See Part One for warning/title/disclaimers

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Klink walked out on his porch, frowning to see the car still sitting there, considering he'd just declined a luncheon invitation in town, thinking his staff car was already on its way to Hammelburg without him. Schultz was still standing by the car, eating a large sandwich to make up for the fact he was missing lunch to drive Hogan into town.

"Schultz!" Klink snapped, striding down the steps. "What are you doing here?" Klink asked, annoyed. "You are supposed to drive Colonel Hogan into town to see the doctor."

"He is not here," Schultz stated, chewing fast to clear his mouth.

"Thank you for that news bulletin. I can see that, dummkopf," Klink retorted. "Did it ever occur to you to look for him?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Schultz hurried off to obey orders, and Klink stood there a moment, wondering how Schultz could be Sergeant of the Guard and manage their sizeable staff of guards, and at the same time be such an idiot. Then he resigned himself to the notion that Schultz was selectively intelligent. When it came to lunchtime, he would overlook some fairly obvious things not to miss a food break.

Hogan had expressed sincere appreciation for Klink's consideration in sending him to a civilian doctor and treating his injuries with real concern. It didn't make sense he'd be thirty minutes late to go to a doctor's appointment that Klink had withstood the full wrath of Burkhalter to send him to. Something about this didn't seem right.

He caught sight of Colonel Matthews sitting with a small group of men outside Barracks 9, and observed as the officer made some remark to the group sitting with him, and they laughed. He made a mental note to watch that bunch. They were sure to be trouble, and were probably among the handful of men in the camp who didn't respect or particularly like Hogan. While he took the welfare of all his men seriously, Hogan had his select team, and there were more than a couple of prisoners who resented that or were jealous of it. Matthews would obviously fare best among those nay-sayers.

It's not enough we have to fight the war. Now I have to worry about the prisoners fighting each other, Klink thought dismally, longing for the peaceful, simple days when Hogan was the official Senior POW Officer, and Matthews was...well, wherever Matthews was that wasn't Stalag 13. Tired of waiting for whatever cue Hogan planned on giving, Klink resolved to draw up the necessary papers to transfer Matthews out of the camp. He wasn't sure how he'd justify it to Burkhalter, but he'd think of something.

Deciding to do a bit closer surveillance of Matthews and his buddies, Klink started out for what appeared to be a casual stroll around the compound. He spoke to a few guards and stopped to observe what activities a few of the prisoners were engaged in. He spoke to Sergeant Baker on his way back from the motor pool, and stopped him to ask if he'd seen Hogan.

"No, sir, I haven't." Checking his watch, he added, "I thought he was supposed to be headed into Hammelburg by now."

"He was, but he didn't appear for his ride into town at noon. Schultz is looking for him."

"Something's wrong, then. He wouldn't be this late for that. He was planning on it. I'll go let the rest of the guys know so we can start looking for him."

"This wouldn't be Hogan's idea of a diversion for an escape attempt, would it?"

"No, sir. Colonel Hogan really appreciates you taking the heat to send him to the doctor. He wouldn't use that against you."

"Thank you, Sergeant Baker. If Schultz doesn't locate him soon, though, we'll have to sound the alarm and treat it as a possible escape."

"Right, but I'm sure we'll find him soon, sir." With a salute, Baker rushed across the compound toward his barracks.

Klink continued his walk, but paused when he noticed the door to the Rec Hall was ajar. He kept the building locked when it wasn't in use, as he believed in Rec Hall hours being a privilege for certain hours of the day rather than a routine option anytime the prisoners felt like wandering in. Before he pushed the door open further, he heard a low moan and a muffled curse from inside the shadowy building. He opened the door and turned on the overhead light, startled to see Hogan sitting on the floor, one arm braced on a chair seat as if he were trying to get to his feet but couldn't quite make it. Blood trickled from his nose, and was smeared on his face where he'd tried to wipe it away with the back of his hand.

"Hogan? What happened?" Klink walked over to him, not exactly sure what to do next.

"Somebody threw something over my head and worked me over. I don't know how long ago exactly. I passed out for a few minutes." Hogan rubbed the back of his head and neck. "Think you could give me a hand getting up?"

"Is anything broken?"

"A couple ribs might be cracked, but I don't think they're broken. Just give me a pull if you would and ignore me if I make noise. I'll be okay if I can just stand up."

Klink put his arm around Hogan's back and under his arm, and used his other hand to support Hogan on the other side.

"Now?"

"On three, okay?" Hogan said, and Klink nodded. Hogan counted to three, and they worked in unison to get Hogan on his feet, ignoring the groan of pain Hogan couldn't stifle. "I can't find my hat," Hogan said, adjusting his jacket and brushing it off, as if the appearance of his uniform was more important than his bruises. To him, maybe it was.

"Is this what was over your head?" Klink said, picking up an empty laundry bag. Hogan's hat fell out on the floor. Klink picked it up and handed it to him.

"Apparently," Hogan responded, smoothing back his hair and putting his hat on. "Thanks."

"I'll have Schultz drive you into Hammelburg. You'll be late, but the doctor will see you."

"I don't want to go to Hammelburg. Thanks anyway, Kommandant. One of my men sold me down the river, and I want to find out who it was."

"Did you see anything? Hear any voices?"

"No, but you don't seriously have any doubts what this is about, do you?"

"Matthews? I suspected as much."

"I didn't see anyone, but it was one of my own men who set me up, and he did it by telling me Matthews had cornered LeBeau in here."

"It's no secret there's a serious conflict between you and Matthews, and news does travel in a prison camp. I understand you paid him a visit last night."

"Yeah, well, he got even, didn't he? But he's not getting away with it."

"No, he's not. He's being transferred to Colditz first thing in the morning. I don't know what you're asking me to wait for, and I see no reason to allow him to continue disrupting this camp."

"You can send him to hell for all I care, but I want to get the goods on him first so I can make sure he's court martialed after the war."

"Occasionally, Hogan, I make a decision here that I don't plan to consult you on. This is one of them. Matthews is a disruptive force in the camp, and I won't tolerate it any longer. He's out."

"It's probably for the best anyway." Hogan wiped the back of his hand under his nose. "Damn it," he swore, finding it was still bleeding.

"Use this," Klink said, giving him a handkerchief. "I have ice and first aid supplies in my quarters if you want to get cleaned up before going back to the barracks."

"Thanks, I would. I'm not giving Matthews the satisfaction of staggering across the compound bleeding." Hogan moved away from the support Klink had been giving him with one arm. He swayed a bit, but waved off any more help. "I'm okay. If the men see me, I want them to see me walking under my own power."

Klink walked beside Hogan but refrained from offering him any support as they made their way to his quarters. Fortunately, they made it inside without being spotted.

"Sit down, Hogan," Klink directed, gesturing toward his dining table as he disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, he returned with a first aid kit and set it on the table. "I'll get some ice."

Hogan watched him, somewhat surprised at his apparent desire to be of help. There was a time when Klink really didn't raise much protest to the possibility of Hogan being arrested by the Gestapo, or transferred to another camp, or simply demeaned by the presence of a dingbat like Crittendon as the Senior POW Officer. As a matter of fact, Klink had actually savored moments when he was able to put Hogan in his place, or better yet, somehow beneath his rightful place. Weathering three years of war together had changed them both, and the Von Gruner situation had served as the beginning of an odd, still somewhat uneasy, friendship.

Hogan had begun to see Klink as a flawed human being like everyone else, doing his best to get through the war in one piece. He'd had enough chances to see abused POW's from other camps, to see the cold brutality of so many of the German officers who comprised the Gestapo and various other arms of the Third Reich, to hear horror stories of Underground agents tortured in the basements of Gestapo jails, to know that on their worst day, they had it fairly good at Stalag 13. The food wasn't plentiful but the men weren't walking skeletons, either. Klink liked to wield the punishment of the cooler, but he could usually be cajoled, conned or bartered to lesser sentences or immediate release. When the moment of truth came, Klink chose justice and not blind loyalty to his own side.

And now he was gathering ice and first aid supplies to help Hogan maintain his dignity to go back among his men. For that matter, Hogan was bleeding on one of Klink's perfectly bleached and starched hankies. That thought made him smile, even though it tormented the split on his lip.

"Where is the lump on your head?" Klink asked, setting a full ice bucket on the table. He had two dish cloths over his arm.

"You forgot the champagne and glasses," Hogan quipped, pointing at the silver ice bucket. To his surprise, instead of looking annoyed, Klink actually laughed.

"I'm saving them for after Matthews leaves," he retorted, making Hogan laugh much to the regret of his cracked ribs.

"The lump's back here," Hogan said, feeling his way to the swollen area on the back of his head. "Are you keeping Matthews in the cooler until his transfer?"

"How long were you out?" Klink asked, placing bundle of ice there and guiding Hogan's hand back to hold it in place, before answering the question. "No, but I'll order that done. You think he's an escape risk?"

"Could be."

"How long were you unconscious, Hogan?" Klink persisted.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 1:00, now. I found you about twenty minutes ago."

"I guess I was out for about a half hour, then. I was just starting to move around when you came in."

"Hold this on your eye," Klink directed, holding out another ice pack toward Hogan.

"I'm out of hands, Kommandant," Hogan said, his right hand still holding the handkerchief under his nose.

"You can't walk around holding your nose all day. Let go of that and hold the ice. I'll look after your nose."

"Why are you doing this?" Hogan asked, unable to contain the question any longer. If someone had told him a year ago Klink would be wiping his nose for any reason, he'd have considered them nuts.

"Because I wouldn't want to appear before my men in this condition, either. Call it courtesy among officers." Klink wet one of the cloths from the melting ice in the bucket and proceeded to clean the blood off Hogan's face. "I think it's stopped," he said, watching it intently for a moment. "Yes, it's stopped." He dipped the cloth again and wiped a bit of blood from around the split on Hogan's lip. "I'll have Schultz deliver the supplies to your barracks so you can have Corporal LeBeau tape your ribs for you."

"Sergeant Norton is our medic," Hogan said, probing for why Klink assumed LeBeau would be caring for him. Klink was right, but Hogan still wanted to know what led him to think that.

"Corporal LeBeau has some basic first aid knowledge, I assume, and he seems to be your personal assistant, much the way Schultz is for me."

Uh, no, Kommandant, I don't think it's all that similar... Hogan thought silently.

"In a sense, yes, he is."

"And your friend," Klink added, setting the soiled cloth aside. "It was apparent how important he was to you during the Von Gruner difficulty."

"All my men are important to me."

"It isn't against regulations to have friends, Hogan."

"Maybe not, but I don't play favorites."

"I didn't say you did. Perhaps you are trying to convince yourself more so than me? In any event, we should have him bring you a clean shirt."

"Yeah, I guess this one is in pretty rough shape." Hogan noticed the blood on his shirt front from the bloody nose, not to mention dirt from the floor of the Rec Hall and the feet of the men who'd kicked him until his ribs cracked. "I think the ice is bringing the swelling down a little," Hogan said, moving the ice away from his eye a moment.

"A little," Klink agreed, though it was clear Hogan still looked like something the cat dragged in–and through several knotholes on his way. Klink went to the door and summoned Schultz with a rather ear-splitting call. Schultz appeared with surprising speed, and Klink informed him Hogan was found and in his quarters, and that he should find Corporal LeBeau and have him bring Hogan a clean shirt, then confine the rest of the prisoners to the barracks until further notice. Schultz looked a bit puzzled, but he obeyed the order without questioning it.

"I guess it's no worse than it feels," Hogan said, standing at the mirror Klink had over the table near his front door.

"If you're already fretting over your looks, you must not be hurt too badly."

"It's not a crime to be glad my face is still where I last saw it."

"I'd like to know the name of the man who lured you to the Recreation Hall."

"So would I. I know him, but I don't remember his name. He's only been here a few months."

"You'll identify him at the next roll call," Klink said matter-of-factly, tidying up the used supplies.

"Wait a minute, Kommandant. You're talking about me fingering one of my own men to the enemy."

"Colonel Hogan, if someone had done this to you on the streets of your hometown in America, wouldn't you report it to the authorities?"

"Yeah, but that's different."

"In what way? Here, I'm the authority. And furthermore, the man you identify is already a traitor. In our army, he'd be lucky to avoid a firing squad for such a crime."

"Some of the guys here might be intimidated by Matthews, or they might do something like that because he ordered them to do it and they were afraid to disobey orders."

"Hogan, I admire the way you stick up for you men, I really do, but I think you're avoiding the real issue here because you don't want to face it."

"And that is?" Hogan frowned, regretting moving his face. He held the ice pack back on his eye.

"That one of your men betrayed you."

"They're not officially my men anymore, so if they obeyed orders–"

"Hogan, for heaven's sake, think about what you're saying! How could anyone obey an order like that without knowing perfectly well what they were being drawn into? What they were an accomplice to?"

"Weren't you the one who said that in your army, you just obeyed orders and didn't question them?"

"Yes, I probably said that. For the most part, it's true. But I still think you're fooling yourself by defending his behavior."

"I want to talk to him before I turn him in. If he can't convince me he's on the level, that he was obeying an order or afraid of Matthews or pressured into it somehow, he's all yours."

"Very well, Hogan. They're your men and frankly, at the moment, you're welcome to them."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Klink called out to the visitor to enter. Schultz walked in first, followed by LeBeau, who was carrying one of Hogan's clean shirts, neatly folded. LeBeau's eyes bugged when he saw Hogan, and he rushed toward him, then stopped himself at a respectable distance, his hands nearly balling into fists to keep from touching his lover.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice strained.

"I tripped and fell repeatedly on someone's fist," Hogan responded. "I'm okay, Louis," he added, managing a smile that didn't do too much damage to the split on his lip.

"I...I have your shirt."

"Schultz, go to the infirmary and get some tape that can be used on Hogan's ribs. You might as well get that finished when you change your shirt. Do you still have pain medication left?"

"A little, I think," Hogan responded.

"Get some aspirin as well."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. Colonel Hogan, what happened? I was waiting for you by the car."

"Somebody tricked me into going into the Rec Hall, and they were waiting in there. They put something over my head and worked me over. I never saw who it was. It was dark in the Rec Hall and they moved pretty fast to get my head covered."

"But you know who set you up," LeBeau said immediately. "We need to have a little discussion with him," he added, his tone bitter. "Not that we don't already know who's behind it."

"If it was Colonel Matthews, how would he get into the Recreation Hall? It's locked this time of day," Schultz said.

"Who knows?" LeBeau replied. "He probably broke in, or got somebody to pick the lock."

"Schultz, have Corporal Muehlendorf look at the lock to see if it's been forced. He was a locksmith before the war," Klink explained to Hogan.

"I'd like one of my men to check it as well, if you don't mind. Newkirk."

"Very well. Schultz, you supervise."

"Yes, sir," he responded, exiting to gather the medical supplies first.

"I have work to do, gentlemen. I trust you can handle the situation from here," Klink said, his blustery kommandant demeanor back in place.

"I'm sure we can." Hogan paused until Klink was nearly to the door. "Colonel Klink?" The other man turned. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Hogan." Klink left, closing the door behind him.

"Tell me the truth, mon amour. How badly did they hurt you?" LeBeau tossed the shirt in a chair and moved closer to Hogan, one hand cupping Hogan's bruised cheek.

"I've got a few cracked ribs, and I feel like somebody used my head for a volleyball, but other than that, I'm okay."

"Matthews did this," LeBeau spat out angrily.

"Klink is transferring him in the morning. I guess he got tired of waiting for me to give him the word."

"I want to hold you but I don't want to hurt you."

"Just don't squeeze and we'll be fine," Hogan said, opening his arms and bracing himself for the pressure of another body against his. LeBeau's presence was feather light, his arms infinitely gentle. Hogan drew strength from the embrace, as much as he wanted to reassure LeBeau with the touch that he was truly all right. Truth be told, the fact one of his own men had set him up was causing him more pain than the beating itself.

"Matthews won't get away with this," LeBeau said against Hogan's chest.

"I don't want anything done about this until I have time to deal with it." Hogan pulled back. "I won't tolerate this camp turning into a free-for-all with everybody beating up on everybody else. We have to maintain some kind of order or the krauts'll maintain it for us. You don't want Klink to actually get the idea he's running this place, do you?" Hogan asked, grinning as much as his swollen lip permitted. LeBeau couldn't help but laugh.

"You make me laugh when I don't want to," he admitted, still smiling.

"I do my best."

Schultz returned with the medical supplies and then hurried off again to organize the investigation of the lock. Hogan took off his shirt and LeBeau gasped at the damage it revealed.

"Mon dieu..." he said, barely above a whisper, running his fingertips lightly over the red and purple mottled bruising that would be truly technicolor the next morning. Before setting about the task of taping Hogan's ribs, he leaned forward and began kissing each bruise.

"Mm. Better than pain pills," Hogan said, smiling and stroking LeBeau's head.

"You're still not telling me the truth. You have to be in a lot of pain."

"It's no picnic," Hogan admitted. "I'll be okay."

"I know you'll be okay, but you're in pain now, and it's okay for you to need me to take care of you. It's okay if you're not made of stone, you know. None of us expects that from you. You're flesh and blood like the rest of us. We know that because we know you hurt for us and worry about us and care what happens to us, not just out of duty. Don't be afraid to lean on us for a change."

"Okay," Hogan said, managing a smile, but barely able to swallow the lump in his throat. Tears burned behind his lids as he closed them. There were times when the burden of command, with so many lives dependent on his judgment–both in the camp and among the many good German people serving as Underground agents–weighed so heavily on his mind and heart that he wondered how much longer he could keep doing it. The blow of being betrayed by one–probably more--of his own men cut him deeper than he could begin to put into words, and the concern and moral support of his loyal core team meant that much more.

LeBeau worked diligently at taping the injured ribs, and the support did ease the pain a bit, though Hogan didn't figure he'd long tolerate the mummified feeling it gave his mid section. LeBeau helped him into the clean shirt, and batted Hogan's hands away, smiling, so he could button it. Hogan opened his belt and pants and tucked in the shirt, then re-fastened his clothes, donned his jacket with LeBeau's help and picked up his hat. With the exception of the colorful bruising on his face, he was restored to his usual appearance.

"You can take some pain medication when we get back to the barracks and lie down a while."

"I want to be present for evening roll call. I'm going to talk to Klink about letting me say a few words."

"You should do more than say a few words, Mon Colonel," LeBeau slipped his own coat back on for the return trip to the barracks. "You should tell Klink who set you up so he can put him in the cooler and throw away the key!"

"I know that's what everyone seems to think I should do, but it is still my decision how to handle this, and I'm not prepared to hand the guy over to the krauts until I talk to him."

"Why? So he can lie to you and tell you he was afraid or he was obeying orders or he didn't know what he was doing?"

"Maybe. Or maybe because some of that might be true. I wouldn't have been angry at you if you'd done something wrong because Matthews scared the hell out of you that night when you went to his barracks. The guy who set me up was very young. It wouldn't be too hard to push him around if you were a full colonel and the top man in the camp."

"What about the men who helped him beat you? Do they deserve the same leniency? Matthews didn't do this by himself."

"No, I know that, too. But just support me in handling this my own way, Louis."

"You're the commanding officer–it's up to you how you handle it."

"No, that's not what I mean. I know I can pull rank on you, but you know I don't want to do that. Any prisoner in this camp would be obligated to obey me for that reason. I want you to support me." Hogan was quiet a moment. "I need you to do that right now."

"Je suis désolé, mon amour," LeBeau said softly. Seeing Hogan's blank expression, he smiled and added, "I'm sorry, my love. I might not always agree with you, but I always support you."

"That's all I need to hear."

********

Schultz returned to Klink's quarters to escort Hogan and LeBeau back to the barracks, since all prisoners were still forbidden to be outside. Klink had the camp in the closest thing to a prison lock-down as he could, and it was a wise move, as conflicts among the prisoners were inevitable with tensions so high.

"Karlsen must be going home to see his mama," LeBeau joked, noticing that the much-hated Corporal Karlsen was loading a couple of bags into the back of a truck from the motor pool. A moment later, his cohort, the private who had helped him badger Hogan in the mess hall that day, emerged from the guards barracks carrying his own belongings.

"Maybe they're running away together," Hogan joked.

"They're going to the Russian Front," Schultz said in a hushed tone, as if he were telling a top secret.

"Couldn't happen to nicer guys, but why?" Hogan asked.

"Kommandant Klink was not happy with their behavior in the mess hall. I took them to his office and told him what happened, and when they came out, they were carrying transfer orders."

"Bon voyage and good riddance!" LeBeau called out toward the two men getting into the truck. If they heard him, which Hogan figured they had, they ignored the insult and started up the truck. "Filthy bosch," LeBeau added, under his breath. "No offense, Schultz."

"I hear nothing," Schultz replied calmly.

********

Hogan made his entrance to his barracks looking a bit less tousled and ragged than he had immediately following the beating, but still not feeling up to par. He knew the men were all in an uproar, in the middle of determining how they would handle the situation when he walked in.

"We're gonna find these guys, Colonel," Carter said before Hogan was all the way in the door.

"That's right, sir, we've got some ideas. We'll hunt 'em down," Newkirk chimed in.

"And when we do, we'll even some scores," Baker stated calmly.

"Look, fellas, it's not that I don't appreciate the concern, because I do. But I don't want this to turn into our own little civil war. Matthews is being transferred out first thing in the morning. Klink punched his ticket for Colditz."

"Never thought I'd start three cheers for old Klink," Newkirk said, chuckling. "By the way, the lock on the Rec Hall wasn't forced. So he either found somebody else who could pick the lock, or he got hold of a key."

"Matthews didn't do all that damage by himself," Carter said, gesturing toward Hogan. He could only imagine how vivid his face was becoming as the bruising took on its deepest colors.

"No, he didn't, but I won't have this camp turn into a war zone of unruly vigilante mobs wandering the compound. We'll find out who did it, and they'll be disciplined through the proper channels," Hogan stated, hoping the bass section in his head would settle down pretty soon.

"Why not let us give them a little discipline, Colonel? They sure didn't play fair with you," Baker said.

"What if you get the wrong guy? Huh? Somebody tips you off wrong and you go out and beat the stuffing out of some guy who had nothing to do with it?"

"We won't beat the stuffing out of him unless we're absolutely sure. How about that?" Carter asked hopefully.

"You won't beat the stuffing out of him at all. I mean it," Hogan stated firmly. Then, his tone softening. "Look, I appreciate that you guys want to do this, I really do." Hogan lowered himself onto the bench at the head of the table. "But if you go out and beat up and intimidate other prisoners on my behalf, then I'm no better an officer than Matthews."

"He's not fit to shine your shoes," LeBeau said bitterly, hanging up his coat.

"Klink's taking care of Matthews. We need to find out who his cronies are, and if they're responsible for this," he said, gesturing at himself. "If they are, we have a bigger problem than me getting roughed up. Most of the men in this camp know what we have going on underground. If there are men here who are angry enough, or who have it in for me enough to do something like this, it's not a big leap that they might squeal to the krauts."

"We oughtta start with the guy who set you up, sir. You can identify him," Newkirk said.

"I'm going to make a tour of the camp at tonight's roll call, starting with Matthews' barracks, to see if I can spot the guy. We're going to need extra security in the tunnels. I wouldn't put it past these guys to make a break for it before they're identified. Klink's putting Matthews in the cooler tonight, so hopefully that'll take care of him."

"You didn't recognize him at all, sir?" Carter asked.

"I know he's a newer prisoner, very young, dark hair, American..." Hogan shrugged, then winced, his hand going to his ribs before he even thought about the gesture. "I know I was present when he was brought in, but I can't place his name."

"Sounds like McAllister, sir," Carter said. "He knows about the operation. We just cleared him a couple weeks ago, remember?"

"That's him," Hogan said, snapping his fingers. "We had that whole group of flyers come in within a few days, and I knew he was part of that group, but I couldn't connect the name with the face."

"That little twister," Newkirk snarled.

"Which barracks is he in?" Hogan asked.

"Matthews' barracks, where else?" Baker replied.

"Baker, you and Carter go over there and get him. I don't want any violence, and I don't want you telling him what it's about. Just tell him I want to talk to him, and bring him over here."

"Right, sir," Carter replied, getting up and putting on his hat while Baker grabbed his jacket and cap. They set off to fetch the man in question.

"I'll be in my office. I'm going to talk to McAllister alone, and I don't want any of you to say anything to him about this, got it?"

"Whatever you say, sir, but I'd still like the chance to sort him out a bit."

"I'm with Newkirk," LeBeau said. "But we'll be quiet."

"Thanks." Hogan managed to get up on his own, ignoring the intense pain in his side, and disappeared into his office.

********

At nineteen years old, Danny McAllister was one of the youngest prisoners in the camp. He was a flyer, and a good one, having enlisted at sixteen, before the war ever started. He'd gotten various commendations, and made corporal by eighteen. Before he was shot down, there was talk about a promotion to sergeant. Now he was stuck here in the middle of Germany, forced to sit out the action in a prison camp. In a prison camp with a no-escape policy set by the Senior POW Officer himself. Maybe Hogan wanted to rot here, but McAllister didn't really have the same dedication to helping other guys get out of Germany.

Still, the Stalag 13 operation was an amazing one, and Hogan seemed like a great guy for an officer. Even so, there wasn't much for a guy like him to do there. Hogan had his special team he used for all the important assignments, and the rest of them had jobs of sorts–McAllister was learning some metalworking skills at the moment–but making trinkets to sell to krauts to help bankroll Hogan's operation wasn't his idea of a top flight job.

As soon as Matthews had arrived, he'd shown an interest in the young pilot. Impressed with his credentials for such a young age, Matthews had promised him a key job in the operation. He wasn't sure if Matthews knew the extent of what was under the camp, and some part of him had prevented him from enlightening him. Hogan had sworn every man in camp to secrecy with new prisoners until they got the word from one of his inner circle that the new guy had been approved. Of course, now Matthews was in charge, and before the whole mess earlier that afternoon, he'd been planning to tell Matthews everything he knew. That should ensure him a place of trust at the new commander's elbow.

Now the whole disaster that had snowballed out of control this afternoon seemed to have cost Matthews the farm. He was in the cooler, awaiting transfer to Colditz, and Hogan was back in charge. And McAllister was just another grunt again–one of dozens of prisoners who did Hogan's bidding but never really had much excitement to go with it.

He sighed as he leaned back in his bunk, figuring a few packs of cigarettes really weren't worth what he'd done, and where it had landed him–lying on his bunk, waiting for Hogan or one of his inner circle to come for him.

As if on cue, the barracks door opened, and Carter and Baker walked in.

"Colonel Hogan wants to see you, McAllister," Baker said.

"Oh yeah?" McAllister worked hard to maintain a tough facade. He stood up. "About what?"

"You'll find out when you get there. Now move it, McAllister," Carter jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. They were both sergeants, and Carter had no qualms about pulling rank on this arrogant young corporal.

McAllister bristled at taking such orders from a couple of men not of officer's rank, but now didn't seem like a wise time to be insubordinate. He put on his coat and walked with them across the compound to Hogan's barracks. As they entered the building, McAllister could feel the icy glares directed his way from all the occupied bunks.  

Carter knocked on Hogan's office door. "We've got McAllister out here," he said. McAllister didn't quite catch the muffled reply, but it must have been affirmative, because Carter motioned to him to go into the office.

He mustered his courage and walked in, saluting Hogan.

"Corporal Daniel McAllister reporting as ordered, sir." He lowered his arm but remained at attention. Hogan looked rough. Worse than he'd expected. The officer didn't acknowledge his salute.

"At ease McAllister," Hogan said. He was sitting on the stool in front of his desk, leaning on the desk with one arm. He looked as if he couldn't find a comfortable way to sit. McAllister felt his stomach drop, and nausea welled inside him. He'd known they were going to pull a trick on Hogan that would embarrass him, but he'd had no idea they were going to go this far. "You know why you're here."

"Yes, sir," he said.

"What, no explanation?" Hogan asked, a faint smile on his face. Then again, it could have been a grimace of pain. Between the swelling and the circumstances, McAllister wasn't sure. "I expected at least a decent excuse."

"Another prisoner told me that Matthews had LeBeau in the Rec Hall and I should go get you. I didn't know it was a lie." He hoped that would fly. Hogan stared at him a moment, then smiled.

"I said a decent excuse, McAllister, not a half-assed lie I couldn't have gotten past my first grade teacher."

"I'm really sorry, Colonel. I didn't know they were gonna do something to you like this," he admitted. "I thought it was just a prank."

"Are you aware that you could face a court martial for doing something like this?"

"Yes, sir."

"But you did it anyway."

"I didn't know they were going to do that to you," he said, gesturing toward Hogan, indicating his injuries.

"What did you think they were gonna do, McAllister? Take me out for coffee?" Hogan demanded. "You set me up. I want to know why."

"I told you. I thought it was just a prank, honest."

"A prank? Who were these...pranksters?"

"I won't rat out my fellow soldiers, sir," he said, straightening his stance.

"But you'll set up your commanding officer."

"Matthews was the C.O. at the time, sir."

"Oh, I see," Hogan said, smiling and nodding. "He promised you something special, for being part of this?"

"No, sir."

"You just had it in for me and set me up?"

"No, sir, of course not."

"Look, McAllister, this is getting us nowhere. If you don't want to cooperate with me, I'll hand you over to the krauts, and they can have you with my blessing."

"Colonel Hogan, I didn't know what they wanted to do. They just said they wanted to humble you a little and put you in your place. I...I didn't think that sounded like...like this."

"What'd you think it would involve, McAllister? You're young, but I know you're not stupid, so don't try to play that game with me."

"If you think I'm so smart, why did you give me a bird-brained job like learning how to make some kind of junk out of metal when I could be helping with some really important work."

"That's what this is about? You don't like your role in the operation?" Hogan shook his head, smiling grimly. "That's just great."

"Matthews would have moved me up, given me something worthwhile to do."

"As soon as you earned your stripes by setting me up, is that it?"

"Not exactly. Look, Colonel Hogan, if I tell you the truth, I'm gonna be in worse shape than if I keep my mouth shut."

"Okay, fine." Hogan rose a little unsteadily and opened his office door. "You see those men out there?"

"Yes, sir."

"You can either tell me the truth now, or I'm going to send you out there, and I'm going to let them question you their way. And whatever's left, we'll give to the krauts."

"All right, all right," McAllister said, shrinking back from the door until Hogan closed it. "You've gotta promise me you're not going to court martial me for this."

"I don't gotta promise you nothing, McAllister!" Hogan bellowed back at him. "You deserve to get taught a lesson for this. But you know what? I was pretty stupid, ambitious and arrogant at your age, too, so I'm going to give you one more chance to pull your fat out of the fire."

"It wasn't Matthews." McAllister swallowed hard. He could almost picture his court martial now. He wondered if the penalty was death for selling out your C.O. to the krauts. "It was Karlsen. He gave me four packs of cigarettes and some German money if I'd tell you something that would get you over to the Rec Hall alone. He said he just wanted to teach you some respect, teach you your place."

"And for a guy who was miserable with his job and thought he deserved better, and figured he'd be a big man with Matthews for being in on something like that, it sounded like a great idea, huh?"

"I guess so," McAllister admitted, looking down.

"I know you're not going to be completely honest with me, but at least admit to yourself what you did. You knew when a kraut like Karlsen said something like that, what he was going to do. Or at least, you'd have a pretty good idea, and you must have been in favor of it. What you did was bad enough. Not to be man enough to confront it and take responsibility for it is worse." Hogan sat on the stool again. "Get out, you're dismissed."

"What are you gonna do, sir?"

"I haven't decided yet," Hogan shot back, his tone elevated and annoyed. "Just get out of my sight. Traitors are bad, but traitors who are cowards are worse."

"I'm really sorry–"

"Sorry you did it or sorry you got caught? What did you think, I wouldn't remember who set me up? Or didn't you think that far ahead?"

"I thought Colonel Matthews was in charge, sir."

"That's what I figured. Well, he isn't, so it looks like you misjudged things pretty badly, doesn't it."

"Yes, sir."

"I hope you're at least enjoying this, because it's not going to help your military career."

"No, sir, I'm not."

"Why not? Because Matthews isn't in charge anymore?"

"No, sir. I never meant for anything this bad to happen," he said, and his tone was sincere. "I don't know what I thought Karlsen would do, but I didn't think it would be this bad, and...and I know he gives some of the prisoners a pretty bad time of it...and..." McAllister took a deep breath. "I was scared, sir."

"If you'd come to me, you know I wouldn't have let Karlsen get at you, right?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't know that of Colonel Matthews, and he was the boss, so I figured...you know...if Karlsen was gonna give me a bad time, I was on my own." McAllister's gut twisted at the realization of the irony–Hogan was good to his men, cared about them, protected them with everything he had, got between them and the krauts, but Matthews would just as soon feed one of them to the lions as look at them. Matthews ruled with intimidation and terror, and he'd aspired to be his right hand man. At the expense of Hogan, who would have gone to bat for his safety in a heartbeat. Ironically, who probably still would and still hadn't handed him over to the krauts for punishment. "I'm really sorry, Colonel Hogan," he said, hoping some of his sincerity came through.

Hogan studied him a moment, his eyes narrowing a bit. Then he looked away and sighed, wincing at the unwisely deep breath.

"I know you are." Hogan paused. "You're a bright kid, McAllister, but you've got a lot to learn, and that's why you're starting in the metal shop instead of in the first string sabotage and intelligence team. Every man in this camp is vital to this operation, whether he's making tie tacks or blowing up ammo dumps. But when you're in the middle of life and death operations, you can't make bad decisions, and you can't make selfish decisions. You're talented and you'll do well in the future, but you've got to learn to think for the good of the operation, and have the courage to do what's right–not what's safest or what will benefit you the most."

"Does that mean you're not going to turn me in?" McAllister asked, regretting the question as soon as it was out–right on the heels of Hogan telling him he needed to let go of his selfishness.

"Yeah, that's what it means," Hogan said, smiling and shaking his head. "I'm hoping maybe you'll learn something from this, but it's not looking good."

"I didn't mean to say that a minute ago. I'll never do anything like this again, sir. I swear. I won't let you down."

"You already did, McAllister, but you've got another chance to prove yourself, to prove you've got the right stuff to be a real soldier, not just a hot-shot pilot. If you can do that, after we're liberated from this joint, I won't pursue this incident. If you ever mess up with something this serious again, I'll give it to you with everything I've got and see you in a military prison for the rest of your natural life. Is that clear enough?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely."

"Good. Then we won't discuss this incident again."

"Um, sir, the other men, they–"

"They have their orders, and they won't break them. If you're worried about winning popularity contests, that's your problem."

"Right, sir."

"You're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." McAllister paused a the door of Hogan's office. "I really am sorry, sir."

"I know that. Now turn 'sorry' into something worthwhile."

"Yes, sir," McAllister replied before slipping out the door, and making his way hesitantly through the barracks. He had a feeling his sergeant's stripes were going to be a lot harder to hold onto than he'd thought.

********

"You're not turning him in?" LeBeau asked, leading the others to the door of Hogan's office.

"No, I'm not. He's a kid. He made some bad choices. I tried scaring the hell out of him, so maybe that'll do him some good."

"I still think he deserved to be court martialed for what he did to you," Carter said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Maybe. But sometimes we learn the best lessons from getting one more chance when we don't deserve it. It wasn't Matthews who put him up to it."

"What?" LeBeau's eyes bugged, and the others looked suitably stunned.

"It was Karlsen. He must have been wanting revenge for Klink shipping him out to the Eastern Front. Figured that was my fault. He bribed McAllister with some cigarettes, but mainly I think the kid was scared Karlsen was going to string him up in a dark basement somewhere if he didn't go along with it, and he figured it would make him a big man with Matthews. He's not too thrilled with his job in the metal shop."

"I forgot my violin," LeBeau said derisively.

"Well, he's got his chance to prove himself. Let's see if he uses it. Meanwhile, Karlsen and Matthews are both out of our hair, so we ought to all be able to sleep a bit easier tonight."

"More than one person worked you over, sir," Baker said.

"Karlsen had a pal going East with him because of the incident with me, so they probably did it together. Look, if you guys don't mind, I'm going to lie down for a while before night roll call. LeBeau, you think you could give me a hand with a couple things?"

"Of course, Mon Colonel."

The others left, closing the door, and Hogan stayed seated at his desk, just reaching out one arm toward LeBeau, who moved toward him right away. With Hogan seated, it was easy for him to take Hogan into his arms for a change, bringing Hogan's head to rest on his shoulder. They stayed that way, quietly, for a long time before Hogan finally moved.

"You mind sticking around for a few minutes?"

"As long as you want me to," LeBeau responded, stroking Hogan's hair gently. "Klink would probably let you off the hook for the night roll call. You should get some rest."

"Maybe I will. I don't feel too great."

"Let me get you into bed, and I can stay with you a while." LeBeau started undressing Hogan, and he didn't resist it. It felt good to just sit there and be cared for. "McAllister is a fool. To give his loyalty to someone like Matthews. To betray you, when you're still watching out for him."

"My morals were a little better, thank God, but I was an arrogant, hot-shot kid his age once. I made a lot of dumb moves and I didn't know enough to really appreciate any of the people who had my best interests at heart, either. I wasn't fighting a war at the time, so I had the luxury of being a screw up for a while without any major problems. I grew up. I want to see McAllister have the same chance."

"I don't believe you were ever a screw up." LeBeau helped Hogan into his pajamas.

"I got pretty good grades, did well in sports, was popular with the girls and I wasn't a juvenile delinquent, but I put plenty of gray hairs on my parents' heads and a few on the principal's. Maybe even one or two on the dean's head at college," he added, chuckling. "But he was tougher and I was settling down a bit by then." He accepted the pills LeBeau handed him, swallowing them with a bit of water in a cup on his desk.

"Come on, into bed." LeBeau seated himself at the head of the bed, with the pillows in his lap.

"What if someone comes in?" Hogan hesitated, though the thought of the closeness drew him like a magnet.

"I put the wedge under the door. Now come on. No one's going to bother us."

Hogan eased himself down on the bed, on his back. With both sides badly bruised and ribs cracked on one of them, it was his only sleeping option. And with the old bruising on his back and the lump on the back of his head, even that position was less than perfect.

LeBeau's hand gently stroked his hair, while the other hand took a hold of Hogan's hand.

"I don't like doddering around like an old man all the time. I'm used to being able to handle things. To run this operation."

"You still do run the operation, and you'll be over this in a little while. Just give your body a chance to heal."

"I couldn't even get up and down the ladders into the tunnel right now."

"If you have to get in and out of the tunnel, there are fourteen other guys in this barracks that will make sure you do. You're always watching out for us. Let us watch out for you for a while. You haven't spent the last three years training us and commanding us and organizing the operation so it can fall apart the first time you're a little under the weather. We know what we're doing."

"I didn't really think you'd all leave me behind in a mass escape or anything," Hogan said, smiling a little. "I couldn't get down there to even hear a message from London. Let alone run a vital mission if it comes up."

"What do you want Baker to tell London?"

"That I got roughed up by a couple of goons who are on their way to the Russian Front. Don't mention McAllister, and don't mention Klink. I don't want to say anything about him one way or the other just yet."

"Just yet?"

"I know he's on our side in some things, but I can't trust him 100% at this point, and if he is on our side, I don't want to risk compromising him in case there's any kraut intelligence in high places in London."

"Impossible. Such a thing doesn't exist."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you had something against our hosts," Hogan said, almost chuckling at LeBeau's comment before he realized what the motion would do to his ribs.

"What gave you that idea?" LeBeau responded, smiling. Hogan leaned into the stroking hand on his head, soothed by the touch and hungry for the warmth and affection of it. "You'll be feeling better soon, mon amour. This won't last forever."

"If you say so," Hogan slurred, the pain medication making him sleepy, LeBeau's loving touches relaxing him into giving up on staying awake. It felt good to be held and comforted and watched over.

"I love you, I say that," LeBeau replied softly. Hogan was smiling as sleep overtook him.

********

Schultz reported to Klink that Hogan was resting instead of reporting for night roll call, and Klink accepted that with an approving nod. Once the prisoners had been dismissed, Klink called LeBeau over to him.

"Yes, Kommandant?"

"How is Colonel Hogan?"

"He's in pain, and impatient about that," LeBeau said, and Klink actually smiled a little.

"I've noticed he doesn't handle convalescence well. I'm sure you know that I have asked him to report the prisoner responsible for luring him into the Recreation Hall."

"That's between you and Colonel Hogan."

"You know who it is?"

"Yes, sir, I do, but Colonel Hogan has very definite ideas how he wants to handle the situation."

"Was Matthews behind it?" Klink asked. LeBeau paused a moment.

"We found out who set him up, and Colonel Hogan talked to him. It wasn't Matthews. It was Karlsen and his pal."

"The prisoner could have merely said that to protect Matthews."

"I think Colonel Hogan would be able to sort out that kind of lie. He was convinced it was the truth."

"Well, in any event, Matthews will be on his way to Colditz first thing in the morning."

"Good riddance to him." LeBeau paused. "I'm not sure why you're transferring Matthews, or why you sent Karlsen and his friend to the Russian Front, but...thank you for doing it."

"Strife and disorder are not positive forces in a prison camp. They were causing nothing but problems, and for no worthwhile reason. It was time for them to move on."

"You won't get any disagreement there, sir," LeBeau responded.

********

Hogan was back in his usual spot for morning roll call, and Klink granted his request to address the men in that formal setting.

"I think most of you know by now what happened yesterday, but for those of you who might not have heard, I was lured into the Rec Hall and worked over. I'm fine, just dented a little," Hogan said with a slight smile. "I have spoken with the man who did the luring, and have reached an understanding with him regarding his behavior yesterday, and my expectations for his future behavior. The actual assault was the work of two guards, who are now en route Eastward. I consider the matter resolved at this point, and I want it to remain that way. Any further action against the man who acted in tandem with those guards, if any, will be taken by me. As much as I've been moved and flattered by the inclination some of you guys had to exact a measure of justice for this situation, my orders are to let it rest and consider the case closed. Thanks."

Hogan returned to his spot in the assembly, and there was a moment of silence as the prisoners spotted Matthews being moved from the cooler to a truck that would take him to Colditz.

"Bon voyage, Colonel!" LeBeau shouted, and that started a round of whoops and cheers from the men.

"Don't bother to write!" Newkirk chimed in.

Klink allowed a few moments of disorder before ordering Schultz and the other guards to quiet the group. As the guards blew their whistles and barked orders for silence, Hogan simply gestured across his throat with his hand for them to fall silent, and within seconds, even those who couldn't see the gesture directly had fallen in line with everyone around them, and silence reigned.

Klink shook off the reminder of who was truly running the camp, and was about to make his closing comments when Langenscheid hurried across the compound.

"Herr Kommandant, the prisoner requests to speak with Colonel Hogan," he said.

"It's up to Colonel Hogan. If he agrees, I'll allow it. Otherwise, tell Matthews his request is denied."

"Yes, sir." Langenscheid approached Hogan. "Colonel Matthews–"

"I heard," Hogan said, looking in Matthews' direction. "I'll talk to him." Hogan followed Langenscheid, who immediately slowed his pace in deference to Hogan's injuries. When they reached the spot where Matthews was standing, Langenscheid backed off a bit to give the men the illusion of privacy.

"Well, you won, Hogan," Matthews said. "You've got Klink right where you want him. Anybody crosses you, they're out. How'd you manage that, Hogan? What do you do for Klink that keeps him so devoted to you, anyway?"

"Get to the point, Matthews, if you have one," Hogan said, crossing his arms over his chest, resolving not to let Matthews bait him into taking another swing at him, appealing as the thought was.

"I've got my suspicions about you, Hogan, and don't think I won't be sharing them with the brass on our side the first chance I get."

"You should do what your conscience dictates...that is, if you have one of those, either," Hogan added.

"From the moment I got here, it was obvious that you had some kind of hold over Klink. Either he's a traitor, or you are, you both are."

"This conversation is over," Hogan stated flatly, turning to walk away.

"You know, Hogan, not all the men here worship you like the god you seem to think you are," Matthews called after him, and Hogan ignored him, continuing to head back toward the assembly of prisoners. The guards nudged Matthews along, loading him into the truck and driving toward the gate.

"The past few days have seen a considerable upset to the usual routine here at Stalag 13," Klink began. "I have taken steps to correct the problems, and I expect that order will now be restored. Colonel Hogan has dealt with the matter of the man who betrayed him. I have respected his wishes to deal with it himself rather than turn that man over to me. I will say this one thing, however. There is nothing lower and more cowardly than to use an officer's concern for the safety and well-being of his men to lure him into danger. The man who brought about the assault on Colonel Hogan yesterday will enjoy no special rewards from the administration of this camp. Should I ever learn his name, he will suffer the most stringent punishment within my authority to mete out, because his behavior was despicable in a soldier of any army. He is a disgrace to whatever uniform he has the nerve to still wear."

McAllister flinched at the words, and he could feel many pairs of eyes upon him. Hogan may not be pursuing charges against him, and he may have asked his men not to tear McAllister limb from limb, but in a way, this was worse. This was slow torture and the constant threat from now until after the war ended of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You will notice that Corporal Karlsen and Corporal Heitel are no longer with us," Klink continued. "They have been transferred to an active combat assignment." Klink paused again for boisterous cheers from the prisoners. When the furor died down, Klink added, "I can tell they will be missed. Stalag 13 has always adhered to the strictest of discipline, but also to the rules of the Geneva Convention," Klink said, catching a fish-eyed look from Hogan. "In the most significant issues," he added, actually drawing a slight grin from Hogan. "I renew my warning to all of you. These recent changes do not mean a relaxation of the iron discipline that has made Stalag 13 the toughest, most escape-proof POW camp in Germany. Dis-missed," Klink concluded with a salute, turning and walking briskly back into his office.

Hogan followed at a bit slower pace. He wanted to talk to the kommandant before he became immersed in whatever the pile of papers on his desk were that he managed to occupy himself with every morning. Sparing Hilda and somewhat crooked smile due to his swollen mouth, Hogan tapped on Klink's door, and at the invitation to enter, went inside and closed it behind him.

"Yes, Hogan, what is it?" Klink asked, typical abruptness back in his voice.  

"Why did you transfer Karlsen and Heitel?"

"You object to their transfers?" Klink asked without looking up from his paperwork.

"Not at all. But I'm curious why they were transferred." Hogan paused, an expression of pain clouding his features. "Mind of I sit down?" he asked, lowering himself into a chair.

"No, be my guest." Klink finally looked up from his paperwork. Hogan's face looked almost worse than it had the day before, but that was to be expected. It occurred to Klink how many times he'd sat across this very desk from Hogan, and how strangely their relationship had evolved from that first day. Hogan actually had looked pretty rough when he first came into camp, still a bit banged up from bailing out of his plane, and looking back, Klink imagined he'd picked up a few bruises from his Gestapo interrogators. Capturing a colonel, a squadron commander with an exemplary bombing record, wasn't an every day occurrence. Hogan was one of the earliest major captures, and thinking back on it now, Klink imagined Hogan had probably endured a fair amount of rigorous interrogation before being brought to the prison camp. Still, he'd been as reticent and arrogant as ever, and Klink had shooed him out of the office and instructed Schultz to put him in Barracks 2, where there were private quarters for a senior officer.

"Kommandant?" Hogan's voice startled Klink out of his flashback. "You should have seen the other guy," Hogan joked, and Klink didn't quite understand the humor. "It's an old American joke, sir. If you think I look bad, you should have seen the other guy?"

"Oh, of course," Klink responded finally, smiling slightly. "How are you, Hogan?" he asked, much the way he'd ask any friend who had been injured and was recuperating.

"I'll be fine, sir," he said, his tone dismissive. Klink always envisioned Hogan as one of those men who would crawl across a battlefield with a limb blown off and still manage to shoot a few more enemy soldiers before breathing his last. He didn't give up easily, and he didn't succumb to his own pain without a serious struggle.

"I'm sure you will. I was inquiring how you are now."

"As long as I don't smile, blink, or breathe, I'm fine," Hogan said, smiling as much as his swollen mouth allowed. Then his expression changed, and he shifted in the chair.

"Hogan?"

"Maybe I spoke too soon." Hogan seemed to go deathly white before Klink's eyes, and he pressed a hand against his side, the knuckles of the other hand going white on the arm of the chair. "Oh, God."

"Hogan, what is it?" Klink was out of his chair and at Hogan's side in a swift move. Hogan's only response was a groan of pain. Klink didn't hesitate. He grabbed the phone and ordered Schultz to bring his car around to the office. It would be a smoother ride than a truck and faster than waiting for an ambulance. Whatever was wrong with Hogan was serious, and most likely urgent.

"This...isn't good..." Hogan managed before wincing and then doubling over in the chair. "Get...Louis..." he gasped, and Klink stuck his head out the door and told Hilda to have the guard outside the office go find LeBeau.

"Schultz is bringing the car around. Try to stay calm, Hogan," Klink said stiffly, not sure what to do with the agonized man curled in pain in his office chair.

"Oh, God," Hogan gasped again, trying to straighten up. "I...I can't...die..." Hogan's agonized whisper was more to himself than to Klink, but it was chilling nonetheless.

"You are right about that, and you won't. That's an order." Klink couldn't believe that brought almost an insane laugh out of Hogan, despite the obvious agony he was in.

"Jawohl," he grunted, doubling over again.

"Herr Kommandant!" Schultz rushed into the room with Langenscheid behind him. "What happened?"

"He just started having this pain. Whatever it is, it's serious. Now you two take him out to the car and load him in the back seat. Schultz, you're driving, and I'll ride with you," Klink said, donning his hat. We're going to the hospital in Hammelburg."

"But they won't treat our prisoners there, Herr Kommandant," Langenscheid said.

"If the doctor doesn't do his job, I'll have him shot. Now get moving." Klink checked his side arm, causing both of the guards to do a double take.

"Colonel!" LeBeau rushed into the room, but Klink pulled him back.

"They're putting him in my staff car to go to the hospital in Hammelburg. You may ride with him in the back seat."

"What happened?" LeBeau demanded as Schultz and Langenscheid moved Hogan as gently and quickly as possible toward the waiting car, Schultz supporting his upper body with Langenscheid supporting his legs.

"He was fine and then all of a sudden he developed this excruciating pain in his side." Klink paused. "He asked for you, so I sent for you."

LeBeau climbed in the back seat and Hogan was placed so LeBeau was cradling him, his legs stretched out on the seat. He could hear the commotion of the other prisoners rushing toward the staff car as it roared toward the front gates. Schultz was honking the horn over and over again, the accelerator pressed nearly to the floor. The gates were opened rapidly and the car sped through them, careening onto the road and continuing at a high speed.

"I'm here, Mon Colonel. It's me, Louis," LeBeau said softly to Hogan, stroking his hair gently.

"Doesn't look good," Hogan managed, swallowing hard. "If I don't make it–"

"You will. You have to."

"Yeah, I know," Hogan gasped. "Klink's orders," he said, doing his best to say it loudly. Though it was still weak, Klink heard it.

"That's right, Hogan. You're under orders," he responded, a smile in his voice.

"If I don't make it," Hogan whispered, knowing it was low enough only LeBeau could hear him now, "I want you to...to know that...I've loved you more...than anyone else in my life," Hogan gasped, then paused, swallowing again. "And don't feel bad, because...if I lived another...100 years...I couldn't have...any more...than what we already...have."

"You have to make it because I can't live without you now," LeBeau whispered back. "Mon coeur bat avec le vôtre, mon amour. Si vous mourez, mon coeur meurt avec vous," LeBeau said, his voice dissolving into tears on the last words. He knew Hogan didn't understand him, and he wanted to be sure he did. If this was to be their last moment, Hogan had to know that all that mattered to LeBeau would die with him. "My heart beats with yours, my love. If you die, my heart dies with you," he whispered, and seeing that Schultz and Klink were both busy watching the road, he pressed his lips gently against Hogan's, chancing what he prayed would not be one final kiss. The response was weak, but very definite. Hogan was losing consciousness, but he still felt LeBeau, still knew he was there. That was obvious in his efforts to reciprocate the kiss.

LeBeau smiled, tears still rolling down his cheeks, his hand still stroking Hogan's hair.

"Will they treat him in Hammelburg?" LeBeau asked Klink, who didn't turn from staring straight out the windshield. "When they see he's an American–"

"He may be an American, but I am not, and they will treat him on my orders. If they don't do it that way, they'll do it at rifle-point. Simple choice."

"He's dying," LeBeau said miserably. "How much farther?"

"Not far now. He has a very strong will to live, LeBeau. I have faith in that and you must, too."

"You sound as if you thought of him as a friend."

"I respect Colonel Hogan. He is still an enemy officer," Klink said, straightening in his seat.

"Well, I think of him as a friend, and I don't want him to die," Schultz said decisively, pressing the accelerator even harder to the floor. "I don't care what kind of uniform he's wearing."

"Schultz, you would do well not to say things like that. We're taking enough risk as it is."

"If he can still hear me, I want him to know that."

"He does, Schultzie," LeBeau said, smiling.

The car rumbled to a stop outside the emergency entrance to the hospital. Klink and Schultz were out of the car in a flash, and LeBeau watched, stunned, as Klink issued orders like any good drill sergeant, bringing orderlies with a stretcher in record time. They hesitated, however, when they saw the patient was an American POW.

"What are you waiting for? Take him inside!" Klink ordered.

"Sir, he's not a German soldier or civilian," the one orderly said gingerly.

"Thank you for that vital piece of information," Klink said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Now you either load him on the gurney and take him inside for treatment or I will have you arrested for defying the orders of an officer of the Third Reich."

"Yes, sir," the man replied, and in a moment, they had carefully loaded Hogan onto a gurney and were rushing into the emergency room with Klink, Schultz and LeBeau right behind them.

"What is this?" An older doctor met the group just inside the entrance. "This man is an American," he said, outraged.

"We're under orders of the officer, Doctor," the orderly explained.

"Colonel, certainly you know that we do not treat your prisoners here," the doctor said to Klink, who stiffened visibly, rising to his full height and military bearing.

"You will treat this one. He's critically ill, that much is obvious, and he is in need of immediate attention."

"Was ist los?" A middle-aged female doctor pushed her way through the small gathering of people to where Hogan was lying on the stretcher. She listened to his heart a moment, then, with a dire expression, began pressing on his stomach and side. "This man is hemorrhaging internally! I need a surgical team and an operating room this minute!" She looked at the motionless staff who stared at her, confused. "Are you deaf? Schnell, mach schnell!"

From that moment forward, Hogan's gurney was in rapid motion amidst a sea of white uniforms as he was rushed toward an operating room. The doctor who had initially refused to treat him began walking away, shaking his head.

"If your son were dying on a battlefield, wouldn't you want an Allied doctor to save his life?" LeBeau called after him. The man stopped in his tracks, then turned around.

"My son did die on a battlefield, and it was one of that man's comrades who put him in his grave. I have no sympathy for your friend. He would have had no sympathy for my son." The doctor turned and began walking away again, his gait infinitely slower this time.

"How can he call himself a doctor?" LeBeau demanded.

"I don't know, but thankfully there was someone here who is fit to be called a doctor, and she is doing all she can to help Hogan." Klink led the way to the waiting room. "All we can do now is wait."

"Herr Kommandant, should I call the camp and tell Hilda what's happening?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Find out if all is in order. Ask Captain Gruber to announce to the men that Hogan is in the hospital and receiving the best possible care we can provide."

Just then, a harried-looking nurse in surgical blues came rushing into the waiting room.

"I need a blood donor. Do you know your blood types?" All three men shook their heads. "Then you will need to be tested. The American officer is going to lose a lot of blood in the surgery, and we don't have any on hand in his type." At LeBeau's skeptical expression, she added, "I am horrified by Doctor Schmidt's behavior, too, but we are not all like that. I checked for the blood myself and our supply is gone. If one of you will not donate, he will probably die."

"You can take as much as you need from me," LeBeau said immediately. "Whatever it takes."

"We'll all be tested," Klink said decisively. "Whichever of us is compatible will be the donor."

"Right this way." She led the three men down the hall for the testing.

********

LeBeau could still feel the spot on his arm where the blood sample had been drawn. He wanted to curse the very blood in his veins for not being the right type. Schultz had been eliminated as well. The match had been found in Klink, who was presently giving as much blood as they could safely take. Schultz had ordered a group of prisoners brought to the hospital from the camp in the hopes of finding a couple more compatible donors in case more blood was needed.

"He must have been in terrible pain and he said nothing. He wouldn't be honest how much he was hurting," LeBeau said sadly. "The most important thing to him was always us, honoring the obligations of his command. I never met an officer like him," LeBeau added, smiling. "He is so much more a hero than so many of the others who get all the fame are."

"Colonel Hogan is a very special man. He has always been very nice to me. Well, maybe not always, but usually," Schultz said, smiling. "Even with everything that happened, he never complained."

"I knew he was in pain, that he wasn't feeling well. But he wouldn't ever say very much about it. If we'd just known how bad it was."

Just then, the nurse appeared, wheeling Klink back to the waiting room in a wheelchair. He held a cup in his hand, and took another sip from it as she brought him to a stop near the seating area where Schultz and LeBeau waited.

"What happened, Kommandant?" LeBeau asked.

"It was nothing. I was a little light-headed from having my blood drawn."

"He gave us the maximum," the nurse said, smiling and patting Klink's shoulder. "I'm sure your friend will appreciate all you've done for him." She left before Klink could take issue with the comment. Not sure if it was the odd fatigue he felt from the blood-letting, or if it was the fact he really did think of Hogan as his friend, however bizarre or unlikely that might be, Klink didn't concern himself. He finished the glass of orange juice and sighed heavily.

"He must still be alive, because they haven't come out and said anything. I think they'd say something, don't you?" LeBeau asked.

"I'm sure we'd have been informed if anything that drastic happened," Klink said, setting the cup on a table and standing up. He swayed a bit, but brushed off Schultz's attempts to steady him. If Hogan could walk unassisted with his insides seriously damaged, Klink resolved he would do no less over losing a bit of blood.

"Any word yet?" Newkirk's voice startled them all, but he was closely followed by Carter, Baker, Olson, and six other prisoners, accompanied by three guards, one of whom was Langenscheid.

"Nothing yet," LeBeau responded, relieved when his friend sat next to him. Carter took another nearby seat, and the other prisoners clustered together in the same area.

"Schultz, find the nurse, and tell her all these men need to be tested as possible donors."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," Schultz replied, rising and hurrying off to find the nurse.

"I hope we're not too late to give blood," Carter said worriedly.

"Kommandant Klink already gave as much as he could," LeBeau said, and the others looked a bit stunned.

"I know that'll mean a lot to Colonel Hogan, sir," Baker said. "That was very generous of you."

"He was bleeding internally, time was of the essence." Klink was silent a moment, and all the eyes of the prisoners were on him. "I sincerely believe Colonel Hogan would do the same for me, or for any other person he knew who was critically injured."

"He would, Kommandant," Carter said with sincere conviction.

"Thank you, Carter." Klink paused as Schultz arrived back with the nurse.

"Please have the men come by twos for the testing. We'll be as quick as we can. I'm not sure if the supply we have will last through the surgery."

"Nurse, do you have any information on how he's doing?" LeBeau asked.

"The bleeding is profuse, I know that much, but he is still alive and the doctor is doing all she can. His spleen ruptured. It's very serious."

LeBeau felt Newkirk's arm around his shoulders, and he leaned gratefully into the warmth. The nurse left with a guard and two of the men.

"Test the guards as well, nurse," Klink ordered, and the guard turned back to look at Klink, horrified. "If you are compatible, you will provide blood, and that is a direct order."

"Ich werde mein Blut für einen Amerikaner nicht geben!" the guard retorted.

"Sie werden teils mit einem großen Geschäft mehr davon, wenn Sie auf eine Gefecht Zuweisung übertragen sind," Klink replied icily. The guard stiffended his stance a bit.

"Jawohl," he followed the nurse and the two prisoners.

"What did he say?" Newkirk asked Schultz in a hushed voice.

"He said he would not give his blood for an American. Kommandant Klink told him that if he didn't give his blood now, he'd have to part with a lot more of it if he got a combat assignment," Schultz whispered back.

"No wonder he changed his mind," Carter said, having overheard the conversation.

After all the prisoners and guards had been tested, only Olson proved to be compatible. He, too, willingly gave the maximum amount of blood he could. The morning blended into the afternoon, and the large group waited in a nearly silent vigil, drawing strange looks from the German civilians who came and went. Klink hadn't ordered the guards to take the other prisoners back to camp. He knew that was what procedure would dictate, but bringing Hogan to this hospital, insisting his guards all be tested as potential blood donors, and giving an American prisoner his own blood to keep him alive were all far outside the boundaries of procedure, so worrying about that now seemed a bit absurd.

Finally, the doctor walked out, looking bedraggled and exhausted. When she saw the size the group had grown to, she actually smiled. The sigh of relief from the waiting men was audible.

"Colonel Hogan came through the surgery, and is in recovery now. I won't lie to you, it was very grave, and I didn't think we were going to save him at first, but his heart is very strong, and he has an enormous will to live. The blood transfusions made it possible for us to save his life, so for the men who were able to donate, you've given him a very great gift."

"Will he be all right?" LeBeau asked.

"In time, yes. He's very weak, and his system will be weak for a while. He'll be hospitalized at least a week, and when he's released, the conditions in a prison barracks will not be adequate for him for quite some time. His immune system will be less efficient, and he's going to be healing a substantial incision."

"We have guest facilities where he can stay following his release, Doctor," Klink volunteered.

"Excellent." She approached Klink, extending her hand. "You are truly a humane guardian of these prisoners, Kommandant. You are to be commended for the way you've treated Colonel Hogan. I am very impressed."

"Danke, danke," Klink responded, smiling, the fact that the woman was quite an attractive blonde not having escaped him at all. "You will, of course, be welcome to visit the camp anytime. To see your patient," he added hastily.

"Danke. I may have to do that," she said, smiling and withdrawing her hand. "You might as well all go home...I'm sorry," she added, smiling. "Back to your camp. He will be in recovery for a few hours, and when he does come around, he will only be able to have one or two visitors, and only for a limited time. He's still weak, and he needs a lot of rest."

"I want to stay," LeBeau said, looking pleadingly at Klink.

"So do I," Schultz chimed in.

"We do, too," Carter objected, which led to a chorus of agreements.

"I will remain in case my authority is needed to get Colonel Hogan treatment, and Corporal LeBeau will remain as a representative of the prisoners. All the rest of you will return to camp. We will arrange a few visits during Colonel Hogan's hospitalization."

Despite a chorus of mumbled protests, the other prisoners were escorted out of the waiting area. Schultz paused before leaving.

"If he wakes up, tell him I was here," Schultz said to LeBeau, who smiled.

"I will." With that, Schultz nodded and followed the others.

"Why did you let me stay?" LeBeau asked.

"Because Colonel Hogan asked for you when he...became ill in my office, and it is obvious you are his closest friend among the prisoners."

"I suppose I am," LeBeau said, trying to sound casual. "Colonel Hogan doesn't play favorites."

"Does he rehearse those lines with you?" Klink asked, amused. "He said something very similar to me when I made the same observation. There are no other officers of similar rank at Stalag 13, so I don't find it unusual he has relied on one or more of his men for social interaction or friendship."

"It's important to him not to make anyone feel...less important." LeBeau was quiet a moment. "What you did for Colonel Hogan...giving blood to an enemy officer...will you get in trouble for that?"

"I don't know. Possibly." Klink seemed relaxed, not as tense as he usually was when the hint of disfavor was suggested. "He would have died without it. We aren't in active combat against one another. He did nothing to provoke the injuries he received. He was essentially helpless against that sort of ambush. Colonel Hogan dying from this would have only been a victory of barbarism and murder, not of honest warfare."

"If the Gestapo gets wind of it, they could make something of it."

"I suppose they could. They probably will if they get the chance. Maybe they won't find out."

"Do you think the doctor will report it?"

"Which one? I don't believe Colonel Hogan's doctor will, but whether or not other medical staff will is hard to say. One of my own guards may report it. One of the reasons I wanted to remain behind was in case anyone else in the hospital here decided to refuse Hogan additional treatment. It would not be unheard of for them to do something like that, and if they did, we would either have to fight it, or be prepared to transport him back to camp."

"He's too weak to make that kind of trip right now."

"I agree, but it would be better than having them put him out or transfer him to another camp with a more extensive infirmary. Colditz has better infirmary facilities than Stalag 13. They have a doctor among the prisoners, I understand."

"They wouldn't send him there?!"

"Not while I'm here to claim him as my prisoner, no, they wouldn't. I feel it's best I be here at least 24 hours. Once we've seen the reactions of the staff on all the shifts, it should be safe for me to return to camp and leave Schultz or one of the other guards here."

"What about me?"

"We'll see. After you've had a chance to see Colonel Hogan, it might be best for you to return to camp for a while. We don't want to draw additional attention to the situation by having POWs roaming the halls of the hospital all hours of the day and night."

"I understand." LeBeau nodded grimly, his heart sinking. It was foolish to picture being at Hogan's side every minute until he was released, but it had been a fleeting fantasy.

"That doesn't mean you can't return more than once to see him."

"When this is over, I will prepare you a magnificent gourmet dinner to show my appreciation."

"We'll hold off on that until Colonel Hogan is well enough to join us. I'm sure after a week or so of German hospital food, his American palate will be crying out for a change of menu."

"I'm sure. Is the food pretty good here?"

"Given the choice between here and the dining room at the Hauserhof Hotel, I would not choose here."

********

LeBeau made his way slowly toward the hospital bed. There was little contrast between Hogan's skin and the sheets, his dark hair, brows and lashes seeming to stand out vividly in a sea of whiteness.

"Only a few minutes," the nurse said before turning to leave. "He is still weak and needs his rest."

"Oui, I know. Thank you." LeBeau waited until she'd left to approach the bed. Hogan was in a private room, but LeBeau figured that was more to guard the delicate sensibilities of the German patients who would be appalled to share a room with an American rather than for Hogan's comfort. Whatever the reason, LeBeau was grateful for it.

He reached out tentatively, then carefully touched Hogan's hand.

"It won't break, Louis," came the weak voice from the pillow. LeBeau looked up and smiled, only to see it returned, though faintly. He pulled up a chair and took Hogan's hand in both of his, kissing it and holding it against his cheek. "Wow. A kraut hospital." Hogan swallowed and looked around. "You'd think I had...polaris extremis or something."

LeBeau had to laugh at that, but it came out as a laugh and a sob at the same time. The relief was overwhelming.

"I was afraid to bring you flowers. I wasn't sure if they were an approved part of your post-surgery diet." LeBeau watched, smiling, as Hogan almost laughed, but didn't have the energy. "Are you in much pain, mon amour? Please, tell me the truth."

"Yes." Hogan closed his eyes, nodding slightly. "But I didn't want more pain medication until I had a chance to see you. The doctor said they took out my spleen."

"Do you remember feeling ill in the kommandant's office?"

"Oh, wow..." Hogan rolled his eyes. "The pain was amazing. I remember a lot of commotion, and I remember you kissing me. When did you manage to do that?" Hogan asked, looking at LeBeau and smiling.

"I rode with you in Klink's staff car. When he and Schultz were looking the other way, I made my move." LeBeau waggled his eyebrows, and Hogan continued to grin weakly. "Schultz wanted me to tell you he was here, that he waited through your surgery."

"Good old Schultz," Hogan said quietly, then his brows knit together with a look of confusion. "Klink got me in here?"

"You wouldn't believe the way he pushed his way in here, and made them take action. There was a really wonderful lady doctor who agreed to do the surgery. I think she and the kommandant have a few sparks flying."

"At least he got something for his trouble then," Hogan said, his eyes fighting to close, but he forced them open again. "Tell him I said thanks."

"Colonel, you should know...you needed a blood transfusion. There was a lot of bleeding, and without it..."

"Who donated?"

"Klink. He and Olson were the only two compatible donors, but Klink was here when you were taken into surgery, so it was mostly his blood they used to save your life."

"I need to see him. To say thank you."

"I'll tell him. He's still outside."

"Louis. I'll be all right." Hogan released his hand from LeBeau's hands and stroked LeBeau's cheek gently. "Go get some rest and don't worry. I love you, remember?"

"I love you, too, mon amour. I will go get Klink for you. Then you should rest."

"Attila the Nurse'll make sure I do," Hogan mumbled, grinning. LeBeau leaned over him and their lips touched and clung, briefly, before LeBeau moved away and kissed Hogan's forehead. He stroked Hogan's hair back gently, then forced himself to move away from the bed. With one last look at Hogan to confirm he was, in fact, alive and well, and this was not a dream, LeBeau went to find Klink.

"He wants to speak to Kommandant Klink," LeBeau explained to the young nurse who had let him into Hogan's room.

"All right," she said, checking her watch. "But only for a minute or two. The doctor left strict orders for him to have plenty of rest and very little visiting."

"I understand." LeBeau walked over to where Klink sat on a couch in the hallway. "He wants to talk to you."

"Me?" Klink looked surprised and pleased at the same time, and rose to go to Hogan's room.

Pushing the door open slowly, Klink took in the sight of the pale, tired man in the hospital bed. It was not the Hogan he was used to seeing. Not the same dynamo who frequently blew into his office without invitation, ready to spring some new scheme on him. It troubled him just how much that worried him, and how important Hogan's recovery was to him. He sat in the chair LeBeau had occupied.

"I'm awake," Hogan said. "I know it doesn't look like it," he added, smiling a little.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like someone is stabbing me in the side with a sharp stick," Hogan responded honestly. "I wanted to thank you," he said.

"That's not necessary, Hogan."

"You saved my life, Kommandant. I would have died without a doctor and a hospital." He paused, swallowing, the words appearing to be a great effort. "I would have died without blood."

"LeBeau told you."

"Yeah, he told me. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Klink responded. "You seem very tired, Hogan. You should rest now."

"Thank you," Hogan said, making the effort to move his right hand enough to be an offer to shake hands. He was surprised when Klink took the hand in both of his and squeezed gently before rising and moving away from the bed.

"I will be here until I'm certain there's no problem with the staff where your care is concerned. After that, Schultz will be posted at your door." Klink paused. "I will allow LeBeau to visit you again during your hospital stay." He turned to reach for the door.

"Kommandant?"

"Yes, Hogan?"

"Next time Burkhalter..." Hogan swallowed again, finding talking to be increasingly taxing. "Next time he threatens you with the Eastern Front... We won't let that happen, so don't...worry about it." 

Klink stared at Hogan for a long moment, not sure how to respond to that. He'd forged an obvious bond of friendship with Hogan by taking some very unorthodox steps to save his life, and now Hogan was reciprocating that friendship by letting Klink know he stood ready to do the same, even though the circumstances were different.

"In three years, do you have any idea how many times Burkhalter has threatened me with the Russian Front?" Klink asked, smiling. Hogan smiled back, though he seemed too tired to answer. "I figured there was someone behind the fact I'm not there yet. Get some sleep, Hogan."

"Say hi to the lady doctor for me, you sly dog," Hogan managed, and Klink chuckled as he left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

********

Over the next few days, Klink spent most of his time on routine camp business back at Stalag 13, while Schultz spent most of his guard duty time at the hospital, watching Hogan. Dr. Weiss, Hogan's doctor, continued to treat him as solicitously as she did her German patients. As she held a senior position on the hospital staff, almost no one among the medical personnel questioned her.

Hogan did not regain his strength quickly or easily, and the decision to transport him back to Stalag 13 by the end of the week was less a result of the doctor's confidence in his recovery than it was her feeling they were pushing their luck by housing the American officer in the hospital much longer. He might have been weak, but he was awake more and more of the day, working his charms on the nurses and especially the young girls who came in as volunteers to read to the patients. The doctor was confident Colonel Hogan had heard more pages of German novels read to him in the last few days than most of the German-speaking patients had in the last several months. The steady tone of the reading seemed to relax Hogan into taking a nap, even if he didn't know what he was hearing, and the girls didn't seem to mind that the handsome officer didn't speak their language and slept through most of their visits. It was only a matter of time before Hogan's popularity raised the dander of someone in authority.

LeBeau was brought back to the hospital no less than four times during Hogan's six-day stay. Olson was allowed to return once, as Hogan expressed a great desire to thank him in person for donating blood. Eventually, the doctor informed him they'd used nearly all of what they'd drawn from both men to replace what Hogan lost in internal bleeding and during the surgery itself.

Klink did not return to the hospital to visit Hogan. He felt he'd done enough to get himself in trouble, and calling further attention to his allegiance to Hogan during his recovery wouldn't do either one of them any good. He lived on needles and pins waiting for the arrival of Major Hochstetter and his accusations of treason, or an equally unpleasant visit from Burkhalter to challenge his recent personnel decisions and his decision to give his blood to save the life of an enemy officer. Having an American friend in the heart of Hitler's Germany in the middle of a world war was possibly the most dangerous thing a man could do. Klink wasn't known for his courage, and he'd felt little motivation to throw himself into the jaws of death for the greater glory of a pompous psychotic who happened to seize control of the government. Risking his life to save that of a friend? That seemed worth doing, and he knew now that he had the courage to put his life on the line for a cause he believed in, or that mattered to him. He wasn't sure what he believed in anymore where the war was concerned, but he did know that Hogan's survival mattered to him.

The phone's ring startled him out of his thoughts, and he answered it.

"Colonel Klink speaking."

"Colonel, this is Dr. Weiss. I have just signed the papers to release Colonel Hogan, and I think you should send a staff car for him. The truck the sergeant has with him will not be a suitable means of transport."

"Of course, Doctor," Klink replied. "How is he today?"

"A bit stronger. He's eating more, staying awake longer during the day. His system suffered a terrible shock, and it's taking him a bit of time to build up his strength again. Once he's released, he will need to be housed in your guest quarters for a while until I tell you otherwise."

"You will be welcome at Stalag 13 anytime, Dr. Weiss."

"Thank you, Colonel. I'm sure I'll be taking you up on your kind invitation in a few days. I will send information along with Colonel Hogan on how to reach me in case of an emergency. His incision is healing well and he's exhibited no signs of infection, so I don't anticipate any serious complications. He just needs plenty of bed rest and nourishing food while he recovers. I trust you can increase his food rations during his recovery? Specifically to include adequate portions of meat?"

"Yes, Doctor, I'll see to it he has the same menu available to him that I do."

"I can't ask for more than that." There was a slight pause. "He was beaten very severely. How did that occur?"

"Colonel Hogan didn't answer your questions in that regard?"

"Yes, but if you don't mind, I would like to hear what you have to say."

"Over two weeks ago, he slipped and fell on a small set of steps, but the fall caused bruising and a blow to the back of his head. He was to be taken to a doctor in Hammelburg for a follow up appointment the day he was beaten. I am not proud to say that two of my guards beat him in retaliation for disciplinary action I took against them for a previous inappropriate, aggressive encounter with Colonel Hogan. While he is a prisoner of war, it is customary to afford him certain courtesies due his rank. That is part of the regulations here. They chose to ignore that, and when one of my men defies my orders, there are consequences. Apparently they were angry and took that out on Colonel Hogan."

"That is essentially what he told me," she said, the pause in her voice indicating she was reviewing something, probably Hogan's chart, and making a few notes. "Thank you for your candor, Colonel Klink. You will be sending a car?"

"Yes, right away."

********

Hogan was sitting in an easy chair by the window of his room, dressed in a hospital gown, robe and slippers when Dr. Weiss came in to make her final visit before his discharge.

"You're looking quite well this morning, Colonel," she said pleasantly, popping her stethoscope into her ears and pressing the metal disc over his heart. "Breathe for me."

"Do I have to?" he asked, genuinely dreading the reaction of his ribs and his incision.

"Just a time or two," she responded, smiling. "Good, you're doing just fine." She encouraged him to lean forward a bit so she could listen to his back. With a pat to his shoulder, she moved away, pulling the stethoscope down to hang around her neck while she made a couple notations on his chart. "I spoke to the kommandant. He's sending a car for you."

"So I'm all right now?"

"Truthfully, Colonel Hogan, I am releasing you a bit sooner than I would like. The hospital is very crowded at the moment, and we have German patients in beds in the hallway on a couple floors. If the Gestapo hears we are housing an American prisoner of war in a private room under such conditions, it would not go well. The extra patients are from a bombing your Air Force executed against a war plant. The survivors were sent here."

"I guess it's only fair that I get out of the way, then." Hogan smiled slightly. "If I weren't in a prison camp, I might have been commanding that squadron of bombers."

"That would be the Gestapo's feeling, yes." She smiled. "I am sorry to hasten this, but I feel it is best for all involved–including you and Colonel Klink."

"You're probably right," Hogan said. He noticed again what an attractive woman she was, with upswept blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Though she was no child, a few additional years had only added elegance and sophistication to her beauty, not faded it. No wonder Klink had his eye on her.

"I've informed Colonel Klink you will need plenty of bed rest and a good diet with adequate portions of meat. He has agreed. Your incision is healing nicely, and you have exhibited no signs of infection or additional bleeding, so if you follow my orders to the letter, you should recover nicely."

"I'll do my best, Doctor."

"No, you will follow the orders, is that understood? If you don't, you could lose stitches. Furthermore, your immune system will not be as strong as usual for a while. You can live nicely without a spleen, but your body needs a bit of time to compensate for it."

"Jawohl," Hogan joked, saluting with a grin. Dr. Weiss simply gave him a skeptical smile, as if she now saw what it was that had the nurses and young female volunteers flocking to Hogan's room in droves.

"This is my office phone number," she said, handing him a slip of paper. "If you are not treated well, or you feel ill and do not receive help, try to get word to me at this number. I will come out to the camp for a routine 'check up' without calling ahead."

"Thank you, Doctor. I'm sure Kommandant Klink will follow your instructions, but I appreciate the risks you've taken to treat me. I know that under normal circumstances, I wouldn't be alive right now unless you and Klink had broken every rule in the book to save my life."

"I took an oath to do no harm. Letting a healthy man like yourself die simply because you were wearing the wrong uniform is, in my book, doing harm. I have to go now. I have a lot of patients to see."

"Dr. Weiss?"

"Yes?" She paused by the door to the room.

"I've never had any animosity for the German people. There was no one in my squadron that didn't deeply regret any civilian casualties that came from the bombings. This is about the man at the top."

"I believe that, Colonel. Thank you for saying it, though. I will check on you at the camp in a few days." With that, she left the room.

********

Hogan was still sitting by the window when LeBeau came into the room, wreathed in smiles and carrying a small travel bag presumably containing Hogan's clothes. Schultz was close on his heels. Hogan couldn't help but smile at his two cheerful visitors. LeBeau was ecstatic to be bringing his lover back home, and Schultz appeared as if he felt the universe had just been restored to the proper order with Hogan's impending return to Stalag 13.

His side still ached constantly, and smiling felt like an effort, let alone getting dressed. He was overjoyed at the thought of spending some time with LeBeau, and he hoped Klink would be lenient with the visiting privileges when he was back at camp.

"I brought your clothes, Mon Colonel," LeBeau said, his eyes conveying more love than words could have.

"It's good to see you out of bed," Schultz said cheerfully. "How do you feel?" he asked solicitously.

"I'm getting there, Schultz. As long as I don't breathe or move, I feel pretty good," Hogan managed a smile with the joke, but it was too close to the truth. He felt nothing but panic about the operation, about his inability to get in and out of the tunnel if necessary, about what London would make of a lengthy convalescence, about what kind of fire Klink would actually draw from Burkhalter or the Gestapo for caring for him in the same style he would a wounded German...

"Colonel?" LeBeau was looking at him, worried.

"Must be the medication. Makes me a little foggy."

"I brought your clothes. Are you sure you should get dressed, or would it be better to just bundle you up with blankets and–"

"No. I came in here in uniform, and I'm leaving that way."

"I'll wait outside," Schultz offered, leaving the two men to work on getting Hogan into his clothes.

"What's wrong, mon amour?" LeBeau knelt in front of Hogan, hands resting on his knees.

"I'm scared, Louis." The words were more a breath than a whisper, and LeBeau was grateful he'd even caught them, because he was positive Hogan wouldn't have repeated them. As it was, he still hadn't looked up to meet LeBeau's eyes.

"Matthews is gone to Colditz, Karlsen and Heitel are probably learning to dance sitting down, and there's no sign of Gestapo in the hospital."

"It's not that." Hogan swallowed, finally meeting LeBeau's eyes. "I have no control over anything anymore. I can't run the operation, I can't get in and out of the tunnel, and right now, I couldn't play games with Hochstetter or Burkhalter...hell, I couldn't handle Klink right now if I had to spar with him. I just don't feel strong enough to even talk my way out of anything, let alone do anything physical." Hogan looked away. "I'm a liability to the operation in the condition I'm in. London should send someone else to take over."

"This isn't permanent, Colonel. You just need time to heal, that's all. And Baker spoke to London just last night, and they send their best wishes for your recovery, and said we could continue as usual, and that you would be able to give the orders, but just remain behind for the actual missions. We're well-trained after all this time, all these missions. We can follow your orders and do the legwork."

"I don't even feel steady on my feet to go to the john," Hogan said miserably, his voice breaking. He hated the tears that burned behind closed eyelids. As if he wasn't missing enough of his dignity.

"Which is why I will be by your side until you're strong again. Klink assigned me to take care of you while you recover." That made Hogan open his damp eyes long enough to see LeBeau's smiling face. "Oh, he blustered how he couldn't spare camp personnel to nursemaid you, but I know he was trying to give you the person you wanted to help you without making it look like he was being lenient. He's stocked the guest quarters with food fit for a king. I can make you delicious meals, and I'll be there to help you until you don't need me anymore."

"I'll always need you," Hogan whispered, making the effort to lean forward for a kiss. LeBeau moved up to meet him immediately.

"This will pass, amoureux, and you will be climbing in and out of the tunnel, giving orders and going out with us on missions again in no time. You almost died, and you went through a very long, very serious surgery. You need time to heal."

"I know you're right. It's just hard to picture ever feeling good again."

Hogan let LeBeau do most of the work dressing him, and once his jacket was in place and his hat was in his hand, it gave him the illusion of being healthier and stronger than he actually was yet. Schultz followed a pretty, slightly plump little nurse who brought the wheelchair into the room, holding the door open for her.

"Danke, Sergeant," she said, returning his appreciative expression.

"Bitte, fraulein," Schultz replied with an enormous smile.

Hogan didn't fight sitting in the wheelchair, since standing was already tiring him and he'd only been up a few minutes. The nurse and Schultz were chattering away as the group moved toward the elevator, and then rode down to the first floor. LeBeau carefully helped Hogan into the backseat of the car, and the nurse hurried off with the empty wheelchair after saying her goodbyes to Schultz. LeBeau got into the backseat from the other side of the car and appeared as if he could barely sit still from the pure joy of having Hogan out of the hospital.

The ride back to Stalag 13 was tiring, though Hogan was hard pressed to explain how riding in a car should be so exhausting. Schultz did his best to drive sensibly, missing as many potholes in the road as he could. The portly guard proceeded to update Hogan on all the news from the last week, as if he hadn't seen anyone from the camp since he left. Still, the friendly conversation was relaxing and made the ride go by more quickly.

As the front gates opened, Hogan stared at the sight before him, his mouth slightly agape. All the prisoners were in the compound, forming a long, thick, receiving line for the path of the staff car. The moment the car passed through the gates, the crowd erupted in applause, cheers, whistles, and waving of hats. A homemade banner hung above the guest quarters reading, WELCOME BACK COL HOGAN!

In keeping with decorum, Klink was not part of the receiving line, but he had permitted an extensive amount of merry-making among the prisoners to mark Hogan's return. Hogan smiled and swallowed, unhappy that his emotions seemed so close to the surface, but he supposed he was allowed a bit of a reaction to such a hero's welcome. He'd felt like anything but a hero for quite a while; truth be told, ever since LeBeau was attacked by Von Gruner. But the genuine joy and rejoicing of his men at his return, and their desire to show him that support, went a long way toward healing that old wound.

LeBeau helped Hogan out of the car, and they slowly made their way up the two steps to the porch in front of the guest quarters. Olson was nearby, patting Hogan on the back and handing him a bullhorn in case he wanted to say something to the men. He was tempted to wave it off and go inside, knowing his control over his emotions was tenuous, but he didn't have the heart to greet such a wonderful, heartfelt welcome with silence.

"Thank you for this amazing welcome," Hogan said, the sound of his voice quieting the prisoners. He noticed that Klink and Hilda were out on the porch of Klink's office now, watching the proceedings. "I know I've been out of commission quite a bit the last few weeks, but my top priority is getting back on my feet to resume my responsibilities as Senior POW Officer. All you've done today to welcome me back is a great incentive, and it means a lot to me. Thanks," Hogan concluded, a slight tremor in his voice. That seemed to make the men cheer more loudly than before, and perhaps it was good that they knew just how much their support meant to him. Hogan handed the bullhorn back to Olson and with a wave to the cheering crowd of prisoners, retreated into the sanctuary of the guest quarters, followed by LeBeau and Schultz.

No one had to shoo him into bed. He was headed for the bedroom with determination, his body already protesting all the activity. He smiled when he noticed that the personal effects he used every day were in the guest bedroom–aftershave, shaving gear, a few books, and a few writing materials on the desk. His pajamas were laid out on the foot of the turned-back bed, his slippers sitting on the floor beside it.

"If you need anything, let the guard at the door know. The kommandant has a few assignments for me this afternoon, so either Langenscheid or one of the younger guards will be posted outside."

"Thanks, Schultz. I know you've been working some extra shifts to be at the hospital every day–"

"It was nothing. A good excuse to go into town and visit with the nurses."

"Well, thanks anyway," Hogan added. Schultz just smiled as he left the room. When the front door had closed, LeBeau tossed his own coat, scarf and beret on a nearby chair and then took Hogan's jacket and cap, laying them carefully near his own things.

"We should get you into bed," he said, approaching Hogan to help him change into his pajamas. Instead, Hogan pulled him into a hug. LeBeau did his best to keep pressure away from Hogan's injured side and his incision, but held tightly to his good side.

"I missed you next to me at night," Hogan confessed quietly. "Even though it's only a few hours here and there, I'm getting used to the feeling of your warm body next to me, and I don't like sleeping without you there."

"I hated every second you were gone. I worried about you all the time. I was afraid something would go wrong, or the Gestapo would order them to release you...I wanted to be there every minute."

"I know. I worried about that myself. For the first time, I didn't feel strong enough to handle it if they did show up in the middle of the night. It's bizarre to actually feel safer because of being under Klink's protection."

"He really fought for your treatment, and even made his guards be tested as possible additional blood donors. He gave all he could safely give–all they would take from him. I know you've been feeling that he was more and more on our side, but I didn't believe that until now."

"This is better than medicine," Hogan said, not willing to give up his hold on LeBeau, even though he was tired standing for so long. He needed someone to hold him for a while, to soothe his emotional wounds, and no one could do that the way LeBeau could.

"I'll lie down with you for a while. As long as I stay awake, I can move if someone comes in. Besides, I can always say I couldn't resist the chance to stretch out on a real mattress for a few hours. Comparing this with what's in the barracks, nobody would question that." LeBeau moved away, and Hogan reluctantly let him, knowing his energy was waning.

********

Klink finished up his business and tidied his desk. He'd made a point of not rushing over to the guest quarters to visit Hogan, feeling he should maintain some level of distance. If only for appearances in front of the other prisoners and his own guards, he didn't feel he should appear too friendly or too eager to visit Hogan as if he were a friend more so than a prisoner Klink was checking up on.

As he was about to leave, he saw a couple unfinished forms on his desk and sat down again, deciding he'd rather start the next morning caught up on all the minutiae he'd decided to finish today. They were routine transfer orders sending six prisoners to a different camp. He scanned the names, noting that none of them were among Hogan's inner circle. Hogan would want to know about the transfer, certainly, but it was doubtful he'd argue against it. Stalag 9 had a lot of empty space, and Stalag 13 had quite a large prisoner population by comparison, though the camp was far from being overcrowded.

Klink remembered well a transfer Hogan had argued against, almost a year ago now. It was a similar situation–a simple matter of shuffling prisoners to avoid overcrowding in one stalag and underutilization of another–and Klink had been told to select ten men to transfer to Stalag 14, just outside of France. Another kommandant had mentioned his method of always choosing one man from each barracks, rather than groups from the same barracks, when making such moves. He felt it served two purposes: broke up some alliances within individual barracks and reduced the opportunity for transferred prisoners to plot escapes in transit when they were not physically close to one another prior to the move. It sounded like a fine idea, and so Klink chose one man from each of ten different barracks, including Hogan's barracks. The man in Hogan's barracks to be transferred was Sergeant Kinchloe.

Initially, Klink hadn't thought much about his choices. It had been little more than a random choice, drawing a name from a hat, so to speak. But Sergeant Kinchloe was the second highest-ranking man in Hogan's inner circle, and he seemed to quite frequently be in hushed conference with Hogan. At the time, Klink wasn't sure what Hogan was up to, but he knew it was something he should be attempting to thwart. Moving Kinchloe seemed like a good way to hit Hogan where he lived, and to attempt to break up the little gang that seemed to do most of Hogan's bidding.

And so he'd signed that order, too, sending Kinchloe and nine other prisoners to Stalag 14. During the transport, six of the men escaped, but Kinchloe and three others did not make it. Two were shot, and Kinchloe and one other prisoner were recaptured when they stopped to look after the wounded men. The two wounded prisoners later died, and the six who escaped were never seen again. Kinchloe and the other man, whose name escaped Klink at the moment, arrived at Stalag 14, and were, to his knowledge, still there.

Hogan had come as close to begging as Klink would ever see him trying to stop that transfer. He had, of course, kept his characteristic bravado and dignity, but he'd actually resorted to saying "please" the very morning Kinchloe was shipped out. Klink had been unmovable, Hogan's protests confirming his suspicion that he'd struck a very deep nerve.

Hogan's little group had seen Kinch off with sad expressions, and Hogan had bridged the gap between officer and enlisted man in his farewell when he'd shaken hands with Kinch and pulled him into a brief one-armed hug before stepping back to watch the truck carry him and the other nine transferees out of the camp.

Three hours later, six of them were missing, two were dead, and Kinch and the final man were housed in Stalag 14.

For days after the transfer and the failed escape attempt, Hogan avoided Klink and his office like the plague. Looking back, Klink never recalled seeing Hogan alone in those days. LeBeau was nearly always at his side, choosing to peel potatoes and sit beside Hogan to watch the others play volleyball, spending his time in the Recreation Hall playing a quiet game of cards with Hogan while the others played records, ping-pong, or planned the next camp show. LeBeau had always been close to Hogan, but it seemed as if their friendship intensified after Kinchloe's departure. As if LeBeau was not only the same friend Hogan always had, but was now trying to be as much to him as two friends would be.

Eventually, Hogan resumed his usual breezing in and out of Klink's office, asking for things, launching one of his plots, negotiating for early release of one of his men from the cooler, and life seemed to return to normal. Even then, having achieved the goal of hitting one of Hogan's nerves wasn't as sweet as Klink anticipated. Hurting Hogan didn't turn out to be the thrill he thought it would be. He'd actually found himself feeling rather unsettled and uneasy about it, and relieved when Hogan resumed their usual banter and tug of war.

Maybe he'd let that wound fester long enough.

Stepping out into one of the first mild evenings of the year, Klink drew in a deep breath of the fresh night air. Lights were burning in most of the barracks, and in the guest quarters. The aroma of dinner wafted from the sergeants' mess hall, and predictably, the youngest guards with the least seniority were standing outside while the older guards like Schultz were inside filling themselves with hearty German cuisine.

Klink made his way to the guest quarters and opened the front door, striding in to find the sitting room shadowy and empty. There was a dim light coming from the bedroom, so he moved quietly toward it in case Hogan was sleeping. When he looked in the door of the room, he was surprised to see both men on the bed, sound asleep. Hogan was lying on his back, clad in his pajamas and covered to the chest with the blankets. LeBeau was still fully dressed, lying on top of the covers on the side of the bed Hogan wasn't occupying. His hand rested on Hogan's arm, and though that was the only point where their bodies touched, Hogan's head was turned toward LeBeau and LeBeau's face was less than a foot away from Hogan's. There was nothing terribly shocking in LeBeau falling asleep on a real bed, given the conditions under which the prisoners usually slept, but for some reason, Klink felt as if he were intruding on something very intimate.

"Kommandant?" Hogan's voice was heavy with sleep, probably due to the influence of medication, but apparently his instincts were still sharper than LeBeau's. The smaller man continued to sleep, undisturbed by Klink's presence.

"Go back to sleep, Hogan. I was just checking to see if you needed anything."

"He's exhausted," he said, still looking at LeBeau. "He didn't sleep while I was gone."

"There's no harm in him being here. I am confident he isn't interested in escaping at the moment."

"He'd have to wake up first," Hogan said, smiling affectionately toward his sleeping friend and lover.

"Have you eaten?"

"Not yet. I've been sleeping. I don't want to wake him to fix anything. I'm all right."

"Nonsense. Are any of your men able to cook besides LeBeau?"

"I'm awake," LeBeau protested, not seeming sure who was talking about him until he opened his eyes slowly, taking in the scene before him. He did his best not to snatch his hand away from Hogan's arm, feeling his stomach drop with guilt for having fallen asleep and committed such an indiscretion. He hoped Klink hadn't read too much into it. Or, rather, hadn't seen it for what it was. "It's time for dinner. Past time," LeBeau said, rising and smoothing his clothing. "Have you eaten, Kommandant?"

"No, I was about to go have dinner in my quarters."

"I could make enough for all of us," LeBeau offered.

"What are you making?" Klink asked, as if the food would be the deciding factor for accepting the invitation.

"I'll know better when I make it to the kitchen. I should be awake by then," he said, smiling guiltily.

"I suppose I could eat here as well as in my quarters," Klink responded, keeping his tone casual, though he was actually pleased with the invitation.

"You mind giving me a hand? I'd like to try going out to the living room for a while." Hogan was tossing back the covers, about to make the effort of getting up on his own. Klink moved closer, but wasn't sure what to do. Hogan reached out his hand, and Klink took it, allowing Hogan to use the grip as leverage to help him sit up. Hogan sat there a moment, releasing Klink's hand and pressing his own hand against his side.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"No, I'm all right."

"That's what you said before your spleen ruptured in my office, so forgive me if I don't take it at face value anymore." The line actually made Hogan laugh, holding onto his incision a bit harder.

"I was all right until you made me laugh," he protested, still smiling. He smoothed his hair back, and Klink felt a stab of envy that Hogan still had that worry when he got out of bed. He picked up Hogan's robe.

"You should avoid getting chilled."

"You sound like my night nurse at the hospital. She always put more blankets on me at two in the morning whether I needed them or not. How about another pull?"

Klink willingly offered his hand and helped Hogan rise to his feet. Then he held out the robe, and Hogan dutifully slipped one arm, then the other, into it and pulled it around himself, tying it in front. He stuck his feet in the slippers by the bed and began walking toward the door of the bedroom. Klink stayed close by, watching his progress until they made it to the sitting room. Hogan lowered himself carefully onto the couch.  

"Whose bright idea was it for me to get up?" Hogan asked, his hand back on his side again.

"You thought of that all by yourself, Hogan," Klink said, sitting in a nearby chair.

"It actually feels good to get out of bed for a while. I guess I feel less...ill when I can get up and move around."

"The doctor was very insistent on bed rest."

"I'll be going back after dinner, don't worry. My spurts of energy don't last very long."

"They'll get longer and longer until you find yourself back to normal. You were seriously hurt, Hogan. You almost bled to death internally. You have to allow yourself the necessary time to recover from such a trauma."

"I know. I'm just getting a little stir crazy. I remember my grandfather being bedridden for the last couple years of his life, and this is what he did with his days. Making it out to the sofa was a big event."

"Somehow I think your prognosis is a bit less dismal than that."

"Mmm." Hogan rested his head on the back of the couch, taking in the first of the cooking scents from the kitchen. "You must have provided LeBeau some good stuff to work with."

"The doctor ordered meat and a healthy diet. I had these quarters stocked similarly to my own."

"Burkhalter is probably going to erupt like a volcano if he ever gets wind of all this."

"Thank you, Hogan. That's a lovely mental image before dinner."

"Sorry," Hogan said, smiling but unrepentant.

"Hogan, do you remember when I transferred Sergeant Kinchloe to Stalag 14?" Klink asked. Hogan stared at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.

"Vividly," he said, incredulous that Klink would ask if he remembered it.

"I wanted to apologize."

"For what? You said at the time it was a routine transfer and that there was no good reason for you to change the roster of men being moved. Why apologize now?"

"Because I refused to change it specifically to strike a nerve with you."

"You don't think I knew that?" Hogan shook his head, smiling. "The only reason you targeted Kinch for that move was because you knew he was my second in command, the only friend I had who'd known me before I was shot down. You wanted to hit me where it hurt, and you succeeded. It was a good chess move, Kommandant."

"You were quite angry with me for a long time after that."

"Yes, I was. But had I been in your place, I probably would have done something similar to you. Strategically, it made sense."

"Maybe so, but I wanted you to know that I regret doing it."

"What do you want me to say? You transfer the only man who was part of my old squadron out from under me after nearly three years here for the express purpose of hitting me close to home, and now you want me to say...what? That it didn't matter? That I wasn't angry or it didn't bother me?"

"I'd like you to accept my apology, Hogan."

Hogan looked at Klink for a long moment, then sighed.

"You've got me there."

"What do you mean?"

"My grandmother used to say that if you refuse to accept a sincere apology that comes from the heart, then you are guiltier in heaven for that than the person apologizing is for whatever it is they did to offend you." Hogan smiled. "She just about drilled that into me, and she believed it. I guess that's why I believe it, too. I don't know why you regret it now, but I know that you do. No hard feelings?" Hogan held out his hand, and Klink shook it, smiling.

"No hard feelings," Klink repeated. "This grandmother of yours...is she the same one who saved her egg money for your watch?" That question made Hogan burst out laughing, much to the consternation of his incision. He held it and groaned a bit, suppressing the laugh.

"That would be her, except the only eggs she ever dealt with were the ones she bought at the grocery store. The watch was actually a present from an ex-girlfriend."

"Do I want to know why you wanted me to keep it in my safe?"

"Probably not."

"Dinner will be ready soon," LeBeau said, emerging from the kitchen with an armload of dishes to set the table. He left the stack of plates and utensils and returned to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of orange juice and the next dose of Hogan's medication. "The juice will be good for you, plenty of vitamins." LeBeau handed Hogan the pills and the glass. He rested his hand on Hogan's shoulder as he took the pills and drank quite a bit of the juice.

"That's good. Been a long time since I've had a cold glass of orange juice."

"There's a whole pitcher of it in the ice box. Would you like anything to drink before dinner, Kommandant?"

"No, thank you, LeBeau. A bit of wine with dinner will be fine."

"Oui, I have it chilled."

"I don't suppose I get any of that thanks to the pills?" Hogan said, handing LeBeau the empty juice glass.

"Water or milk."

"I feel like I'm ten years old again. Milk, I guess. And don't say it," Hogan held up a forestalling hand in LeBeau's direction. "It'll be good for me."

"That's right," LeBeau said, smiling as he headed back to the kitchen.

********

Dinner passed pleasantly, with casual conversation and a delicious meal of beef stroganoff. Klink apparently wasn't bothered by the Russian origins of the dish as he cleaned his plate, and Hogan made it through most of his own portion before slowing down. The medication and the pain put a bit of a dent in his appetite, but LeBeau's stroganoff was one of his favorite dishes. And he was sure if he were to say that, LeBeau would respond that the meat in it was "good for him."

Hogan was settled back in bed as soon as Klink left for the night, propped up at his request because he didn't want to go to sleep quite that early. LeBeau happily settled on the empty side of the bed, reading to Hogan from a book the colonel had selected off the shelf in the living room. He grinned when Hogan decided to rest his head on LeBeau's shoulder, figuring they would have no more guests that evening.

"Time to lie down, mon amour," LeBeau said gently when it became apparent Hogan was drifting off to sleep, wanting to get him situated before he began snoring right there on LeBeau's shoulder.

"I was comfortable where I was."

"I know, but you won't be in the morning."

"I need the bathroom anyway." Hogan started to get up, and LeBeau moved swiftly to be by his side and give him a hand with standing. "I'll be okay from here."

Hogan disappeared into the bathroom to tend to his needs, and LeBeau took the opportunity to fluff pillows and smooth the bedding. He turned off all the lights except a dim one on the dresser, giving the room a soft, gold glow. Water ran and it sounded as if Hogan might be brushing his teeth and washing his hands, so LeBeau didn't interfere with him. Apparently he was recovered enough for these basic tasks.

In a moment, Hogan made his way slowly back to bed and with a few winces, settled into a fairly comfortable position. LeBeau gave him more medication, in accord with the doctor's orders.

"I was thinking I might take advantage of the chance for a warm shower. Will you be okay here for a while?"

"I'll be fine."

"Tomorrow morning, I'll give you a sponge bath if you like. Or I could help you in the shower."

"The doctor said she'd change the dressing on the incision when she visits in a day or so, so the sponge bath is probably the best idea. I don't want to get the bandages wet."

"I can change that, or Norton can. We have plenty of bandage supplies on hand."

"That's true. We'll see tomorrow. For now, go enjoy your shower. I was just manhandled by a big kraut nurse with a wash basin this morning, so I'm fine for tonight. Go enjoy your shower. I'll probably be sound asleep when you're finished."

"Okay. I won't be long."

LeBeau didn't linger, but he did relish the luxury of the warm water, good soap, and a bit of privacy. Truth be told, he'd always felt a bit strange in group showers after the Von Gruner incident, which he knew was just his own personal problem. None of the guys reacted to him any differently in such situations than they ever had, but he found himself more and more concerned to hit the showers at the same time as at least a couple of the members of their inner circle. Having a couple friends close by made him feel less uneasy, though after the rape, he'd never felt truly at ease running around naked, least of all in a room full of men, most of whom were considerably larger and taller.

He could remember Hogan hovering nearby to help him that horrible night, when the pain and humiliation was almost too much to bear. Trying to banish memories that the last time he'd stood in this very shower was after Von Gruner had violently assaulted him, he made his best effort to go back to soaking up the warmth of the water coursing over his body. As his hands slid over his genitals in what began as a cursory wash job, his thoughts returned to his last sexual encounter with Hogan.

He remembered Hogan's hands sliding gently over his body, the scent of Hogan's aftershave and arousal blending into a heady aroma, Hogan's hot breath against his skin, soft lips kissing and soothing and coaxing, the sensation of being reverently and lovingly filled and possessed banishing any other, horrible thoughts that might lurk in the back of his memory. The relished knowledge that when Hogan was well, when they had time again, he would have the chance to know Hogan that way, to touch him in a way no one else ever had or ever would.

He found he was stroking himself to hardness, fantasizing and losing himself in the remembered sensations of making love with Hogan until he stifled a shout of pleasure with his free hand, smiling at his own abandon as he came, then hastily washed away the evidence of his climax as the water started to cool. He dried himself and put on the clean set of longjohns he'd stashed in there earlier when he'd moved Hogan's things in before his arrival. After toweling off his hair, he smoothed it down a bit and tidied up after himself, wanting to be sure there was no water on the floor that might cause Hogan to slip.

When he opened the bathroom door, he froze as he heard a loud moan. Hogan was writhing about in bed, moaning and mumbling in his sleep. LeBeau hurried over to him, climbing on the bed and gently working at waking Hogan. He stroked Hogan's hair, took a firm hold of his hand, and slowly talked him out of the nightmare until he looked at LeBeau with a slightly frantic expression.

"It was a nightmare, mon amour. You're safe, it's only me."

"Louis," Hogan whispered, then moved into LeBeau's arms, burying his face against LeBeau's chest. LeBeau held him gently, ever mindful not to put any undue pressure on the injured side.

"Do you want to tell me about the dream?" LeBeau asked softly, rubbing Hogan's back in long strokes. The motion seemed to be calming him, but he didn't release his hold on LeBeau or make any move to pull away.

"No."

"If you talk about it, it will make you feel better."

"He was still kicking me in the side when I passed out. The laundry bag was over my head...I couldn't see and it was getting hard to breathe... It was a silly nightmare, that's all," Hogan said, his voice stronger now.

"Not silly. I wish I could have known. I would have killed those animals for hurting you."

"Just don't let go for a while, okay?"

"Shhh. Go to sleep. I'm right here, mon Robaire. Je t'aime, le bien-aimé." LeBeau smiled, wondering if Hogan would stand for such mushy love names if he really understood he was being called "sweetheart". Maybe a little extra affection was what he needed most.

"Je t'aime, amoureux," Hogan mumbled, sleep obviously close at hand as he settled against LeBeau, his breathing becoming deep and even.

********

Over the next few days, Hogan began to spend more and more time out of bed, both his appetite and his strength returning in steady increments. He was delighted when London issued an assignment for sabotaging a supply train, because it finally gave his nimble mind something more interesting to work on than crossword puzzles or counting hairline cracks in the plaster of the bedroom ceiling.

This one seemed a bit more challenging, because he eschewed the idea of using Klink's staff car, which they frequently did. This particular job was high risk, and the car's visibility around the area at the time of a sabotage operation would put Klink under heavy suspicion. Not to be daunted, Hogan instructed two of his men to dress as guards, and armed with phony orders penned by Newkirk, to steal a truck from the motor pool, drive through the front gates, go plant explosives with delayed action timers, and drive back through the front gates and return the truck.

The guards rarely questioned their own men going in and out of the camp in camp vehicles, and Klink was occupied playing chess with Hogan at the time. That meant that Schultz was occupied in the kitchen with LeBeau, eating leftovers and licking the bowls and beaters as LeBeau created a luscious cake for the next day's desserts.

"Your move, Hogan," Klink prodded as Hogan checked his watch. The guys should have been back several minutes earlier, and Hogan was getting nervous. The signal all had gone well was to be Carter showing up at the kitchen door to get leftovers from LeBeau. So far, all was quiet.

"Just planning my strategy, that's all," Hogan said, trying to concentrate on the game. He finally made a move that wasn't all that brilliant, which didn't seem to hurt Klink's feelings any. Truthfully, they were fairly well matched as chess partners, and Hogan rarely, if ever, let Klink win, though on a few occasions he'd been guilty of that if he had an ulterior motive. Most of the time, though, each was capable of quite soundly defeating the other.

"Must be the medication," Klink said, moving his chess piece into position. "Check."

"I see you have no problems taking advantage of a sick man," Hogan said, smiling as he surveyed the damage to his chances of winning. LeBeau came out of the kitchen with a glass of orange juice and the next dose of medication. "I used to think better with a good bottle of wine on hand," Hogan added pointedly as LeBeau handed him the pills and waited while he drank the juice.

"If you mix that with pain medication, you won't be thinking at all, Colonel," LeBeau responded, unruffled by Hogan's impatience with the restrictions of convalescence. "Kommandant, would it be all right if I send some leftovers back to the barracks with Carter?" LeBeau shot an affirmative look in Hogan's direction.

"What's Carter doing out of the barracks?"

"Looking for leftovers. The rations have been a little..."

"Slim lately, I know. Burkhalter cut the budgets again. Give him the leftovers and tell him if he's caught outside the barracks again after dark without permission, he'll be eating them in the cooler."

"I'll tell him, Kommandant."

"And have Schultz walk him back to the barracks so he doesn't get his fool head blown off by one of the tower guards."

"Oui, Kommandant, I will."

"Hogan, your men are going to take one too many liberties one of these days," Klink said, making another move with a wide smile. "Check mate."

"Nicely done, Kommandant," Hogan admitted, not sorry to see the game drawing to a close. His side ached and he was tired, and he wanted to spend a little time alone with Louis while he was awake to enjoy it.

"Well, I should be getting back to my quarters. Goodnight, Hogan."

"Goodnight, Colonel. Thanks for a good game, even if I wasn't much competition for you."

"I'm sure you'll be in livelier condition when we have a rematch. Schultz!" Klink called out, and a moment later, Schultz came rushing through the door, still chewing. Hogan wondered if Carter actually had gotten any leftovers. Schultz had apparently spent the last two hours eating. After the two of them had left, LeBeau emerged from the kitchen.

"Mon Dieu! I've never seen anyone eat like that man. I could barely save a small bowl of food for Carter to take back to the barracks. He said everything went as planned, and that along about eight tomorrow morning, when the train goes through, we should hear a very loud noise."

"No problems with the guards at the gates?"

"None at all. It was just Kleinschmidt and Reitz. Unless the truck ran over one of them, I don't think they'd question it. We're running low on dynamite, though. Carter said we better plan a supply run to an ammo dump pretty soon."

"Let's let the dust settle–literally–from the train first. Oh, that feels good." Hogan smiled and leaned back as LeBeau stood behind him, massaging his neck and shoulders.

"You're so tense."

"I don't like sending the guys out when I'm not able to be on the job with them."

"We've gone out without you before."

"Yes, you have, but I've been in the tunnel or at least in the barracks and able to do something about it if something goes wrong."

"We're all grown up now, mon amour. We can manage the occasional job on our own." LeBeau smiled as Hogan chuckled a bit at that. "I know what you need."

"So do I, but it would probably bother my incision."

"I was talking about a warm shower and a full body massage." LeBeau smiled as Hogan's head rested against his chest while he continued to work the taut muscles of neck and shoulders.

"That wasn't exactly what I was thinking, but it's a close second."

"Besides, I never said I couldn't do anything for you. It just can't be strenuous."

"I suppose the doctor would probably slap me if I asked her when I could have sex again. Given the limited female population around here, she'd probably think it was an offer."

"What makes you think she'd slap you? I'd take you up on it, if I were her."

"You're a little biased."

"Absolutely and completely." LeBeau kissed the top of Hogan's head. "Besides, if she looks at you the wrong way, I'll poison her myself."

"Toadstools instead of mushrooms, eh?"

"That would be one way, yes," LeBeau agreed, smiling. It was good to hear Hogan joking again, to see his spirits rising a bit as he started to feel stronger.

"How many ways do you know to poison someone?" Hogan looked backwards up at LeBeau, who leaned down again and kissed Hogan's forehead.

"More than one. If you ever want to know how to quietly eliminate someone, just ask the cook."

"You mean all this time, we've had an accomplished assassin in our midst?"

"I've never actually poisoned anyone, but I know how to do it. And make it taste good, too."

"Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Just take your pills and drink your juice like a good little boy and we won't have any problems."

********

Hogan had entertained a few fleeting fantasies of what it would be like if Louis and he could have the chance to play around together naked in a shower, and it seemed like a cruel twist of fate that when that opportunity came, he was sewn up like a football and unable to take advantage of it. Still, the warm water did feel good, as did the gentle, soapy hands that helped wash him. LeBeau had decided that it was infinitely easier to just take off his own clothes and get in the shower with Hogan than it was to help him and try to stay dry at the same time. The only thing slowing down the process was Hogan's tendency to fool around, which LeBeau not only enjoyed, but delighted in as a sign of progress in his recovery.

"I haven't forgotten what it felt like to make love with you," Hogan said, pulling LeBeau close to him, relishing the slide of wet skin on skin.

"I could never forget that, but I won't do anything to hurt you."

"You never could." Hogan moved down for a long kiss, and LeBeau felt the hardness of a growing erection between them.

"You're getting better, mon amour," LeBeau teased, pulling back from the kiss. "But you should get off your feet and not overdo it too fast."

"Before I got hurt, I was just waiting for a clean bill of health from the doctor about my back. I was planning that night...I was hoping we could..." Hogan chuckled. "This is silly."

"What is?" LeBeau smiled.

"Being embarrassed to say it."

"You wanted to feel me inside you the way you were inside me?" LeBeau ventured. He was rewarded with seeing a full colonel blush.

"Yeah, that was it."

"As soon as you are well," LeBeau said, kissing Hogan's chest, "I want to make love to you every way we can."

"As often as we can."

"Everywhere we can."

"As long as we can."

"Until we can't anymore," LeBeau concluded, laughing. It was so good to laugh with Hogan again, to touch him, even if they had to be careful and not take the touches to their natural conclusions. "Do you think you're clean enough now?"

"My body's clean and my mind is dirty. Let's go to bed."

"You still have to be careful of your incision."

"My nurse promised me a full body massage."

"Oh really?" LeBeau teased, turning off the water. "I hope your nurse isn't planning to take advantage of you."

"I hope he is."

After toweling off and carefully placing a clean dressing on the healing incision, LeBeau pulled on a robe that Klink left on the back of the bathroom door for guests, and Hogan slipped into his robe while LeBeau arranged the bedding for the massage. Since Hogan wasn't able to lie on his stomach, LeBeau built up a mountain of pillows and blankets so he could lie on his side and lean a bit forward. That way, he could relax and LeBeau could have good access to his back and most of his shoulders. With Hogan situated, LeBeau warmed some lotion in his hands and began with broad, outward strokes over Hogan's shoulders and upper back. The groan of contentment let him know he was on the right track.

Working his way lower, he massaged gently the middle and lower back muscles that became tired from so much sitting and lying down for a man who was used to being almost constantly in motion.

"Try just your finger," Hogan said quietly, and LeBeau's hands froze in place. "That can't hurt anything. I just want to know what it feels like."

"As long as you know that's all I'm going to do tonight," LeBeau said, hesitant. "I don't want you to get too excited."

"I hate to break this to you, Louis, but I'm lying here naked and you're rubbing lotion all over my body. They removed my spleen–they didn't neuter me. I'm already excited."

"Okay, I guess that was a silly thing to say."

"If my incision hurts worse because of something we're doing, I'll tell you. The bedroom door is locked, right?"

"Of course. The important thing is to relax, and when I start pushing in, bear down on it a little."

"It's just your finger."

"Oui, it is, but you remember how tight it felt when you put your fingers inside me."

"Okay. I'm relaxed."

"You are also very impatient," LeBeau chided affectionately. He coated one of his fingers with lotion, and lying behind Hogan, lips moving lightly over his back, carefully probed the tight opening with his fingertip. When he met little resistance, he pushed it carefully in to the second knuckle. Hogan was quiet and still. "How does it feel? Do you want me to move it?"

"It's kind of strange. Yeah, move it a little."

LeBeau obliged, gently moving the finger inside the tight heat of Hogan's body. He tried to avoid thinking too much about how that tight sheath would feel around his own needy organ, which was springing to attention.

"Mmm. That feels nice."

"Nice? Just nice?" LeBeau teased.

"What do you expect from just your finger? Fireworks?"

"Maybe." LeBeau worked diligently until he found just the right angle. He knew how wildly he'd reacted to Hogan hitting his pleasure spot, and he wanted to give his lover a little preview of coming attractions. He brushed over a little nob, and Hogan barely managed to turn his face into the pillow as he shouted.

"So that's what you liked so much," he gasped. The heavy breathing couldn't be good for his incision, and LeBeau slowly withdrew his finger. "If you don't do that again, I'll court martial you."

"It's too strenuous."

"I'll have you shot at sunrise."

"Then you'll never get my finger back up there, will you?"

"Stick your finger back up there and that's a direct order," Hogan protested. LeBeau burst out laughing. Only Hogan could indignantly give an order to have a finger stuck up his ass and almost have LeBeau obey it.

"Roll back slowly, mon amour. I'm going to take care of you, but I don't want you jerking like that again. You can't tell me your incision isn't throbbing right now."

"Okay, fine, but it's not the only thing that's throbbing."

"I know, I said I was going to take care of you."

Hogan finally complied and gingerly turned over with LeBeau's help, favoring his sore side, which was definitely protesting the excitement of a moment ago. Despite that, his erection hadn't even considered faltering. LeBeau slid down on the bed and engulfed the hard cock in his mouth, sucking gently, cupping and rolling the taut balls beneath it. It only took Hogan moments to come, his climax marked with more of a strangled moan of relief than any wild shouts of pleasure. He looked exhausted lying there, but utterly content. LeBeau got a washcloth from the bathroom and gently cleaned him, then went about the task of getting him into pajama pants. Between the pills, his own fatigue, and the sex, Hogan wasn't much help, but he did hoist his hips briefly so LeBeau could get the pants in place. He unlocked the bedroom door, as he knew one of the guards would become suspicious and possibly break it down if they were to fall asleep and leave it that way.

Tucking the covers carefully around Hogan, LeBeau began disassembling the pile of pillows and other bedding he'd used to prop Hogan up for the massage.

"I could help you," Hogan mumbled, nearly asleep.

"I'm almost done. Go to sleep."

"I didn't mean with that. My hand still works." Hogan's words were slurred with fatigue.

"I'm fine, mon amour. I want you to go to sleep now." LeBeau did feel his own erection subsiding a bit, his concern for Hogan preoccupying him enough that the unsatisfied arousal was tolerable. It wasn't as if this would be the first time in three years he'd been all hardened up with no place to go.

"What did I do to deserve you?" Hogan asked, looking at LeBeau from beneath drooping lids.

"I'm not sure, but whatever it was, you're stuck with me for good." LeBeau slipped into his longjohns and put the robe on the back of the door. He stretched out on the empty side of the bed, making sure there was bedding and respectable distance between them.

"I like it when you sing," Hogan said, still fighting sleep. LeBeau moved closer, resting his head on Hogan's shoulder, and began singing softly. Hogan never revealed a lot about his personal tastes, and he rarely jockeyed into position with the men for use of the records, but it was always obvious which songs he liked. And one in particular seemed to LeBeau as if it were written for them.

I can only give you love that lasts forever

And the promise to be near each time you call

And the only heart I own

For you and you alone

That's all

That's all

Hogan's head shifted slightly on the pillow until it was against LeBeau's, and a smile curved the corners of his mouth upward.

I can only give you country walks in springtime

And a hand to hold when leaves begin to fall

And a love whose burning light

Will warm the winter's night

That's all

That's all

"That's all I want, Louis," Hogan whispered, and LeBeau suspected he was nearly asleep and not really aware he'd said the words aloud. He smiled as he finished the song, his voice getting progressively quieter as he lulled Hogan into sleep.

There are those I am sure who have told you

They would give you the world for a toy

All I have are these arms to enfold you

And a love time can never destroy

If you're wondering what I'm asking in return, dear

You'll be glad to know that my demands are small

Say it's me that you adore

For now and ever more

That's all

That's all.

********

Hogan was drinking his morning juice when a blast shook the very room in which they sat. He dried a few drops that spilled on his pajamas with the tip of his napkin and grinned at LeBeau.

"Right on schedule," he said, checking his watch.

"I told you everything would be fine." LeBeau took a drink of his coffee, and another bite of toast. "It's a beautiful day today. Maybe we could put a chair on the porch and you could sit outside a while. See some of the guys."

"Great idea. Give me a reason to get dressed for a change."

"Do you think you're up to that?"

"Sure. I have a personal valet now, remember?"

"He seems to be more adept at undressing you, though."

"Just pretend we're going to have sex and then do everything backwards."

"I've never heard 'getting dressed' explained quite that way, but it makes sense." LeBeau laughed, shaking his head. Only Hogan...

********

Hogan was feeling much more like his old self as he slipped into his jacket and put on his cap. He looked at his image in the mirror, thinking the face looking back at him seemed pale and haggard compared to his usual countenance. In all fairness, though, ten days earlier he'd nearly died on the operating table. At least the most visible bruising was gone from around his eyes and mouth.

"Okay, I moved one easy chair and a few dining chairs onto the porch. You know you'll have lots of visitors once you go outside," LeBeau said cheerfully.

The outer door of the guest quarters opened and both men walked out to see Klink in the sitting room.

"You're looking more yourself this morning, Hogan," Klink said, smiling.

"It's the uniform," he said, chuckling a little. "My nurse said I need fresh air, so I'm sitting outside for a while."

"Before you go outside, there's someone here who would like to see you."

"One of the men, sir?" Hogan frowned, wondering why his men were going to Klink to see him. While they weren't as free to wander in and out of the guest quarters at will as they were when he was in his quarters in the barracks, Schultz or one of the other guards would almost always bring them for a visit.

"In a way, yes. We had a new prisoner transferred in late last night, and he's quite insistent on speaking with you."

"Sure, of course. I should be present for the questioning of any new prisoners anyway. You know that, Kommandant."

"Just a moment," Klink went to the front door, still grinning as if he had the best secret in town and was waiting to spring it on Hogan. And in a way, he did. He opened the door and stepped aside. The new prisoner walked in. LeBeau's eyes bugged, and Hogan stared at him, speechless.

"Don't all rush to welcome me at once," Kinch said, smiling widely. Hogan felt as if his feet were stuck to the floor, and his brain didn't seem to connect with his mouth to form any intelligent response. It was too much of a surprise, too unexpected. He moved forward and pulled Kinch into a hug. Fortunately, Kinch must have been told about Hogan's condition, because the return embrace was gentle and avoided any pressure on his injured side.

"It seems things were a bit crowded at Stalag 14, so I took a couple prisoners off their hands," Klink said.

Hogan stepped back, swallowing hard and laughing instead of crying.

"This is permanent?" he asked Klink.

"It's a permanent transfer. As long as Stalag 13 is here, Sergeant Kinchloe will be as well. Now, I must go. I have a prison camp to run." As LeBeau and Kinch greeted each other warmly and began talking about Kinch's transfer "back home," Hogan stopped Klink from leaving.

"I don't know what to say," he said honestly.

"You don't have to say anything, Hogan. It was just a routine transfer."

"Thank you," Hogan said sincerely.

"You're welcome." With that, Klink left.

"How are you feeling, Colonel? You don't look as bad as I expected– Wait, that didn't come out right. I mean, you're looking good."

"It's okay, Kinch. I've got a ways to go yet, but I'm doing a lot better. I still don't do much more than get up, eat a few meals and go back to bed. But I want to hear about you." Hogan sat on the couch and Kinch sat on the other end of it. LeBeau occupied a nearby chair.

"Do the others know you're here yet?"

"No. Klink brought me in last night and stashed me in the cooler. He said he wanted to surprise you, and asked me if I'd go along with it. I thought it sounded like a good idea. That is, after I got over the shock of Klink wanting to surprise you in a good way."

"He donated the blood that saved my life," Hogan explained, and Kinch just raised his eyebrows. "There's a lot to update you on, believe me."

"Colonel, is it okay if I go tell the others Kinch is here? I'll tell them you have some catching up to do."

"Sure, go ahead."

"Great to have you back, Kinch," LeBeau said as he hurried out to spread the word.

"What did Klink tell you?" Hogan asked.

"Not much. All I knew was that the kommandant at Stalag 14 pulled me and one other prisoner out of line at night roll call and told us we had ten minutes to get our stuff together for a transfer to Stalag 13. I was happy about that, but pretty confused. When I got here, Klink sent the other new prisoner off to another barracks without wasting much time on questioning him, and then told me that you were recovering from a serious injury and surgery and that he thought I might like to surprise you with showing up for a visit. So I agreed to spend the night in the cooler so the other guys wouldn't see me and blow the surprise. I asked him what happened, but he said you would tell me all that."

"I don't know where to start. Did Klink say anything about Von Gruner?"

"Who?"

"Like I said, I don't know where to start," Hogan repeated, chuckling. "It's been a strange year."

"Who's Von Gruner?"

"A field marshal. Or he was. He visited camp this winter, and..." Hogan swallowed, shaking his head. "It was a real ugly situation."

"What happened, Colonel?" Kinch asked, concerned. He rarely saw Hogan at a loss for words.

"As usual, LeBeau cooked dinner for Klink and Von Gruner, in Klink's quarters." Hogan closed his eyes, as if he couldn't look Kinch in the eyes and say the next words. "Von Gruner forced...he took Louis into the bedroom... The son of a bitch raped him, Kinch."

"My God," Kinch said, his voice hushed.

"Von Gruner was a big man. Six-foot-four if he was an inch. He beat the hell out of him and...and did that to him right there in Klink's room." Hogan hated that the very memory of it still twisted his insides worse than any incision could. He fought losing his composure, and managed to hold back tears. "We had to do something to get rid of Von Gruner, so we launched a plan to make him look like a traitor. Newkirk did one of his best voice parts for the job," Hogan added, smiling. "Von Gruner came back, and held me at gunpoint," Hogan said, and he saw the look of horror cross Kinch's face. "He didn't get very far with it because Klink intervened."

"Klink? Wilhelm Klink? The kommandant here? That Klink intervened for you with a field marshal?"

"That was my reaction, too, but he did. He was very humane to LeBeau during his recovery, and he did his best to help us with Von Gruner. He knows about the tunnel entrance in his quarters and he turned his head to it. He wouldn't allow Von Gruner to do to me what he did to LeBeau, and he cooperated by letting us do what we had to do get rid of the son of a bitch. Ever since, it's seemed like he's more of an ally than an enemy. When I needed medical care, he took me to a hospital in town that ordinarily wouldn't treat prisoners and demanded it. Then he donated the blood I needed to live."

"You skipped the part where you tell me how you ended up needing surgery in the first place."

"A couple of the guards gave me a hard time in the mess hall, for no good reason, and Klink had them transferred to the Eastern Front."

"I guess he is on your side, isn't he?"

"He was in that situation. They were angry, they wanted revenge, so they figured out a plan to lure me into the Rec Hall and beat the tar out of me. I thought I was all right, but I was sitting in Klink's office one day and my spleen ruptured. The pain was incredible. Klink and Schultz drove me into town in the staff car, and Klink demanded the hospital in Hammelburg treat me. Fortunately, there was a doctor there who would, and they did the surgery. But by then I had already hemorrhaged internally, and without a transfusion, I would have died. Klink and Olson were the only two who matched my blood type from the men who were tested in time to do me any good. Klink was there first, and he let them take as much as they safely could."

"Wow. I never would have pictured that happening."

"If the Gestapo wanted to make an issue of it, they could make things hot for Klink for having given blood to an enemy officer."

"I imagine they could."

"They already have tried to investigate the Von Gruner situation. He's in a British POW camp now, and he's provided some major intelligence information. He was one of Hitler's closest pals." Hogan shook his head. "The hardest thing I ever did was turn him over alive instead of shooting the bastard in the head in burying him in a caved-in tunnel."

"He was too much of an information source to give up."

"That's what I thought, and that's what London thought, too. They weren't very happy with me for going after him at all, because they felt he should be left alone. That his disappearance from Stalag 13 would bring too much suspicion down on us. We did our best to make it look like he disappeared from his home, and to set him up as a traitor, but they eventually found out he was in Allied hands. Burkhalter knows about what happened to LeBeau, and he's got a pretty good idea that what we told the Gestapo was a lot of hogwash, but he's in hot water, too, if he admits he knew all that and didn't tell them the first time around."

"How's LeBeau? He seems like his old self."

"He's incredible," Hogan said, smiling, then realized how openly affectionate the response sounded. "I can't believe how well he's handled what happened, and managed to go on and put it behind him. I was alone with Von Gruner for a few minutes, and he was a sick bastard. I don't know if I could have bounced back the was LeBeau did."

"He's always been a lot stronger than he looks," Kinch said, smiling. "Even if he does still faint at the sight of blood."

"We all have our weak spots," Hogan replied, chuckling.

"So, you have a good radio man now?"

"I promoted Baker to that job after you left."

"He's a good man. Knows his stuff."

"You know your old job is yours for the asking," Hogan said.

"I don't want to come back in and kick Baker out of his job. If you don't object, we could share the responsibilities. I wouldn't mind not being the only one on call for every time London decides to talk to us."

"Then it's settled." Hogan smiled broadly. "It's so good to see you again, Kinch. You know I tried everything I could think of to stop the transfer."

"I know that."

"Stalag 14...how was it there?"

"Not bad. They're a lot stricter there than they are here, and you can't put too much over on the kommandant or the guards, but they're humane. They stick pretty much to the Geneva Convention, as much as any of the krauts do. I met some good guys there."

"Any worthwhile escape operations going on there?"

"A few tunnels. A couple guys escaped while I was there. A few had made it before I got there. But all in all, they've got a decent record for hanging onto their prisoners. Truth is, it's pretty hard for black POW's to blend in with the civilian population without a top-flight operation behind them. I didn't really make any attempts at it. I'd rather live through this war if I have a choice."

"I felt terrible about how the escape attempt turned out when you were transferred. I know we thought it would work."

"We thought it would work because we thought Schultz and Langenscheid were going to be driving the truck. Neither one of those guys would have shot one of us fatally. The guards who ended up doing the job didn't have any problems with it. I could have made it if I hadn't stopped when they shot Henderson and Warner, but I knew both those guys, and I couldn't just walk away."

"I should have just sent you out through the tunnel before the transfer, had the Underground get you out of Germany."

"It would have jeopardized the whole operation, and that's why you didn't do it then. Same reason you turned Von Gruner over to the Allies instead of blowing his brains out. It's called duty. And you did things the way they had to be done for the good of the operation."

"Thanks, Kinch. I'm glad you feel that way."

"Colonel, we never got into anything you didn't do your best to get us out of, and you've never done anything because it was easier for you personally, or because it suited your selfish purposes. You've done what you had to do to keep this operation running. I knew that a year ago, and I know it now."

"That doesn't make me any happier with some of the decisions I've had to make. I'm glad Stalag 14 was all right. If we'd heard anything really bad about it before your transfer, I hope you know I wouldn't have let the transfer happen."

"I know that. Look, let's not waste all this time going over the past. Klink pulled a nasty trick on us, but he's had a change of heart, so we're in luck."

"He sure has. There are times I wonder if he's the best Gestapo agent in the Third Reich. I don't know what to tell him."

"You don't seriously think all this is some plot to gain your trust?"

"No, I don't, but stranger things have happened."

"Stranger than Klink being a cunning Gestapo agent in deep cover?"

"Maybe not much stranger than that, but I wouldn't rule it out."

"You're a suspicious man, Colonel."

"I always have been. The last time I let down my guard, I ended up with a ruptured spleen."

"One of the krauts tricked you, huh?"

"Indirectly. They used one of our guys," Hogan said, amazed he still felt hurt by that betrayal. He knew his tendency to become emotionally invested in his men and his command was probably his weakest spot as an officer, but that didn't stop him from feeling betrayed and hurt by McAllister handing him over to Karlsen and Heitel.

"How?" Kinch asked, shocked.

"Well, not one of our guys on our team, but one of the guys here in camp. A young hot-shot who wanted to make points with another American colonel who was temporarily Senior POW Officer at the time. I was at odds with him, so this guy thought he could score points by doing something to set me up."

"You turned him in, right?"

"No, I gave him a chance to go straight. We'll see if he takes it. I know who he is and I know what he did, so I can still see to it he faces a court martial after the war if I have to. He seemed genuinely sorry about the whole mess. I was probably suckered again, but I believed him."

"Jerk. I think he oughtta get a dose of what you got. Teach him a lesson in loyalty."

"You and half the guys in the camp. I don't know yet that he won't run into trouble. I've asked for it to be forgotten, with no vigilante tactics. I can only do so much to enforce that."

"So what happened to the new Senior POW Officer?"

"Klink transferred him to Colditz."

"You know, we could have saved a lot of trouble if we'd just had Klink handle our personnel issues a long time ago."

"I told you it's been a strange year." Hogan smiled.

"How much does Klink know?"

"He knows there's a tunnel, he knows there's a powerful operation, but he doesn't know the extent of it, or any of the details." Hogan sighed. "There wasn't much I could do to keep that from him with everything that happened with Von Gruner. I couldn't nail Von Gruner alone. I needed help. Louis went to Klink when Von Gruner had me cornered one-on-one, and the guys were planning their own rescue attempt, and so we ended up with three guys coming up through Klink's floor while Klink was standing there holding a gun on Von Gruner. It was an interesting few seconds."

"I left for a year and the whole operation went downhill," Kinch said seriously, then looked at Hogan with a little laugh.

"I think I missed your humility the most," Hogan quipped. "Seriously, it really is good to have you back on board again."

"It's good to be back. Feels like a homecoming in a twisted sort of way."

Just then, as if on cue, the door opened and LeBeau, Carter, Newkirk, and Baker rushed through it. The next few moments were a wild flurry of handshakes, hugs and backslaps. LeBeau sat on the arm of the couch next to Hogan and rested a hand on his shoulder while all the merriment went on around them.

"I've done my best to keep the radio equipment in good repair," Baker said, smiling and shaking hands with Kinch. "I'll be glad to show you the modifications I've made."

"Baker, apparently Kinch has gotten used to being a man of leisure at Stalag 14, so he's going to be sharing the radio duties with you instead of taking over entirely," Hogan said with a little grin. While he'd never quite gotten over Kinch's transfer, he liked and respected Baker, and he was glad not to push him aside as if he'd only been a poor substitute.

"Sounds like a fine idea to me," Baker agreed. "Be easier on both of us," he said to Kinch.

"I can't believe old Klink transferred you back," Newkirk said, then looked at Hogan. "You letting him win at chess again?"

"It was all Klink's idea. I wish I could take credit for it, but I can't."

"Klink better be careful. He's turning into a human being," Kinch said. "Not a good career move in the German army."

"We've gotta have a party to welcome Kinch home, Colonel. You think Klink would let us do something like that here?" Carter asked.

"I'll ask him. I think he'd probably okay it."

"He is gonna be in our barracks again, right?" Newkirk asked.

"I don't think Klink brought him all the way back from Stalag 14 to put him anywhere else."

"I think I'll go get settled, then, Colonel. I'll be back later for a visit."

"You know where to find me," Hogan quipped, smiling. Carter, Newkirk, Baker, and Kinch left for the barracks, and LeBeau remained behind with Hogan.

"Quite a 'get well' present," LeBeau said. "Why do you think Klink did it?"

"There's a part of me that keeps suspecting he's up to something. But my gut tells me he felt guilty about it because it's the only really mean-spirited thing he's ever done to me that stuck. That worked. He's tried replacing me as the senior officer, he set me up to look pretty bad with General Barton that time...there have been a lot of little things over the years, but none of them really worked. Maybe when he thought I was dying, he felt guilty about this one."

"You think there's any danger Klink is setting us up for something?"

"That's always a danger, but I don't really believe it. I just wish I could eliminate it from my mind as a possibility."

"You think he could be Gestapo?"

"Klink? If he is, he's the most brilliant agent they've got. I can't believe Klink is Gestapo. I don't think they'd have waited this long to spring the trap on us. The only real danger I see is if Hochstetter got to him at some point and threatened him, and he's trying to work with them to save his own neck."

"I think he's on the level. He gave you his blood, Colonel. If he wanted to destroy this operation, your death would have been a quick way to do it."

"No, the operation would survive me. It has to, if anything happens to me."

"Maybe I'm getting it confused with the fact that I wouldn't survive anything happening to you."

"You would, too. But I love you for saying that." Hogan took LeBeau's hand and squeezed it.

"There's a difference between physical survival and living. When your heart and soul die, there's not much meaning left in your life. When I thought you were dying, on the way to the hospital, I wanted to go with you."

"Guess I gave you a pretty good scare, huh?" Hogan moved over and pulled LeBeau down on the couch next to him. They'd have plenty of warning to move if someone came in. LeBeau snuggled against Hogan, head on his shoulder. "Coming back to you is a great incentive to stay alive, Louis."

"I love you. More than I should, I know."

"We both love each other more than we should, but we do, and I wouldn't change a thing."

"You're not sorry we..."

"No, never. Are you?"

"I'm just sorry we didn't do it sooner."

"I guess everything they say about you Frenchmen and love is true, huh?"

"We're insatiable."

"Good. I was hoping so." Hogan gathered LeBeau close and captured his mouth in a long kiss.

********

Klink gave his approval for the prisoners to have a small, quiet welcome home dinner for Kinch in the guest quarters. With Hogan feeling better and able to be on his own for a few hours, LeBeau headed back toward the barracks to check his special stash of spices for the bouillabaisse he wanted to make in honor of Kinch's return. He'd worked a few rough spots out of the recipe, and managed to compensate for the missing eel head he was convinced added just the right flavor.

As he was crossing the compound, a loud wolf-whistle caught his attention. He glanced toward Barracks 9, where a group of four prisoners were gathered, watching him. He didn't slow his pace or bother acknowledging the sound. If it was directed at him, he was better off not starting something with four big guys until he had some friends to help out, and if it wasn't, he'd look foolish for thinking it was.

When he arrived at his own barracks, he took off his coat and piled it with his hat and scarf on his bunk. Newkirk was sitting at the table repairing the torn sleeve on a set of longjohns, and Carter was hunched over the table, laboriously writing a detailed letter home. Olson and a couple other guys were playing cards.

"Where's Kinch?" LeBeau asked. 

"Down in the tunnel with Baker, looking over the radio," Newkirk responded. "Colonel Hogan able to get by without you for a while?" he asked, not looking up from his sewing.

"What is that supposed to mean?" LeBeau shot back angrily. Newkirk looked up, puzzled.

"Nothing, Louis. Just haven't seen you around too much since he got home, so I figured he must be doing better if he can be on his own for a while."

"I'm sorry." LeBeau sat at the table. "Some guys from Barracks 9 whistled when I was crossing the compound. There was nobody else out there but me. I thought maybe Hilda was outside or something, but she wasn't."

"Colonel Hogan never did put up with anybody making remarks or getting fresh with Hilda, so everybody's kind of out of the habit," Carter said, looking up from his letter. "Why would they whistle at you?"

"We've seen your Greta Garbo imitation. I wouldn't whistle at you on your best day," Newkirk teased, biting the thread and examining his handiwork.

"You know what kind of remarks Matthews was making before he left."

"Matthews was a jerk," Carter responded.

"You've been spending a lot of time with Colonel Hogan. Maybe some of the guys are jealous, or think you're his favorite. That you're getting special treatment, staying the in the guest quarters. We have a medic, and he's not the one the colonel picked out to take care of him," Newkirk said. His tone wasn't really accusatory, but the direction of the conversation made LeBeau uncomfortable.

"Was Norton upset about that?" LeBeau asked.

"Don't know. I haven't talked to him about it. But a coupl'a the guys were a little curious why our medic doesn't take care of him and our chef does."

"Well, I just figure Colonel Hogan would rather have one of his friends helping him out," Carter said, shooting a look at Newkirk.

"If you want to ask something, Peter, out with it." LeBeau gestured with his hand.

"All right. I think it's a little strange that Colonel Hogan wanted you to be the one to go to the doctor with him right from the start, and now that he's getting over surgery, he doesn't even call for our medic but he has you staying with him and taking care of him. Aside from having a grandmother who was a midwife, I'm not sure what you know about nursing."

"I cook for him, keep him company, help him with anything he can't quite do for himself yet. He doesn't need a medic to do those things. Besides, you know Colonel Hogan doesn't scream for a medic for every ache and pain. He bled internally without complaining, so why would he insist on being tended by a medic?" LeBeau paused. "Why do you think I'm doing it?"

"I really wasn't sure. I just thought it was odd to have a chef take care of him instead of a medic, that's all."

"Maybe he wants to eat better during his recovery," Carter suggested, going back to his letter.

"Louis, all I'm saying is that the amount of time you spend with Colonel Hogan has some guys wondering what's up. I've wondered about it myself sometimes, since it seems like we're not as much of a unit as we used to be. There's you and the colonel, and then there's the rest of us."

"I cook for him, do some nice things for him when he's not feeling well..." LeBeau stiffened in his chair. "This is because of what happened with Von Gruner, isn't it? 'The guys' have all these suspicions because of what Von Gruner did to me. They think it's my fault, that I consented to what that kraut animal did to me, is that it? That I'm queer now?" It bothered LeBeau to react to indignantly to the notion he was in love with another man, but it wasn't hard to be angry that they would think what Von Gruner did to him had anything to do with that.

"Nobody thinks that," Carter spoke up right away.

"Maybe you don't, but it's apparent there are people here who do."

"I don't think Von Gruner turned you queer, if that's what you mean. I just mean it seems like you're with the colonel all the time now, and that's different than it used to be. You've got to admit at least that much."

"Colonel Hogan hasn't been sick or injured very often since we've been here. I don't mind helping him out. We're together a lot more because of that. I don't know why people have to make something out of that."

"I'm not making anything out of it. I just noticed it was different than before, that's all. But there might be some guys who think differently. Like the guys who whistled at you outside."

"Matthews was trying to stir up trouble for Colonel Hogan. He probably got those guys all worked up about it before he left," Carter said, putting his letter aside.

"Oui, maybe he did."

"You know, Louis," Newkirk began in a hushed tone, leaning toward, LeBeau, "if the colonel's putting any pressure on you to do something you don't want to do, we–"

"I can't believe you said that." LeBeau got up and grabbed his coat, striding out the door and slamming it behind him.

"You handled that really well," Olson spoke up from where he was sitting on the end of a bunk, the card game he was sharing with two other prisoners spread out on the blanket.

"Oh, leave off," Newkirk retorted.

"What would make you think Colonel Hogan would do something like that? Are you nuts?"

"I was wondering about that myself," Carter said, staring at Newkirk with a disillusioned look.

"I don't really think that, but you know, just in case..." He took in the incredulous faces around him. "Well, you've got to admit they're spendin' an awful lot of time together."

"Colonel Hogan almost died a little over a week ago. He's had major surgery. He's probably lucky to be able to go to the john without help. What's he supposed to do? He picked somebody to stay with him and help him." Olson shook his head. "You know, I can believe this coming from those half-wits in Barracks 9, but from one of us?"

"What do you know about the men in Barracks 9?" Newkirk asked.

"I know a couple of them have pretty sick ideas about a lot of things, and there's a bunch of them who got to be tight with Matthews because they didn't like Hogan. Daniels told me."

"He lives there, right?" Carter asked.

"Yep, he does. There're about five or six guys there who started hanging out with Matthews, and they've had some pretty lousy things to say about Hogan. Not to me, because they know better, but to Daniels and some of the other guys. Matthews was putting his own team together when he was transferred, and they were looking forward to being the inner circle."

"You think LeBeau's in any danger from them?" Carter asked, frowning.

"I don't know. I doubt they'd want to get Hogan down on them that way. I mean, love him or hate him, he's the boss again. But we ought to be keeping and eye on them."

********

Hogan sat on the front porch of the guest quarters taking in the fresh air and sunshine, feeling stronger than he had since before the surgery. He was well-rested, well-fed and definitely well-cared for. Matthews was gone, Karlsen and Heitel were a thing of the past, and he'd had a lot of wonderful hours to spend with Louis, even if they'd been hard won. A couple of the men had stopped by with routine camp business, and he'd enjoyed visiting with them and answering their questions. As soon as his body would withstand the regular routine of camp life, he was ready to take the reins again.

The peaceful moment was disrupted by the sight of Burkhalter's staff car charging through the gates and coming to a stop in front of Klink's office. Hogan turned to the young private who had been worriedly asking him about how to handle a barracks-mate's unwillingness to keep his belongings in his own area and tidy. After so many traumas, helping settle a little minutiae was good for Hogan's morale.

"Sanders, go tell Baker to get out the coffee pot, and report back to me what's going on in Klink's office."

"Right, sir," the young man responded, rushing toward Hogan's barracks with the instructions.

********

"General Burkhalter, such an unexpected pleasure to see you, sir," Klink gushed, rising from behind his desk to salute the general.

"Unexpected, yes. A pleasure? Not likely when you hear what I have to say." Burkhalter made himself at home in the chair across from Klink's desk.

"Would you like some coffee? A bit of schnapps, perhaps?"

"I'd like you to sit down and shut up. I have some things to say to you, Klink."

"Right, sir. Sit down and shut up," Klink repeated, still grinning like an idiot. Sometimes the need to fawn over Burkhalter made him sicker than lurching to attention to salute their maniacal supreme leader.

"I understand Hogan has been availing himself of some of the best medical care in the area."

"He was taken to the hospital for emergency surgery. The hospital in Hammelburg would usually be restricted to Luftwaffe officers or civilians, but he would have died if we'd transported him any further."

"You insisted on treatment for him, and the doctor complied. I am not pleased with that, but it is not a large matter."

"Then I don't understand the problem, sir."

"Do you realize that giving your blood to save the life of an enemy officer could be considered treason in some circles?"

"I hadn't thought of it that way."

"You had better. Fortunately, the Gestapo doesn't seem to have gotten wind of this yet, but I will tell you right now, Klink, your choice of friends could be your downfall."

"If I hadn't given blood, Hogan would have died. He was viciously beaten for no good reason by two of our guards. I felt the only humane thing to do was take the necessary steps to save his life."

"That would be Karlsen and Heitel. You transferred them to the Russian Front."

"That's correct, sir, I did. I felt their aggression and violent tendencies would be put to better use in a combat environment. These men are prisoners. They are unarmed and are not engaging our guards in confrontations that require violent responses. The more violence and discord you have in a camp, the greater the motivation to make escape attempts. That's not something we need here at Stalag 13."

"You signed the transfer order before Hogan was beaten."

"There have been a number of unpleasant incidents with those two, and they behaved in a manner I felt was inconsistent with camp policies. They took it out on Hogan because the last incident that led to disciplinary action involved him. He didn't report it, Sergeant Schultz did. Unfortunately, they blamed Hogan for their transfer."

"Do you realize that if the hospital was out of the type of blood Hogan needed, you should have donated to the hospital supply for use in saving the lives of German soldiers?"

"And let Hogan die?"

"He is the enemy, Klink! Do you think for one minute he would not shoot down a plane you were piloting, or bomb a city in which you lived, or lead an assault force against troops under your command, given half a chance?"

"Hogan and I are not in a combat situation, Herr General. That's why I didn't judge it by the same standards. Hogan did nothing to provoke the assault that led to him needing the surgery, and it was caused by men under my command. There is another concern." Klink paused. "Colonel Hogan is a decorated officer in the American Air Force, and we already had attracted the attention of two local doctors, even though the injuries they treated were not the result of abuse. His death from a brutal and senseless beating by two guards and our failure to provide life-saving medical care could have raised some...uncomfortable questions with the Swiss Prison Commission and the Red Cross. It might even be considered a war crime."

"Assuming the Allies win and are in any position to be charging Germans with war crimes." Burkhalter shook his head. "I don't like this, Klink. You and Hogan have been together here too long. You're looking on him as a friend and not the enemy he is."

"I don't delude myself that Hogan is a friend, sir. I am well aware he is the enemy. If I were to be captured and held in an Allied POW camp, I would hope the commander there would take action against abusive renegade guards and provide me life-saving medical attention. It has nothing to do with friendship, but it does have something to do with ethics and conscience. If I had withheld that blood donation from Hogan, it would have been no better than putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger when he was unarmed and dying."

"You have a dangerous conscience, Klink." Burkhalter sighed, shaking his head. "There are things we all...have moments of unease with, but it is not up to us to question. It is up to us to follow orders."

"But, sir, I was under no orders in this situation. As kommandant, it was my place to make these decisions, and I apologize if they displease you, but with all due respect, I did not go against orders."

"You miss my point, Klink. If you look at this situation the way the Fuhrer would look at it, it would be easy to know what to do, and that is how we are expected to react and behave. And you know perfectly well, giving your blood to the enemy would not be acceptable."

"It was never my intention to defy or disrespect the principles of the Fuhrer. I would never knowingly do that."

"I hope that is true, Klink," Burkhalter said, hoisting his considerable hulk out of the chair and walking to the decanter of schnapps, pouring himself a small glass. "You have made a couple of interesting transfers among the prisoners recently. I sent you another, higher-ranking colonel than Hogan. I felt that would make you happy, as you are usually bemoaning the lack of recognition given to your no-escape record. Yet you transferred him. He arrived at Colditz making accusations of treason against you and some very bizarre accusations of misconduct on Hogan's part."

"Colonel Matthews was a troublemaker. He managed to disrupt the order of things more in a couple of days than many of these prisoners have in years. The men respect Hogan and he is able to keep order. Under Matthews, I foresaw chaos. So I had him transferred."

"To Colditz."

"I felt it suited his belligerent personality."

"And just last night, you brought Sergeant Kinchloe back from Stalag 14. May I ask why?"

"I spoke to the kommandant there a while back, and he indicated they were getting a bit overcrowded. We have several empty beds. I took two prisoners off his hands."

"You didn't specifically request Sergeant Kinchloe?"

"Yes, I did," Klink said. There was little point in lying. Burkhalter would find out anyway. "He was always a model prisoner–I don't remember any occasion to have to discipline him in any way–and the only reason he was transferred initially was due to overcrowding here."

"He was also a close associate of Hogan's."

"Really? That had slipped my mind, sir."

"I am not a fool, Klink."

"Of course not, General."

"Perhaps the time has come to transfer Hogan to another camp," Burkhalter stated, and Klink knew the general's beady eyes were fixed on him, watching for his reaction. If he let even a flash of personal distress show at the suggestion, it would be a foregone conclusion. He schooled his features neutral and responded calmly.

"If that is what you feel is best, then of course, Herr General, I will make the necessary arrangements," Klink responded, quite happy with himself to have sounded so neutral. Burkhalter stared at him for a long moment.

"You feel he keeps good order among the prisoners?"

"Yes, sir, very good order. While I credit the top-notch security of Stalag 13 with our no-escape record, there is little question that Hogan does keep good day-to-day order among the men, and is quite cooperative with enforcing camp rules and regulations. I have no reason to transfer Hogan unless you wish me to do so."

"I am only going to say this one time, Klink, and then we will consider the matter closed." Burkhalter stood across the desk from Klink, who also rose. "You had better remember which side you're on, and start treating Hogan like a prisoner and not your companion. Not only will you find yourself out of favor with Berlin, but believe me when I tell you, the moment you turn your back on Hogan, you will find a knife planted between your shoulders. He is very charming, engaging company, but he is also very cunning and he is still the enemy. Probably the most dangerous one you will encounter in this war. I have no more to say on the subject." With that, Burkhalter left the office before Klink could fully execute a salute in his direction.

"Barrage balloon," Klink muttered under his breath, sitting back down at his desk.

...the moment you turn your back on Hogan, you will find a knife planted between your shoulders...

Klink got up and went to the schnapps, pouring one glass and downing it, then another. Burkhalter was wrong. Wrong about Hogan, wrong about everything. He had to be. But then, a train was just destroyed not far from camp that very morning, and the night before, Klink played a game of chess with Hogan that was obviously tiring the other man in his weakened condition. Still, Hogan had shown no signs of calling it a night, and had put up a fair fight until...until shortly before Carter arrived to ask for leftovers.

Damn you, Hogan. You sit in my guest quarters and eat my food and take my friendship and use it against me.

Or was that fair? Hogan was doing what Hogan always did, and if Klink were going to turn on him for that, he should have done so before now. And hadn't Hogan promised him protection against Burkhalter's threats of the Russian Front when he was so weak he could barely talk? And what was that supply train to Klink, anyway?

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in." Klink put the stopper in the schnapps decanter and turned to face the door. Corporal LeBeau stood on the other side of it.

"Colonel Hogan would like to talk to you, if you have a moment. He wanted to come over here himself, but I thought the walk was a little long for him."

"Very well." Klink walked with LeBeau toward the guest quarters.

"What you did about Kinch...I know it meant a lot to Colonel Hogan."

"Just another transfer," Klink dismissed.

"Whatever you say, Kommandant." When they approached the porch of the guest quarters, Hogan was still seated in the chair LeBeau had moved out there. "I'll go start dinner," LeBeau offered, going inside.

"I should walk a little. You mind?" Hogan asked Klink, holding out his hand. Klink willingly gave him a supporting arm to lean on to get up. "I can make it up and down out of the stiffer chairs, but this one's too much of a pull yet. Thanks."

"Watch the steps," Klink said, holding onto Hogan's arm as they walked down the two steps to the ground.

"I don't have a good history with steps here," Hogan quipped. "LeBeau thought your office was a little too far for me. I haven't really been out walking all that much, but I feel like I need to move before my limbs shrivel up and die."

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I know what Burkhalter had to say." Hogan looked around, everywhere but at Klink. "He's got it wrong. I hope you know that." Hogan knew he was taking a risk, that he was betting heavily that Klink's kindness and occasional complicity were genuine. "You realize I'm risking my life here, too?"

"In what way?" Klink asked, puzzled.

"You could be Gestapo." Hogan smiled when Klink laughed out loud.

"And Major Hochstetter could be Honey Hornberg in disguise."

"He did dance rather well with LeBeau," Hogan retorted.

"You mean Madame LaGrange?" Klink smiled, shaking his head. "What did Corporal LeBeau really do before the war?"

"The same thing he's doing now. He was an up and coming young chef. He was making a name for himself in one of the best restaurants in Paris just before the war."

"So he wasn't a fireman or a big game hunter or a dress designer?"

"I'm going to decline to answer that one," Hogan said, laughing.

"You know, by the fifth occupation, I was becoming suspicious. Though I have to admit he was a very convincing gypsy." Both men laughed at that one.

"I'm not going to set a trap for you, Kommandant. I'm loyal to my friends, once I'm sure who they are."

"So am I, Hogan. It's too bad we must be so unsure of one another, isn't it?"

"You could have let me die, and you didn't. You risked everything to save my life. I couldn't ask more of one of my own countrymen. I can't argue against Burkhalter's line of reasoning. Either you believe him or you believe me." Hogan sighed, stopping a moment and staring straight ahead. "My instincts tell me to believe you, and take what you've done for me at face value. So I do."

"I believe you, Hogan. And if it puts your mind at ease, I'm not Gestapo. The very thought would probably give Hochstetter a stroke."

"How much do you want to know?"

"No more than I know now. I don't know how long I'd last under torture, and what I don't know, I can't reveal."

"Can't argue with that logic."

"Should you turn back?" Klink asked, as they'd strolled quite a distance from the guest quarters.

"Probably." Hogan was quiet a moment. "You want to join us for dinner tonight?"

"No, thank you. It's a celebration for you and your men, and I would be out of place there. I think a certain degree of decorum must be maintained as a matter of habit."

"You're right. LeBeau'll send a plate with Schultz if you like."

"That would be fine. Watch your step," Klink warned, again taking a hold of Hogan's arm as they went back up the two steps to the porch.

"It's strange where three years have brought us, isn't it?"

"It's been a long three years. It's been a long war." Klink sighed. "I think we've all had the chance to rethink a lot of things. And to see some things for what they really are."

"Dangerous thing in your army."

"Very." Klink cleared his throat. "I should be getting back to work. Schultz will keep watch over your little gathering tonight. I trust you'll be finished and the men back in the barracks by lights out."

"We won't abuse the privilege, Kommandant," Hogan said, easing himself back down in the chair.

"I'm glad we had this conversation, Hogan," Klink said.

"So am I."

"You know, it's strange. In civilian life, I don't imagine we'd have ever been friends."

"Sometimes you find your friends in strange places," Hogan said, smiling.

"Indeed." Klink nodded solemnly, then turned and headed back for his office. Hogan leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. His side still ached, his incision still felt like it was never going to heal and become a normal part of his body, but despite all that, the sunshine and the fresh air felt good, and he at least felt as if a bit of his strength was slowly seeping back to him.

"Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan opened his eyes, and looked down to see McAllister standing at the foot of the two steps up to the porch, looking at him with a desperate expression. He was sporting a day's beard growth against pale skin, and he looked much thinner than he had the last time Hogan saw him. His dark hair was disheveled, more so than just the wind would cause.

"McAllister," Hogan said, not really wanting to interact with the man any more than he had to. He'd given him another chance against the advice of everyone in the camp, but that didn't mean he didn't still have a deep-seated animosity for the man who'd caused him to end up in the condition he was in presently.

"I...I need to talk to you, sir."

"So talk," Hogan responded, looking away from the distraught prisoner and staring out at the compound to watch the comings and goings of the other men.

"May I...can I..."

"I don't know, McAllister. Can you?" Hogan looked back at him, annoyed at his stammering and indecisiveness. He might be a kid, but if hoped to make it to sergeant, it would seem he'd have a bit more on the ball.

"May I come up, sir?"

"Be my guest. Have a seat," Hogan said, saving the man the excruciating, not to mention prolonged, process of asking to sit down.

"Sir, I can't take this anymore," McAllister blurted, and Hogan looked closely at the young man. His hands shook slightly as he gestured, his face bordered on gaunt, and he appeared on the verge of losing what little control he had.

"Can't take what?" Hogan asked, his brows knitting together. He'd ordered the men to leave McAllister alone, and he was bristling at the thought they must have been disobeying those orders.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," he said, his face a mask of distress.

"We've been over this, McAllister," Hogan said. "I let you off the hook. What do you want from me?"

"It doesn't matter anymore about that. About what you do after the war, or what the guys do to me now. I can't live with this."

"There's nothing I can do about that, Corporal," Hogan said, the fatigue coming through in his voice. "We all have to live with what we do, and the consequences. That's a hard lesson to learn."

"I can't sleep, I can't eat... I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan. I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted them to do that to you. I never wanted you to end up in the hospital or almost die, or be so sick for so long because of what I did. I was a jerk to play up to Matthews, to let Karlsen bully me into being part of this. God, if I could just go back and undo it...I think about that all the time," McAllister added, his voice shaking, his eyes filled with tears. "I could have been responsible for you dying. I couldn't have lived with that."

"I didn't die, so you don't have to." Hogan sighed, slightly relieved the intake and expulsion of breath didn't send his body into spasms of agony. And Hogan could see his wiry little grandmother shaking a bony finger in his direction, telling him that he would be guilty in heaven for refusing an apology from the heart. Damn it, Grandma, you're never gonna let me off the hook about that, are you? "McAllister, look, you made a mistake, you regret it. It happens. Fortunately I didn't die."

"I can't live like this anymore, Colonel. I need you to believe me that I really didn't want this to happen to you. I was sort of mad about where you stuck me in the operation, but...but I never wanted anything like this to happen. It's so sick because when Karlsen was pressuring me, I was thinking that if you were still in charge, you wouldn't have let him get away with that."

"What do you need me to say to get on with your life, McAllister? That I'm not going to see you answer to a court martial after the war?"

"I don't care what you do about this after the war. If you want, you can shoot me now and get it over with. I just can't stand knowing what I did. I'm so sorry." McAllister shamefacedly wiped the back of his hand past his eyes.

Hogan looked at the other man for a long moment, and realized he'd never seen anyone tear themselves apart quite so completely with guilt. McAllister was on a fast track to losing his marbles, obsessing over the fact he had done something that had nearly cost someone his life. And for whatever else he was, he was barely above high school age, having grown up too soon in the middle of a major world war.

"Your apology's accepted, McAllister."

"You have to hate me for what I did."

"I do?" Hogan shrugged, smiling a little. "Glad you told me." He became serious again. "I think what you did was yellow, weak, and treasonous. I also think it was a mistake, and God knows, when I was nineteen, I made more than one of them. Courage, honor, loyalty...they're not just words, McAllister. They mean something, and when you believe in those principles, your life means something–to you and the people around you. If you learn anything from all this, learn that. Don't let this thing eat you alive, but learn something from it. Betrayal is an ugly thing, and it will haunt you one way or the other."

"I betrayed you. You stuck up for me with the krauts when I was brought in, you got me out of the cooler early that one time I got caught trying to escape–even though you told us no escapes–and then I did this."

Hogan didn't answer right away. McAllister had hit the sorest spot of any of his injuries. That betrayal had hurt more than any blow from a guard's boot. He would kill or die to protect the men under his command, and one of them had handed him over to Karlsen and Heitel for their sick little game. One of them disliked him enough, for whatever reason, to want to see him tortured.

Or, so it had seemed at the time. Looking at McAllister now, Hogan felt he was more a victim of an immature kid's spite, of a practical joke gone perversely wrong. And all of it had aged McAllister faster than the war itself or interment in a prison camp. McAllister had grown up a lot in the last few weeks.

"McAllister, I really do mean it when I say I accept your apology. I'm going to be all right, and I know you didn't mean for this to happen."

"You can't mean that you really forgive me for doing this to you?"

"Did you help them beat me up?"

"No! Of course not! But I made it happen."

"You helped them out, but honestly, if it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else. You said you didn't know what they were going to do, and today, I believe you."

"I don't deserve a second chance."

"You want to know something? A couple weeks ago, I don't think you did. But now, I think you do. Go shave and wash up and comb your hair and go on with your life. You made a mistake and you learned something. When you make a bad mistake in your life, kid, try to learn something from it. But don't let it eat you alive."

"You really mean it?"

"Yes, I really mean it."

"Thank you, sir." McAllister rose.

"Dismissed," Hogan said mildly, smiling slightly.

"Yes, sir," McAllister responded, heading for the steps. Then he turned. "I hope, someday, if I get that far...if I'm an officer..." He paused, hesitating. "I'll always remember what I learned from you." With that, the other man hurried on his way, leaving Hogan sitting there with a small smile on his face.

********

"You want some help?" Hogan appeared in the kitchen doorway, startling LeBeau a bit, since he thought Hogan was resting outside.

"You should be resting."

"Oh, come on, Louis. I don't need to rest twenty-four hours a day. My hands still work," Hogan said, washing them in the kitchen sink. "Give me something worthwhile to do. There must be something that needs chopping, peeling, shredding..."

"Oui, there is. If you feel inclined to peel apples, you can start with those in the bowl on the table. They should be peeled and cut in wedges."

"Sounds like something even I can do in the kitchen," Hogan joked, sitting down and starting in on the peeling task. Mostly, he just liked being with LeBeau, and he was feeling enough stronger to want to do something useful instead of just lying in a chair or in bed all day. "What's for dinner?"

"Medaillons de veau en croute. And I made bouillabaisse. I remember Kinch liked that."

"Med...what?"

"Veal medallions with shallots in a wine sauce."

"Sounds great. You manage to get the head of an eel for your bouillabaisse?"

"It took him a while to recover from my telling him about the eel, didn't it?" LeBeau chuckled. "It's good to have him back. Seems like old times again."

"It does," Hogan said, feeling a stab of sadness he didn't quite understand. His emotions seemed to surface to easily now, and that didn't make him particularly happy. It was as if all the years he'd worked on developing his "shell" for military service and the war itself had gone to waste, and that shell had been expertly flipped from his back by what he'd been through in the last several months, starting with the whole Von Gruner thing. Kinch coming back should have been only cause for happiness, but now, it seemed bring into focus how hard it would be someday to say goodbye to all of these men.

"What's wrong, mon amour?" LeBeau asked, turning from the pot over which he'd been laboring when Hogan sounded so wistful and then fell so silent.

"Nothing. I was just thinking."

"Not happy thoughts, from the sound of it." LeBeau finished what he was doing and pulled up a chair next to Hogan, who was still busying himself with the apples. LeBeau put a hand over Hogan's hands to still the motion. "Talk to me."

"I guess I'm just getting sentimental in my old age," Hogan said, smiling. That smile went right to LeBeau's heart every time, unerringly.

"What makes you say that?" LeBeau reached up and smoothed a stray strand of hair off Hogan's forehead, then caressed his cheek with the backs of his fingers. Hogan leaned against the stroking hand.

"I was thinking about saying goodbye to everybody, leaving here the last time." Hogan shrugged. "I've hated this place and envied every guy who headed out through the tunnel with a civilian suit on, and at the same time, I know that turning my back on it, going out through the front gates for the last time, is going to be hard. Saying goodbye to everybody I've been with for years is going to be hard."

"You won't be saying goodbye to everybody, remember?"

"I couldn't say goodbye to you," Hogan said honestly. "I just know I'll miss everyone."

"That's why they have telephones and airplanes. We won't leave our friends behind. We might not see them every day the way we do here, but we'll never let go of them."

"People say that, and then things change, and you don't call as often, or you don't write anymore, or it's not convenient to go visit..."

"What brought this on, mon amour? You seem so sad."

"I think this prolonged convalescence is making me morose."

"I know what you need."

"So do I, but I never did it in the kitchen before." Hogan waggled his eyebrows, grinning. Even if he did still feel a bit depressed, it bothered him more to see LeBeau so worried about him. He knew it was a combination of the pain, the medication, and way too much time on his hands that was turning his thoughts in such a blue direction.

"When you're well, we'll have to try that." LeBeau grinned. "It's especially exciting when the door's unlocked and you could get caught."

"I should have known. You have done it in the kitchen before?"

"There is very little I cannot do expertly in the kitchen," LeBeau responded, his nose in the air.

"There's very little you can't do expertly most anywhere."

LeBeau stood up and moved close to Hogan's chair, embracing him and pressing Hogan's head gently against his chest. Hogan's arms wound around him, returning the pressure.

"You've been through so much. There's nothing wrong with you for feeling a little shaky."

"I hate feeling so...weak," Hogan admitted.

"When one of us is weak, the other is there to be strong. You were for me, and now I am for you." LeBeau patted Hogan's back lightly, sensing that he was meeting an aching need in his lover for a little simple cuddling. "Everything will be all right, and our friends aren't going to forget about us after the war. We've been through too much together to just say goodbye and leave it at that." LeBeau kissed the top of Hogan's head. "You want to take a nap before dinner? I can handle this stuff."

"I'd rather be here with you," Hogan said honestly as they broke the embrace.

"Then get to work on those apples. Can't tell Schultz I didn't have his strudel done because you fell down on the job with the apples," LeBeau teased, and Hogan chuckled at that, going back to his assigned task.

********