive before. Hell, he's been ready to shoot you before, and we've figured something out."

"You've figured something out. I've never been that clever at your kind of games."

"We need one of two things. Either something to use as leverage over Burkhalter, or we need to do something that makes you look so good you can name your own ticket, and it lays to rest this fraternization/treason thing once and for all."

"Yes, that's true. All we need is for the heavens to open and miracle to occur."

"It's not quite that impossible, Kommandant."

"Then what are we going to do?"

"First, you're going to quit panicking and expecting the worst."

"I've been sentenced to the Eastern Front, Hogan. Burkhalter might as well have taken out his side arm and shot me."

"Now that would have been tougher to solve." Hogan rubbed his chin, frowning. "Burkhalter have any skeletons in his closet?"

"I beg your pardon?" Klink asked, looking horrified. "If I knew of such a thing, I would–"

"It's an expression, Kommandant," Hogan said, smiling. "Does he have any dirty little secrets you know of?"

"Oh." Klink nodded. "I'm always amused by your American expressions, Hogan." Klink paused. "He has a weakness for pretty frauleins."

"That saved your neck once before, as I recall."

"Ah, yes, Fraulein Wesker. I always wondered who took those photographs. She was a pretty girl, I must say."

"There is the fact that he knew the truth about Von Gruner, and said nothing to the Gestapo. Still hasn't."

"But if I admit I knew the truth about Von Gruner and lied to the Gestapo, I'd probably be executed."

"The point is, are your nerves steady enough to threaten Burkhalter?"

"Hogan, if he puts me to the test, my talking to the Gestapo will not only result in my own death, but in very slow, unpleasant deaths for you and your men. Besides, we already threatened him with that, and it obviously didn't keep him from this."

"He's betting you're too scared of Hochstetter and his goons to blow the whistle. He's figuring you'll go to the Eastern Front in the vain hopes of living through it, rather than face a certain and unpleasant death at the hands of the Gestapo right now. Plus, he feels we've formed an alliance, so he figures you won't sell me down the river that easily. We have to convince him that you will."

"He has better standing with the Fuhrer than I do."

"But he lied. To the Gestapo and to Hitler. And to anyone else he's talked to about Von Gruner. Burkhalter knew who really assaulted LeBeau, and he didn't tell." Hogan smiled evilly. "What we need is for Burkhalter to be visited by the Gestapo, with a whole lot of questions."

"If we tell them anything, we'll both be executed, so it won't be much satisfaction if Burkhalter meets a bad end."

"I wasn't talking about real Gestapo."

"Oh, good heavens, Hogan." Klink sank into a chair, going pale before Hogan's eyes. "Tell me that you don't have connections in the Gestapo."

"I don't have connections in the Gestapo," Hogan replied honestly.

"You expect me to believe you? You're a habitual liar, Hogan. You're the most unrepentant liar I've ever met."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Klink," Hogan shot back, a bit insulted. "I don't have connections in the Gestapo, but that doesn't mean I can't come up with a couple of 'Gestapo' men," Hogan made quote marks in the air.

"We could be shot just for having this discussion," Klink said miserably.

"And you think you're going to last at the Russian Front?"

"No, I know how things are going there."

"All right, then. We've got one shot at this, and we have to make it convincing. Lying to the Gestapo is the fastest way to get yourself killed. We have to convince Burkhalter not only that you will talk, but that you have talked."

"But if he thinks the Gestapo already knows, what would be the value in him trying to buy my silence? If he thinks I've already talked–"

"That's why our Gestapo man is going to have a price."

"You're going to send a Gestapo man to blackmail Burkhalter?"

"It's convoluted, but bear with me." Hogan sat back down again, resting his hand on his side a moment.

"You're still in a lot of pain?" Klink asked.

"More than I'd like to be," Hogan responded honestly. "Having these accommodations to recover...I hope you know I appreciate it."

"I know," Klink said, nodding. "Now, about your plan?"

"We send a Gestapo man to Burkhalter...say, a major? He has the goods about Von Gruner from having questioned you. You no longer have anything to lose, so you've squealed on Burkhalter. Now our crooked Gestapo major decides there's money to be made by selling his silence to Burkhalter."

"But if I've already 'talked', what would be the point in Burkhalter buying this man off?"

"He has you under house arrest here in Stalag 13. You're sitting in the cooler awaiting your fate. But see, if Burkhalter buys this guy off, you pose a problem. He can send you to the Russian Front, but you'll be singing like a canary all the way." At Klink's puzzled expression, Hogan added, "Telling your story to everyone who'll listen." Klink nodded. "If he shoots you in cold blood, he has to explain it. If he assembles a firing squad, he not only has to tell them something in order for them to shoot you, but he runs the risk of you again telling your story. The only way he can get your silence is if you consent to keep quiet."

"What's to stop him from murdering me in my bed some night?"

"Nothing, really, except that I know the truth. And all my men know. And he has no clue how many contacts I have on the outside. Burkhalter always suspected me of something more than just getting under your skin a little, but he can't prove it. Still, he can't just shoot every prisoner in this camp, shoot me, and be sure even then he's killed everyone who knew the truth. Besides, you have a safe deposit box."

"I do?"

"You will."

"What will I put in it?"

"A letter explaining all of this."

"Hogan, if anyone else were to open it–"

"You're not going to put anything real in there. Burkhalter only has to think it's there. You really don't even need the box. This is all a game. An illusion."

"I see. So I let on that even though I've agreed to keep silent, I have a letter in a safe deposit box that tells the whole story?"

"Right. And that you have left instructions for the box to be opened and the letter acted upon in the event of your death or extreme disability. You could make such an arrangement with your lawyer. Again, you wouldn't need to actually put anything worthwhile in it. But if Burkhalter wanted to check it out, you could have the arrangement made and the box in your name."

"So I would tell Burkhalter that if he restores my command and permits me to continue functioning here at Stalag 13, I will keep silent?"

"Right."

"Hogan, you're right, it's terribly convoluted. And where are you going to get this Gestapo man?"

"Same place I get all my Gestapo men, but you don't need to know any more about that."

"How do we set this in motion?"

"First, go get the box tomorrow. See your lawyer and tell him that in the event of your death, you want the box opened, but that you are not providing him the key prior to your death, due to the confidential nature of the documents you're keeping there. You can make up some location here in your quarters where you plan to hide the key."

"All right, I can do that."

"Let me know when that's done, and we'll take it from there."

"How can you do this, Hogan? Blackmailing a general? Phony Gestapo officers?"

"Trade secrets. You're going to have to play your role well, and you're going to need steady nerves. I know you can do this, but you can't chicken out on me in the middle of it. You'll have to play it exactly as I tell you, or we're all dead."

"Right. I will do that."

"Okay. Try to get a good night's sleep tonight, and we'll launch Operation Boomerang first thing in the morning."

"Operation Boomerang," Klink repeated in a hushed, confidential tone. "Oh, this is exciting. Do you name all your operations?"

"Only the exciting ones," Hogan responded, somewhat amused by Klink's enthusiasm.

********

They had been lying there together a long time, neither one of them sleeping. LeBeau was curled against Hogan's good side, head resting on his chest, Hogan's arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close. As long as at least one of them remained awake, they could risk a few hours like this. Schultz was on guard duty, and the last time LeBeau looked out, he was snoring evenly where he sat on the porch. The younger guards usually didn't bother to wake him, and Klink knew they weren't going to try to escape through the night, so the chances of him showing up were slim to none.

"The pills make you tired, but you're still awake," LeBeau finally said.

"This is risky, this whole thing we're doing with Klink."

"Are you thinking we should cut our losses?"

"The only way we could do that would be to shut down the operation and put the emergency plan into motion. Get everybody out as quickly as possible, destroy the radio, burn everything..."

"Leave Klink behind to face a firing squad."

"More or less." Hogan sighed. "Fooling Klink is one thing–half the time he either didn't figure out what we were doing, or if he did, he turned his head. If he'd acted on any of his suspicions, I'd have been strung up in a Gestapo jail years ago."

"You think he protected you intentionally?" LeBeau raised up on one elbow, and Hogan turned to look at him in the shadowy room.

"Yes, I do. Maybe not for me personally at the outset, but because Klink doesn't have a stomach for torture and senseless brutality."

"He was ready to turn you over to the Gestapo before. When that Major Pruhst showed up and was trying to identify you?"

"He cooperated with him, but he didn't really help him. Besides, I never said Klink was particularly courageous or heroic. I think he would have preferred to see me strung up by the Gestapo rather than himself, given a choice," Hogan concluded with a smile.

"And now?"

"Now...I don't know. He's risked his life to help us...to help me."

"We've bailed him out plenty of times."

"For our own purposes."

"True," LeBeau conceded, nodding. "But maybe he doesn't look at it that way. Maybe he doesn't realize how selfish everything we've ever done for him has really been."

"In a bizarre sort of way, I hope he does," Hogan said, staring at the ceiling now. "Because if not, he's willing to risk everything to help and defend a friend who really isn't all he seems."

"You've become a good friend to Klink. You aren't willing to sell him out, put him at undue risk, or leave him for dead even if it's safer for yourself or the operation. When he started actively showing you friendship, you returned it. No one can ask more than that of a friend."

"Maybe not. Maybe it's just hitting me how many times I've let Klink be put on the line or threatened with execution, exile to Russia, or some other equally unpleasant fate to accomplish something I wanted to do."

"It's not like you did it for laughs or for your own gain. It was part of the operation. And he's not dead or fighting it out in Russia yet, so you obviously didn't throw him to the lions to get what you wanted."

"I don't know how long we can keep up the operation if I'm not willing to use Klink that way anymore."

"Is that how you feel?"

"He risked accusations of treason to save my life. He gave his blood to an enemy officer. He even turned Burkhalter down tonight because he didn't want to shoo me out of the guest quarters when he didn't have clearance from my doctor. I may be a professional liar and career spy, but there are a few things even I won't do to a friend."

"You lie to the enemy, Colonel. Not to the people who matter to you. Not to your friends."

"That's kind of my point, Louis. I didn't want to be friends with Klink because I knew it would be tricky. I knew I wouldn't have it in me to stick it to him and sell him down the river if the occasion called for it."

"You thought about being friends with Klink before now?" LeBeau asked, puzzled.

"Sometimes. You spend three years in a place with someone, and you get to know them. Klink's never been abusive to us, he's a pretty fair chess player, and I think there are times he's wanted to be friends with me. We're of equal rank..."

"Klink is nothing like you. He certainly doesn't have your brains or your courage."

"Klink's not as dumb as he looks, and he's got courage when it means enough to him to call on it. I guess that's the part that gets to me the most–that my being near death motivated him to do that."

"Don't get me wrong, he saved your life, and for that, I owe him an enormous debt of gratitude. I would never want us to sell him out, either. I'm just surprised that you ever thought of Klink as more than a means to an end before this."

"He's a human being. There were a few times I cringed at putting him through the paces we did. I don't cringe at shooting at Hochstetter's feet and making him dance, but Klink isn't a sadist, and he has no real stomach for cruelty, as much as he likes to pretend he does."

"We're doing what we can to help him, and we'll just have to adjust our thinking with the operation to include him in our protection. We usually do, but we'll just have to be a little less ruthless with scaring him silly in the future," LeBeau added, smiling. Hogan chuckled at that.

"You don't know how much I want to make love with you right now," Hogan said, reaching up to cup LeBeau's cheek in his hand.

"There's nothing stopping us," LeBeau replied softly, turning to kiss the palm of the hand against his cheek.

"I'm not very athletic yet, and I'm not going to just lie here and let you...service me while I do nothing for you."

"We can use our hands, and that won't force you to move around too much. And I know I'll sure enjoy it," LeBeau added, grinning. Hogan pulled him forward for a long kiss, keeping him there so their tongues could spar and explore, putting every bit of his passion and imagination into the kiss to compensate for his inability to engage in more exotic lovemaking.

LeBeau's hand slipped inside Hogan's pajama pants, wrapping around the already hardening organ there. Hogan made short work of getting his hand past the annoying buttons on the longjohns LeBeau was wearing. With their hands pleasuring each other, they settled into long, deep, lazy kisses.

"J'aime la façon vous me touchez," LeBeau gasped against Hogan's mouth. "Plus dur, l'amant. Faire m'est venu."

"I don't know what you said," Hogan panted, "but I love the way you said it," he concluded, smothering any more words in any language with another breath-stealing kiss.

"Demain la nuit, je vais embrasser chaque pouce de vous," LeBeau promised, knowing Hogan had no clue that he was vowing to kiss every part of him the next night, but the reaction of the hard shaft in his hand told him that just the sound of his voice and the French words, low and husky during their lovemaking, was enough.

They came within seconds of each other, then snuggled together, kissing and nibbling at each other, basking in the lazy afterglow.

"Qu'avez-vous dit?" Hogan asked, rolling his eyes at how he fumbled over the words, compared to the fluid way they seemed to roll off LeBeau's tongue.

"Your pronunciations are getting better, mon amour." LeBeau rubbed noses with Hogan, making him smile. "I said that tomorrow night, I was going to kiss every part of you."

"That's one phrase that withstands translation well," Hogan responded, kissing Louis again and nuzzling his neck. "What's wrong with tonight?"

"Tonight, you need some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow, and you need your rest." LeBeau started to get up, and Hogan held him back with surprising strength.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Just for a washcloth, mon bien-aimé." LeBeau kissed Hogan's forehead.

"What is that? Bien-aime?" Hogan asked, and LeBeau hesitated at the edge of the bed, glad Hogan couldn't see him blushing in the darkened room.

"I called you 'my sweetheart'," he mumbled. "I know it probably sounds silly."

"Why would it sound silly?" Hogan still held LeBeau's hand tightly in his own. "How could it be silly that you love me enough to call me that?"

"Je ne sais pas," LeBeau said, not really thinking about the fact Hogan probably didn't understand that he'd said 'I don't know.' He spoke more French with Hogan than he did in any other setting, now that he was away from other French-speaking people. He loved the way Hogan struggled to keep up with him, asked for translations, and did his best to stumble through learning a few phrases in return. "I don't know," he translated. "I thought maybe it would bother you."

"It doesn't. If I can go through World War II with people calling me 'Papa Bear', 'sweetheart' shouldn't upset me too much." Hogan grinned devilishly, and LeBeau laughed.

********

Klink set out for town early in the morning to execute the business Hogan had outlined for him. Meanwhile, Hogan summoned Newkirk, Carter, Baker, Kinch, and Olson to the guest quarters to join LeBeau and himself in discussing strategy.

"This is a dangerous assignment, which is why I'll be asking for volunteers only," Hogan began. Sitting there with his men, planning another operation, dressed in uniform again, the only thing constantly reminding Hogan he was not his old self was the nagging pain in his side. He was living for the day when that, too, faded to a less noticeable level. "I'm going to need a Gestapo officer and a driver."

Newkirk and Carter exchanged slightly uneasy looks, knowing they were the usual choices for Gestapo men. Neither Kinch or Baker could play the roles in person, though they were outstanding for the telephone jobs. LeBeau could do it, but his height was a very distinct characteristic that might help identify him later, which was a key reason Hogan rarely put him in a "front-and-center" role in German uniform. Olson was a possible choice for the driver, but he was positively awful with a German accent.

"What's the assignment, Colonel?" Carter asked.

"You all know Burkhalter was here last night."

"It took us an hour to clean up the tunnel after dumping the table down there. We remember, sir," Newkirk said, and the group chuckled.

"Hey, who tipped us off about him, anyway? All the guys from our barracks were at the party," Hogan recalled.

"McAllister," LeBeau responded. "I almost didn't take him seriously at first, but I figured he wouldn't have the nerve to lie again."

"I still think he belongs in the cooler for life," Newkirk stated, shaking his head.

"You know my feelings on the McAllister matter," Hogan said, putting an effective end to the discussion. "The assignment is this. Burkhalter is transferring Klink to the Russian Front because of the degree of friendship, allegiance, help, whatever you want to call it, that Klink's given me in the last couple months. The real capper was when Burkhalter showed up here last night to use the guest quarters and Klink didn't immediately evict me and stick me in the infirmary."

"But the roof leaks in there and the beds are terrible," Carter protested.

"Right, it's on the list of things I need to negotiate with Klink to repair, ironically. The point is, Burkhalter was irate with Klink for not just moving me aside, and it was the finishing touch on Burkhalter's feeling that Klink and I are getting too friendly. So within the next couple of days, a new kommandant will arrive, and after Klink briefs him on a few things, he's off to battle, unless we do something to stop it."

"How can we stop it, sir? We can't undo what Klink's already done," Newkirk said.

"Really? This is the same group that got him off the hook for conspiring to depose Burkhalter. We can do this. It's just going to be a little tricky, and a lot dangerous. Klink is in town right now getting a safe deposit box at one of the banks, and then visiting his lawyer. It's part of the plan–"

"Wait, Colonel, sorry to interrupt, but Klink is part of the operation? Knowingly?" Olson asked, eyes widening.

"He has to be. You see, the only hammer Klink still has over Burkhalter's head is that he might talk to the Gestapo about the fact he lied about Von Gruner. Burkhalter knew the truth about what went on here, and even if he doesn't know what became of Von Gruner exactly, he knows we had good reason to go after him, and he kept silent."

"That was in our favor, Colonel," Baker said.

"Right, it was, but it's also the only leverage we have. Or I should say, it's the only leverage Klink has."

"But if Burkhalter lied, then it means Klink lied, so he'd be turning himself in to the Gestapo, and we all know Klink wouldn't do that," Kinch said.

"He might even be able to get himself off the hook if he said he was under orders from Burkhalter to keep silent, and if he's headed for the Russian Front, he has considerably less to lose. We just have to convince Burkhalter that Klink has already talked."

"Then how would we be able to blackmail Burkhalter?" Newkirk asked.

"By sending him a crooked Gestapo major who simply wants to cash in on the information he's gained. Klink supposedly 'talks' to this guy, who in turn sees the golden opportunity to make the situation pay. Burkhalter's got money, and he doesn't want to end up in front of a firing squad. He's on the Fuhrer's staff, and he lied about something directly related to the fate of a field marshal. He's a dead man if that gets out."

"Suppose he pays off this Gestapo man. What's to stop him from knocking off Klink?" Olson asked.

"If he shoots Klink in cold blood for no good reason, he has a lot of explaining to do. Plus, Klink's not the only one who knows. He could kill me, but all you guys know. He could kill all of us, but that would be messy and require a lot of explanation and paperwork. Even if the Fuhrer has no use for prisoners, and even if mass shootings are okay with the illustrious Third Reich, I'm sure they like to know why an entire camp full of prisoners are just...killed. And even if he were to undertake this massive bloodbath to protect himself, he has no way of knowing who my contacts might be on the outside. He could arrest me and torture me to find out, but even then, I might not talk, or if I did, I might lie to him. And after all was said and done and he'd mass murdered everyone he thought might know, there might still be that one person who still knows, that he doesn't know about." Hogan shook his head a minute, smiling. "Did everybody follow that?"

"I'm getting there, sir," Carter said honestly as the others nodded.

"That's where Klink's lawyer and his safe deposit box comes in. He'll offer Burkhalter his silence in return for the restoration of his command and no further threats of the Eastern Front or more direct forms of execution. In the event of his death or severe disability–just in case Burkhalter was thinking of an accidental demise short of death–there is a letter in a safe deposit box that Klink's lawyer has instructions to open."

"Burkhalter could go after the lawyer," Baker said.

"He could, but again, we start that whole chain of killing that there's really no end to. Klink is the tip of a very large, very deadly iceberg, and Burkhalter is the Titanic."

"Now there's an analogy that works," Newkirk agreed, laughing.

"The point is, killing any one person involved in this mess is no guarantee of safety–anymore than the captain of the Titanic could have chopped off enough of the iceberg to glide over it. He had to go around it, and leave it in place. Running into it did him in. Burkhalter is going to have to go around Klink and the iceberg beneath him. We just have to point out the iceberg." 

"I guess it's no secret who you're looking at for volunteers, Colonel," Carter said. "Newkirk and I are about the best krauts you've got."

"No arguments there. But I won't order you to do it. This whole operation is a house of cards that one good wind could blow over. If it works, our operation will be as secure as possible for as long as we're here. If it fails, we could all end up dead, or in a Gestapo basement somewhere."

"Can't say I'm looking forward to it, sir," Newkirk added, sighing. "Which one of us do you want to do the talking to Burkhalter?"

"You," Hogan said. "Carter, your kraut accent is fantastic, but Burkhalter's heard you do Hitler before from just a few feet away, in person. I don't want to risk him picking up on anything familiar."

"No worries here, boy. I mean, sir. I don't mind playing the driver. Congratulations, buddy," Carter said to Newkirk, who shot him a venomous look.

"Oh, leave off."

"Well, Newkirk?" Hogan asked. "I'm not gonna push you. I mean that."

"I know, sir, but if you're really convinced this'll save the operation, then I'm in."

"Me, too," Carter agreed, nodding.

"Thanks, guys."

For the next half hour, the group planned the operation in detail. Newkirk would play the role of Major Neuchterlein, the crooked Gestapo major who would claim to have taken Klink's statement in a confidential meeting at Stalag 13. Klink would be lodged in the cooler once the operation was in motion, and two of their best agents from the Underground would assume the roles of a Gestapo captain and a Gestapo sergeant temporarily in charge of Stalag 13 while Klink was being "investigated."

Major Neuchterlein would tell Burkhalter in some detail what Klink had told him about the Von Gruner situation, and Burkhalter's silence and subsequent obfuscations with the Gestapo. He would offer Burkhalter the option to pay him off with 50,000 marks, or face rigorous Gestapo interrogation. On the subject of Klink, Neuchterlein would tell Burkhalter it was up to him to negotiate a deal with the kommandant, but he would subtly suggest that striking such a deal would be preferable to dealing with Klink in a manner that might raise additional questions. After all, Neuchterlein would claim he had something to lose if Klink's fate drew too much attention.

Upon payment of the hush money, Neuchterlein would order Klink released from the cooler and withdraw his men from Stalag 13. The hope was that at this point, Burkhalter would arrive to negotiate Klink's silence. Klink would have to carry the final stage of the operation, demanding the unhampered command of Stalag 13 and an end to harassment and threats of transfer in return for his silence. He would have to do so convincingly, and courageously, and not flinch under Burkhalter's intimidation tactics.

If everyone reacted predictably, and all played their parts flawlessly, the operation would be a smashing success. If they had any unexpected visits from outside while the staged takeover of the camp was in effect, they were finished. Everything hinged on routine being uninterrupted, and all phases of the operation progressing as planned. With very little room for variation, all the men, including Hogan, concluded the meeting with somber faces, muscles tight as bowstrings.

"You are very pale, Mon Colonel," LeBeau said, sitting next to Hogan on the couch. He turned sideways to look at Hogan, feeling his forehead and cheeks. "You're still cool to the touch, so you don't have a fever."

"I'm fine, Louis. You just changed the dressing on my incision this morning, and it's looking great. No sign of infection. I'm just worried about this operation. I'm worried how London is going to react."

"You dictated the message word-for-word that you wanted Kinch to send. They have to know that we've been really compromised here in the last several months."

"They see that as my fault for not handling the Von Gruner situation better." Hogan rubbed his forehead tiredly. "They're right. It's ironic. I should have killed the bastard when I had the chance, but no, I had to send him to the Allies, alive."

"They were happy with the information they got from him, weren't they?"

"Sure, but at what cost? If we'd shoved him down in the tunnel, put a bullet in his head and buried him down there somewhere, the Gestapo wouldn't have anything to ask questions about."

"And you wouldn't have anything to hold over Burkhalter's head, either. Even if you'd killed Von Gruner, it wouldn't eliminate the necessity of us doing something to save Klink because of what he did for you–and we wouldn't have anything to use."

"You were so angry at me for not killing him, and now you're telling me I did the right thing?"

"I believe in your decisions, even if I don't like them. I was angry with my lover for not taking revenge on Von Gruner. But I respected my colonel for doing what was right, for doing what was the best for the war effort. That is, after I cooled off about it," LeBeau admitted, smiling.

"We'll make sure he pays for what he did to you after the war."

"He doesn't matter anymore. All he'll be is a has-been, and he'll no doubt be tried for war crimes. If I am needed to testify...I will do it."

"You're really amazing, you know that?"

"I am?" LeBeau responded, grinning.

"Yeah, you are. Must be why I love you so much." Hogan leaned over for a kiss, and it was returned with enthusiasm. When they parted, he rested his forehead against LeBeau's. "You know I wanted to kill him. Horribly, cruelly, with my bare hands," he admitted quietly.

"I know, mon amour. But if you had, you wouldn't be you. And I love you."

********

Kinch and Baker went directly into the barracks, hoping to have some undisturbed time with the radio to send the message to London as Hogan had dictated it. Carter grabbed Newkirk's sleeve, pulling him back outside as he started into the barracks.

"Look," he said, pointing to a photo tacked to the bulletin board on the exterior of the barracks. Hogan and LeBeau were locked in an embrace, Hogan seated at his desk, LeBeau standing next to him, arms wrapped around one another. There was nothing sexual in the scene, but it certainly indicated a level of emotional intimacy and physical closeness Hogan didn't share with all his men.

"Where's Olson? He knows those jerks in Barracks 9. I bet this is some'a their work."

"What do you make of it?" Carter asked.

"They've got all their clothes on and they're not doing anything, so what am I supposed to make of it? The picture's not too clear, but look at Colonel Hogan's face, the part of it you can see." Newkirk pointed at it. "I'll have to get my magnifying glass out to know for sure, but it looks like he was still bruised up pretty badly."

"If so, he sure wouldn't be looking to do anything...well...you know..." Carter trailed off, shifting a little uneasily where he stood. "I mean you're not thinking about that if you're all banged up."

"You might be thinkin' about it, but you're not up to doing anything about it." Newkirk stared at the photo. "Whatever it was, it sure wasn't something the colonel wanted tacked up on the bulletin board."

"You know, the pressure on Colonel Hogan's gotta be pretty intense all the time. He was hurt real badly... I guess it's not so strange, you know, that he'd... Lean on somebody a little."

"Not strange at all." Newkirk shrugged. "I shouldn't have said that to LeBeau before. You know, I never would think Colonel Hogan would be doing something like that with one of us. I guess after what Louis went through..."

"You were just looking out for LeBeau, even though it did come out sounding pretty horrible about Colonel Hogan. I mean, he'd never do a thing like that."

"Yeah, I know," Newkirk admitted, nodding. "Let's find Olson and go pay the boys in Barracks 9 a little visit."

"Hey, there's McAllister. You think he'd know which one of the guys in his barracks had a camera?"

"You want to trust him to tell you that? For all we know, the little sod did it himself."

"What've you got there?" Olson emerged from the barracks, and Carter handed him the photo. "Where'd you get this?"

"It was tacked up on the bulletin board," Carter explained.

"You got any ideas who over in Barracks 9 has a camera?" Newkirk asked.

"No," Olson began, tapping the photo against his fingers, "but I got a real good idea who would take this picture."

"Who?" Carter asked.

"Raymond, maybe with Garner playing along," Olson responded. "Daniels said they're the ring leaders over there–guys Matthews had picked out to be on his first string team."

"What d'you make of our pal, McAllister?" Newkirk asked.

"Don't know. He did tip us off to Burkhalter showing up last night," Olson said, then laughed. "Now there's a moment I'd have paid good money to have a camera for. When Colonel Hogan told us to empty the table down the tunnel."

"I'd'a rather had a camera to see what Colonel Hogan did with all the stuff in the kitchen. We should've put him on KP years ago," Carter said, snorting a laugh.

"If we were allowed to throw out the dishes, we'd be better at it, too," Newkirk added, chuckling.

"Let's go have a talk with the gang in 9," Olson suggested.

"Let's get the others first," Carter said. "I'd rather there were more than three of us."

"Good thinking, Andrew," Newkirk agreed. The three of them went back into the barracks, gathered the other men, and explained what happened. There seemed to be mixed reactions to the photo as it circulated.

"Guess that explains why LeBeau's over in the guest quarters," one of the men said, chuckling.

"You wanna explain yourself, corporal?" Carter asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and trying to look stern. Unless he was in full disguise and shouting in a rasping German accent, looking too threatening was a bit of a challenge for Carter. Still, he managed to make the other man a little uneasy.

"Well, it's kinda obvious Hogan's got something going with LeBeau," he said, passing the picture back from the direction it came until it made its way back to Carter himself.

"What does that picture really show, anyway?" Carter said, looking at it again. "Colonel Hogan almost died from that beating. He coulda passed out and LeBeau caught him for all we know. Besides, any of you guys ever get beaten up that badly?" There were a lot of mumbles and head shakes. "Then how do you know what you'd do in his place?"

"This picture doesn't mean a ruddy thing," Newkirk said. "Nobody's naked, nobody's got 'is hands anywhere they shouldn't be, and Colonel Hogan was so banged up he ended up in surgery, so it's not real likely he was making time with LeBeau or anybody else, is it?"

"In three years, has anybody ever seen Colonel Hogan cry? About anything?" Kinch asked quietly. "He's gotten mad, but has anybody ever seen him get really irrational about it?" Again, the room stayed silent. "He's been nervous about some operations, but has he ever backed down from it? Was there ever a time something went wrong where his response wasn't to blame himself or to wish he'd gone on the mission instead?" When no responses came, Kinch continued. "How many of us could do that non-stop for three years and never need anybody to get close to? I don't mean the way whoever took this picture is tryin' to imply. But just...close. You know. Like you used to be with your brothers, or your buddies at home...hell, your ma, for that matter. The people you could go to when things got rough. Who's Colonel Hogan got?"

"Yeah, and who usually notices or takes care of him–as much as he'll let anybody–when he was sick or something? It's usually been Louis," Carter admitted, nodding. "Remember when he had the flu last year? The rest of us didn't even notice until LeBeau felt his face and he was burning up, and we found out he had a fever of 102 while we were out on that mission. Nobody really thinks about those things with Colonel Hogan because he doesn't complain. LeBeau's the logical person he'd lean on if he wasn't feeling so good."

"Considering his spleen ruptured a couple days after this was taken, it's a good bet he was feeling a little under the weather at the time," Baker stated, shaking his head. "Whoever managed to take this picture oughtta get it jammed down his throat."

"Yeah, with a side'a sauerkraut to go," Kinch added.

"I say we go over to Barracks 9 and have a little talk with the chaps there," Newkirk said, heading for the door. With a free period between work assignments and the exercise period, the prisoners were wandering about the compound at will, and the group from Barracks 2 didn't look much more threatening than any of the other groups who gathered to visit, or shoot horseshoes, except for their obvious sene of purpose as they strode across the camp.

********

"LeBeau, c'mere," Hogan said, looking out the window of the guest quarters. LeBeau was in the kitchen, trying to make some sense out of the chaos Hogan had created there the night before, trying to eradicate all signs of the party in anticipation of Burkhalter barging in on them. In a moment, LeBeau was at his side. He put his arm around him and guided him closer to the window, pointing with his free hand. "Do you know anything about that?" he asked, indicating the group that were moving swiftly toward Barracks 9.

"No, but I can find out," LeBeau said, taking off his apron and wiping his hands on it. "You know, if I didn't love you so much, I'd never speak to you again for what you did to my cake in there," LeBeau indicated the kitchen with a jerk of his thumb.

"What'd you want me to do with it? Tell Burkhalter you made it just in case he visited?"

"It wouldn't be the tallest story you ever told, would it?" LeBeau countered.

"Watch it. You're addressing an officer, you know," Hogan teased. Though he kept his voice commanding, his eyes gave him away.

"Je mendie votre pardon, Mon Colonel," LeBeau retorted, snapping to attention and saluting before shaking his head with a smile and rolling his eyes. "You can't give me a stern look, mon amour. Your eyes always say love even when your mouth is giving orders," LeBeau concluded, stretching up for a kiss, which Hogan was only too happy to meet him halfway to collect.

"I'll come with you. I don't like the looks of this."

"Are you up to the walk?" LeBeau asked, concerned.

"It's not that far. I have to start moving around a little more anyway."

********

Newkirk led the charge into the other barracks, slapping the photo down on the table.

"Who's the joker with the camera?"

The men in the barracks all looked up, a bit startled. It wasn't often they received a visit from all fifteen of the men in another barracks at one time. Most of the standing room and the doorway were dominated by the men from Hogan's barracks.

"Well, whaddya know?" A tall sergeant stood from where he had been playing cards with the rest of the group who had whistled at LeBeau as he crossed the compound the day before. "Look, everybody, it's Hogan's Harem," he joked. His smile was short-lived when Newkirk's fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling. From that point forward, it was hard to tell who was swinging at whom as the confrontation turned into a free-for-all brawl.

********

Hogan was doing his best to keep up a brisk pace as he moved across the compound toward Barracks 9, with LeBeau periodically cautioning him to slow down a bit. He knew something was going to happen, and it wasn't good. It had been in the determination of the stride of the large group of prisoners–apparently all of Barracks 2 except for LeBeau and himself–as they approached the other barracks.

The sounds coming from inside the building were unmistakable as they drew closer. Knowing he didn't have the physical stamina to throw himself into the midst of a thirty-man brawl, Hogan stopped at the door and turned to LeBeau.

"Go find Schultz. The guards have a right to shoot if they can't control rioting prisoners, so don't get any other guard but Schultz. Meantime, send as many men as you see on your way back here to help me break up the brawl."

"Right, Colonel." LeBeau set off across the camp on a dead run, sending at least eight prisoners back to Barracks 9, telling them Hogan needed their help right away.

With his little team assembled, Hogan opened the door to the barracks, and ducked as a stool flew over his head, knocking down one of the prisoners he had with him.

"Break it up! Come on, break it up, now!" he began shouting, having trouble making himself heard over the commotion. "Break it up! That's an order!" Hogan bellowed, and a couple of the men on the periphery of the brawl obeyed, trying to pull their comrades off one another. That gave Hogan's little group a small window of opportunity to get into the barracks and try restraining some of the fighters and pulling them out of the fray. "That's enough! I want everybody at attention, now!" Hogan knew that was a pipedream, but it worked on a few more of the prisoners, who took the direct order from their commanding officer seriously enough to break up their part of the fight.

By the time LeBeau arrived with Schultz and two other guards in tow, the brawl had been reduced to a core group of about ten men who were determined to beat the hell out of each other until their opponents dropped. Schultz tried his whistle, and when that didn't work, he held his rifle pointed upward and opened fire into the air. That worked.

The fighters were reduced to a pile of writhing bodies who had hit the deck, unsure whether the shots were being fired wild in the air or at them.

"On your feet, all of you!" Hogan shouted before Schultz had the chance to open his mouth. "I don't believe this!" Hogan was in full drill sergeant mode, which took most of the men by surprise. Very few had ever had the misfortune to push him this close to his limits. Known for his patience and compassion with his men, by the time Hogan's face flushed with anger and he raised his voice, heads usually rolled. "Do you idiots know how to come to attention or do you all need to go back to private rank and start basic training over again?!"

Schultz stood back, watching, eyes wide.

"But, Colonel–" Newkirk only got that much out.

"Did I grant permission to speak? You're listening to me! All of you! I don't care what started this brawl. There's no excuse for it, so I don't want to hear it! Is that clear? You may respond."

A short, sharp chorus of "Yes, sir" was his reply.

"Look at this barracks! Bunks are broken, furniture's broken. Did you geniuses ever stop to think who has to fix all this stuff? Better yet, who's gonna pay for it? You wanna know something? I'm not sticking up for you this time. This is inexcusable. You all belong in the cooler, because you all know better. My men are better than this, or my command is meaningless."

"Colonel Hogan, request permission to speak, sir," Carter ventured. Hogan was de-escalating a bit, and if anyone could appeal to him as being sincere and repentant, it was Carter.

"Go ahead, Carter."

"There was a picture on the bulletin board outside our barracks, and we know it was somebody in this barracks who put it there. It was pretty clear they were trying to insult you."

"This whole situation insults me, Carter. You know what my feelings are about us fighting each other."

"Right, sir," Newkirk spoke up. "'The Germans are over there'," he quoted Hogan's favorite line when breaking up fights among his men. The first time he'd said it, he'd received the right cross a young private was aiming at his opponent. The young man had lost several years off his life from pure terror when he realized he'd slugged his commanding officer, a full colonel, no less. Hogan had taken it in stride, delivering the line to the terrified soldier that had become his fight-breaking catch phrase.

"I want a very quick, very meaningful explanation of what happened here," Hogan stated, not even acknowledging the throbbing in his side, or the sweat breaking out on his forehead. He knew he was still weak physically, but he'd be damned if he was a weak leader when his men obviously needed a strong one.

"This, sir," Kinch said, having located the photo amidst the debris, handing it to Hogan. "It was on our bulletin board. Some guys from this barracks were wolf-whistling at LeBeau yesterday, and we've heard via the grapevine that those guys were pals with Matthews, and are still having a problem dealing with the fact he's not in charge anymore."

"So you all just came over here and went at it?" Hogan asked, trying to resist staring at the photo. He was embarrassed to have had such a personal moment so widely displayed, and yet the photo itself was beautiful, and captured so much of the love he and LeBeau shared that he almost wanted to thank the photographer. His shutters must have been left partially open, allowing someone to take the picture through the window.

"Remarks were made before a punch was thrown," Baker said.

"Remarks?"

"Sergeant Nicholas referred to all of us as..." Baker looked disgusted and exasperated, but he forged ahead, "Hogan's Harem."

"Who threw the first punch?"

"I did, sir," Newkirk admitted. Hogan took in the substantial bruising on his face and knew right then he would be unable to participate in the operation. Their Gestapo major would have no reason to be banged up like an alley cat on the losing end of a fight.

"That was real bright. You know that's what Nicholas wanted you to do, right? Otherwise, he wouldn't have said such an absurd, offensive, hare-brained thing to fifteen angry men." Hogan approached Nicholas, who was still standing ram-rod straight with his fellow soldiers. "I know what you are, Nicholas, and just because you didn't throw the first punch doesn't get you off the hook. In my opinion, you started this fight because you said something you knew that no man, yourself included, would let pass."

"Figures you'd play favorites and let Newkirk off the hook."

"Neither one of you are off the hook." Hogan shook his head, pacing. "I just have to say this one thing, and then we'll start dealing with discipline and getting this place cleaned up ."

"Colonel Hogan, when Colonel Matthews insulted you, you–"

"Yes, I did, Baker, and it was a mistake. A dumb, knee-jerk reaction I had no business doing. I might have enjoyed it, it might have felt great, and he might have had it coming, but I should have never done it. Today is proof of that. If my example inspired this, then it was an even more horrible error in judgment than I realized."

"What do you think Klink'll do to us?" Carter asked, a little unnerved since it didn't sound hopeful that Hogan was going to do much to mitigate it this time.

"I don't know, Carter, but you don't need to worry about that. You need to worry about what I'm gonna do to you first." Hogan sighed. "There are no words to express how disappointed I am in every single one of you," Hogan said. "This is an insult to me. This photo is an intrusion, an attempt to make trouble...but this. This...chaos. This is an insult to me. One of the worst I've ever had to deal with. I've spent three years at this command. There aren't many things I demand of you men, but one thing I have repeatedly forbidden is this kind of in-fighting. If you have a beef, that's what I'm here for. I'm in charge. You come to me with it, and I'll handle it. You do not fight each other." Hogan took in as deep a breath as his body would allow. "You went behind my back and you took advantage of a difficult situation. I don't appreciate it."

"What is going on here?" Klink's voice startled them from behind. The kommandant walked into the barracks, surveying the damage with eyes widened to the point his monocle dropped into his waiting hand. "Hogan, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"Well, this is what a barracks looks like after thirty men have a brawl in it." Hogan looked Klink straight in the eyes, making no excuses for his men. That in itself gave Klink pause. There was no story, no fantastic yarn spun to get the men off the hook. Just the naked truth.

"Hogan, I want all the men responsible for this...devastation assembled outside in five minutes." With that, Klink turned on his heel and left.

"You know, I don't owe any of you an explanation for this photograph. Whoever took it intruded on my privacy, and I will get to the bottom of who it was. I also suspect that same cowardly jerk is the one who left the list of work assignments on my desk a few weeks ago." Hogan noticed a couple of uncomfortable looks exchanged, and made a mental note of the men's names. "Two days after this photograph was taken, my spleen ruptured. I'm not in the habit of whining about every ache and pain, and I don't have much patience with people who do. But everyone has a breaking point–that's why they torture people during interrogations. Well, this injury hit my breaking point. And here you see it. So take a good look," Hogan said, holding the photo outward toward the group. "Somebody went to a lot of trouble to get this photo, so I hope you've enjoyed it." He tucked it inside his jacket. "Do not start taking this out on LeBeau. What you saw in the photo wasn't for his benefit, it was for mine because I felt like I was gonna fall over, and he literally held me up. One of my men came forward to help me when I was in a pretty bad way. The last thing I want is for him to be harassed and ridiculed for it."

"Seems like LeBeau's been doing a lot of helping lately," Nicholas said.

"I tell you what, Nicholas. We'll cut you open, remove your spleen, stitch you back up again, and then see how fast you recover and how long you need help, and then you can come back and start making inferences and criticisms about how I've handled my recovery."

"May I do the honors, sir?" Newkirk spoke up.

"That's enough. This matter is closed, and I don't want to hear anything more about it. As for the consequences of your little...redecorating project, Barracks 2 and Barracks 9 will not have Recreation Hall privileges for one month–" Hogan paused, shooting a venomous look around the room at a few groans of protest. The room fell silent again. "You can use the time to work on making benches and planting whatever it is Klink comes up with for you to plant. You are now the Stalag 13 beautification team."

"Wait a minute, Colonel. You want us to work together?" Carter asked, his eyes bugged.

"That's exactly what I want, but I honestly don't care if you work as two separate groups or if you get over whatever this vendetta is you've got going and work as one large team. In any event, you won't be having recreation periods, so you'll have plenty of time to work on the beautification project."

"I can't believe you're makin' us work for the krauts, sir," Newkirk said, shaking his head.

"I can't believe what's happened here today, so now we're even. You're all due out in the compound in less than two minutes. Move." Hogan stepped out the door and motioned to the men to go outside.

"You're overdoing it, Colonel," LeBeau said quietly, resting a hand in the middle of Hogan's back.

"You don't think they deserved that?"

"I wasn't talking about that. You're sweating and you look very pale."

"I'll survive." Hogan went to join the men at the assembly. LeBeau hung back, waiting with the other prisoners and guards who were watching the spectacle but not directly involved. Schultz did a quick, perfunctory roll call of the men from both barracks, and reported all present to Klink, who looked almost more irate than Hogan, if that was possible.

"In all my years in command of Stalag 13, I have never witnessed such a shameful display of misconduct by so large a number of prisoners. You are no better than schoolchildren misbehaving behind the teacher's back. Colonel Hogan, what are your plans for discipline?" Klink asked.

"One month without recreation periods, with that time to be spent on the project you suggested a few weeks ago to spruce up the appearance of the camp, provided I'm allowed to supervise the work groups as usual."

"You wouldn't suggest any cooler time for these hooligans?"

"I leave that to your discretion, Kommandant."

"You probably all thought I wouldn't put thirty of you in the cooler at once. Well, you were wrong. And furthermore, you will reimburse Stalag 13 for the repair or replacement of any furniture or other equipment damaged by your little ruckus. Schultz! Escort these men back to Barracks 9 and see that they clean up that mess and repair any furniture that is salvageable. When they have finished, put them in the cooler where they will spend the next week. Double them up in the cells if necessary."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," Schultz responded, a bit stunned. He motioned to a few guards to help him corral the group of prisoners.

"Colonel Hogan, aren't you going to say anything? We were trying to help–" Baker was cut off by a forestalling hand.

"I already told you. I'm not negotiating for you guys this time."

"Colonel, we really were just trying to answer an insult," Kinch said. "Those guys in 9 were looking for a fight–"

"And you gave 'em one. You walked right into their trap, gave 'em just what they wanted. I trained all of you better than that."

Kinch studied Hogan for a moment, as if debating whether or not to try swaying him from his current stance. Apparently deciding it was hopeless, he shrugged and joined the others as they trudged back to Barracks 9 to begin the clean-up work.

"They were just trying to stick up for us, Colonel," LeBeau said as he rejoined Hogan. "Maybe–"

"They were trying to stick up for us, and on a personal level, I appreciate that. But in a camp with a few hundred men in it, all coming from different backgrounds, with one commanding officer, there's a very fine line between order and chaos. When I got hurt, and all this other stuff with Matthews happened, it stretched that line until it was just about at the breaking point. Now I can either stand back, let it snap, and let this place degenerate into chaos where our guys are getting shot by the krauts for rioting every time they have a difference of opinion, or I can put a decisive end to it now."

"Thank you for explaining it to me," LeBeau said sincerely.

"What did you think I'd do?"

"You could have told me you were in charge and it was your decision."

"You already know that, so why would I tell you that? Besides, you were asking as my friend."

"I meant what I said earlier. I do believe in your decisions. I just didn't understand why you were coming down so hard on our friends."

"Because I care about all of them too much to let this place turn into a free-for-all. Even if Klink is on our side, he can't let the camp fall into violent disorder, and these guards are armed. Some of the guns are even loaded," Hogan added, smiling a little. "The thing is, if you let too many of the rules slide, you're on your way to total disorder. And if this camp turns into a mess like that, all the blackmail in the world isn't gonna save us."

"Speaking of which, how are we going to pull off the operation with Newkirk and Carter in the cooler?"

"Klink would let them out, but they're both all banged up. We can't use 'em."

"But what will we do for our 'Gestapo' men?"

"We'll have to use the two guys from the Underground, I guess, and try to find a couple more who can act. We need someone with a damn good German accent, or who speaks German fluently."

"Entschuldigen Sie mich, Oberst. Ich spreche Deutsch fließend. Ich möchte helfen wenn ich zu können."

Both men turned around to see the source of the perfectly-spoken German. They were stunned to see McAllister standing behind them.

"You want to run that by me one more time?" Hogan said. McAllister chuckled.

"My Grandparents are German immigrants. My mother speaks fluent German, and we all learned to speak it so we could talk to my grandparents. I said, 'I beg your pardon, Colonel. I speak German fluently. I would like to help'. Or something pretty close to that."

"Why didn't you tell me this before? Do you know how much help you could have been to this operation if I'd know that?"

"I didn't know how the guys would react to somebody who was half-kraut." McAllister shrugged. "Sorry, sir. But if you can use me for something now, I'll be glad to help."

"He's too young to be a major," LeBeau opined.

"True, but he'd do beautifully for the Gestapo sergeant here."

"But he could be recognized!"

"Not with the right disguise, and a Gestapo uniform, and speaking only German. He'd be ideal, because he can give orders to the guards here who aren't very fluent with English." Hogan looked at McAllister. "This is your chance, McAllister, but it's a high risk operation. You don't have to do this."

"I want to help. I'm sure I can do this."

"You'd basically be taking over Schultz's job–"

"Sleeping and eating LeBeau's strudel? Hey, count me in."

"You'll be a Gestapo sergeant in charge of the guards during a temporary 'takeover' of the camp. It's a huge assignment, and very high-risk."

"I mean it, Colonel Hogan. I want to do this, and I know I can handle it."

"Okay, you're in. LeBeau, take him down below and see if we've got a uniform in his size. If not, do whatever alterations we need done." Hogan checked his watch. "I have to go talk to Klink. I'll probably need to pull some of the guys from the work assignment to get things rolling. We need to radio the Underground and tell them we need one of their best krauts to play Neuchterlein."

"Right, sir. Do you want me to go get Kinch or Baker?"

"Not yet. I'll talk to Klink about it."

"Are you going to make them spend the whole week in the cooler, Colonel?" LeBeau asked.

"Have I ever?" Hogan responded, smiling slightly.

********

Hogan was determined to go to Klink's office as he usually did, and as he trudged up the two steps to the porch, he realized how weak he still was. LeBeau was right, he was overdoing it. Still, he'd been convalescing too long as it was.

"The supreme leader in?" Hogan asked Hilda.

"Ja, he's in his office. You may go in," she said coolly. Hogan didn't even try to put on the fake charm. He didn't feel up to it, and Hilda didn't buy it anymore anyway.

"Colonel Klink?" Hogan stuck his head in the door.

"Come in, Hogan. Sit down." Klink was behind his desk. He got up as Hogan sat, and poured two small glasses of schnapps, handing one to Hogan. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," Hogan responded, taking the drink, letting the reply stand as both sarcasm for the assessment and gratitude for the liquor that numbed the pain a bit.

"Your doctor is planning a visit today. I just got off the phone with her. Ironic, isn't it?"

"I've been lying around recuperating long enough. That's obvious judging by what happened in Barracks 9. I'm sorry about that. You know I don't condone that kind of behavior among the men."

"I know that, Hogan. And you haven't been recuperating all that long considering the healing you have to do from a surgery like that. You look exhausted."

"I'm not feeling so great," Hogan admitted, resting his hand over his incision. Truth be told, his side ached and he was exhausted. He ran his hand over his face and found it damp with sweat.

"I got the safe deposit box, and I've left the instructions with my attorney. I put a letter in it to my mother, explaining how she should dispose of my personal effects."

"Great. Did the bank manager see you put a letter in it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Well, we have a little problem now that Newkirk looks like something the cat dragged in. We were going to use him for the operation, but we don't want a Gestapo major who looks as if he'd been in a bar brawl the night before."

"You have someone else who can play the role?"

"I'm working on it."

"We have to move swiftly on this, Hogan."

"I know. We're still on for tonight." Hogan finished the last of the drink of schnapps. It dulled the pain a bit and relaxed him, but he still felt winded.

"Go rest a while. You won't be able to manage any of this if you don't."

"I'll need Kinchloe, Baker, Carter and Newkirk released for tonight. They're part of the operation."

"There's no danger they will be too resentful of the disciplinary action to do the job, is there?"

"They're more ethical than that. They're also more mature. Even if they're a bit angry, they'll do their jobs."

"You surprised me by not arguing on their behalf. Frankly, you were stricter with them than I planned to be."

"I haven't laid down many rules for the men, but keeping order, not fighting...those are important to me. They know that. I don't want this camp turning into chaos. Guards are more likely to shoot in those situations, and if this place gets to be known for having no discipline, even blackmailing Burkhalter won't save us forever."

"True," Klink agreed, nodding.

"I'm not promising I won't try to negotiate them out of the cooler in a couple of days."

"I would expect nothing less from you, Hogan," Klink said, chuckling as he leaned back in his chair.

"You seem pretty calm for a man facing life and death."

"As insane as it seems, I have confidence in this scheme of yours. I think it will work."

"So do I."

"I mean it, Hogan. Go lie down a while. The doctor will be here this afternoon. You can direct strategy while you're resting."

"Okay." Hogan got up, wincing a little at the pull on his incision. "I think I should move back to the barracks as soon as possible. I've been secluded, away from the men, way too long."

"If the doctor approves it, you may move anytime. Without her approval, you will stay right where you are. Is that clear?"

"It's clear," Hogan responded, smiling. "Thanks."

********

Klink arranged for Kinch, Baker, Carter, and Newkirk to be excused from the work project under the guise of doing a different work assignment. Instead, Kinch radioed the Underground to ask for more help. LeBeau only had to make minor alterations to a uniform Carter had worn before to fit McAllister. With the addition of a fake mustache, and McAllister barking out orders in a frenetic German rasp, no one would ever suspect he was an American POW. Not even the guards in their own camp.

Newkirk and Carter were going to man the switchboard in the event that during the "takeover," anyone called out for verification.

By mid-afternoon, three of the Underground's best men were ushered into the tunnel. The first, a tall, blue-eyed blond in his forties, was costumed for the role of Neuchterlein. German was his first language, and he had the bearing of an officer. One of the younger agents was assigned the role of Neuchterlein's driver. The final man, a stout little German with silver wire-framed glasses and a booming voice, was to play the role of the Gestapo captain temporarily in charge of Stalag 13. The four Gestapo men would arrive at the camp in a car provided by the Underground with a Gestapo logo freshly painted on it and bright swastika flags flying.

Hogan did most of the casting and directing of the play from the couch in the guest quarters, with the Underground agents being ushered up through the tunnel entrance there to meet him and be assigned their roles. Both Newkirk and LeBeau busily made alterations, and Newkirk faced his greatest tailoring challenge as he had to nearly re-create a uniform for the short, stout agent, cutting it down for height and expanding it for girth, in record time so the entourage could make their entrance to Stalag 13 by dinner time that night.  

Klink had a fairly easy role at this stage, simply working in his office and keeping up his usual routine, ostensibly tidying up his command to hand it over to a new kommandant Burkhalter was to send within two days to begin learning the ropes from Klink. He would be completely "unprepared" and "caught by surprise" by the arrival of the Gestapo. After a fair amount of threats and shouting that would carry through closed doors, the men would settle into conversation not audible outside the office. Klink would then be placed in the cooler, the Gestapo "captain" and his "sergeant"–the stout agent and McAllister–would take over the camp. The Gestapo major and his driver would leave, their next stop being Burkhalter's chalet. Underground operatives were keeping in touch with Kinch via radio to verify that Burkhalter was there, and would notify him if Burkhalter left.

"You should be taking a little nap," LeBeau said as he brought Hogan his pills and some water. "Or at least let me fix you something to eat."

"I can't sleep, and right now, I'm not really hungry. Everything is riding on this, Louis. I mean, everything."

LeBeau sat in the small empty area of sofa cushion near Hogan's side. Stretched out on the couch but insisting on staying fully dressed, Hogan looked anything but relaxed. He'd been directing every phase of the operation as he usually did, including orchestrating the acquisition of additional material for the redone uniform by sending one of their men into town in civilian clothes to buy it.

"We'll be together no matter what, mon amour. I won't–"

"Louis, if this operation fails, we'll probably all be shot. After the Gestapo gets done interrogating us for a couple weeks. Which means the shooting will be a relief."

"You're scared," LeBeau said gently, wanting to draw the feelings out of Hogan, to offer some comfort. It struck him at that moment how many times over the past three years Hogan must have been scared stiff, and not had a soul to whom he could express those feelings. How many times had Hogan himself gone toe-to-toe with a Gestapo man, and how many times had they all been in this kind of danger? Most of the time, they might squawk, but Hogan stoically guided the mission to a successful conclusion, and what fear he felt was only briefly–or maybe even humorously–expressed, if at all.

"Yeah, I'm scared."

"We all are, Mon Colonel." LeBeau was quiet a moment. "I'm mostly afraid of us being separated. Death isn't my biggest fear."

"I know, that's how I feel, too," Hogan admitted, squeezing the hand LeBeau slipped into his. He swallowed. "I don't want to die that way...mangled in the basement of a Gestapo jail."

"You've been living with that threat for a long time, l'amant," LeBeau responded, leaning down to kiss the back of Hogan's hand.

"Before I was brought here, you know I was interrogated by the Gestapo." Hogan didn't look directly at LeBeau as he spoke. He'd never uttered a word to any of his men about the details of his capture, or the subsequent interrogation. Only LeBeau had every really known he was tortured, and then he didn't know specifics. "I managed to convince them I didn't know anything worthwhile. Fed them some pointless information that didn't matter, and fortunately, it convinced them that I had 'talked'. So they sent me here."

"You were badly hurt when you got here?" LeBeau gently prodded. Hogan was visibly bruised when he arrived at Stalag 13, he didn't move very fast, and he'd kept mostly to himself for a couple of days before turning into the dynamic, unstoppable leader he was. LeBeau knew he'd had bruises and a few superficial burns on his arms that spoke of some more exotic torture, but he'd never known what other injuries Hogan was keeping to himself.

"A lot of superficial stuff. Healed without scarring," Hogan responded. "Some electric shock. I think that was the worst."

Careful not to put any pressure on Hogan's injured side, LeBeau leaned forward to rest his head on Hogan's chest, and soon felt arms coming up to encircle him.

"What I told them didn't matter. It was low-level stuff that we figured their intelligence would pick up on their own anyway. The general who was my superior believed in giving his officers something that would do negligible damage but would sound good to the krauts in case of torture after capture. He always told us not to use it unless we couldn't take it anymore, or they were going to permanently maim us...cut off a limb or something. Even at that, we were trained not to give out the good stuff we might know. Just the low-level stuff." Hogan was quiet a moment. "I held out for a little more than a week. They knew I hated the shock the worst, and I was getting weaker... I wasn't proud to even have given them that much, that soon."

LeBeau's stomach twisted at the images of Hogan being tortured, probably starved and deprived of basic human needs, and finally breaking beneath the torment.

"Your general sounds like a very humane and wise man. He knew how to protect you, and he cared enough to do that."

"He was a good guy. I think he's retired now. He was pretty long in the tooth when I was flying, but he was one of the best. He taught me a lot." There was a smile in Hogan's voice when he continued. "I remember someone noticing my wrists were raw from the ropes and bandaging them for me when no one else was around–and respecting my wishes to keep the whole thing quiet. I remember this knock on my door in the middle of the night and this French guy coming in with a cup of hot cocoa. In a POW camp in the middle of Germany, somebody was bringing me cocoa when I couldn't sleep–even though he had no way of knowing it was one of my favorite things."

"You had nightmares the first two nights you were here. The first night, I was as nervous as anyone else to go to your door. You were the new commander, and a full colonel...not just a captain or a major. The second night, I heard you cry out when you woke, and I couldn't stand it anymore. I knew you'd been through something awful, even if you wouldn't tell me what. I made the cocoa and figured the worst you could do was put me in the cooler for disturbing you. It wasn't much, but it was all I could think of."

"Wasn't much? Louis, did you listen to yourself just now? I had nightmares the first two nights I was here. After you came in with your cocoa? Do you ever remember hearing me again?"

"Well, no, not for a long time. Not until...not until after that Gestapo officer took over the camp for a few days, and put you in the cooler. It took me a while to understand...to realize what it was reminding you of, why you were so upset when the Gestapo took over. Not that you weren't right about them."

"Which is why you crawled through the tunnel with a silver serving tray, wine, and beef stroganoff? You knew, even if not consciously."

"I knew you were upset, and I knew what kind of slop you'd get for dinner. And you didn't do anything to deserve being put in the cooler."

"I know that I shouldn't be afraid of this. That I shouldn't give it another thought. If I have to die for this operation, then that's the way it goes. I've always known that. And I'm prepared to do that."

"You've never backed down from taking a risk for the operation since you've been in charge. Everyone is afraid of things sometimes, but what matters is what you do about it, and you've never put yourself first or put us at risk to save yourself."

"You're incredibly good for me, do you know that?"

"Just like orange juice and pain pills?" LeBeau asked, and Hogan chuckled.

"More like an aphrodisiac," he quipped, relaxing into a long kiss.

"We've done things that were impossible before, and they worked. This will, too."

"Yeah, it probably will." Hogan sighed, leaning back against the pillows LeBeau had solicitously arranged behind him. The front door of the guest quarters opened, and LeBeau was off the couch before anyone came into view. Dr. Weiss walked in, followed by Klink.

"Guten tag, Colonel Hogan. You're looking much better than when I saw you last," the doctor greeted.

"You look pretty good yourself, Doc," Hogan responded, flashing one of his best smiles, and she laughed, shaking her head.

"Now I know why all the young girls who read to the patients formed a line at your door and ignored the other patients. At least you're following doctor's orders, I see."

"I can be very obedient for the right woman," Hogan replied.

"Is that so? Good. Then sit up and take your shirt off."

"Anything you say, Doctor."

"Would you two like to be alone?" LeBeau teased, and Klink looked a bit discomfited that the doctor, who seemed attracted to him, was having such fun sparring and flirting with Hogan.

"You've been changing the dressing regularly?" she asked LeBeau.

"Oui, I have. The incision seems to look fine, but I don't have much medical background. I know it hasn't been bleeding, because...well...I don't do well with the sight of blood." LeBeau decided Hogan might like a bit of privacy for his check up, so he excused himself to go to the kitchen and start dinner.

"You have a medic here in the camp?" she asked. Hogan had opened his shirt and she was about to peel back the dressing.

"I have a lot of work to do in my office. Please let the sergeant outside know when you're finished," Klink said.

"Of course. Thank you, Colonel Klink."

"Please, call me Wilhelm, Fraulein Doctor," Klink replied, and Dr. Weiss flashed a little grin at Hogan Klink couldn't see from where he was standing.

"Danke, Wilhelm," she amended. Klink left, happy. "The incision does look good. It's healing well. No sign of swelling or drainage. Your ribs, how are they feeling? I'd like to get another x-ray, perhaps next week."

"I'm still pretty sore, and getting up and down takes me a little extra effort, but I'm moving around more. I feel stronger than I did."

"You've put on a little weight since I saw you last. That's good."

"Yeah, it's great," Hogan said, inspecting what he thought was slightly too much of a good thing near his belt.

"It means you're eating well and you apparently have a better diet now than when you were brought in. If there's a little too much anywhere, it'll go away when you're able to get more exercise. You are usually very active?"

"Ordinarily, yes."

"You will be again. I know it's hard to believe when you're recuperating from major surgery, but it does get better," she added, smiling. "I'm glad to see you've been well-treated during your recovery."

"Colonel Klink's been very humane. He's let me stay in these quarters and provided me with good food."

"He took quite a risk for you," she said, obviously admiring that in Klink. She took her stethoscope out of her bag and listened to Hogan's chest in a few places.

"I know he's a little klutzy at times, but don't sell him short, Doc. He's a good man."

"That's saying a lot, coming from his enemy."

"It's hard to say nasty things about someone who saved your life."

"He did do that," she agreed. "Take a deep breath for me."

"I hate this part," Hogan complained, taking in the deep breath that neither his ribs nor his incision were crazy about. The doctor listened to his back.

"Again."

"Sadist." He did it again, and the doctor smiled as she listened, then patted his shoulder.

"You can sit back now." She pulled out the cuff to check his blood pressure.

"That'll be high," he said, watching her wrap it around his arm.

"Why is that?"

"We had an incident earlier. I had to break up a fight." At the doctor's raised eyebrow, Hogan clarified, "Not physically, but I was handing out disciplinary action."

"And you don't like doing that, do you?" she asked, smiling as she inflated the cuff.

"No, I don't," Hogan admitted readily.

"It's a bit high," she said. "But you've been through a lot, and you said you were upset a while ago with having to discipline the men, so I'm not too concerned. I'll check it out again next week, make sure it's back to normal."

"I'm sure Klink'll be happy to see you again."

"By next week, you can make the trip into town to see me at my office," she said matter-of-factly. "But it might be wise for the kommandant to accompany you in case of any...problems with the Gestapo."

Hogan had to smile a bit at the doctor's obvious interest in Klink, even though she was playing it cool. His courage in stepping forward to save Hogan's life had apparently appealed to her greatly, and Hogan genuinely hoped Klink could court her a bit more successfully than he had some of his other love interests. Maybe he'll have a shot at it if I destroy that damned violin of his...

"I understand the kommandant is quite a musician," she said, and Hogan gaped at her, as if she'd read his mind. Nice going, Klink. Someday you're going to admit that you can't play that thing to save your life...

"Uh...there definitely aren't words to describe his playing," Hogan said, forcing a smile.

"Oh, Lord, I was afraid of that," she said, having picked up on the double meaning of Hogan's comment more easily than he'd expected. "Oh, well, most men fancy themselves good at something they are really dreadful at," she concluded, packing her bag. She looked up to meet Hogan's rather stunned expression. "You don't think women have that figured out, Colonel?"

"Not all women. I suspect you're sharper than most."

"You don't think women are intelligent as a rule?" she asked, and something in her tone let Hogan know she was sparring with him.

"I think some women are exceptionally intelligent." He smiled.

"All right, Colonel, you're excused," she said, smiling back. "You're also recovering nicely. You can engage in some mild exercise–like walking around the compound here a bit, but nothing strenuous and no work yet. I'll want to see you in a week. I'll speak to Colonel Klink about that."

"Is that all I can do? A little walking around?" Hogan asked as the doctor began re-packing her bag.

"You had something specific in mind, Colonel?" she asked, not looking up until she finished closing her bag. Hogan averted his eyes when she did look up. "Usually when I get that look from my male patients, they're trying to find out when they can...resume marital relations." At Hogan's continued uneasy expression, she swallowed. "I apologize, that was insensitive of me. I didn't realize...considering your confined situation..." She obviously regretted having embarrassed Hogan more than he already was by the question itself. "Sexual relations can be strenuous. If it hurts your side, and seems to tire you too much, don't do it. If you can be...if I may be explicit without making you uncomfortable..." she paused. "Give it another week, and if your recovery continues to progress as it has, and you can let your partner do most of the moving about, then it would be safe to..."

"Thanks, Doctor." Hogan finished buttoning his shirt and the doctor rose to head for the door.

"I'm sorry to be so...bold, Colonel Hogan, but how do you manage to find feminine company in such a setting?"

"It isn't easy," Hogan responded, smiling. "But it happens. Don't tell the kommandant, though. He wouldn't stand for any sort of monkey business going on like that."

"Doctor-patient confidence. Your secret's safe with me." She walked out the door and pulled it shut behind her. A moment later, LeBeau emerged from the kitchen.

"I can't believe you asked her that!" he said in a hushed voice, shocked.

"Who was I gonna ask? I sure don't want to try it and have to stop."

"We've already been trying it."

"Not the way I'm talking about, we haven't." Hogan took LeBeau's hand and pulled him down to sit next to him on the couch. "I was hoping she'd give me a clean bill of health. We have a couple hours... I don't know how this is all going to turn out, and I thought before things get started..."

"We'll have a lot of chances, mon amour. I have to believe that."

"I want you to promise me something, Louis."

"Anything."

"I've done my best to keep you out of an active role in what's happening here tonight." Hogan swallowed, looking down. "If the whole thing blows up in our faces, and I'm arrested, do what you have to do to save yourself. Grab the civilian clothes and fake papers we all keep on hand and get to one of our contacts. Get out of Germany and don't look back."

"And leave you? Are you insane?"

"No, I'm not insane. You're insane if you think once I'm arrested by the Gestapo that we'll ever be together again. They'll interrogate me and if I don't die in the process, they'll execute me when they're finished. And no matter what load of bull they try to sell you, or what deals they try to make you think you can make for my life, they won't honor them. They'll take what information you can give, probably execute you, and then kill me anyway. There won't be many chances to get away if there's a disaster, and maybe you won't even have one, but if you do, if there's that split second of chaos and confusion," Hogan took a hold of LeBeau's shoulders. "Get out of here. Do what I ask you. No. Consider it an order. Don't look back, and don't try to save me. Just go. It's the greatest peace of mind you could give me. To know you'll at least try to save yourself."

"What about the operation? The others?"

"There won't be time to evacuate the operation. It'll be every man for himself. Please, Louis, tell me you'll go. Promise me."

"I won't leave you," LeBeau responded, his eyes filling.

"You won't be with me anyway," Hogan said, taking LeBeau's face in his hands. "I hope none of this happens, but if it does, you were so right. It's better to have had what we've had than to have died never...never loving each other the way we could have. I've loved you more than anyone else in my life. More than I could love anyone else. And if I know you got away, that you're safe, nothing they can do to me is going to matter. Do you hear me?"

Hogan gave up on getting a reply as LeBeau's face crumbled and he began to cry. He pulled his lover into his arms and held on tightly, knowing this kind of pain was the price they paid for that first kiss, for giving life to the feelings that had simmered beneath the surface since the very first time LeBeau had approached him in friendship, hesitantly and awkwardly, with a cup of cocoa in the middle of the night. Hogan squeezed his own eyes shut tightly and felt the tears seep from beneath his lids.

"This has to work. It has to," LeBeau said miserably. "Maybe we should just go out through the tunnel tonight, you and me. The operation will be safe if Klink is saved, and with what he's got on Burkhalter–"

"You know I can't do that, Louis." Hogan rested his head on top of LeBeau's and just held on. "It's my operation. If it goes down, I go down with it. I don't save myself and let my men sort out the mess without me."

"What good is my life if you aren't with me?"

"If something happens to me, there's a lawyer in Cleveland, a friend of mine. His name is Ted Freemont. I got a letter to him through the Underground a couple months ago," Hogan said, and LeBeau moved away, wiping at his eyes and then smiling, brushing at Hogan's own damp cheeks with his thumbs.

"I don't understand."

"My folks are fine. Nice and secure financially. My dad worked and saved all his life, they're okay. My brother's a big boy, he can take care of himself. He's got a job and a wife and kids."

"What are you saying?"

"I sent a letter to my lawyer telling him that if I don't come home alive, everything I have...bank accounts, my back pay, everything...I want you to have it." Hogan held up a forestalling hand before LeBeau could say anything. "I want you to take it and open the best French restaurant in town, wherever you want to settle. There's only one catch."

"You won't be there," LeBeau said, brokenly.

"Besides that. You have to name it Robaire's." Hogan smiled as LeBeau actually laughed at that. "Now, do you understand why you have to save yourself if you can? Because you're going to be the part of me that survives. Okay?"

"No, it's not okay, but if that's what you want, I promise you. I will do as you ask."

"Good. That's all I needed to hear."

"But it won't matter, because the operation is going to be a success."

"Right," Hogan confirmed, smiling. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. I haven't been able to do much else lately. We were planning on a lot of traveling after the war."

"I remember."

"Well, I had another idea. How would you feel about taking all that back pay we both have coming and opening a fabulous restaurant?"

"That would be a dream come true for me, but what about you? What would that do for you?"

"You can't run it alone. You would be the master chef, obviously, but you'll need a good maitre'd and somebody to help with the business end of things."

"After all you've done, all you've achieved, you want to seat customers in a restaurant?"

"Louis, I want to make a life with you. I don't want to 'seat customers' in any restaurant, no. I want to help you run our business." Hogan smiled. "Hopefully a business with living quarters above it."

"But that would be so...open."

"Would it? Two bachelors return from the war and decide to invest their back pay into a business. I found a goldmine in you because of your talents as a chef. You found a partner in me who was willing to invest with you and help run the business. We both know we can trust each other, because we've trusted each other with our lives. We're putting everything we have into the business, and we live above it because it's cheaper. Because we own the building. And I think we should do it in Hollywood."

"Hollywood?" LeBeau's eyes bugged.

"Scandals are a dime a dozen there. Even if people suspect something, it'll be one of a million other oddities in a town full of them. Show business people have always been a looser crowd, less morally uptight. What would get us strung up in my hometown might bring us in business there."

"It doesn't seem possible, that we could have exactly what we want..."

"I think we can, Louis. We just have to be clever enough to plan it the right way. And if we can pull off the things we've pulled off here, how hard can that be?"

"Our own restaurant..." LeBeau seemed to be savoring the thought.

"It would even make sense to our friends, and we could invite them there for parties whenever we could round them all up. Everybody wants to see Hollywood."

"Do you think the movie stars would come there?"

"I think they'll be bribing the maitre'd with big tips for a good table the minute they taste your cooking."

"I'm not that exceptional as chefs go." LeBeau shrugged.

"How many chefs do you know create what you create working under the conditions you do? Imagine what you can do with a real kitchen and real supplies and the freedom to get what you need from a local market rather than crawling under the wire at night to pick mushrooms or sending Schultz out with a grocery list?"

"I would love to have a place of like that. A place that was ours, a place where I was in charge of the kitchen."

"But..."

"I will miss Paris, my family..."

"We'll visit them, Louis. You'll want them to meet your business partner. We'll invite them over to the States to see the place, as often as we can afford to. Or you can visit them. Whenever we can manage it financially." Hogan stopped. "And if you won't be happy in Hollywood, we'll hang out our shingle in Paris and make a go of it there."

"I will be happy with you, mon amour. And my English is ten times better than your French."

"Hey, I'm working really hard on my French," Hogan protested, his voice rising an octave.

"Keep working. I love listening to you speak French just for me."

"Je t'aime plus que ma vie," Hogan managed, fumbling the pronunciation a bit. He'd practiced it, but the words just didn't roll off his tongue the way they did for Louis. Foreign languages had never been his best subject, though he'd made a fair enough showing at Latin to keep his teachers happy. Telling Louis he loved him more than his own life was just what he wanted him to know right now. And he wanted him to hear it in his native tongue.

"Vous êtes ma vie," LeBeau responded, telling Hogan, "You are my life," and Hogan was relieved he understood those words. He pulled LeBeau close for another embrace.

********

Klink was nearly at the end of his rope, having put in what was supposed to be a normal day while waiting for a carload of fake Gestapo men to take over his camp. This plan was so insane, so risky...so...Hogan that it made his hands shake as he poured himself a glass of schnapps. Even the visit from the attractive doctor hadn't brought him as much joy as it should have, though he had made a dinner date with her for the upcoming Friday night. He only hoped he was still alive to enjoy the evening.

The phone rang, causing him to jump, splattering a bit of the liquor on the sleeve of his uniform. He brushed at it, annoyed, as he picked up the phone.

"Herr Kommandant," Langenscheid's panicked voice was on the other end of the line, "a Gestapo Major has just arrived and seized the camp. He is on his way to your office."

"Hochstetter?" Klink asked, wanting to know if it was Hogan's fake major, or a real one.

"No, a Major Neuchterlein."

"Thank you, Langenscheid."

"What should we do, Kommandant?"

"Follow any orders you are given by the Gestapo, as always."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

As Klink hung up, he heard the commotion of the "Gestapo" men storming into the front office and straight through to Klink's office, ignoring Hilda's questions or protests.

"Kommandant Klink, I am Major Neuchterlein, Gestapo. This is Captain Freitag, my assistant."

"Greetings, gentlemen, and welcome to Stalag 13," Klink said, saluting. "Please, come in, have a seat." He closed the door behind them. "May I offer you some coffee, a bit of schnapps, perhaps?"

Once the door was closed, the agent posing as Neuchterlein took off his gloves and extended a hand toward Klink.

"You're Hogan's men?" Klink asked in a hushed tone.

"Karl Erlich and Heinrich Bauer," he responded, and Klink also shook hands with Bauer. "Captain Freitag will be taking over your command while you're in the cooler." The man posing as Neuchterlein smiled. "This part of the operation will be fairly simple for you, Colonel. We're going to yell at you a bit, and then we want to go over your 'script' to be sure we're consistent." Klink nodded his assent and "Neuchterlein" bellowed at him. "Why should we believe you? You have been reassigned to the Russian Front!"

"Then I have nothing to lose," Klink replied loudly, forcefully.

"This camp is now under Gestapo control. You will relinquish your command to Captain Freitag at once. He will be in charge of Stalag 13 until a permanent replacement is determined."

After a bit more blustering, the three men sat around the small table in Klink's office and discussed the content of the story that would be used to blackmail Burkhalter.

********

Kinch knocked on the door to the guest quarters and entered, finding Hogan pacing in the sitting room, the scent of food that probably wouldn't be eaten cooking in the kitchen. LeBeau was most likely doing what it was LeBeau did to stay sane under pressure–cooking–and Hogan was doing what he did under pressure–pacing and worrying.

"Erlich and Bauer are in with Klink. McAllister's doling out orders to the guards like a real live Gestapo goon. So far, so good."

"Burkhalter's going to be our hard sell. This part of the operation should go smoothly. Schultz isn't really going to be a major obstacle and Klink knows what's going on."

"Colonel Hogan, about what happened earlier... I'm sorry it turned into what it did. We got carried away."

"I know." Hogan sat down on the end of the couch, and Kinch sat in a chair nearby. "I'll talk to Klink about letting everybody out of the cooler in a couple of days."

"I know it went against everything you've laid down for rules about no fighting, but you should have seen those SOB's, Colonel. If Newkirk hadn't slugged Nicholas, I would have. Or Carter would have. It just turned into a major brawl from there. One guy after the other was throwing punches and getting in the middle of it. I don't remember now when I got involved if I was trying to break it up or add to it."

"It's my fault, not theirs. This is my failure. I lost control and slugged Matthews. I put it on that level, and I never should have done that. God knows I haven't exactly been a forceful leader in the last few weeks."

"That's hardly your fault, Colonel."

"Maybe not, but the way I reacted to Matthews was. I did the same thing Newkirk did, so I can't exactly get too self-righteous about it, can I?" Hogan leaned back on the couch. "On a personal level, I appreciate that you all wanted to answer that insult. But all personal feelings aside, once we start letting things get out of hand, the krauts are justified in using force to restore order. Schultz is happy to shoot in the air, when his gun's loaded, but there are guards who don't mind shooting to kill."

"I kinda figured that's what was bothering you–how the krauts would react to rioting prisoners."

"When this operation is over, I'll have another talk with the men. Now the crew from Barracks 9, they're another whole issue."

"Guess it would be asking a lot for Klink to transfer all of them."

"That might be pushing it," Hogan responded, smiling. He'd missed just visiting with Kinch like this. Many a late night in the tunnel, they'd whiled away some hours waiting for a message from London, talking about anything and everything to make the time pass. And pass it had. So quickly considering how slow it had seemed at the time.

"Some of the guys wondered why you didn't have Norton taking care of you while you were recovering."

"Because Norton can't cook like LeBeau and while I like the guy, he's not a close friend, and I'd rather have one of my personal team helping me out on a daily basis for something like this." Hogan paused. "Does that answer your question, Kinch?"

"I was just saying, some of the guys..."

"Yeah, some of the guys, I know," Hogan repeated, nodding.

"I guess it's just that you've always pretty much shouldered this operation alone, and now it seems like LeBeau's pretty close at hand all the time...like an assistant."

"It's been a long war, Kinch. Maybe my shoulders are getting tired."

"I'm not saying anything against it, Colonel. I'm just–"

"I know. Repeating what 'the guys' are saying." Hogan paused. "Then it's not just the guys in Barracks 9 who think there's something...wrong going on with LeBeau and me?"

"No, it's the guys in 9 who think there's something wrong going on. The rest of the guys just know that something's changed. I guess you have a personal assistant, like Klink has Schultz."

"That's what Klink said, too," Hogan responded, smiling.

"I don't mind impersonating Klink, but when I start thinking like him, I know it's time to go home." Kinch was quiet a moment. "It could just be simple jealousy in our barracks. I mean, we've all been a team a long time, and now it seems like one member of the team is more important than the others."

"That isn't my intention. Everybody's equally important to this operation. Together, we make it work. I had to choose someone to play nursemaid to me for a while, and LeBeau doesn't mind doing that. I don't need a medic to help me out. There are hundreds of men in this camp and one medic. Let's face it, my keeping him with me around the clock to make my dinner and change a bandage once in a while would be pretty selfish and a poor use of his skills."

"I'll have a talk with the others. I'm sure they'll understand. If we weren't on your side, we wouldn't have made that trip to Barracks 9 today."

"I know that. Hopefully when we get through this mess with Burkhalter, we can get back to the business we're here to do. I must be catching it from Carter–I feel like we should be blowing something up."

"I'm sure he'll be happy to oblige any time, Colonel," Kinch replied, chortling.

********

By early evening, Captain Freitag summoned Hogan to his office. Schultz appeared at the guest quarters to escort Hogan, very nervous at the arrival and takeover by the Gestapo.

"They put the kommandant in the cooler," Schultz confided to Hogan as they walked over to the office. "Then Major Neuchterlein and his driver left, and Captain Freitag took over. And the sergeant they brought with them to be in charge of the guards? He is crazy, Colonel Hogan. He is almost as crazy as..." Schultz caught himself, and Hogan raised an eyebrow, smiling. McAllister must have really been putting on a show for the somewhat loose and sloppy bunch of guards at good old Stalag 13.

"What'd you expect from the Gestapo, Schultz?" Hogan replied.

"If they transfer the kommandant to the Russian Front, and we get a new kommandant, I hope it won't be one of these Gestapo men."

"This is a Luftwaffe operation. Something tells me Burkhalter won't let that happen."

"Oh, I hope not."

"I wouldn't worry too much about Stalag 13, Schultz. We've weathered a lot of storms in the last few years. This one'll pass overhead, too," Hogan said, unable to resist giving Schultz a bit of reassurance.

"Colonel Hogan, couldn't you...do something about the Gestapo?"

"What could I do about it?" Hogan asked, smiling. "I'm just a lowly prisoner, remember?"

"Just a lowly prisoner," Schultz repeated, laughing. "I think I will wait outside for you," he said, stopping at the outer office.

"Chicken," Hogan teased, crossing the office to tap on the door of the kommandant's office. At a barked order to enter, he did, and closed the door behind him. "Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior POW Officer reporting as ordered, sir," he said loudly enough for the benefit of anyone listening. Then, in a lower voice, he added, "The coast is clear. We can talk. Schultz is too afraid of the Gestapo sergeant of the guard to risk getting caught listening at the door."

"Erlich is on his way to Burkhalter's chalet. I figured I ought to call you in since I'm supposedly taking over the camp."

"That was a nice touch. I should have thought of that," Hogan said, sitting in a chair across from the desk. "How'd it go with Klink?"

"He's well-versed on his part of the operation. He's not as hopeless as we all frankly expected he would be. I mean, after all, look at what you've gotten away with under his nose all these years."

"That's true, but lately, I've been wondering how much we've gotten away with, and how much Klink has turned his head for."

"That would be quite an accomplishment–having the camp kommandant for an accomplice."

"I wouldn't go that far, but we've ended up on the same side of a few issues lately."

"Erlich is very good. He'll convince Burkhalter." Just then, the telephone rang. Raising an eyebrow, "Captain Freitag" answered it. "Freitag," he snapped. "Very well, send him in." He hung up the phone. "We might have a problem." That was all Freitag could get out of his mouth before the door opened and Major Hochstetter strode in, immediately focusing on the unfamiliar Gestapo man who now stood behind the desk.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Captain Freitag, in temporary command of Stalag 13 by order of Major Neucterlein, Berlin headquarters. Heil Hitler," Freitag clicked his heels together and saluted.

"Ja, Heil," Hochstetter flipped a quick salute and moved closer. "Why has the Gestapo seized this camp, and why was I not notified?"

"We are in the process of interrogating the kommandant."

"What is this man doing here?" Hochstetter asked, gesturing at Hogan with the black leather gloves he held in his hand.

"Colonel Hogan is the Senior Prisoner of War Officer. I was advising him that the camp is now under Gestapo control, until further notice."

"Further notice from whom? I know nothing of this!" Hochstetter ranted.

"Further notice from General Schuermann," he replied, pulling a set of phony orders from his breast pocket. Hochstetter read over them.

"I will verify this with headquarters," Hochstetter said, waving the paper in Freitag's direction.

"Be my guest, Major," Freitag said, gesturing toward the telephone. Hogan felt that little tightening of muscles and nerves he always felt just before one of their schemes was put to the emergency test, but in his heart, he knew his men at the switchboard would handle it flawlessly as always.

********

"We got somethin'," Baker said, connecting to the outgoing call from Klink's office. At Baker's greeting as the operator, Hochstetter barked angrily into the phone.

"Ja, get me General Schuermann, Gestapo, Berlin."

"Jawohl," Baker replied, then cued Kinch, who picked up the nearby microphone.

"General Schuermann speaking. Heil Hitler!" he snapped.

"Heil Hitler," Hochstetter replied. "Herr General, I am at Stalag 13–"

"What are you going there, Hochstetter? Interfering, that's what you're doing!" Kinch barked back at him. Baker stifled a laugh and Carter actually put his hand over his mouth to keep silent.

"There is a Captain Freitag here who claims he has taken control of the camp under your authority. I was merely–"

"You were questioning my orders, that's what you were doing, Hochstetter! This is a top secret Gestapo operation. You are to leave the camp at once!"

"Ja, but Herr General, if it is a Gestapo operation–"

"Are you deaf, Hochstetter? I said a top secret operation. You do not have clearance to be involved!"

Just then, Carter stood behind Kinch and did his best Hitler impression.

"Who is that nitwit on the phone? If he can't follow orders, have him shot!"

********

Hogan and Freitag watched as Hochstetter's face paled and he shifted where he stood.

"Begging the General's pardon. I am leaving at once, sir. Heil Hitler!" With that, Hochstetter hung up the phone, executed a rushed salute in Freitag's direction and fled the office.

Hogan let out a visible sigh of relief and laughed, as did Freitag.

"I don't know what your men said to him, but it worked. I've heard a lot about your operation here, Hogan. It's a real pleasure to have had a chance to work with you and your team first hand."

"Thanks, Bauer," Hogan responded. "But let's see how much of a pleasure it is when we get all the way through it without facing a firing squad."

********

LeBeau approached the laughing group gathered around the switchboard in the tunnel.

"Did he call?" he asked anxiously. He'd seen Hochstetter arrive, and hoped his comrades had been up to the task of deflecting his inevitable inquiry.

"Oh, he called," Kinch said. "Even got the Fuhrer over here mad at him," he added. "Carter, you took about two years off my life popping up behind me like that. I thought we were gonna do a signal for you to do Hitler."

"Sorry, Kinch. It just sort of came out." Carter only looked repentant for a bare instant before laughing.

"So he's leaving?" LeBeau prodded.

"Oh, he's leaving, all right," Baker said. "That was such a rapid about-face that he probably gave himself whiplash."

"Now we just have to get past Burkhalter."

"You better go back up top, Louis. When the brass is tied up, you know Schultz usually comes looking for you to see what you've got cooking," Kinch said.

"Oui, you're right. It's been at least an hour since dinner," LeBeau quipped, heading back toward the exit that opened into the guest quarters.

********

Burkhalter drew in another breath on the expensive cigar, then sipped his schnapps. The young lady for whom he'd sent a car into town should be arriving momentarily. His housekeeper, a discreet local frau, had prepared a repast of expensive meats and cheeses to go with the vintage wine chilling in the ice bucket. Ah, yes, tonight would be a good night.

Just then, there was a sharp knock at the door. Thinking it was a bit strong and assertive for a petite little blonde fraulein, Burkhalter heaved himself out of the cushions of the sofa on which he sat and ambled to the door, swinging it open, cigar still in hand. A tall, austere Gestapo major looked back at him.

"Major Neuchterlein, Gestapo," he announced, breezing past Burkhalter without waiting for an invitation.

"I demand to know the meaning of this intrusion!" Burkhalter bellowed. He watched, fuming, as the man poured himself a glass of the expensive wine, then sniffed it, then took a sip.

"Ah, excellent taste, Herr General. You are apparently as affluent as I was told you were."

The remark gave Burkhalter pause, because more than one General who had his fat hands in the till had wound up in jail or dead following a visit such as this from the Gestapo.

"What is it you want? I am expecting guests."

"This won't take much of your time, sir," Neuchterlein stated calmly, removing his gloves and hat. "May I?" he gestured toward a leather wingback chair.

"Of course," Burkhalter responded, with a smile that looked more like a severe gas pain. "Now state your business and get out," Burkhalter said, his forced smile dropping immediately as he sat in the matching chair.

"Very well," Neuchterlein said, setting the almost empty glass of wine on the small table between them. "I have had a most interesting talk with Kommandant Klink of Stalag 13. Very informative."

"That would be a first," Burkhalter said scathingly.

"It seems he's been relieved of his command, and is en route to the Eastern Front. The prospect of a certain battle death loosened his tongue considerably. He had a number of interesting revelations for us in the Von Gruner matter, which, as you know, has been an ongoing source of concern, since he turned up in Allied hands."

"I am well aware of the Fuhrer's concern over that matter. I have been investigating it myself."

"Ah, quite a feat," Neuchterlein said with a slight chuckle. "To be both a prime suspect and key investigator at the same time." He paused, picking up the glass. "This really is an excellent wine. May I impose on you for another glass?"

"What do you want, besides guzzling my wine?"

"Not much of a host. Pity." Neuchterlein rose, poured the wine for himself, and then returned to his seat. "Kommandant Klink placed a rather...panicked call to you shortly before Field Marshal Von Gruner disappeared, explaining to you that the Field Marshal had...grossly assaulted one of his prisoners. I believe you told him something along the lines of, 'Von Gruner fucking the enemy is the least of your worries. If that is all he did, consider yourself lucky and the matter closed.' Is that fairly accurate?"

"Klink is lying. You would take the word of a deposed prison keeper over that of a general of the Fuhrer's Staff?" Burkhalter bellowed.

"Truthfully, Herr General, I would. You see, the deposed prison keeper has considerably less to lose."

"Since when did the Gestapo begin defending the honor of enemy prisoners?" Burkhalter asked, a definite sneer in his voice.

"The enemy prisoner means nothing to me, or to the Gestapo. What is of serious consequence is that such a high-ranking officer as yourself–a member of the Fuhrer's Staff, as you pointed out–lied to the Gestapo, and withheld information. Lied to the Fuhrer, for that matter, by accepting the assignment to investigate a disappearance you knew more about than you were telling."

"I know nothing about Von Gruner's disappearance. I knew about the incident with the prisoner, but Von Gruner had engaged in similar activities before and hadn't disappeared."

"But you knew there was a conflict between Von Gruner, the kommandant of Stalag 13, and the prisoners? You further knew that the story told to you by Colonel Hogan, the Senior POW Officer, was an utter fabrication, because you knew he would not sell a prisoner's ass for a few extra privileges."

"I don't know Hogan. How should I know what he would consider a worthy bargain?"

"I must tell you, Herr General, your responses are sounding weak and fallacious to me. Can you imagine the Fuhrer's response?"

"He knows I am loyal. I have nothing to fear from the Fuhrer."

"Nothing to fear from the Fuhrer? That in itself borders on treason, General."

"You haven't arrested me yet, so you must want something."

"Oh, I do." Neuchterlein smiled. "Enough money to get out of Germany, set myself up in a nice little place like this in Switzerland. Certainly that is a small price to pay to keep your secure position with the Fuhrer."

"What about Klink? Even if I were to admit to all you were saying and pay you what you ask, I have no assurance that Klink would not tell his story to someone else."

"Come now, General. Don't tell me you are unable to handle...what did you call him? A deposed prison-keeper? Klink is about to face a nearly certain death in battle, but he will have many opportunities to talk before that happens."

"Not if I shoot him myself."

"No, that's true, but shooting him yourself will undoubtedly raise uncomfortable questions, and if you assemble a firing squad and have him shot, he still has the opportunity to expose you."

"You sound as if you are working with Klink."

"I work for no one but myself, General. Consider this a bit of free advice. Kommandant Klink is not a brilliant man, nor an ambitious one. He aspires to little more than prancing around babbling on about his no-escape record. He is content to be, and suited to being, a prison-keeper. I am sure he can be neutralized in a manner that will not pose any additional threat to you, sir."

"Give him his command back, that is what you are suggesting?"

"It is of no consequence to me what you do with Klink, provided I have time to leave the country before you do it. Based on my conversations with him, I would strongly advise simply leaving him where he is and allowing him to run his little kingdom there at Stalag 13. He will be happy at escaping a transfer Eastward and have no desire to compromise either one of us if it means putting himself at risk, and I will certainly be a happy man living in this sort of style in scenic Switzerland, and you? You will go on being the trusted confidante of the Fuhrer you are now, and enjoy all the benefits that accompany such a standing."

"There is a price to all this, so why don't you get to the point?"

"Impatience. Turns so many things sour. Wine, romance, business deals..." Neuchterlein looked at Burkhalter's stern, unamused countenance. "Very well. One hundred thousand marks, in cash, by tomorrow evening, to be left in a location of my choice."

"Tomorrow? Impossible."

"Really? Come now, General, a man of your means and influence cannot raise such a modest sum to save his reputation, and possibly his life? I find that unbelievable."

"When and where?" Burkhalter snapped. Neuchterlein smiled.

"Oh, no. I will contact you tomorrow with details. Suffice it to say that you will need the money by seven o'clock tomorrow night. After that time, I will call you with instructions." Neuchterlein rose, and began pulling on his gloves. "It has been a distinct pleasure doing business with you, Herr General."

"I cannot say the same," Burkhalter snarled.

"Pity. Heil Hitler," Neuchterlein said, making a slight gesture with his right hand before heading for the door, Burkhalter behind him. He felt a gun pressed into the small of his back.

"I could shoot you now and not pay you a single mark," Burkhalter stated levelly.

"And then you could shoot Colonel Klink, and then Colonel Hogan, and then all of the prisoners in Stalag 13, and you might have silenced everyone who knows. Or would you? Do you seriously think I am fool enough to meet with you alone like this, without leaving word anywhere, with anyone?"

"If you have already talked, I have little reason to pay for your silence."

"The price you pay will buy my silence and the silence of my confidante. You needn't worry. But should I meet a bad end before our deal is solidified? Well, then, that's another story." He waited, and the pressure moved away from his back. "Guten nacht, General."

Burkhalter watched the man get into a Gestapo staff car and drive off into the night.

Klink and his anthill at Stalag 13. They were nothing but trouble.

********

Carter poked his head up through the floor in the guest quarters, finding Hogan sitting on the couch, staring at a book he wasn't reading while LeBeau sat in the nearby chair, writing a letter.

"Any word yet?" Hogan asked, tossing the book aside.

"Nothing, sir. Just thought I'd update you."

"On what? You said there haven't been any messages."

"Truth is, Colonel, I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier." Carter came the rest of the way up into the room. "None of us meant to break the rules. Those guys in Barracks 9, they insulted you, and Louis, and all of us. They had it coming."

"You're absolutely right, they did have it coming. And there's a part of me that's really glad they got it. The same part that lost control and slugged Matthews. That doesn't make it right. I made that rule because I don't want to see any one of you guys get shot by a gung-ho guard who thinks he's putting down a riot. What if Schultz hadn't been the one to break that up? There are some guards in this camp who don't have a problem with shooting enemy prisoners for pretty flimsy reasons."

"So you're not mad anymore?" The question was so childlike, and so...Carter...that Hogan had to smile.

"Actually, Carter, I am still a little bit angry, but I understand what made you all do what you did, and I know your intentions were good."

"Oh, they were, sir. We were just trying to protect the dignity of our unit."

"And I'm just trying to protect your lives and our operation. That's why I came down so hard on all of you." Hogan sighed. "That's why I'm not reversing the punishment I handed out."

"I understand that," Carter said, visibly disappointed.

"That doesn't mean I won't work on Klink to reverse his part of the punishment, though," Hogan added with a little smile.

"Really?"

"But if you get out, the guys from Barracks 9 get out as well."

"That's not fair, sir. They started it!"

"I'm not a teacher on a playground, Carter. I don't care who started it. I finished it. And I plan to have a talk with them about this as well."

"I guess getting out of the cooler early will be pretty nice, even if those bozos get out, too," Carter said.

"Glad you approve, Carter." The comment was made with Hogan's usual good humor and the hint of a smile.

"PSSSSTTTT!!" The loud sound from the tunnel made them all swivel around to stare at it.

"Unless that's a pit of snakes down there, knock off the hissing," Hogan quipped.

"Message coming in on Erlich's code!" Newkirk called up from the tunnel.

"I want to go down." Hogan set his book aside and got up, with LeBeau right behind him, protesting all the way. "I'll go slowly."

"Should you do that, sir?" Carter asked, concerned.

"I want to do it, and I've waited long enough." Hogan eased down on his hands and knees, and then lowered his legs to the ladder. He winced a bit at the pull on his side, but he moved slowly, and within moments, found himself down in the tunnel.

"Hey, Colonel, great to see you back in the old neighborhood," Kinch said, grinning. Baker was hunched over his notepad, scribbling furiously as the message came in from Erlich. 

"I thought it was about time I checked things out down here," he said as LeBeau joined them shooting him a scolding look. "I'm fine, Mom," he said, smiling and sliding an arm around LeBeau's shoulders to take any possible sting out of the sarcasm. 

"You heard what the doctor said. Walking."

"I just walked down the ladder, that's all." Hogan winked at him and went back to watching Baker as LeBeau rolled his eyes. Baker handed him the small clipboard holding the translation of the message. Hogan reluctantly moved his arm from around LeBeau's shoulders and took it. "Completed meeting with target," he read aloud. "Will deliver instructions at agreed time." Hogan frowned. "We said seven, right?"

"That's right," Kinch confirmed.

"Target appears cooperative." Hogan handed Baker the clipboard. "That's what I call good news."

"It'll be better news when Burkhalter shows up here and does what we want him to do," LeBeau said.

"If Burkhalter seemed cooperative, that means he was willing to do things our way," Hogan said. "But LeBeau's right, we shouldn't count our chickens before they're hatched."

"A stitch in time saves nine," Carter volunteered from behind them. The group turned to look at him, and he added, "Well, that's what my grandma always says."

********

Klink paced his miserable cell. Solitary confinement. The least they could have done was put him in one of the decent cells, but then, there were almost thirty men jammed into the cooler at the moment, so having a private room, even without a view, was probably a luxury. He couldn't help but feel that Hogan was laughing at him somehow, enjoying the irony of putting the kommandant in the cooler.

How many times has he deserved to be in here, and because of his rank, I never subjected him to it for more than a night or two in the entire three years he's been here. And then it was because he goaded me into it. Looking back, he wanted to be here. He knew better than to provoke me into this if he didn't have an ulterior motive for spending a night in the cooler with his men.

Klink sighed, finally giving up pacing and sitting on the bunk. He punched at the pathetic mattress beneath him, and felt a pang of guilt for making prisoners sleep on something that wretched. Their usual mattresses weren't anything special, but this was a travesty.

The small sliding door in his cell door opened, and Klink rose to go see his visitor.

"Room service," Hogan said cheerfully, peering in the small opening.

"Hogan, go away. I'm in no mood for your sarcasm tonight."

"Oh, don't be such a grouch. Schultz, you wanna get the door for me?"

"Jawohl," Schultz said happily, opening the door and letting Hogan in with a serving tray.

"The food here isn't the best, so LeBeau whipped up a little something for you."

"The food here is very nutritious, Hogan. It is far better than prisoners receive in most disciplinary facilities. I spoke to Colonel Metzger at Stalag 19, and–"

"If you're not hungry, I'm sure Schultz'll take it off your hands," Hogan said of the tray, which he'd set on the small, rickety table near the bunk.

"I didn't say that," Klink relented, sitting down in the lone chair and pulling the little table near him. Hogan sat on the bunk.

"Let me know when you are ready to go," Schultz said to Hogan.

"Thanks, Schultz." Hogan watched as the kommandant devoured the array of leftovers. Table scraps of LeBeau's cooking were better than most restaurant entrees. Hogan felt his own mouth water, and promised himself a snack as soon as he got back to the guest quarters. Whether it would be on LeBeau or his cooking, he hadn't decided yet.

"The doctor approved you moving about so much and carrying food trays?" Klink asked, taking a drink of the wine on the tray.

"She said I could start walking around the compound, getting some mild exercise. Carrying a dinner tray is pretty mild, and I'm going stir crazy."

"You're going stir crazy? My heart bleeds for you, Hogan."

"Sorry, sir. Insensitive choice of words."

"Do you want to explain to me again why this is necessary? Why I couldn't be under arrest in my own quarters?"

"Would the Gestapo leave you in your own quarters?"

"No, probably not."

"All right, then. When Burkhalter comes here, he has to see the real thing. He can't suspect any part of this is a set-up. At this point, none of your guards know anything, either."

"That's nothing new."

"I mean about this operation."

"Oh." Klink sampled the chocolate mousse. "Tell LeBeau the food was magnificent."

"I'll tell him. You shouldn't have to be here much longer, though. Burkhalter makes the payoff tomorrow evening. I suspect you'll be hearing from him shortly thereafter."

"Hogan, what if he decides to shoot me instead of reinstating me?"

"There's always that risk, but I don't see him doing that. We've been over this before."

"Forgive my redundancy, Hogan, but I have little else to do than worry about being shot."

"Right now, you're headed for the Eastern Front. What have you got to lose?"

"Thank you for putting it that way." Klink got up and started pacing again. "I suppose you're right, though. If Burkhalter does shoot me, he's only cutting out the middle man."

"Some guy named Igor?"

"Right."

"If it's any consolation, I really believe this plan will work. I was a little jumpy at first, but it's going well. I think you should try to relax, Kommandant." Hogan rose with a little grunt, approaching the door.

"You...you're leaving already?" Klink asked.

"No special reason I have to," Hogan responded. Except that I'm tired and uptight and Louis has much more interesting ways of relaxing me than you do.

"I thought you might want a rematch."

"A rematch, sir?" Hogan frowned.

"I defeated you rather soundly the last time we played chess."

"Oh, right, definitely, you did." Hogan looked out the little window in the door and called out to Schultz. When the jolly, amiable face of the guard appeared on the other side of the opening, Hogan asked him to bring Klink's chess set to the cell. With a knowing look that said Schultz sympathized with Hogan having been snared into a late night game of chess, he left to get the chess set.

"I should have asked, Hogan. Are you getting tired? Should you be resting?"

"I don't think chess is too strenuous," Hogan replied, smiling. He reclaimed his seat on the bunk and Klink took the chair. "I'm not gonna be able to keep leaning forward for the table, so we better put the chessboard here." Hogan patted the empty part of the mattress.

"I do take some responsibility for what happened to you," Klink said.

"Why?" Hogan frowned.

"Karlsen and Heitel were troublemakers from the start. I knew they harassed the prisoners. I should have been more...aggressive with them right from the start. I did nothing meaningful about it until...until this happened."

"You have been sitting in this cooler stewing too long. It never occurred to me to blame this on you, and it's my spleen."

"You feel responsible for the actions of your men. So do I. Perhaps it took something more...potentially tragic for me to realize it."

"Karlsen and Heitel never physically abused any of us before this."

"Because you were always reporting them or stepping in."

"Occupational hazard, Kommandant. I don't blame you, so don't blame yourself. You got rid of them once you knew how serious a threat they were."

"I have the chess set," Schultz announced, unlocking the door. "You won't try to escape if I open the door, will you?" Schultz asked with a slight smile, and Hogan laughed out loud.

"I'll hold him back by force if I have to," he replied, jerking a thumb in Klink's direction. The kommandant actually laughed at that.

********

It was after midnight when Schultz escorted Hogan back to the guest quarters. LeBeau was pacing the sitting room, and Hogan could tell a head of steam was building. In LeBeau's opinion, he'd run amok as a patient, going up and down the ladder into the tunnel, staying out late, walking around too much, and various other minor infractions too numerous to mention.

"Do you know what time it is?" LeBeau snapped as soon as Hogan walked in the door. Schultz made a hasty exit.

"I was in the cooler playing chess with Klink."

"You've been up since dawn this morning. You were supposed to take medication at 10, do you know that?"

"No, Louis, I didn't remember that. I'm still alive, so I can take it now."

"It's a long walk between here and the cooler. And then up and down the ladder–"

"Hey, slow down a little." Hogan rested his hands on LeBeau's shoulders. "Listen to me. I'm feeling better. That's why I'm moving around more. When I get tired or something pulls too much on my side, I take it easy. But if I don't get out and start living again, I'm going to be an invalid for months."

"You almost died. You have to take care of yourself."

"No I don't. You take care of me. I just have to get better, and I'm doing that." Hogan leaned down and kissed over the next protest, giving LeBeau's mouth something better to do than scold him. One flowed into another until Hogan had backed LeBeau over to the couch and sat down there with him, wrapping his arms around that warm, willing body and losing himself in the kisses. When they parted, breathless, LeBeau spoke against Hogan's mouth.

"Maybe we should go in the bedroom. Anyone could walk in."

"Or come up through the floor," Hogan added.

"Would kind of make that photo look harmless by comparison, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah." Hogan pulled it out of his jacket pocket and they looked at it together. "You love me so much. It's all over your face." Hogan smiled at that, and kissed LeBeau's temple, pulling him close while they continued to study their images.

"I wanted to make the pain go away. If I could do that, I would be happy."

"You do. All the time."

"I think we are wasting precious hours when Schultz likes to nap. Klink is in the cooler. The 'Gestapo' men won't bother us..."

"Are you propositioning an officer?" Hogan asked.

"I'm doing my best, but if you have to ask, I must be losing my touch."

"Oh, no, your touch is just fine, baby," Hogan said in a husky voice as he initiated another round of kissing.

"You must be feeling a lot better."

"Mmhm," Hogan agreed, demanding more kisses. He moaned into Louis' mouth when he felt a questing hand gently squeezing him through the fabric of his pants. By unspoken agreement, they moved to the bedroom, shedding clothes and locking the door as soon as they were inside the room.

Hogan was annoyed to still have to favor his injured side, but he made himself comfortable on his good side and LeBeau climbed into the bed to lie on his side also, facing Hogan.

"I will miss these chances to make love in a real bed when we're back in the barracks again."

"I know. So will I. But we do all right in the bunk," Hogan replied.

"Or in the tunnel."

"Or wherever," Hogan agreed, grinning and kissing Louis again. Arms and legs twining together, they kissed and caressed, always mindful of keeping their movements gentle and mild in deference to Hogan's healing incision.

"Do you think this is on the approved list? The doctor said in a week..."

"This is the best medicine in the world. Who cares about the doctor?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"We've made love since I got back from the hospital. I'm okay as long as I don't do a lot of stretching or twisting."

"We'll save that for when you're better," LeBeau said, kissing and licking a trail down Hogan's chest. Hogan kept him from moving lower. He wrapped his hand around Louis' rapidly hardening cock, pumping gently. A moment later, Louis mirrored the gesture, and as their mouths locked together in heated kisses, their hands worked at bringing them to a shared climax.

Resting together in a sweaty tangle of limbs, Louis finally spoke.

"Do you think the operation is going well?"

"What made you think of the operation right now?" Hogan asked, kissing his forehead.

"I was trying to think about how I could escape and save myself, knowing you were still here, that you were...that they had you. I don't think I can do it. I can't promise you that."

"Shhh. It's not gonna happen, Louis. This is all going to work out."

"You don't know that."

"I know. I'm scared, too. But I believe in our team, and I think we've got a great scam going here. I just need to know that if something goes wrong, and there's no way for you to help me, that you'll take the most precious thing in the world to me out of this camp alive and safe–and that's you."

"I'll try." Louis buried his face against Hogan's chest, holding him as tightly as he dared. "I want to remember everything. About how you feel against me, how you smell, the sound of your voice..."

"No matter what happens, nobody can take this away from us. The love we've made is ours to keep."

********

The next day was tense, since everything was in a holding pattern until Burkhalter received his instructions at 7:00 that night. Hogan played two more games of chess with Klink, who was defying the laws of nature by threatening to wear a path in concrete pacing his cell. "Freitag" spent most of his day pushing papers around on Klink's desk, pretending to work. McAllister, in his role of Sergeant Rudolph, the erratic, frenetic Gestapo sergeant-of-the-guard who was temporarily replacing Schultz, continued to bark orders and reign terror on the usual Stalag 13 Luftwaffe guards. Schultz spent as much of the day as possible hiding out in Barracks 2, playing poker with Hogan's crew, or seeking LeBeau out in the guest quarters to see what he might have on the stove. The atmosphere of the camp was alive with tension, every man on edge for his own reasons.

LeBeau sent a dinner tray to Klink in the cooler, ostensibly "smuggling it past" McAllister in his Gestapo role, sending it with Langenscheid. Oddly enough, the somewhat klutzy corporal could be pretty sneaky if he wanted to be, and definitely had Schultz outclassed in the subtlety department. Hogan's team ate dinner in the guest quarters, with Schultz slipping in and out from his guard duty to sample the goodies. In a moment when he was safely outside, Hogan took the opportunity to say a few significant words to his team.

"I spoke to Klink today about the cooler sentence," he began. Most of the men at the table were spending their nights there, even if they were coming and going like rats through a web of tunnels that ran between most of the cells. "He said as soon as we let him out, he'll let you out."

"You mean tonight's our last night in the slammer?" Carter asked.

"Yeah, it's the last night," Hogan said. "There's something else we need to discuss." Hogan wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his plate forward, having finished as much as he could eat given the circumstances. "We've known from the start this was a risky mission. Frankly, I think we're doing great. Hochstetter was the biggest test...at least the biggest we could anticipate. We're still not 100% in the clear with him, because I don't know how gutty he is about checking out the story he got here. If he was scared enough by the phone call, he won't say a word to anyone, or ask any questions. While Hochstetter blows a lot of hot air, I don't think he's one of the great heroes of our time. My guess is he'll leave the whole mess alone. If he does raise questions at headquarters, we've got trouble we can't fix."

"Don't bother with dessert, LeBeau. I lost my appetite," Baker said.

"I'm saying all this for a reason, fellas. Not just to ruin dinner," Hogan added, smiling slightly. "If something goes seriously wrong, there isn't going to be time to save the operation. We won't have time to destroy things or protect each other. It'll be every man for himself, and himself will be the only thing he might get out of this camp. If that happens, don't stop to worry about me or whether or not I've been arrested. Don't try to take anything with you or destroy anything. Anyone who's captured, consider them a lost issue. If you are not captured, use whatever you can in the tunnel–clothes, food, maps, fake papers, money–and do your best to get to one of our emergency contacts to get you out of Germany."

"You've never talked like this, Colonel, and we've had a lot of risky operations. Even when we thought those guys were here to get us that time–the ones I spoke English in front of?" Carter recalled. "You had us getting ready to destroy everything, and now you're telling us to run for it?"

"If the Gestapo uncovers what we're doing, that we've pulled the strings behind Von Gruner's capture by the Allies, that we've blackmailed a general, that we were able to take over a POW camp with fake Gestapo officers... Their response is going to be swift and deadly, and anyone still here is either going to be shot or interrogated in such a way that he'll wish for the shooting. That's why this time, I want you to get out if you can, and moving fast is the only hope you'll have, before they start swarming through the woods and tightening up security."

"But you can't even get up and down the ladders very quickly now. We aren't going to just leave you for dead, Colonel," Kinch said.

"Yes, you are, because it's an order. If this crashes, I'm the first one they'll come looking for."

"We could just seal off the tunnel entrances," Newkirk suggested.

"If one of those goons jumps up and down too many times in one place, he'll fall into a tunnel. We've hollowed out so much of the ground under this place that I've been waiting for the day when the whole thing turns into a giant sinkhole. We couldn't seal off the tunnels anymore. Two years ago, maybe, but not now."

"I guess we do have a pretty impressive subway system down there," LeBeau spoke up, grinning.

"Look, none of this is going to matter, because things are all going according to plan and we're going to come through this like any other mission. I just wanted to be sure you guys were clear on where I stood if something went wrong."

"We're clear on it, sir, but we don't have to like it," Baker said.

********

Burkhalter paced around the desk in the richly furnished study in his chalet. He checked the watch on his pudgy wrist, irritated that it was already 7:10 and he'd heard nothing of this Neuchterlein character with his demands. Just then, the phone rang.

"Burkhalter here," he greeted tersely.

"Guten abend, Herr General. You were expecting my call?" Neuchterlein's voice sounded as relaxed as it had in person. Swine.

"Ja, I have expected it. You have information for me?"

"The small park across from Luftwaffe headquarters. You are familiar with it?"

"I know the place."

"Good. In exactly one hour, you will leave the money in the hollow of the large oak tree next to the fountain."

"And what guarantee do I have that you won't simply take the money and turn me in anyway?"

"Why would I do a foolish thing like that and bring myself under suspicion? No, Herr General, you leave the money in the tree, and once you leave the park, you may breathe easy. I will see to it the Gestapo is removed from Stalag 13, and what you do from there is your own affair. But, mark my words...if you do not leave the money, or if you double-cross me in anyway, you will find yourself in front of a firing squad before you know it." With that, the line went dead.

Resigned to his expensive fate, Burkhalter slipped into his coat and tucked the thick envelope into the breast pocket. He eyed the phone a moment, contemplating the possibility of calling one of his friends in Berlin to verify Neuchterlein's identity and the identity of the men occupying Stalag 13. But in Hitler's Germany, no one was your friend more so than he was the Fuhrer's friend, and at the barest hint of scandal, Burkhalter would find himself at best a pariah, probably with a worse job than Klink's–or perhaps that very job–and at worst, Neuchterlein was right. He'd end up on the wrong side of a firing squad.

Decision made, he set out to make the payment he hoped would buy off this whole ugly mess. That is, until he had to buy off Klink, which he suspected would be more distasteful but considerably less expensive.

********

Hogan waited around the radio with his men, expecting a call from the Underground. Two of their agents were posing as lovers in the park, at a good enough distance that Burkhalter would chance placing the envelope, but close enough so they could see him do it. Other agents were surreptitiously following him from his chalet, watching for any sign he had summoned reinforcements. Once Burkhalter had truly left the area and was back in his chalet, one of the agents would snatch the money and run. The proceeds would be split between Hogan's operation and various Underground units that were always in need of ready cash.

"It's almost ten," Hogan said, checking his watch again. "They're taking their sweet time, aren't they?"

"You think Burkhalter didn't show, Colonel?" LeBeau asked, wishing he could touch Hogan, maybe massage a little of the tension out of his neck and back as he stood near the radio with Kinch.

"It's looking pretty bad right now." Hogan reached over and touched his side, a look of discomfort crossing his features.

"You okay, sir?" Carter asked, watching him worriedly.

"I'm fine, Carter, thanks. Just a little tired."

"You should be in bed," LeBeau stated.

"I can't exactly roll over and go to sleep while our whole operation dangles by a thread."

"Something's coming in," Kinch said, putting on the headphones and writing furiously, a smile spreading over his face. As soon as he was finished, he pulled off the headphones and delivered the good news. "Burkhalter put the money in the tree right on schedule, but he hung around for a while, watching it. The guys from the Underground out-waited him, and he finally went home. They don't think he was followed, and they have the money. Erlich is on his way here, in his Neuchterlein garb, to remove the Gestapo and restore it to the Luftwaffe."

"That's great news. Tell them we all said 'well done' and a very big thank you."

"Will do, sir." Kinch went about sending the message while Hogan headed for the ladder, eyeing it wearily.

"We could get you up there without the ladder, sir," Newkirk offered.

"I came down that way. I'll go up that way. Thanks anyway, Newkirk. Look, I hate to say this, but you guys better get back to the cooler. There's no telling when Burkhalter will show, and once Klink's released, he's promised to let you all out."

"I thought you weren't gonna negotiate for us this time, Colonel," Carter said, and the others shot him a black look, as if he were potentially reminding Hogan not to get them out of the cooler.

"Is that a complaint, Carter?" Hogan teased, smiling slightly.

"No, sir. No way."

"Okay, then. Good night, everybody."

A chorus of "goodnights" followed Hogan up the ladder, his incision protesting every move. He had pushed it going up and down the ladder, and LeBeau had warned him against doing it. Now he wished he'd listened, but he would be damned if he'd admit it. He made it to the top, and did his best to walk to the couch as if he didn't feel as lousy as he did. He sat down, and LeBeau emerged from the tunnel entrance and put the stove back in its place. He didn't say anything, but retrieved a couple of pain pills and water and brought them to Hogan, who swallowed them gratefully.

"You can go ahead and say it."

"Say what?" LeBeau frowned, taking the nearly empty glass of water from Hogan.

"You told me I shouldn't go up and down the ladder."

"Why would I want to make you feel more miserable than you already are? It doesn't make me happy to be right. Why don't you lie down on the couch for a while? I know you don't feel like sleeping until you know what's happening tonight, but at least take off your jacket and lie down."

"Okay. Good idea." Hogan smiled as LeBeau helped him with his jacket and then went to the bedroom to fetch a couple of pillows. He returned quickly and put them at one end of the couch so Hogan could rest against them. Then he sat near Hogan's feet and began untying his shoes. "You spoil me," he said tiredly, feeling the pull of sleep.

"I love you," LeBeau said easily, smiling. "I like doing things for you. I always have."

"Yeah, I know. I love you, too, you know."

"Oh, I know. You show me all the time." LeBeau set the shoes aside and then sat on the couch, Hogan's feet in his lap. He began massaging them through the socks.

"That feels great," Hogan sighed, closing his eyes.

"Just relax, and imagine all your tension is flowing down through your body to your feet, and then is getting massaged away until there's none left."

Hogan let out a long breath, his lids fluttering a bit as if he were fighting sleep. He didn't fight long, and if he did, he certainly didn't win. LeBeau kept up the massage until Hogan's deep breathing indicated he was sleeping soundly. LeBeau eased out from under him and put the throw from the back of the sofa over him. Hogan frowned a bit in his sleep, as if he sensed something wasn't the way it was, something was missing. He was paler than LeBeau liked seeing him, the strain of keeping up with the operation showing on his sleeping face. He was recovering well, but it would take time, and that was something Hogan apparently was loathe to give it more of.

LeBeau pulled the chair close to the couch, moving the coffee table a bit out of the way. He took Hogan's hand in his, and smiled as the frown lines disappeared. He was tired himself, and when he felt like dozing, he didn't fight it.

*********

LeBeau came awake with a start at the sound of the scraping of the stove on its platform moving across the floor to reveal the tunnel entrance. Thanks to the pain medication and his fatigue, Hogan didn't even stir. LeBeau left his side and greeted Newkirk, who poked his head up through the floor.

"Erlich just arrived with his driver. You want to listen in over at the barracks?"

"I shouldn't leave Colonel Hogan without telling him what's up, and I don't want to wake him."

"Yeah, he needs some sleep. He was lookin' a bit under the weather earlier. Okay. Kinch'll get it all down."

"Thanks, Peter." LeBeau returned to his post near Hogan, who stirred a little but didn't rally. He did reach out a bit aimlessly in his sleep, and has soon as his hand wrapped around LeBeau's, he settled again.

********

Erlich arrived at the camp, and McAllister immediately approached the car, giving a proper "Heil Hitler" salute to his "superior". He was instructed to turn the duty of sergeant of the guard back over to Schultz and inform him that the camp was being restored to Luftwaffe command. Fortunately, McAllister's big grin and the little spring in his step as he left to follow orders was visible only to the Underground agent playing his superior.

The car approached the main office, and in full "Neuchterlein" character, Erlich strode inside and relieved "Freitag" of his command, loudly and ostentatiously enough for the young camp guard on the front porch to hear him. "Freitag" then summoned Schultz, and ordered him to release Klink from the cooler.

Within a few brief minutes, the phony Gestapo command had relinquished control of Stalag 13 and were on their way through the front gates in their phony staff car.

Schultz unlocked Klink's cell and announced that the Gestapo had ordered his release and had returned the camp to Luftwaffe control.

"That's the best news I've had all week," Klink said jubilantly, donning his hat and picking up his riding crop, walking with Schultz back to the guest quarters to share the good news with Hogan.

********

LeBeau jerked awake, hearing the approach of boots on the front porch. He disentangled his hand from Hogan's and shook his lover's shoulder gently. Hogan reluctantly came to, then immediately tried to focus on his watch, even though it was hopeless that soon after waking.

"Someone is outside," he said, pushing his chair back to its usual position just as Klink and Schultz came into the guest quarters.

"The 'Gestapo' are gone, Hogan," Klink announced, smiling from ear to ear.

"Why didn't somebody wake me up before this?" Hogan sat up on the couch, trying to shake off the stupor of sleep.

"Because there was nothing you had to do, and you were exhausted," LeBeau replied, undaunted by Hogan's temporarily ruffled feathers.

"Schultz, stand guard outside, please," Klink said. Schultz's face fell. He apparently thought he would be part of the celebration, but Klink wanted to say things candidly, and Schultz had not been taken into the ultimate confidence yet. While they were all fond of him, none of them truly trusted his discretion.

"Hey, Schultzie, I'll bring you out some strudel–with the kommandant's permission, of course," LeBeau said.

"Tonight is a night for celebration. Why not?" Klink responded with uncharacteristic good nature. Schultz gaped at him a moment, then went outside to take up his post. LeBeau went to the kitchen to get Schultz his treat.

"It worked, Hogan! Oh, I never should have doubted you. This was brilliant!"

"Uh, I hate to burst your bubble, Kommandant, but we haven't heard from Burkhalter yet."

"He paid off your Gestapo man."

"He did that, but he still has to deal with you, and we can't predict for certain how he'll do that. My best guess is he'll restore your command to keep your silence."

"You still think he might shoot me, don't you?"

"We always knew that was a risk. I think he'll restore your command. If he shoots you, he still doesn't know who you've told, and you have to make it clear that you have that letter at the bank, remember?"

"I remember my lines, Hogan, don't worry." Klink took off his hat and coat and sat in the chair LeBeau had occupied. "How do you do this?"

"Do what, sir?" Hogan looked at him, confused.

"Stand this kind of pressure, waiting to find out if something's going to work or not?"

"You get used to it," Hogan said, shrugging. "It's all part of the job."

"I couldn't do it. Not all the time. This once has nearly driven me insane."

"Insanity is probably a requirement for my job," Hogan said, laughing.

"What exactly is your job, Hogan?"

"I thought you didn't want to know."

"In a way I don't, but I'm still curious."

"Well, don't be. You know what curiosity did for the cat."

"Thank you, Hogan. I needed that."

"Sorry, sir. Just a little gallows humor, I guess."

"Gallows? You think they'll hang me?"

"Figure of speech. Sorry." Hogan shook his head. "Kommandant, if you're going to be in the spy business, you need steadier nerves."

"I am not in the spy business," Klink said righteously.

"Good. You keep telling yourself that, and maybe you can convince Burkhalter."

********

Never a man to inconvenience himself, Burkhalter went home for a good night's sleep before making the short trip from his chalet to Stalag 13. It seemed quite serene and ordinary there, given the turmoil in its administration. Prisoners played volleyball while Schultz and Hogan occupied a bench to watch, guards patrolled in their usually leisurely fashion, watching the other prisoners who were engaged in various recreational games and activities during what must be the exercise period. There was a bit of a flurry with his arrival, and by the time his car pulled up in front of Klink's office, the kommandant was rushing out to the porch to greet him.

"We'll talk in your office," Burkhalter said, moving briskly past Klink and ignoring his salute. Klink followed him past a somewhat puzzled Hilda, who had given up trying to keep track of the comings and goings of Luftwaffe and Gestapo men over the past several days. Klink's office door slammed decisively behind the two officers.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Herr General."

"Let's get right to the point, Klink. I know what you told the Gestapo."

"You do?" Klink feigned surprise, and for once in his life, did it quite convincingly.

"Yes, I do. Major Neuchterlein paid me a visit. Fortunately, he had a price for his knowledge, and his silence. That price has been met." Burkhalter glowered at Klink. "That leaves only you to deal with."

"I was prepared something like this might happen. When I was released and the camp restored to my command last night, I was fairly certain something had gone wrong. I fully expected to be shot for my part in this...deception about Von Gruner."

"I should shoot you myself," Burkhalter replied.

"You have that option, sir, but I think you should know that I have taken precautions against such an occurrence."

"Precautions?"

"I have not kept this information only in here," Klink said, tapping his temple.

"I suspect there is very little in there, so that does not surprise me," Burkhalter responded, taking a seat in one of the chairs. Klink sat against the edge of his desk.

"There is a letter in a safe deposit box in a bank. I have left instructions for that box to be opened in the event of my...untimely passing, or should I be injured in such a way as to incapacitate me or rob me of my faculties. And there is someone else who knows, but will stay silent to protect me."

"Your good friend, Hogan, no doubt. Let me tell you something about that, Klink. Shooting you would cause me some inconvenient paperwork. Shooting Hogan would give me a good story to tell at the officers' club."

"With all due respect, sir, I never said it was Hogan. Furthermore, shooting Hogan wouldn't accomplish a great deal unless you can be sure you've shot anyone he might have contacted in the last several months regarding this situation. And all his men. And half the guards here who know what Von Gruner did–none of whom, at this point, are interested in defying the official story put in place by a colonel and a general."

"I could take you back to headquarters and drag the answer out of you."

"You could, that's true. But do you want to take that chance?"

"You're enjoying this little moment of power, aren't you, Klink?" Burkhalter didn't wait for an answer. "What is it you want to keep your mouth shut?"

"My command restored, the ability to run Stalag 13 without undue interference, and the guarantee that all of my prisoners will remain under my authority until the time of their release." Klink added the last stipulation himself, hoping it would offer Hogan and his men some measure of safety from an irate Burkhalter.

"No money? No general's stripes?"

"I'm not a greedy man, Herr General. As for general's stripes? It seems to me they come with a great deal of...personal distress. I think I shall be satisfied to remain kommandant of Stalag 13, at my present rank."

"Very well." Burkhalter rose and headed for the door, picking up his hat and coat along the way. "We will consider the matter closed. Your command is restored."

"Danke, Herr General."

"But I warn you, Klink," Burkhalter said, pointing a fat finger in Klink's direction. "You are playing a dangerous game. I would advise you not to push me too far, and not to attempt to use this situation to your advantage to an undue extent. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, sir."

Burkhalter nodded curtly, once, and left, pulling the door shut behind him. Klink slid into his desk chair, feeling like someone had just let all the air out of him.

********

"Congratulations, Colonel Klink," Hogan said, disconnecting the coffee pot. "The old boy did all right."

"Does this mean we're in the clear?" Carter asked.

"Break out the champagne, boys. We did it again," Hogan announced, smiling at the flurry of cheers and backslaps that statement started.

********

After sharing a champagne toast with his men–using a bottle they'd pilfered from Klink's stash some time ago–Hogan paid a visit to the kommandant's office. He found Klink sitting behind his desk, looking a bit perplexed.

"You aren't exactly dancing in the streets, sir," Hogan said, shutting the door behind him. "Something wrong?"

"I can't believe he went along with it."

"He did. Not that any operation comes with guarantees or results carved in stone, but he has a lot less to lose leaving you alone, leaving this whole mess alone, than he does trying to untangle it." Hogan poured two glasses of schnapps, keeping one for himself and delivering one to Klink. "After all, even if Burkhalter were to proudly uncover whatever it is he thinks is really going on here, the fact remains that it's been going on here right under his nose. That's not even addressing the lying-to-the-Gestapo issue."

"You believe we're safe from him now?"

"Safe as we ever are, yeah, I think so," Hogan replied, downing the small shot of whiskey.

"Thank you, Hogan. That was very reassuring."

"Look, Kommandant, we got Burkhalter off our backs. That's the best we can do. If you're looking for absolutes and risk-free endings, that's not gonna happen."

"I guess I just don't have the nerves for your kind of work, Hogan."

"What work is that?"

"Whatever it is you do," Klink replied, gesturing with his hand. Hogan had to chuckle at that.

"Well, all this excitement's got me a little worn out, so I think I'll take a nap. You ought to do the same. You look a bit winded, sir." Hogan rose and headed for the door.

"I don't recall dismissing you, Hogan."

"You didn't send for me, either, so why start with formalities now?" Hogan executed a sloppy salute and left, closing the door behind him.

"American," Klink groused, downing his whiskey.

********

Two very distinct teams, standing a good distance apart, paid grudging attention while Hogan explained the "big picture" of the improvement project they were about to undertake. He was still recovering, but he was back in his barracks again, and mostly into the mainstream of camp life except for a few lingering limitations on his physical activities. He certainly seemed hale and hearty when it came to handing out orders, though, much to the consternation of the Barracks 2 and Barracks 9 residents, who were about to begin camp improvements while their fellow prisoners frolicked in the Recreation Hall or amused themselves outdoors.

"Now, I want any of you with any experience in woodworking to step forward," Hogan said, waiting for the response. Carter volunteered, and that shamed a couple other guys from Barracks 2 into coming forward. Finally, grudgingly, two men from Barracks 9 emerged from their group. "Great. You guys are now the bench makers."

"Excuse me, sir," Middleton, an RAF flier from Barracks 9 interrupted. "You expect us to work together?"

"I'm not going to order you to do that, but I'm hopeful you're mature enough to get over your past differences. The work will go much faster if it's handled with a team approach."

"We've got a month," Newkirk grumbled.

"You're not giving me a whole lot of incentive to reconsider that, either, are you?" Hogan responded. "The purpose of discipline isn't to give me a chance to throw my weight around when I'm bored. The purpose of it is to learn something. At least, that should be the purpose of it. Now we've got a project to do, and two groups of men to do it. You can either waste most of your time dividing up the work so you don't have to speak to each other, like a bunch of feuding ten-year-olds on a playground, or you can get in groups of similar skills, and tackle this thing as a team, and get it done in half the time."

"And if we do that, you're saying you'd cut the punishment down that much?" Newkirk asked.

"I'm saying that if you give me a good reason to reconsider the original one-month time span, I will reconsider it. Now, we need landscapers. Anybody here got a green thumb?" Several guys stepped forward for that request, joining the woodworkers who were already separated from the group. "Okay, woodworkers over here," Hogan pointed in one direction. "Landscapers over here." He pointed in a different direction. The men somewhat reluctantly moved into the mixed teams, but regarded each other with suspicious, dark looks. Hogan checked his clipboard. "We still need a maintenance team, a painting team, and a cleaning team. The guys who are handy, who can fix things, should volunteer for the maintenance team." Hogan recruited volunteers for the three remaining teams until all the men were divided into five teams ranging from about four to eight each. "Okay, now, some of you may have to do some double-duty, since we'll probably need more than four cleaning people, and we might not need eight landscapers for the duration of the project. Klink's bankrolling this, and he's very open to camp improvements right now, so this is an opportunity for us. Not to make him look good, but to make this place a little less miserable for ourselves. If something leaks, it should be patched. If we're out of light bulbs, they should be replaced. I want each one of the teams to assess the camp for what needs to be done, and report back to me with a list of tasks."

"I thought you said we had a choice about working together?" Nicholas said, uneasy to be the only Barracks 9 man on the maintenance team, which he shared with Kinch, Baker, Olson and Metcalf, all men from Barracks 2.

"You do. If you want to work alone, be my guest, as long as you don't delay or hinder the project while you're doing it. I do expect you to assess the camp as a team, so you are all familiar with the tasks on the list, and I don't think I need to tell you that choosing a 'foreman' for your team would be a good idea."

"Aren't you going to assign the foremen, sir?" Carter asked.

"Nope." Hogan crossed his arms over his chest. "You men take it from here and report back to me in two hours with your lists. Dismissed," Hogan said cheerfully, leaving the five groups to stand there, staring at one another, trying to figure how they could avoid working together and still function as teams with foremen.

"They're probably going to kill each other, you know that, don't you?" LeBeau said as he sat on a crate outside the barracks, peeling potatoes. Hogan wondered how many recreation periods LeBeau actually gave up to work on their meals. He'd never thought too much about it before, but he figured it must be quite a few.

"What're you making tonight?" Hogan asked, ignoring the dire assessment of the work project. He had faith in his men, and he truly believed with the right motivation, they'd figure a way to reconcile their differences.

"Carter asked for hash browns. I can do that. With a few extra special seasonings, of course. I'm not making a pan of semi-burned potatoes without fixing them up a bit."

"I love hash browns."

"In that case, I'll make them exactly the way you like them," LeBeau said, smiling sweetly in Hogan's direction. Hogan soaked up the love in the expression, and returned it, wishing he could touch Louis right now, but figuring the look was all he should try for the moment.

"Add some onions, huh?"

"That's all?" LeBeau asked, seeming disappointed, as if there should be more to the recipe than that.

"And anything else you think I'll like." Hogan smiled as LeBeau immediately brightened at that. Telling LeBeau to make a dish with only two ingredients would be like telling Monet to paint in black and white. "I need your opinion on something," Hogan said, leaning against the building.

"My opinion? About what?" LeBeau seemed a little surprised, and quite pleased. Hogan often asked for input from the group, but he didn't often pull one of men aside specifically this way. And while he confided his deepest thoughts and feelings to LeBeau, he was usually quite independent and decisive in matters of opinion.

"When we do that railroad job tomorrow night, I'd like to use McAllister is the kraut guard who'll be with me to stop traffic at our phony checkpoint."

"Why him? Carter or Newkirk could do it."

"Carter has to supervise wiring things up. Newkirk does a great kraut accent, but we're dead if they start speaking German beyond a few catch phrases. McAllister's fluent."

"You trust him enough to let him do that?"

"That's kind of my point in asking you about it. Am I being overly idealistic to think he's genuine and that he can be a good addition to our team?"

"He could have sold us out during the whole fake takeover. He played that part like a pro." LeBeau chuckled. "Schultz is still afraid of that 'crazy Gestapo sergeant'. I don't think he'll sell us out." LeBeau paused, his hands stilling in what had been perpetual motion in peeling potatoes. "What bothers me is that it seems like rewarding him for what he did. He was mad at you for giving him what he thought was a dumb job, and he nearly got you killed over it, and now we promote him up to the inner circle? That bothers me. He doesn't deserve to be rewarded for getting you hurt."

"He made a bad mistake, and he lashed out. He was spiteful, and he was immature. He didn't mean for it to turn into what it did. I believe that much."

"We've always thought it would make things easier if we had someone fluent in German on our team."

"We don't have to bring him into the inner circle to use him on one job. Maybe we could pull him in for the jobs where the language issue is front and center. Where we're most likely to have to think on our feet and answer in German."

"That makes sense. If he really proves himself, we could use him for more. I suppose it's a bad idea to not use him just to keep punishing him for what he did, even if he does deserve it."

"Good point. What's more important? Punishing him or making our operation the best it can be?"

"I know your answer to that one, Mon Colonel," LeBeau said calmly, going back to his potatoes.

"Guess that gives me my answer, huh?"

"Guess so," LeBeau said, smiling.

"Hope you're making a lot of those hash browns. I'm starving."

"You're always starving since we moved out of the guest quarters," LeBeau needled, his smile lingering as he used one finger to playfully poke Hogan in the belly.

"Guess I got used to eating like a normal person again, instead of squeaking by on camp rations." Hogan looked down at himself. "At least my pants are too loose again and my dress uniform jacket ought to fit better."

"I can take those in for you," LeBeau said.

"Don't worry about it right now. Wait and see what happens after the hash browns." 

Later that afternoon, Hogan began seeing the "foremen" of the work teams in his office with their checklists. In most instances, they reported the teams had opted to work together to get the job done faster. Only the painters, one of the larger groups, had stayed divided by barracks lines, preferring to split up the jobs rather than tackle the whole list as one group. While he was a bit disappointed with that decision, Hogan didn't force the issue. He'd given them the latitude to handle it their own way, and that's what they were doing. At least they'd managed to develop the list without killing each other.

When Baker came in with the list from the small group that included himself, Kinch and Nicholas, Hogan was waiting anxiously to hear how they'd fared with the ringleader of the Barracks 9 troublemakers. If any two could keep their cool while being slightly intimidating if necessary, it would be Kinch and Baker. Plus, though all three men were sergeants, Kinch was a staff sergeant and Baker's date of rank put him a notch above Nicholas.

"How'd it go?" Hogan looked over the list of tasks, which would keep the small group of only three men extremely busy for the next few weeks. "If you want to get a few volunteers from among the other prisoners, go ahead and ask for some. Just let me know who you sign up."

"Right, sir, thanks. It went all right. Nicholas didn't have much to say, but we aren't looking to form a social club with him. We just want to get the work done. He used to work in a machine shop at home, so he'll be a good addition to the team."

"He managed to keep his mouth shut today?"

"Pretty much. He gave us a few dirty looks, but he didn't say anything. I think when Kinch mentioned to me in conversation that he was a Golden Gloves contender back home, Nicholas decided to change his attitude."

"Remarkable how those attitudes just magically change, isn't it?" Hogan handed him the list. "Let me know if he gives you any problems."

"Will do, sir. Any chance I could get a transfer to the painting team?" Baker asked as he headed for the door.

"Nice try. I think you're fine right where you are."

"Can't blame a guy for trying," Baker responded, shrugging as he left the office.

********

"You know, I wish we could send the good doctor a thank you note," Hogan said, adjusting the tie that was part of his Gestapo uniform. "As long as she keeps dating Klink, the coast is clear at least twice a week." They were suiting up down in the tunnel to go out on the train job, Hogan's first mission back in the field since his surgery.

"Klink isn't causing us too many problems anyway," Newkirk said, crouching low to check the hem on Hogan's coat. "Can't have Major Hoganburg walking around with a torn hem, now can we?" he asked, going to work on the offending garment. "You sure you're up to this mission, Colonel?"

"All I have to do is stand by the side of the road and look intimidating. I think I'm up for that much now."

"So is old Klink really done checking up on us, or do we still need to worry about him?"

"I think it's better we stick with our old procedure. Klink may not want to catch us at anything, but I don't want him to have too much information, too many details. I trust him not to sell us out voluntarily, but I'm not sure how long he'd hold out or how much he'd give up under Gestapo interrogation. Plus, he might trust me personally or my immediate inner circle not to try escaping, but he's not that trusting of the whole camp."

"Better safe than sorry, eh? Probably a good idea," Newkirk concluded, finishing the work on Major Hoganburg's coat hem. Just then, McAllister joined them, decked out in full Gestapo garb.

"Ready, sir?" McAllister asked anxiously.

"Almost. We'll be starting out ahead of the others, to set up the phony checkpoint. Carter!" Hogan called, and a moment later, their resident pyromaniac appeared around the corner from his lab, dressed in black and carrying a box of explosives, timers and other supplies.

"Ready and standing by, Colonel," he said, a slightly deranged glint in his eye. In anyone else, such maniacal glee would be unsettling.

"Okay. Round up the others. Give us a fifteen minute head start." Hogan headed for the ladder, leading the way up top, through the tree stump. When he slammed down the top to duck behind the stump and avoid the search light, he heard a thump and a muffled curse. A moment later, McAllister came hesitantly out of the stump, closing it quickly and following Hogan's lead as they wove through the trees and underbrush to the spot where they would set up their phony checkpoint.

"I guess I should have mentioned that you shouldn't follow the guy ahead of you too closely going up," Hogan said, smiling as he opened the bag they'd brought, taking out the hand-held "HALT" sign McAllister would be using. "Never guessed you'd come all the way to Germany to be a crossing guard, did you?"

"Colonel Hogan...it's a real honor. I mean, I wanted to thank you for giving me a chance to do this."

"Just do it right. That's all the thanks I want."

"Are you...you know...okay now?"

"I'm doing fine, thanks. How are things going with you? The guys giving you a rough time?"

"No more than I deserve, I suppose," he said, shrugging. "Nobody's gone against your orders and done anything. But you said the popularity contests were my problem, so I guess I just have to deal with that."

"First you have to deal with that," Hogan said, gesturing at an approaching car. "Remember, you're re-routing them to the old Hammelburg Road for security reasons."

"It's a staff car."

"Just stay calm. I'll be right behind you. The probably won't question you. The detour's not much out of their way."

McAllister looked a bit panicky, but he walked out into the road and held up the sign, calling to the driver to "Halt." He exchanged a few phrases in German with the occupants of the car, and in a few moments, they drove on, veering off on the old Hammelburg Road, as ordered. McAllister walked back to where Hogan was standing, visible but not clearly identifiable, at the roadside.

"A captain and a lieutenant. They were Luftwaffe, so they backed down from the Gestapo uniform pretty quickly."

"Gestapo is the best uniform to wear when you need to boss the krauts around. You did fine."

"I think I just aged ten years," McAllister admitted, laughing.

"You'll get used to it."

"You think you'll ever be able to stand the boredom of civilian life after the war, Colonel?"

"Me? Sure. You can only keep up the excitement for so many years before it's not all that exciting anymore."

"Do you think you'd feel differently if...if you hadn't been injured?"

"I don't know. I doubt it. You've been in the espionage business at a dangerous level on two missions now, for a few weeks. I've been at it for three years, and I don't even want to count the missions and the close calls."

"I think I'd be ready to go home, too, sir."

"But I wouldn't trade a minute of the last few years," Hogan added, smiling. "It'll be the part of my life I always remember–the stuff I tell my grandkids about," Hogan added, before he realized that if his future followed its chosen course, there would be no grandkids to tell. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it arose. He could always rent his brother's progeny for a weekend here and there if he felt the overwhelming need to be paternal.

"I've got a girl back home," McAllister said.

"You do, huh?" Hogan asked, smiling as McAllister dug into the leg of his shiny black boot to produce a somewhat beleaguered little photo of a pretty blonde with an abundance of curls and full, lipstick-shiny lips curved in a sweet smile. "No wonder you tried to jump the fence the first week you were here," he said, passing the little picture back to the younger man, who laughed.

"Her name's Lucy. We're gonna get married after the war. She's in college right now."

"She's a beautiful girl. I hope it works out for you two."

"You have anybody special back home, Colonel?"

"Nah. I played the field, mostly. Never had much inclination to pick just one." Until now. "My mother'll be glad to see me again," Hogan added, chuckling.

"I met Lucy in the first grade. I always wanted to marry her."

"You knew that when you were six?"

"Well, maybe not about the marriage part, but I kept following her around the playground."

"You always were an early achiever then, huh?" Hogan teased.

"She didn't know I was alive until high school, so not really. An early trier, maybe."

"How's the work project going?" Hogan asked.

"Great. I can't believe those guys actually elected me the foreman–even if it is the cleaning team."

"The cleaning team might not be glamorous, but it's necessary. Just look around that place sometime. For such a tidy people, the krauts have a tendency to let their stalags get a little on the sloppy side."

The radio crackled to life, and Hogan picked it up from where he'd laid it on their supply bag.

"Sparky to Top Dog," Carter's voice came over the little speaker.

"Top Dog, here. Go ahead, Sparky."

"It's almost boom time, Top Dog," Carter said, pure delight in his voice.

"Good show, Sparky. Let's wrap things up and get back to the doghouse."

"We're not staying for the show, Top Dog?"

"That's a negative, Sparky. Too dangerous. Top Dog, out."

"He's really crazy about his explosives, isn't he?" McAllister said, chuckling as he re-packed the bag and followed Hogan along the same path they'd traveled to get there.

"Sign of a true artist," Hogan responded.

********

The sun was shining, but the chill of impending autumn was in the air. Klink took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air, appreciating more than he ever had before the relative serenity of his post at Stalag 13. Burkhalter visited occasionally for routine camp business, but their encounters were brief and limited strictly to business matters. Even the threat of Gertrude Linkmeyer hadn't reared its ugly head since Burkhalter was blackmailed into restoring Klink's command. As for Hogan, Burkhalter never sent for him for any reason on his visits, and if looks could kill, Hogan would have been flattened on the two or three occasions they crossed paths.

Still, all of that was only infrequently troublesome. For the most part, life was comfortable, and it was bizarre to think that since he'd more or less turned a blind eye to Hogan's shenanigans or become even more amiable to the schemes Hogan pulled on him to get what he wanted, he suffered little or no real stress in his life. His biggest worry was balancing the camp budget and beating Hogan at chess.

The men were engaged in a rollicking game of volleyball, and it was good to see Hogan out there with them again, the normal color back in his cheeks, his usual vigor restored to its old level. He still seemed to suffer a few aches and pains in his side when the weather was especially rainy and miserable, but overall, he was the same old Hogan he'd always been.

"Think fast, kommandant!"

Klink barely heard the warning before the oncoming volleyball was almost in his face. On pure reflex action, he hit it hard back toward the game, raising a few shouts from the men, who managed to keep the somewhat wild-flying ball in play. The culprit was sprinting over in his direction, a little out of breath, a few strands of hair flying loose under his hat.

"Almost nailed your monocle that time, sir," Hogan said, smiling, his thumbs hooked in his jacket pockets. "Nice recovery."

"Thank you, Hogan. I have always been quite athletic."

"You sure you don't want to join the game?"

"I think we might want one or two shreds of protocol left here." Klink smiled as Hogan laughed softly at that statement.

"Protocol, huh?" Hogan asked.

"The kommandant must maintain some distance with the prisoners, or else it encourages too much familiarity."

"I see," Hogan replied, nodding seriously.

"The camp really looks quite nice now, Hogan. Your men did a very good job on the improvements, I must say." Klink referred to the benches in front of the barracks, the shrubbery planted around the office, his quarters, and the guest quarters, the painting and repairs to any buildings that needed it. The last inspection had earned him a perfect rating, and the most recent visit by the Swiss Prison Commission saw the inspectors leaving wreathed in smiles.

"We all appreciated your help over the last several months."

"We've looked out for each other's interests, I would say," Klink concluded, nodding.

"At least the roofs don't leak anymore," Hogan said, noticing the clouds gathering for rain.

"I hadn't realized what poor repair some of the buildings were in. I don't suppose I'd be too pleased with rain coming down on my bunk through the night."

"If I were running a camp full of German prisoners, I'm not sure I'd stay up nights over a little rain dripping in the barracks."

"I suppose friendship makes you look at things differently," Klink said a bit hesitantly.

"It has a way of doing that, yeah," Hogan agreed, smiling as he nodded. "So how's it going with the lovely Dr. Weiss?"

"We're going to dinner tonight, as a matter of fact." Klink nudged Hogan's arm. "At her parents' house."

"You're meeting the parents, huh? That's serious."

"They have quite the home, I understand. Quite a wealthy family."

"Looks, brains, money...you really landed a good one this time, Kommandant."

"I understand her mother is quite a patron of the arts. I had considered taking my violin. Do you think that would be too...presumptuous of me?"

Hogan foresaw the future, and it wasn't pretty.

"Definitely," he replied, then noticed Klink's face had fallen. "It's best if you don't mention your talent, sir. Play it humble. I mean, your military achievements are enough for them to digest for one evening."

"Perhaps you're right, Hogan." Klink nodded. "I'll wait for Ilsa to invite me to play for them."

Let me know when that happens, Kommandant. I want to mark the date on my calendar when Hell is going to freeze over.

"Let the woman set the pace with her parents. Smart thinking, sir." Hogan paused. "You sure about that protocol thing, or do you want to break down and have a little fun for a change?" Hogan asked, gesturing toward the game.

"Oh, why not?" Klink took off his top coat and hat, and handed them and his riding crop to a startled Schultz. He tucked his monocle in his pocket, and followed Hogan over to the game. Within moments, he was as involved in the activity as the prisoners.

"Now, I have seen it all," Schultz said to Langenscheid, who joined him in watching the unlikely spectacle.

"I was afraid of this," Langenscheid said, nodding sagely.

"Of what? The kommandant playing volleyball?"

"You know that every time he feels he's fraternized too much with the prisoners, the next morning, he makes a long speech at roll call about the glorious victories of the Third Reich."

"For him to do that, there would have to be some," Schultz said, chuckling.

"The Propaganda Ministry will think of something," Langenscheid replied. "They have to."

"Maybe we are better off being lowly guards in a prison camp."

"Ja, better here than at the Front. I understand it's already snowing there."

********

"I can't believe you talked Klink into playing volleyball," LeBeau said, coming the rest of the way down the ladder into the tunnel.

"We've got a couple hours alone in the tunnel. I can't believe you're talking about Klink," Hogan said, chuckling. He reached back and took LeBeau's hand, relishing the rare chance to do something as simple as walk hand-in-hand with his lover. LeBeau started to swing their hands slightly, and Hogan had to laugh. He'd gotten used to finding moments of utter joy in the oddest places.

"You really think we're safe down here for a while?" LeBeau asked, pulling his sweater over his head as soon as they were near the cot. Though it wasn't the best of accommodations, the little cot had seen quite a bit of action in the last several months.

"Baker and Kinch are working on those faulty electrical outlets in Klink's quarters. They'll be busy quite a while, and everybody else is out on work details. There's no reason for anyone to come down here." Hogan was making good use of the time while he talked, and was already dispensing with his t-shirt. "You need help with that?" he asked LeBeau, who didn't resist having his t-shirt pulled over his head for him.

"Impatient today, aren't we?" LeBeau teased, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

"Now I'm getting impatient. Put a nickel in it, will ya?" Hogan tossed his underwear in the pile with his clothes and stretched out on the cot, moving over and holding the blanket up for LeBeau to get in with him as soon as he'd rid himself of the last of his clothes. "Mmm, you smell good." Hogan nuzzled LeBeau's neck, pulling him tight against his body.

"The guys mixed up a new batch of aftershave, and it turned out pretty good."

"It sure did." Hogan sucked on LeBeau's neck, marking him in a spot his collar would easily cover.

"If I'd known you were going to do that, I'd have rubbed bearnaise sauce on instead."

"You talk too much," Hogan said, covering LeBeau's mouth with his own, kissing him deeply. They settled into a lazy pattern of long kisses, luxuriating in the sensation of flesh-on-flesh, something they rarely experienced, even in the best of times. Since Hogan had fully recovered from his injuries, there was less and less certainty that the other men wouldn't disturb him at ungodly hours of the night, and less excuse for LeBeau to be constantly sneaking into his room at night. "Did you bring anything?" Hogan asked, and LeBeau smiled knowingly. Since they'd left the seclusion of the guest quarters, they'd never been able to risk anything more than a quick hand job and one or two times, a bit of hurried oral sex.

"Oui, I did." LeBeau reached down to the pile of his clothing and retrieved a small bottle of hand lotion from his pants pocket. "I stole it out of Hilda's desk the last time I was cleaning in there."

"Edelweiss, huh?" Hogan read the label, shrugging. "Well, it's not he most manly scent in the world to have up your rear, but beggars can't be choosers."

"I hardly think it will matter," LeBeau said. "I think we'll be more concerned with other things than the scent of the lotion." He started to turn over.

"Hey, hold on a minute. Who says you're gonna relax and have all the fun?"

"I thought you wanted to...?"

"I do, but it's my turn this time. It's not like I haven't waited long enough for it. How do you want me?"

"Any way and any time I can have you," LeBeau quipped, moving up for another kiss. "But for now, on your side will be good."

"I'm on my side."

"The other side," LeBeau retorted, rolling his eyes as Hogan smiled devilishly before turning over. LeBeau was close against his back in a heartbeat, kissing his neck and shoulder, nipping at his earlobe, blowing hotly into his ear. Hogan groaned low in his throat, loving the puff of hot air, having no idea why it should be any turn on at all. It wasn't as if his ear was an erogenous zone.

Louis' hand slid up his stomach to his chest, rubbing firmly over the hardening nubs there, kissing his way down Hogan's back at the same time. The questing hand slipped lower, finally wrapping around Hogan's hardening shaft and pumping gently.

"Don't do that too long, or I'll be all done before we get started."

"You would be more relaxed if you came first," Louis said, his voice a little hushed at the intimate suggestion.

"But a lot less interested. I want to do it when I'm eager, not half asleep."

"Je t'aime avec tout mon coeur. Il n'y a pas de mot pour ce que ceci me signifie," Louis whispered softly, kissing Hogan's shoulder. (I love you with all my heart. There are no words for what this means to me.)

Hogan smiled, recognizing the first part of what LeBeau said, and picking up small fragments of the rest of it. He knew it was about how much he was loved, and that was enough. That, and the rich sound of Louis' voice in hot puffs of breath against his skin. He could hear him opening the little bottle of lotion, and felt himself harden even more at the thought of what was to come.

He'd thought a lot over the last few weeks about what it meant that he loved having another man's finger probing his ass, and after a certain shallow level of soul-searching, decided he really didn't care why. He did–or more specifically, he liked Louis' finger up there–and felt more and more like a jerk for his own attitudes about men who took it up the ass from other men. They were queers, fairies, pansies...they certainly weren't men. Most importantly, they were perverts and sinners, though whether or not they were going to burn in Hell was of little consequence to Hogan. If the catechism of his youth was any indication, he'd be at the barbecue with them for a number of other offenses, anyway.

And then he fell in love with the most wonderful person he'd ever known, and the fact he came in a male package was just one more of dozens of other hurdles standing in the way of their love for each other. And now, he was happily leaping over the last of those hurdles without looking back.

The feeling of Louis' tentative, questing finger at his center brought his thoughts back to the moment, and he bore down on it a bit, glad the encouragement caused Louis to be a bit bolder, sliding his lubricated finger well inside the tight opening, spreading the lotion there. It was an odd sensation, but it felt good, and the intimacy of it felt good, too.

The finger was becoming more aggressive now, pushing against the resistance of tight muscles intent on guarding Hogan's virtue. Damn you, loosen up. If I want my virtue guarded, I'll let you know, he thought, willing himself to relax. Truth be told, he was a bit nervous. There was always that chance that what he liked about a single finger he wouldn't like with a full-sized organ moving rapidly in and out of a very small hole. Still, if Louis could like this and want it after all he'd been through, how could Hogan not enjoy himself?

"Il n'y a rien l'amour plus merveilleux que faisant à un vierge," Louis whispered, placing wet, lingering kisses on Hogan's back as he stretched him, taking his time preparing him. (There is nothing more wonderful than making love to a virgin.)

Hogan had no clue what Louis said, but he knew it was something good. He groaned in response, feeling the questing finger finally move deeper, then brush firmly over the little nob that drove him wild. He cried out at that, relishing the fact they were far enough in the dark recesses of the tunnel that a man's cry of pleasure and passion wouldn't carry to the world above.

"I am going to try two fingers, mon amour. I want you to tell me if it's too much."

"It won't be, but I'll tell you."

The two fingers were a bit uncomfortable at first, even with the liberal amount of lotion on them. He was quiet, concentrating on relaxing his body, reminding himself how much he wanted this, how much he wanted to feel Louis inside his body, how much he wanted those electric jolts of pleasure over and over until they made him senseless with ecstasy. He was getting harder now, impossibly harder, it seemed, and then Louis' fingers rubbed his little pleasure button and his whole body arched as he gasped his lover's name.

The fingers withdrew, and a moment later, he felt a hand stroking his hip.

"I'm going to try it now, mon amour. Please tell me if you need me to stop."

"I will, amoureux," Hogan replied, reaching back to stroke the warm thigh that was pressed close to his own.

"Vous êtes ma vie, mon coeur, et mon âme. Je t'aime." Louis said the words slowly enough that Hogan, with his novice's grasp of French, could follow them.

"Vous tout êtes," Hogan managed. It wasn't nearly all he wanted to say, but he knew how to tell Louis he was everything, and when it came down to it, that summed it all up nicely.

The words moved Louis deeply as he clung to Hogan's body a moment, pressing his chest to Hogan's back, his thigh moving between Hogan's.

And then Hogan felt the blunt pressure against his opening again, and he relaxed, knowing the first stretching would be uncomfortable at best. As the large organ moved slowly inside him, he gasped at the intrusion. It was bigger than he'd expected, though he wasn't sure why, since he certainly was familiar enough with it to know how large it was. His hand and his mouth had pleasured it, and he knew that LeBeau's small stature in no way related to his endowment in that area.

"Relax, mon amour. Breathe." Louis' hand began rubbing gentle circles on Hogan's belly, as if he'd detected the exact thing that was bothering him most–the cramping in his stomach at the unfamiliar filling of his body. Hogan tried to ignore the thought that Louis knew better than anyone how painful this act could be.

The rubbing hand moved from his stomach to his cock, wrapping around it again and pumping, bringing the slightly faltering erection back to life again, giving Hogan something more enjoyable to focus on than having what felt like a tree trunk pushed into his body. As he relaxed, and the organ moved further inside him, the pain subsided, and soon, he felt Louis pressed tight against him. They were joined, and it was all the way inside him.

"Feels so good inside you. So good to be inside you," Louis said, stroking Hogan's hard shaft more aggressively now, bringing it to full hardness.

Hogan moved a little, feeling the bulk shift inside him. It was a strange mix of pain and pleasure, feeling too large to really fit, and yet the conflicting sensation of being delightfully overstuffed with his lover. He moved again, and this time, Louis moved a bit with him, pulling back and then moving forward. They tried the motion again. And again.

"Mmm, that's good," Hogan moaned, really enjoying himself for the first time since Louis had made it all the way inside him. "Move a little faster."

Louis seemed only too happy to accommodate him, though he did his best to keep his strokes gentle. Hogan was moving with him, enjoying himself, and the tight sheath around Louis' cock was like nothing he'd ever felt before. Even the most virtuous girl he'd had the fortune to deflower hadn't been this tight. More importantly, though when he was sixteen he'd told her he did, and meant it, he hadn't loved her the way he loved this man. The realization of what Hogan and he were doing, of the fact that Hogan wanted him this way and gave himself so willingly and joyfully and passionately, awed him and broke his heart with the love he felt.

He tried shifting a bit, angling his strokes, and managed to hit that magic nub inside Hogan's body. The reaction was immediate and electric. Both men were moaning now, moving together in a shared rhythm, Hogan's occasional shout of unabated pleasure driving Louis wilder than the incredible stimulation of the tight sheath around his cock.

Hogan couldn't remember any of the initial discomfort, and he didn't care that he was doing the very thing that would have convinced him some time ago that he was no longer a man. He was, and Louis was, and what they could do together was amazing, and if any man hadn't tried it, he damn well shouldn't knock it.

He felt his climax rippling through his system, washing over him in waves as he gave into it, shouting Louis' name, gasping and moaning his pleasure, giving himself over to the sensations of sex in way he never had before. He didn't care what he sounded like or looked like, and he wasn't trying to impress anyone. Louis was already impressed with him and loved him more than anyone else ever had. He had no shows to put on for this man; all he had to do was share his pleasure with him, to join him in moaning and panting and sweating and moving and touching each other in ways neither had before.

And then Louis was coming, gasping muddled words in French, kissing and sucking on the skin on Hogan's back, filling him with his come.

When it was over, they lay there, still joined, motionless except for the heaving of their chests as their bodies settled and cooled. As Louis slipped free of his body, he felt sore and empty, and wondered if his body would ever feel complete with what seemed like part of it missing. He turned over and pulled Louis close, kissing him soundly, then kissing every inch of his face until they both lay there together, smiling at each other, relishing the undisturbed intimacy of what they'd shared, of kissing and cuddling and saying silly, sweet things to each other like lovers do.

"I wish we could stay here all night," Hogan said, nuzzling Louis' neck.

"Oui, I would kill just to have a whole night for us to love each other and touch each other...do all the things we want to do to each other."

"We'll have all that, amoureux. I promise you." Hogan cuddled him close.

"The apartment over the restaurant?"

"That's the place. Just you and me. And what's anybody gonna say about it? Two bachelors who put all their money into the business. Where else are we supposed to live?"

"I knew you'd think of something. You're the most amazing man I ever knew."

"Oh, come on, Louis. You're forgetting DeGaul, aren't you? You said you met him once."

"You think I consider him more amazing than you?" Louis thought back of how he'd treated Hogan when he wanted to answer DeGaul's summons for all Frenchmen to take up arms. He hadn't given Hogan much indication that he, or the operation, had much worth when held up in comparison to General DeGaul. He'd gone to Hogan when it was all over, after he'd chosen to stay, and let him know that he felt badly about pushing their friendship aside in the heat of the moment, and Hogan understood Louis' love for his country, and admired it. Still...

"He's your national hero, Louis. I'm just teasing you."

"You've always been my hero, mon amour."

"I know. I love you, too." Hogan smiled, kissing Louis' forehead.

"No, you don't understand. DeGaul may be a general, and a great man, and a hero to the French people, and therefore, a hero to me, but he would never lay his life on the line just for me. He would never risk a major strategic operation just for me. He would never risk everything just to make love to me. He would never sacrifice his whole life and what his future could be just to be with me. He wouldn't give me his body and soul and heart for safe-keeping. He wouldn't be my best friend and my confidante. He wouldn't smile at me the way you do, the way you always have...and I don't believe any other officer I ever met would care for all his men the way you do. It is one thing to be a hero in the heat of battle, but it is quite something else to answer the call to be a hero day in, day out, with the expectation you will succeed in making things happen that are utterly impossible. If I ever made you feel that I didn't think that highly of you, then I want you to know now that I always have. If I could think of the greatest example of a hero, it would not be DeGaul. It would be you, l'amour de ma vie."

Hogan didn't say anything; he couldn't. Instead, he pulled Louis into a fierce embrace.

********

Hogan watched Klink's staff car pull up near his quarters, and the kommandant get out and sprint up to his door, positively–and nearly literally–walking on air. Hogan chuckled at that. Apparently he wasn't the only one who'd gotten lucky in the last twenty-four hours. He shifted a little where he stood, leaning against the barracks, glad no one was there to see his cheeks color as he felt the residual tenderness in a particularly intimate location. It was insanity that having overworked muscles and chafed skin up your rear was a cause for a constant state of arousal and the disquieting inability to quit blushing as if everyone else in the room knew it.

Ah, love, it's a wonderful thing. Makes idiots of us all.

And then there was Klink. He couldn't remember ever seeing the kommandant leave for dinner and not come home until two hours after breakfast. Gruber had handled morning roll call on his own, and Schultz had been containing a serious case of the giggles through the whole thing.

True to form, Hogan couldn't resist teasing the kommandant just a bit. He made his way over to Klink's quarters, telling himself repeatedly that he was not walking bow-legged and that the entire camp wasn't as obsessed with his ass as he was. Well, okay, maybe LeBeau was equally obsessed, but even he was doing something useful in the motor pool with Newkirk and Carter.

Hogan walked into the sitting room and overheard Klink's voice from the bedroom, singing some presumably sappy love song in German. He shook his head and smiled, going back out and then coming in again, slamming the door. A moment later, Klink emerged from the bedroom, freshly dressed in a crisp, pressed uniform.

"Have a good night, kommandant?" Hogan asked, his expression a blended smile and knowing leer.

"Let us just say that the temperature in Dusseldorf was considerably warmer than it is here at Stalag 13," Klink said, beaming.

"You must've passed inspection with Mom and Dad, huh?"

"They were lovely people," Klink stated, pouring coffee for both of them from the small pot Schultz had brought and left there at Klink's orders. "And what a magnificent home," he added.

"I'm surprised old bubblehead hasn't confiscated it yet," Hogan said, sitting on one end of the couch, and feeling his face burn as he shifted a bit on the cushion. Klink was too elated to notice his odd expression as he took his seat on the other end of the couch, sipping his coffee.

"Her father is the personal physician to someone very high-ranking on the Fuhrer's Staff," Klink said in a low tone. "He wouldn't say who, but I'm sure it is one of the top men."

"Good thing she didn't tell him who one of her latest patients was," Hogan said, rolling his eyes a bit as he took a drink of his coffee.

"He knows all about that, and was very pleased that she treated you and the surgery was a success. He is very loyal to the Fatherland, but he is also dedicated to his profession. He agreed with her decision not to question providing you treatment based on your status as a POW."

"Sounds like a good family."

"Hogan...how do you feel when you've found a woman you think might be...the right woman?"

"I haven't gotten there yet, sir." Hogan took another drink of coffee.

"Surely you must have been in love sometime?"

"You mean, how do I tell when it's more than just infatuation?"

"Ja, ja, that's what I mean."

"When you think about that person all the time. When there's nothing you wouldn't do...no sacrifice that would be too great. When you're not happy without that person by your side, and just one smile can light up your whole day. When every part of you responds when..." Hogan swallowed and then took a gulp of his coffee. "Well, let's just say you know it when you feel it."

"For someone who hasn't gotten there yet, you certainly seem to have quite a grasp of the sensation," Klink said, grinning like a lovesick sap. "Ilsa is really a wonderful woman, Hogan. I confess there are times I'm positively speechless that she will go out with me, let alone..."

"You're hooked," Hogan said, smiling.

"From that little speech you made, it sounds as if you are, too. I don't think I want to know how you've managed to find yourself a fraulein from inside a POW camp."

"There are some things you're better off not knowing, sir," Hogan said, nodding in agreement as he finished his coffee.

********

THE END