The following story is a work of fiction by a fan for the entertainment of fans. No money is being made. It is a slash story, intended for mature readers.

SUNLIGHT AND SHADOWS

by  

Candy Apple

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...What we have is something different,

I think we've known all along,

So how fair would it be to divide this love's existence

Between what's right and what's wrong?

And you, always wondering how we'll make it,

Time will tell you, that I'm not giving you up.

We'll find a way to be together,

However long it takes, wherever.

If it means having you for only a moment,

A moment just might be enough.

I'm not giving you up.

–Est*fan & S*ntand*r, "I'm Not Giving You Up"

************************

"This is hopeless." LeBeau said, his tone dismal as he backed away from Carter just in time to save his feet additional abuse.

"Come on, Louis, you said you were gonna teach me how to waltz," Carter groused, standing his ground as LeBeau moved toward the old record player to turn off the music.

"Some of the guys want to listen to different music and we've been at this almost the whole recreation period."

"Yeah, well, I bet Fred Astaire didn't start out perfect either."

"His feet probably spend more time on the floor than on the tops of Ginger's shoes."

"Okay, okay," Hogan interjected, having walked over from where he'd been watching a ping pong match between two other prisoners. He had to admit that their movements were more graceful than LeBeau's and Carter's. "My mother taught me how to waltz when I was twelve. Not that I use it all that much. This looks like a job for an officer."

"You're going to teach him how to waltz? Good luck to you, I say." LeBeau crossed his arms over his chest.

"No, we're going to demonstrate. You want to lead?" he asked LeBeau, who stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Hogan was asking him to dance in the middle of the Rec Hall. Somehow, he'd managed to seize a once in a lifetime opportunity to dance with his lover in front of God and everyone and not a soul thought anything of it.

"Sure, I'll give it a try," LeBeau said, knowing his voice was coming out a little softer than it should. Moving into Hogan's arms was too natural, too easy. He held himself back and kept formal distance, his hand on Hogan's upper hip, his arm extended straight.

"When's the last time you danced with a woman that way?" Hogan needled, and Carter seemed to be enjoying watching the instructor be instructed. A few of the guys laughed. He moved closer until his arm rested along LeBeau's shoulder and back, and LeBeau's arm was around him. "Now, let's show 'em how it's done," he said, smiling. The look in his eyes was pure love, and with his back to the others, was shared only with LeBeau.

They started moving to the music, and LeBeau delighted in the experience of dancing with the man he loved most. Hogan really was a good dancer, his movements fluid and easy as they fell into step with each other. This was a moment they would remember the rest of their lives, dancing here together like this, their friends cheering them on, oblivious to the real feelings between them. Even Schultz, who had been standing guard during the recreation period, was chuckling as he sat in a chair, watching the dancing prisoners. It was all in the spirit of Hogan's devilish sense of humor and fun, and his willingness to join in with his men and have a good time when his role as commander didn't necessitate him maintaining a distance.

As the music reached its crescendo, the two men moved swiftly around the small area of floor that was their dance floor. Hogan's widening smile was contagious, and LeBeau found himself returning it, totally lost in those impish brown eyes. Hogan knew what he was doing, and what they were getting away with, and that thought obviously appealed to his sense of mischief as much as the romance of it appealed to his heart.

When the music ended, it took LeBeau a moment to realize he should let go and move away. Hogan just laughed, patting him on the back like he would any of his men, motioning to Carter to join them.

"All you have to do is move with the music, Carter. If your partner's a good dancer, she's going to be doing the same thing. You'll be leading so she'll be going where you go."

"Hopefully," Carter said, smiling. "I don't think I can dance like that, though," he said, gesturing around the floor to indicate the demonstration he'd just seen.

"No, maybe not," Hogan said, casting a lightning quick, affectionate look at LeBeau.

********

Klink led the way out of his office, through the reception area and onto the front porch. Hogan didn't share his enthusiasm for the coming of spring and the prospect of beautifying the camp for real. Things weren't going well in Berlin, and Klink had seized upon an idea Hogan had pawned off on him years ago to accomplish one of his many schemes: when the Allied tanks come rolling in, it'll go easier with the kommandant if the camp looks good. Klink wasn't admitting that was his motivation, but since the kommandant had never shown an overpowering interest in daisies and marigolds before, Hogan surmised that was behind it.

"I thought we should start with the barracks," Klink began, gesturing expansively at the camp that lay before them. "Signs should be painted, broken shutters repaired, and perhaps your men could build benches." It had rained heavily the night before, and everything was still soaked. Hogan had to admit, though, that the slight scent of rain and the fresh, fragrant air of the May afternoon would inspire many to undertake outdoor projects. If they were working on their own yards and not the property of the illustrious Luftwaffe, that is.

"Benches, sir?" Hogan asked with complete disinterest that he only marginally covered. He was watching LeBeau hurrying back into their barracks after working on Klink's car. They'd agreed to try a rendezvous in the tunnel this afternoon, and Louis was right on schedule. Hogan, on the other hand, had been detained by one of his favorite krauts to talk about building benches.

"Well, don't you think that would improve the appearance?" Klink was needling. "The men are sitting on old boxes and other things now, and it's very cluttered," Klink added. "You must have someone skilled with woodworking who could coordinate the project. Perhaps Corporal LeBeau ran a furniture store before the war?" Klink asked, a note of humor in his voice. Hogan's head snapped around at that. Since Klink's suspicions that something was going on had been vaguely confirmed during the Von Gruner mess, he occasionally teased Hogan about a few of his more outlandish stories, making him wonder how much the ostensibly obtuse kommandant really believed all those times, and how much he let Hogan get away with for reasons of his own.

"I'm sure we have someone, sir," Hogan responded, not addressing Klink's humorous remark. Though a few months had passed now and Klink had shown no inclination to make things any hotter for Hogan and his men than he had before, Hogan always maintained a certain distance and avoided confirming any of Klink's overtures of humor that might call into question the validity of Hogan's past stories. There was always the underlying risk that Klink had somehow been found out and hoped to save his own hide by luring Hogan into admitting something. That was unlikely, given the fact that Klink was a prime candidate for a firing squad if his involvement in the Von Gruner situation ever came to light. And given Burkhalter's feelings for Klink, the portly general would be just as likely to believe Hogan's account of the events as he would Klink's flustered attempts to get himself off the hook. Then again, Burkhalter was guilty of keeping the whole assault on LeBeau a secret from the Gestapo during their investigation.

"Good. Now, I want to show you what I was talking about with the Recreation Hall," Klink added, starting down the steps. Hogan followed, and felt that helpless, dreadful feeling of knowing his foot had slipped from its intended destination.

********

LeBeau had scoured all traces of the grease and oil from Klink's car off his hands and had shed the coveralls he'd worn for the job. He hoped Hogan would make it close to their agreed upon time, because it was only a matter of minutes before the others came back from their various work details. Once they were down in the tunnel, it wasn't so difficult. As long as Baker wasn't working on the radio, they had the place pretty much to themselves until they went back up top. Hogan always deftly wove a plausible tale to explain what they'd been doing down there, and being he was the commanding officer, if anyone didn't believe it, they were hard pressed to question it openly.

Getting antsy about the time, he opened the barracks door to see if Hogan was out in the compound. When he caught sight of him sprawled half on the ground and half on Klink's front steps, the kommandant and a few prisoners gathered around him, he ran across the compound to reach the little group.

"What happened?" he asked Norton, their medic, who was already at Hogan's side, checking his vital signs.

"He's down for the count," Norton said, concerned. "How hard did he hit the steps, Kommandant?" he asked Klink, his hand slipping carefully beneath Hogan's head to check the injury.

"I don't know exactly. I was a little ahead of him. I heard a thump and turned around and there he was. Schultz, get two of the guards and a stretcher to move Colonel Hogan to his quarters."

"We should probably hold off on that a moment, sir," Norton said. "He may have hurt his neck or back when he fell, and I'd like to check him out first to see if I can detect any broken bones. He's got a pretty good lump on the back of his head." He pulled his hand away, and LeBeau averted his eyes from the bright red blood there. He did have the presence of mind to pull out his handkerchief and hand it to Norton to apply to the wound until it could be checked more carefully.

"Who was responsible for sweeping the porch this morning?" Klink asked Schultz, who supervised the prisoners' work details. "These steps are still covered with rain water and old leaves and the rain stopped at dawn this morning! What if General Burkhalter had made a surprise visit?"

"At least it was only Colonel Hogan who got hurt," LeBeau muttered resentfully. Klink had the good grace to look a bit guilty.

"Will you guys stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Hogan surprised everyone as he protested weakly, reaching back to take over the job of holding the bloody handkerchief against his own head injury. "My foot slipped."

By that time, most of the camp population had gathered for the spectacle, and Newkirk, Carter and Baker elbowed their way to the front of the crowd.

"Take it easy, sir. Just try very slowly to move, and if you can't, don't force it," Norton said calmly.

"I can feel both legs, and they move." For all his bravado, Hogan appeared to be not only winded but more than a little shaken by the fall. LeBeau crouched on the other side of him, taking a hold of his hand and arm, ostensibly to help him move. Hogan held his hand tightly, and a ghost of a smile lit his face.

"How about your back, sir?" Norton probed.

"I feel like I have two wood steps stuck in it," Hogan retorted, forcing a smile and drawing a little laugh from the crowd.

"Let's give the colonel some time to get back on his feet, guys," Carter suggested, starting to shoo the crowd back a little.

"Show's over, mates," Newkirk chimed in. "Why hang around here when we can watch the grass grow along the barbed wire? C'mon everybody."

"I think I need a hand standing up," Hogan admitted.

"Do you feel like you can?" Norton asked. "Don't push it if you don't."

"I can."

"Okay, on three, we're going to help you up," Norton said. "I didn't find any sign of anything broken, Colonel, but without an x-ray, I can't be sure."

"This is just great. Make it through all these years in the war and be conquered by a set of steps."

On the count of three, LeBeau and Norton put their backs into giving Hogan an upward heave, and once he was on his feet, he seemed able to keep himself there. Norton began checking the head wound, and Hogan kept a firm hold on LeBeau's hand, a considerable weight still leaning on the support LeBeau was offering.

"Schultz, take Colonel Hogan into town for an x-ray. I'll write up the necessary orders," Klink said.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Schultz headed for the motor pool to get a truck.

"Take my staff car," Klink said, halting his progress.

"Thanks, Kommandant," Hogan replied, smiling slightly. "Smoother ride, that's for sure. Do you mind if LeBeau comes with me?"

LeBeau could tell from the tightness of his voice and the set of his jaw that Hogan was in a lot of pain. Klink looked a little puzzled by the request, and Hogan didn't make him wait for a justification.

"I don't feel too steady on my feet yet and Schultz can't guard me and help me get around at the same time."

"True. All right. But I warn you, if you make any attempt to escape–"

"I think even Schultz could outrun me today," Hogan quipped, and Klink turned on his heel and strode back into his office to write the necessary passes. "I'm okay, Norton. Thanks for your help."

"All part of the medic job, sir. Hope everything goes well with the x-rays."

"I'm sure it will. I think I was just winded. Tell the guys not to worry. Everything's fine," Hogan concluded, smiling and clapping the other man on the shoulder before sending him on his way.

"You lie very well, mon amour," LeBeau whispered in the fleeting moment they were alone. "You're allowed to be hurt, you know."

"No reason to panic everybody."

"Do you think you can walk?" LeBeau asked as the staff car pulled up near where they stood.

"Sure." There was a pause. "Just stick close, huh?"

"Always," LeBeau responded, squeezing Hogan's hand and smiling a little.

********

"You know, I find that a little odd," Newkirk said, pinning another piece of laundry to the clothesline, now that the fanfare of Hogan's fall had faded and the prisoners were back to their mundane work details. Carter, who was shaking out and handing him the pieces of wet laundry, frowned.

"What? That Colonel Hogan fell? It happens to the best of us. I remember one time back home, I was coming down the front porch steps, and it had been snowing, and let me tell you, boy, I–"

"No, Andrew, not the fall," Newkirk interrupted, rolling his eyes as he accepted another piece of laundry from Carter. "Why would the colonel take LeBeau with him into town instead of Norton, who's our medic? He'd know if the krauts were doing things right, but what's LeBeau going to know about it?"

"Maybe it's just habit," Carter said, shrugging. "I mean, we all work together, all the prisoners, but we're kind of Colonel Hogan's special team. He had a nasty knock on the head, so maybe he didn't think of all that stuff about Norton being a medic. He knows LeBeau better, so he just took him along."

"Maybe." Newkirk was still unconvinced as he watched LeBeau hovering around Hogan and solicitously helping him into the back of Klink's staff car.

"I hope he's okay," Carter said, watching the same scene with concern.

"Colonel Hogan's pretty tough. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"So who was supposed to sweep the steps this morning?"

"Louis was. He was supposed to do the porch and the steps and then change the oil in Klink's car. I saw him working on the staff car, so he must've forgotten the steps."

"Wonder if Colonel Hogan knows that," Carter said, grinning a little at the irony.

"If LeBeau's smart, he won't let him find out."

********

"The good news is you do not have a concussion," the aging German doctor announced, his English heavily accented. "The rest of the good news is you are very lucky you did not break your back."

"Was it that serious?" Hogan was still sitting on the exam table wearing a white hospital gown following the x-rays and examination. Schultz and LeBeau were exiled to the waiting room by the elderly doctor who rejected the notion that the injured officer posed any danger to him.

"Colonel Hogan, a colleague of mine treated a French prisoner from your camp just a few months ago for injuries from a brutal assault. I assume that was your friend who came with you. I know that I would have very little power over the military, but I could get word to the Red Cross if this kind of thing is happening frequently."

"You think someone did this to me? Look, Doc, I know it sounds ridiculous, but my foot slipped, and I must have really hit the steps hard. I feel like an idiot, and it would be less embarrassing to say that Klink was trying to beat information out of me, but that's not what happened."

"That would explain the bruising, if you hit the steps very hard when you fell. Bruising is beginning to show around each of the vertebrae in that area of your back. The pains in your lower back that radiate out to your sides are most likely from serious bruising to your kidneys. You took the brunt of the fall in that area. If you are careful, get a lot of rest, you should recover. You'll be in pain for a while, but I don't expect any lingering damage. I do want to see you again in a week, to check your kidney function, be sure you are healing."

"You'll have to arrange that with Schultz. I'm sure Klink'll okay it."

"This...Klink? He is the kommandant?"

"Yes. It was his order for me to get the x-rays and the exam." Hogan thought it over, and declined to say more about Klink's humane treatment of his men. You never could be too careful in whom you confided.

"Very well. I'll summon the sergeant back in here. And your man, so he can help you dress."

"I can manage, thanks, Doctor," Hogan said, smiling a little.

"Doctor's orders. He seems eager to be of help, and you don't need to strain yourself right now. Between that bump on your head and the injury to your kidney area, I want you to be still and accept some help."

"You're the doctor," Hogan said, resigned.

The doctor summoned Schultz and LeBeau back to the room.

"You will tell your kommandant that Colonel Hogan is to return in one week for another examination, and he is to be excused from any type of physical exertion until that time, when I will re-evaluate his condition."

"What's wrong, Colonel?" LeBeau asked, already back at Hogan's side.

"Hitting the steps when I fell banged up my kidneys a little, but the doctor here says I'll live."

"What's wrong with his kidneys?" LeBeau asked, real fear obvious in his eyes. Hogan was touched by the concern, and laid a hand on LeBeau's shoulder.

"They're just bruised, Louis. I'm okay," Hogan said, not worrying about the use of LeBeau's first name. This was hardly a formal setting.

"Anytime you injure your kidneys, even in the most minor way, it is cause for concern. A bruised kidney can cease functioning under certain circumstances. I expect you to rest, limit your activity, and notify your kommandant immediately if any of your symptoms worsen."

"I will, Doctor."

"Give this to the nurse. She'll fill it for you from my dispensary," the doctor said, handing Schultz a written prescription. "Those are for pain. And schedule next week's appointment while you're at it."

"Jawohl, Herr Doctor." Schultz exited to the outer office to talk to the nurse.

Meanwhile, LeBeau didn't wait for an invitation, but instead gathered up Hogan's clothes and began helping him get dressed, especially for any movements that would require stooping or stretching. By the time Schultz returned, Hogan was buttoning his shirt and LeBeau was crouched at his feet, tying his shoes.

Hogan had to smile when Schultz held his jacket for him and LeBeau handed him his hat. He couldn't have asked for two more solicitous caretakers. LeBeau stayed close, ready to provide a supporting hand. Hogan used the excuse to rest his arm around LeBeau's shoulders as they walked out of the office, enjoying the closeness but honestly feeling the need for the support. The muscles in his back were protesting the abuse they'd taken, and walking was sending waves of pain through his body. His head pounded relentlessly, and all he wanted to do was close the shutters in his office, curl up on his bunk and die quietly. Or at least nap for as long as twice the prescribed dose of pain pills would knock him out.

As Schultz drove the staff car back toward camp, LeBeau sat in the back with Hogan. Satisfied Schultz's attention was on the road before him, LeBeau reached for Hogan's hand and surreptitiously held onto it. Hogan squeezed tightly, glad for the touch and for the understanding he knew came with it. Louis had felt he'd relied so heavily on Hogan after the Von Gruner incident, and felt Hogan had been so strong for him. Hogan couldn't begin to describe how much strength he drew, and had always drawn, just from LeBeau's concern and his genuine caring.

Hogan rested his head against the back of the seat, then moved it again when the swollen area on the back of his head pressed against the firm surface.

"It isn't much longer until we're back at camp," LeBeau said, squeezing Hogan's hand. "You can get some rest."

"Hey, Schultz, the nurse give you those pills?" Hogan asked.

"I have them right here," Schultz said, freeing one chubby hand to pat his breast pocket.

"Hand 'em over." Hogan reached forward, and Schultz handed him the small pill bottle. Hogan swallowed two of the small pills without water.

"The pain is bad?" LeBeau asked, frowning.

"My head's pounding like a bass drum and the rhythm section in my back is joining in."

"Schultz, stop the car!" LeBeau shouted, and Schultz slammed on the brakes, drawing a groan out of Hogan and an angry protest from the portly sergeant as he struggled his way out from behind the wheel to follow LeBeau, who had left the car to...pick flowers.

"And I thought I was the one with the head injury," Hogan said to himself, smiling at the utter ineffectiveness of Schultz's guarding skills as he blustered at LeBeau who was happily picking yellow flowers, and left Hogan completely unguarded in the staff car with the motor running.

Finally, LeBeau and Schultz made their way back to the car, bickering all the way. LeBeau was gesturing and saying something decidedly unsavory in French as Schultz hustled him into the back seat again.

"I just hope I have enough. If I don't have enough, Schultz, you're going to have to come and get more!"

"You do not give me orders, cockroach! I'm not driving five miles in the country to pick weeds!"

"You will if you want anymore strudel," LeBeau said calmly, assessing his armload of yellow flowers.

"I probably don't want to know," Hogan said, poking at one of the small blossoms with his finger.

"It's Arnica. You grind the center of the flowers into powder, and if you make it into an ointment, it eases bruising and swelling. My grandmother swore by it," he concluded, smiling.

"Oh. I thought it was some new recipe," Schultz grumbled, resuming their trip down the road. "That bearnaise sauce plaster of hers certainly worked on the kommandant's cold last year. She must have been a very wise lady."

Hogan shot LeBeau a look, his eyebrow raised a bit, a devilish grin on his face. LeBeau returned the smile before replying.

"Some of her cures were as good as penicillin."

********

The staff car entered the gates and Schultz drove across the compound until he was near Hogan's barracks. The men were mostly finished with their work details, and were on their recreation period by the time the three of them returned to camp. Most of Hogan's barracks-mates were pacing around the building, waiting for their commanding officer to return.

Schultz got out of the car, and in the moment they had alone, Hogan leaned over toward LeBeau.

"I'm gonna need a hand getting out, but I have to walk in there on my own, so stick close, but let me do it myself."

"But Colonel–"

"No 'buts'. They need to see me walk in there under my own power, and fill them in on what's happening. It's a matter of morale."

"Right." LeBeau nodded, still not satisfied with that line of reasoning but taking it as the order that it was, no matter how softly it was given.

LeBeau got out of the car first, then offered a hand to Hogan, who leaned heavily on it to get out of the car. He stood there a moment, as if gathering his strength, and walked away from the support of both LeBeau and the car. Almost immediately, the men were clustering around him, asking how he was and what happened at the doctor's office. Men from other barracks were starting to gather, as well, trying to overhear the news.

"Okay, everybody, I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. I've got some bruises and I'll be taking it easy for a few days, but everything's going to be okay."

"We redid your bunk, Colonel," Carter said, with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old working diligently to please a parent. "We put in a board beneath the mattresses so it would be firmer, and then we put two mattresses on it, and we got Langenscheid to get us some extra pillows–"

"Sounds great, Carter." Hogan smiled, but it was strained. His office looked like an oasis in the desert at the moment, and now the door was in sight as he entered the barracks.

"Should we notify London, sir?" Baker asked.

"Notify them of what?" Hogan frowned.

"Colonel," LeBeau spoke up quietly.

"Let them know that I'll have to take it easy on going out in the field for a few days. I can't risk being involved in an operation when I'm not fast enough to keep up. I can direct from here, but I'll have to stay at home base for a little while."

"Right, sir. I'll let them know right away." Baker headed for the tunnel and his radio.

"So let's see this fancy bed set up," Hogan said, unable to deny Carter's enthusiasm for the project. He followed Carter, Newkirk, LeBeau, Olson and a few of the others into his office.

The bottom bunk sported two mattresses–one from each bunk–carefully enclosed together in crisp sheets that looked suspiciously like they'd been lifted from the linens used for Klink's quarters. At least six pillows were arranged on top of it.

"Looks like a bed fit for a king," Hogan said, smiling. "Thanks, guys. I'm sure it'll be great."

"You better rest for a while, sir," Newkirk spoke up. "If you don't mind my sayin' so, you're looking a little peaked, as my dear old mum used to say."

"I think I will lie down for a while. If anything comes up–"

"We'll handle it," LeBeau interrupted. "Isn't that right?" he asked the others, who all nodded and muttered various words of agreement.

"We'll leave you to your rest, sir," Carter said, herding his cohorts out the door. After they'd gone, LeBeau managed to remain behind, the others not seeming to notice he hadn't joined the swell of men leaving the room.

"I thought you could use some help," he said, smiling.

"Yeah, I could." Hogan didn't resist LeBeau's help in removing his jacket and his shoes, and after taking off his own shirt and t-shirt, he let LeBeau take care of his pants and socks. Once the pajama bottoms were in place, LeBeau paused, a hushed gasp escaping at the deep bruising on Hogan's back. Hogan was surprised to feel the soft touch of lips moving lightly over the worst of the bruises.

"Je me souhaite pourrais enlever la douleur," LeBeau whispered, placing one last kiss on Hogan's back before helping him into the pajama top.

"Qu'avez-vous dit, amoureux?" Hogan asked, fumbling with the pronunciation, making LeBeau chuckle a bit. He'd managed to learn how to ask LeBeau, in French, what he was saying. He'd found the word for "lover" in an French to English book of translations LeBeau had among his meager belongings at the camp. Still, Hogan's French accent left a great deal to be desired.

"I said I wished I could take the pain away. And I do. I wish it had been me. I don't like seeing you in pain."

"I love you for worrying about me so much, but I'll be okay. I'm made of pretty tough stuff, Louis. I won't break in half from a few bruises."

"It's more than that, and you know it. You don't have to put on a front with me, remember?"

"I know." Hogan pulled LeBeau into his arms and held on, soaking up the warmth of the body against his. "I wish you could sleep with me. I know it's impossible. I just wish...it weren't impossible."

"I wish the world was different, and that it wouldn't matter. If someone knew, they wouldn't hate us the way I know they would." LeBeau pulled back a bit. "After the war–"

"After the war, we'll find a way to make it work. I don't know how, but we will, somehow."

"You should go to bed."

"The pain pills are getting to me a little, I think," Hogan admitted.

"I can sit with you a while. No one can find fault with that."

"If they do, I'll put them on KP for two weeks solid," Hogan said, grinning as he eased himself onto the bed. "The guys really outdid themselves fixing this up for me. It feels great."

"I'll get those pillows behind your back so if you roll back, it'll be soft." LeBeau solicitously arranged the pillows until Hogan was surrounded by them and had no risk of moving against anything that wasn't cushioned comfort. Hogan was almost asleep when he'd finished. He pulled the stool near the bed and sat there, holding one of Hogan's hands in both of his. "Fermez vos yeux, mon amour. Je resterai près de vous," LeBeau whispered. Hogan had no idea what he'd just said, but the rich sound of his voice and the fluid beauty of the softly spoken French words worked like a lullaby.

********

"Louis?" Hogan muttered sleepily, forcing his heavy eyelids open. The man sitting on the stool near his bed was most certainly not LeBeau. Klink sat where Hogan's lover had been before he fell asleep, and the contrast was a bit unnerving.

"Either your eyesight was badly affected, or you were still asleep when you said that," Klink said, the ghost of a smile on his face.

"LeBeau was worried about me, so he was sitting with me before I dozed off." Hogan winced a little as he moved, regretting the activity immediately.

"I'm glad there was nothing broken, no concussion. Schultz gave me the information from the doctor. Apparently you'll be seeing him again next week."

"With your permission. He's worried about my kidneys. I don't think there's any need to worry."

"I didn't realize you were a medic, Colonel."

"I'm not. You know that, sir," Hogan said, rubbing his forehead. He didn't have the energy to banter with Klink or shower him with false flattery.

"Then you will follow the doctor's orders to an umlaut!" Klink ordered, gesturing for emphasis. Hogan had to smile at that. To his surprise, Klink returned it. It unnerved him when Klink did things like that now, because each time, it seemed as if the kommandant was letting a little of his facade slip. And each time, Klink seemed like less of a bumbling dingbat and more a shrewd coward who'd found a safe place to sit out the war. Many times, he simply seemed lonely. Hogan thought of what a delight his romance with LeBeau was, and what joy it had been the first time they'd made love. The emotional and physical closeness was something Hogan admitted, if only to himself in the middle of the night, he'd felt starved for. The warmth of the friendship he shared with all his men had seen him through a lot in the last few years. Klink had no such network of friends to support him. Sadly, though Hogan was usually using him for his own purposes, Klink seemed to rely on Hogan to keep his life interesting and not quite so solitary.

"Thank you for sending me into town to the doctor," Hogan said. "Since I wasn't bleeding heavily and was up walking around, I know you could have gotten by without doing that."

"I couldn't risk the backlash of bad morale if your injuries were serious and you were to succumb to them without medical care," Klink stated coolly. "It was the best decision for keeping order."

"I see," Hogan said, nodding a little, and then remembering the egg on the back of his head. He wondered if his hair really hurt, or if he was delusional from the pills.

"Burkhalter's coming here tomorrow," Klink said, standing and pacing. "What do you think he wants?"

"I really couldn't guess, kommandant." Hogan made the effort to raise up a bit on the bed. "You're pretty worried about this visit, aren't you?"

"Hogan, it's no secret the Russian Front is a disaster. Our men are dropping like flies. Being sent there is almost certain death." Klink was silent a moment. "I fear the war isn't going well for our side."

"You think Burkhalter is going to deliver a one-way ticket on the Stalingrad Express?"

"I would never be surprised. You know how he's disliked me all these years."

"I thought you considered him a friend, sir."

"Oh, please, Hogan, let's not play that game. You and I both know the man despises me and the only reason I'm not dead or chipping frost off my monocle at the moment is this camp's perfect no-escape record. But with so many heavy losses, perhaps a few escaping prisoners won't worry him as much."

"Let's not borrow trouble. Maybe he's just coming by to inspect things. Or to chew you out for all that champagne you stocked up on last month."

"How did you know about that?" Klink spun on his heel, looking scandalized.

"I have my sources," Hogan replied, grinning. "What were you planning to do, anyway? Give Fat Herman a bath in the stuff?"

"I'll have you know I was planning a social gathering including some very important people. It's possible Marshal Goering would have been on the guest list."

"I see. Well, since Burkhalter hasn't had a chance to guzzle it himself, maybe he's just going to give you a good going over for blowing camp funds on it."

"You really think he'd come all the way from Berlin just for that?" Klink asked.

"If he's bored," Hogan responded. "Unless..."

"Unless...?" Klink repeated, his eyes widening as he returned to his seat on the stool.

"When did Burkhalter call?"

"Less than an hour ago."

"What time is it?"

"Six o'clock."

"When the doctor was examining me, he mentioned that it was a colleague of his who treated LeBeau. He was very suspicious that my injuries were the result of some type of abuse or mistreatment." Hogan held up a forestalling hand. "I explained to him what happened, but I wonder if he reported it somehow, or raised questions about it. He's an older man, didn't really seem afraid of the military. He sure gave Schultz orders easily enough."

"Burkhalter would not like that. Not one bit."

"You didn't do anything wrong, so I don't see how he could blame you because I slipped and fell."

"Trust me, he'll find a way."

"Maybe he has another ugly relative he needs to marry off."

"Thank you, Hogan. You just made the Russian Front look desirable by contrast." Klink was silent a moment, and then he caught the devilish glint in Hogan's eye, and something struck him funny. The two men began to laugh in earnest.

"I'll never forget the look on Gertrude's face when I told her you had volunteered for duty on the Russian Front," Hogan said, still laughing.

"How could anyone ever forget any look on her face?" Klink asked, laughter bubbling up again.

"Or that letter you wrote to her when you thought you were courting Lottie?"

"You dictated that letter," Klink reminded him, shaking a finger in his direction. "'My darling girl'. Indeed."

"How was I supposed to know I was dictating a letter to the abominable snow woman?"

"Of all the danger I've faced in two wars, I think that was the most terrifying moment of my life."

"I'm just glad I was there to share it, sir," Hogan said, grinning evilly.

"It wouldn't have been the same without you, Hogan," Klink said, still chuckling, a light sarcasm in his voice. Underneath it, though, Hogan could hear some truth in the statement. "This situation with your kidneys. How serious is it?"

"They're bruised, and according to the doctor, a bruised kidney can stop functioning, but he thought if I took it easy for a while, I'd heal up just fine. I don't want to make a big thing of it with the men, because we don't need the dip in morale of having me laid up with something serious. I'll be at roll call in the morning."

"You certainly will not." Klink stood, straightening, resuming his commanding officer stance. "The doctor ordered you to rest, and rest you will. Schultz will check on you in the morning to be sure you are still here." Klink paused near the door. "You weren't planning on escaping, were you?" A little of the humor was back.

"Not when I couldn't outrun Burkhalter. I'll be here."

Klink nodded, then left the room, closing the door behind him. A few moments later, LeBeau came in carrying a serving tray bearing a covered dish, a wine bottle and two glasses, and a flower in a small vase.

"I thought you might like to have dinner in here," LeBeau said, setting the tray on Hogan's desk. "I'm sorry about Klink. He insisted on seeing you. I didn't want you disturbed."

"No harm done. Burkhalter's coming tomorrow, and it's got him all wound up."

"You think it means trouble?" LeBeau arranged the pillows behind Hogan's back to prop him into a sitting position. Hogan took the opportunity to steal a kiss.

"I missed our appointment today," he said, his voice dropping to a more sultry tone.

"I miss your touch," LeBeau confessed, caressing Hogan's cheek before moving away and fetching a large napkin he spread on Hogan's lap before setting the plate on it. When Hogan removed the lid and saw a large cheeseburger with french fries looking back at him, he laughed out loud.

"How'd you manage this?"

"I ground the meat, found some cheese, made the roll, and if a Frenchman can't make french fries, what is this world coming to?"

"This is great. I haven't had a cheeseburger...I can't even remember the last one." Hogan began digging in while LeBeau filled the wine glasses. He sat on the edge of Hogan's bed, using the stool for a small table on which to set the wine bottle and glasses. Hogan reached for his, and took a sip, wrinkling his nose as the taste registered. "This is grape juice," he protested.

"Goes better with pain medication than wine, mon amour," LeBeau reminded, smiling. "Just think of it as being a lot fresher than wine."

"I'll work on that," Hogan said, taking another sip. "Tonight might be a good night if you wanted to...visit later."

"What about your back?"

"I'll just have to take it easy. I didn't bruise anything important when I fell."

"I don't think it's such a good idea."

"I think it's a fine idea. The guys aren't likely to disturb me when they know I'm taking pain medication, and Klink knows I can't run and jump fences and crawl through tunnels, so he's not going to check up on me. We know Schultz is usually down for the count most of the night, and he's on guard duty tonight."

"I would like to spend some time together," LeBeau admitted. "But we won't do anything strenuous."

"It's a deal. You'll just have to work extra hard," Hogan said, stifling a smirk as he continued eating.

"Oh, is that so?"

"You don't want me to strain myself, do you? I'm an injured man here," Hogan said, his voice rising an octave.

"Pauvre bébé," LeBeau said, his tone tinged with sarcasm, though he leaned forward and kissed Hogan anyway. "Quelque chose pour vous, mon amour," he added, bumping noses with Hogan.

"I don't know what you said, but I like how you said it. I did catch the 'poor baby', though," Hogan added, grinning slightly.

"I said, 'anything for you, my love.' Maybe I should just speak French to you tonight." LeBeau took a sip of his grape juice.

"I didn't like it that well."

"I'm going to make the ointment from the arnica flowers. I'll bring it with me later."

"That's supposed to work on pain, huh?"

"Oh, yes." LeBeau looked down, smiling a little. "Besides, it'll give me a chance to run my slippery hands all over your body," he said, chuckling as Hogan choked on his grape juice. "Until we meet again," he said, smiling and getting up, picking up the remnants of Hogan's meal and reloading his serving tray.

"You're a hard man, Louis," Hogan quipped, knowing LeBeau would catch the double entendre.

"And now, so are you, Mon Colonel." With an impish smile, LeBeau left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

********

Though much of the painkilling effect of the medication had worn off, Hogan was happy to doze in the makeshift, but more comfortable, nest of mattresses and pillows. The escape business had been a bit slow the last few weeks, and their most exciting mission had been making contact with an Underground agent via Schnitzer's dog truck, then transporting some maps to another agent in town. The greatest challenge had been deciding which bored man got to go meet the reputedly attractive female agent at the local Hofbrau, and picking out civilian clothes that would suitably impress a local fraulein. Carter had ultimately won the toss. Newkirk had been genuinely disappointed, and LeBeau had feigned a bit of unhappiness at not getting the assignment.

Hogan shifted with some difficulty and started thinking about women. Chesty, well-built, curvaceous women. Willing women. His body took a certain interest in the road his thoughts were traveling, but his heart didn't seem to be following. His love for Louis had put him in an odd, split position. His heart and his desire for building a life with someone was firmly entrenched with LeBeau, and he found physical satisfaction and warmth and passion there, too. But if he were honest with himself in the darkness of night, he still occasionally had a tryst in his fantasies with a busty wench from the local pub when his physical needs began making themselves known.

But when he was with LeBeau, really with him in a sexual sense, his thoughts never strayed from the man he was making love with. He didn't need to substitute some fantasy of Hilda in her unmentionables to get excited. Louis was a warm, passionate, inventive lover who adored him. He felt treasured every time he was even in the same room with LeBeau, and while he could remember being loved or desired by numerous women over the years–and they were pretty numerous at times–he couldn't remember feeling quite as...special as he did with LeBeau. Like he was the only man on earth who mattered, like he was the finest male specimen on the planet. Or maybe, more importantly, that he didn't need to be. In LeBeau's eyes, he was a rare jewel of some sort.

Smiling at that thought, he realized what rare jewels LeBeau and his love really were. As much as the thought of women still made his libido jump up and do a little jig, his utter contentment in his relationship with LeBeau probably explained why he'd more or less forgotten to flirt with Hilda. No wonder she'd been firing him some venomous looks when he went to Klink's office.

Slowly, the door opened a bit and LeBeau poked his head inside. A moment later, the rest of him followed, a small pot in one arm, a couple of towels over the other.

"Do I want to know what's in the cauldron?" Hogan quipped as LeBeau carefully placed the small wooden wedge under the door that would delay any unwanted guests until they had time to prepare for them.

"I made the ointment from the arnica flowers. I thought we could try it on your back."

"We'll get to that. Before we start worrying about my back, I want to spend a little time with you." Hogan had worked his way back toward the wall before LeBeau came in, allowing enough space for the smaller man to fit himself into the bunk. It occurred to Hogan how nicely LeBeau fit there in his arms as they snuggled together. With LeBeau in his longjohns and Hogan in his pajamas, there was very little barrier between their bodies as they shared the narrow bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good, now." Hogan sought LeBeau's mouth with his own, initiating a long, slow kiss. "I've missed you. Missed this."

"So have I. It's so hard to be close to you, and not touch you, not let it show."

"I know. For me, too."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I know, but wasn't the change of subjects fun?" Hogan grinned.

"Fun, but obvious."

"I've had worse."

"When?"

"When you were hurt," Hogan answered honestly. "Nothing compared to that." He let out a long breath. "That's when I realized what I felt for you. That I felt...too much for you."

"You cannot love someone too much."

"Oh, good," Hogan said, smiling and moving in for another kiss. "Because if you could, I do."

"You sweet talk all your lovers this way?"

"Pretty much," Hogan admitted, chuckling. "But when I say something to you, I mean it."

"Then tell me, truthfully, how bad the pain is tonight."

"It hurts," Hogan admitted quietly. "The pills helped for a while, but they've worn off."

"You should take more. The instructions were every six hours."

"You ever try to get passionate on painkillers? The pain isn't the only thing they kill."

"Do you feel up to getting passionate?" LeBeau asked, kissing a trail along Hogan's neck.

"I already am," he responded, wrapping both arms firmly around LeBeau and capturing his mouth again. LeBeau's hand strayed down to the front of Hogan's pajama bottoms, brushing over a rapidly growing erection.

"Let me take care of you, mon amour," LeBeau said against Hogan's mouth as they dissolved into another prolonged kiss.

"Stay up here with me. We'll take care of each other."

Questing hands found hardening shafts, and they pumped together, stroking one another while they kissed and nibbled at one another, sharing the slow, lazy lovemaking as if savoring the most exquisite wine. Hogan quickly stifled the beginnings of LeBeau's little cry of pleasure in a kiss, his hand still busy drawing the final shudders of climax from him. Hogan knew the nagging pain he was in slowed his arousal, but LeBeau's insistent ministrations and watching his lover's climax pushed him over the edge until he gasped into the pillow to stifle the sound as he came.

"Someday, we're going to have a beautiful room, with a beautiful big bed, and balcony doors that we open and the night breeze comes in–"

"Sounds like you have someplace in mind."

"Just a fantasy," LeBeau admitted, smiling a little self-consciously.

"It's a nice one." Hogan closed his eyes, smiling and picturing what LeBeau was describing. "How would you feel about a halfway decent apartment in New York with a window in the bedroom we could leave open at night?"

"You sound serious," LeBeau said, rising up on one elbow.

"I've been trying to think of places we could go, live the way we want, without people paying too much attention. I can't take you home to my family and live in the same town without them hounding me about getting married and settling down–and rumors starting up when neither one of us do. You can't take me home to your family in France and then set up housekeeping there where they'd all know us and be watching us. It has to be somewhere where we're anonymous. Where we're just two more veterans returning from the War, getting jobs, sharing a typical bachelor apartment."

"But we could still visit France? I have to be able to go home sometimes. I love Paris...but not as much as I love you," he added, leaning up for another kiss.

"Of course, we'd visit, Louis. I would never want to take you away from what you love. If you know a place in France that would be similar to New York in its anonymity, I'll go there with you."

"Paris is a large city," LeBeau said thoughtfully. "You mean, you would leave America behind to live with me?"

"I want to be with you. Wherever that ends up taking us."

"So do I." LeBeau smiled. "I guess we'll just have to find the best place?"

"Do some exploring together. Travel a bit. See the world. What do you think of that? Two carefree bachelors out to see the world."

"I would love it! But how could we afford it?"

"We're both going to have a lot of back pay built up. I had a little money saved before the War. We can make our money last long enough to do a little traveling, and still have enough to find a decent apartment. We can make it work, Louis. We just have to be careful...about all of it."

"Oui, I know." With a final kiss, LeBeau moved away, picking up one of the towels and offering it to Hogan, who used it for a quick clean off before handing it back to LeBeau, who did the same. "Let's try some of this," he suggested, holding up the small pot with the homemade remedy in it.

"Do I eat it or wear it?" Hogan asked, smiling.

"You wear it. I rub it into your back, and it helps the pain from the bruising."

"I wish you'd told me about this when you were hurt," Hogan said, shedding his pajama top and working his way onto his stomach, grunting at the discomfort the movement awakened.

"I didn't think of it. The only reason I remembered it today was seeing the flowers. I remembered my grandmother gathering them and making this ointment. She used to use it for bruises, sprains, muscle pulls, everything." LeBeau sat on the side of the bed.

"How does it look?"

"Like it hurts," LeBeau responded softly, resting the palm of his hand gently in the middle of Hogan's back. "The color is more vivid tonight."

"I'm starting to feel it through my neck and shoulders and down into my legs. Probably the impact."

"Good, it's still warm. I wanted to take the chill off it before putting it on you, so I warmed it just a bit."

"That didn't wake anyone?"

"Just Newkirk, and I told him I was taking you something to help your back. He went back to sleep. He didn't seem to think anything of it."

"He won't unless he wakes up and you're still not out there."

"You couldn't sleep so I kept you company for a while."

"You're such a smooth liar you'd almost think you were a spy or something."

"Who, moi?" LeBeau began at the base of Hogan's neck, and worked outward toward his shoulders, gently massaging the taut muscles with the soothing ointment. Hogan groaned in contentment, the feel of LeBeau's hands moving over him, easing the pain, relaxing him until he worried he'd drift off to sleep. And sleeping meant losing what few precious moments they had to be intimate with each other.

"Feels like it's helping already."

"I haven't worked on the worst part yet. I'm afraid it'll probably hurt a bit for me to rub this in where you're bruised."

"I trust you," Hogan responded calmly. And he did. With his life and his love, so why not a couple bruises? LeBeau was right; it was painful to have pressure on the most tender areas, but it seemed that shortly after, they felt less fierce in their throbbing. He wasn't sure if that was all in his mind, or if LeBeau's potion was really working.

"Almost done, mon amour." LeBeau finished his ministrations as quickly and gently as he could. "We should put a t-shirt under your pajamas so anything that might stain will go on that." LeBeau wiped his hands thoroughly on the remaining clean towel, then fetched the t-shirt from Hogan's locker. He reluctantly relinquished it to Hogan, who slowly put it on himself. LeBeau held the pajama top, and once it was on, sat on the bed to button it.

"I didn't break all my fingers, Louis," Hogan joked, chuckling at the pampering, but still enjoying it.

"It is hard for you to let someone take care of you, isn't it?" LeBeau asked, reaching up and caressing Hogan's cheek, pushing a few errant strands of hair back from his face. Hogan caught the hand and held it against his face.

"Not really. You've been doing that for years now."

"I haven't done all that much. I have to guess when you need me."

"You always guess right, so it's a good system," Hogan countered, grinning. Then, becoming a little more serious, he added, "I've never been really sick or worried or depressed that you didn't notice and do your best to be there for me."

"I wish I didn't have to go back out there. I want to sleep with you."

"I want you to. What time is it?" Hogan squinted at his watch. "We've got a couple hours 'til roll call."

"You should take your pain medication. Klink excused you from roll call, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. I'm going to try to make it, though. Better for the men to see me out there as always."

"We know you're here, and we know you're in command, and we know you'd do what had to be done if you had to crawl on your hands and knees to do it, so our faith isn't going to be shaken if you sleep in one morning."

"You're really pushy, you know that, right?"

"Of course, I know. Besides, here, like this, you can't pull rank on me."

"I can't, huh?"

"You could, but you wouldn't."

"Pretty sure of yourself, huh?"

"With you I am." LeBeau went to get Hogan's pain medication and a cup of water that was sitting on the desk. "This water is a little old. You want some fresh?"

"Don't disturb everybody. This'll be fine." Hogan swallowed the pills and then eased himself back down on his side. LeBeau returned to the bed and stretched out beside him, not wanting to sacrifice even a few more minutes before the pain medication and the massage did their magic and Hogan would be sleeping.

"This is nice," LeBeau said, smiling as he snuggled against Hogan, his head on Hogan's chest. "I can hear your heartbeat."

"That's a relief," Hogan said, smiling, kissing the top of LeBeau's head. "I think the ointment's working."

"The pain pills probably helped, too."

"Not that fast. I think you and your potion are better medicine than the pills." Hogan was quiet a moment. "I'm sorry I missed our date in the tunnel this afternoon. Klink and his damn 'beautification' project. I knew that was an idea that would come back to haunt me someday."

"What really happened that made you fall?"

"The steps were wet, and I think there might have been something else on them, like a few stray weeds. It looked like someone had been weeding out there, and some of that was on the step as well. My shoes are getting pretty worn at the bottom, so it probably wouldn't take much for me to lose my footing on slippery wet wood."

"Bradley in Barracks 8 used to work in a shoe store. Maybe he'd know how to put new soles on them, or something on the bottom so they aren't so slippery."

"I'm sorry tonight ended up with us talking about my shoes. I didn't exactly show you a good time."

"Just being with you is enough."

"That's me. Life of the party," Hogan quipped, snorting a little laugh.

"You don't really believe that just being with you is something special for me? That you don't have to do anything, prove anything, put on any acts for me?"

"I've never been with anyone like you."

"That's a fair statement," LeBeau said, smiling.

"I don't mean because you're a man. You're the first person I ever had in my life who didn't want me to be...something."

"How do you mean?" LeBeau started taking an interest in Hogan's neck and chest again, trailing kisses anywhere he could reach.

"If you're going to do that, don't expect me to talk." Hogan was still smiling when he continued. "Well, there's Robert Hogan, dutiful son and basketball team leader, Bob Hogan, big man on campus, Bob Hogan, life of the party, Colonel Hogan, bomber squadron commander, Colonel Robert E. Hogan, Senior POW Officer, Stalag 13, Papa Bear, and just about any rank of kraut officer the situation might call for," he added, snickering. "There's always a role."

"Not if it's really love. When you really love someone, you might admire them for the roles they can play, but what you really love is what's underneath. Your rank and your past and all the things you can do...I respect you for all that, but I don't love you for it. I would love you if you were the guy who sold me croissants at the bakery back home. What I love is what is inside of you that shines out in your eyes and the way you smile at me." LeBeau paused. "Of course, I know you're only after me for my body," he quipped, and Hogan laughed, though it was a little shaky.

"I think that's probably the most incredible thing anyone's ever said to me," he said, pulling LeBeau into a tight hug. LeBeau returned the pressure, but carefully avoided the bruised areas.

"You should sleep a while, mon amour," he said gently, loosening the embrace. "I'll stay as long as I can."

"It's getting a little rough fighting the medication. I didn't want to lose a minute," Hogan said, smiling even as his eyes were drifting shut.

"We'll have a lot more time. I'll be here as long as you want me."

"We've got a long time, then," Hogan said through a yawn, and a moment later, he was sleeping.

********

"I am sure by now that Colonel Hogan has reassured you all that he is in fine health, and merely suffered a few minor injuries from the fall yesterday," Klink began. "He was excused from roll call this morning due to pain medication which requires more sleep than our usual 7 AM roll call would provide. As you know, in keeping with Stalag 13's policy of fair and humane treatment, Colonel Hogan was seen and treated by one of our own civilian doctors."

"Sounds like cruel and unusual punishment to me," one prisoner shouted from among the crowd, breaking the rest of the group up in laughter.

"Another outburst like that and you'll find yourselves locked out of the Recreation Hall for two weeks!" Klink bellowed. Fair and humane be damned. If they're going to act like children, they'll be suitably punished.

"You can't do that, kommandant." Hogan's voice startled all the men gathered there as the senior POW officer made his way slowly but steadily to his usual place for roll call. "The big ping pong tournament's this weekend," he concluded.

Klink could do little more than watch and wait while the prisoners cheered Hogan's arrival, with whistles and applause. You'd think Honey Hornburg and her Stuttgart Steppers just danced across the compound, the way they rejoiced at Hogan's appearance. Klink straightened his posture and refused to give in to the flare of jealousy he felt at the obvious affection Hogan's men had for him. Hogan was gesturing with his hands for them to pipe down, smiling all the time. And, as if by magic, the camp fell more effectively silent than if Klink had fired a machine gun in the air.

"Colonel Hogan, may I remind you that you are under doctor's orders, and more importantly, my orders, to rest?"

"If I rest anymore, I'll have bedsores. Besides, I hate to miss one of your early morning addresses, sir."

Klink resisted the impulse to let Hogan get a rise out of him. It was an old game between them, and honestly, Klink admitted, if only to himself, he'd miss it when Hogan was no longer a part of his daily life. The man was alternately the bane of his existence and one of the few friends he had. Well, in a bizarre sort of way.

"As you know, this camp is beginning to show signs of aging, and some of the buildings and grounds are showing signs of neglect," Klink began. "I have decided that we will spend the spring and early summer restoring Stalag 13 to a state of excellent repair, and in addition, add certain aesthetic elements such as benches and new plantings. Corporal Langenscheid is currently in town, obtaining prices for lumber, plants, and other supplies we will need for the project. Colonel Hogan, I expect you to identify from among your men those who are skilled in wood working, landscaping, painting and general building maintenance to serve as foremen for the work details."

"Anything to spruce up the old homestead, Kommandant. Right, fellas?" Hogan waited with a slight grin while the question drew everything from nods to grumbles.

"That will be all. Dismissed!" Klink announced, turning on his heel and heading back into his office. He resisted his urge to ask Hogan how he was feeling or make any further comment on his need to rest or obey doctor's orders. While he had an uneasy truce of sorts with Hogan, he couldn't risk being accused of fraternizing, or, God forbid, treason. Besides, while it was occasionally tempting to fall into the trap of thinking of Hogan as a friend, Klink well remembered that Hochstetter had once referred to Hogan as one of "the most dangerous men in Germany". No matter how charming, friendly, or downright harmless Hogan could appear, Klink knew better than to trust him too much.

********

"Are you all right, Colonel?" LeBeau asked, at Hogan's side the moment the roll call was over.

"I'm moving a little slower than usual, but I'll be fine." Hogan turned at the sound of a car coming through the gates. "Looks like Burkhalter just arrived."

"Fire up the coffee pot?" Baker suggested.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Hogan replied, starting back toward the barracks.

The men gathered in Hogan's office and connected their listening device. LeBeau was in his usual spot next to Hogan, watching his lover with great concern. Hogan was in pain, that much was obvious, even though it was only visible in the occasionally strained look in his eyes. Using the excuse of the huddle around the coffee pot, LeBeau pressed close, hoping his physical presence would be a little soothing. Though unnoticeable to the others, LeBeau could feel Hogan lean into him just a bit.

"Let us dispense with the formalities, Klink," Burkhalter's voice came through the small speaker. "I'm sure you know why I am here."

"A routine inspection, sir?" Klink offered hopefully.

"I received an interesting report originating from a local doctor. I understand you had Schultz take Hogan to the office of a Dr. Kohler in Hammelburg?"

"Yes, sir, I did. He fell and appeared to be hurt, so I sent him into town for x-rays and an examination."

"The doctor is convinced you are abusing your prisoners here. It seems a colleague of his was brought to camp not too long ago to treat Corporal LeBeau's injuries." Burkhalter paused. "You told him they were the result of the actions of a renegade guard."

"I could hardly tell him they were the results of an assault by a field marshal."

"You could have told him the other prisoners did it. Instead, you chose to blame one of your men, even if not by name. The point is, Klink, you directed the disgrace for such behavior on the Third Reich, not on a stalag full of prisoners!"

"With all due respect, General, the assault was made by our side. I didn't feel it was ethical to blame the prisoners for such gross misconduct, and I understood it was necessary to respect the field marshal's rank and not name him as the assailant."

"This is the kind of thing that eventually makes its way back to the Fuhrer."

"I hardly think he would be unduly troubled by the mistreatment of a couple of POW's."

"He would be troubled by scandal, and when there are not one, but two, civilian doctors suspicious of the goings-on here, that has all the makings of a scandal. One prisoner is raped, and now the senior officer is treated for what looks suspiciously like severe blows to his back."

"I would never do such a thing, Herr General. In all the years I've been kommandant here, I have never raised a hand to one of the prisoners, and I would never think of settling a dispute with Hogan by beating him with a heavy object until his kidneys were bruised."

"You misunderstand me, Klink. Which is to be expected," Burkhalter said with a sigh. "I am not worried about Hogan and his men. They can take care of themselves, and I wouldn't assume you would have your camp under a reign of terror," Burkhalter concluded, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I don't understand what you're saying, General."

"What I am saying, Klink, is that you are incurring unnecessary expense and raising awkward questions among the civilian population by sending your prisoners to civilian doctors every time they stub their toes!"

"There was nothing I could do about Field Marshal Von Gruner's...activities here, but in the name of humane treatment, I did not feel refusing Corporal LeBeau adequate medical care was called for. As for Colonel Hogan, he was temporarily unconscious, and the doctor stated his kidneys were bruised and ordered rest."

"I thought you said he slipped on the porch. How do you do all that damage falling down on the porch?"

********

"I'm a highly skilled officer," Hogan said into the coffee pot, smiling as he drew quiet laughter from his team.

********

"He slipped on the steps, and when he fell, he hit his back on the wood steps and the back of his head on the porch. He was fortunate not to have a concussion."

"The prisoners have no medic among them?"

"Yes, sir, they do, but without x-rays, he was unable to make a diagnosis."

"Hogan was on his feet and walking?"

"Yes, but–"

"Then he didn't need a trip into town to see the doctor." Burkhalter paused. "It seems to me, Klink, that you are becoming far too familiar and far too concerned with these prisoners. More like a doting father than a prison camp kommandant. Perhaps it is time for a change of scenery."

"I assure you, Herr General, I continue to maintain the strictest discipline here at Stalag 13. May I remind you, sir, that we have never had a successful–"

"Enough, Klink. That is not the primary reason I came here today."

********

"No, you just like to shoot at Klink's feet for the hell of it, you fat slob," Hogan commented, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head. Sometimes Burkhalter's propensity for dropping by to terrorize Klink with the Russian Front reminded Hogan of a couple of oversized bullies he'd known as a child who used to frighten other children for the sheer joy of it.

"You feeling a bit sorry for old Blood and Guts, Colonel?" Newkirk teased with a smile.

"I've never thought much of bullies, and Klink doesn't deserve to get scolded for acting like a human being. Of course, this is Germany."

"The monsters don't want any signs of humanity in their prison keepers," LeBeau agreed.

********

"Our intelligence has uncovered that Field Marshal Von Gruner was taken into Allied custody initially, before providing substantial information to the enemy. Of course, that does not change the fact he is a traitor, nor does it exonerate him from a certain death sentence should he be taken in to German custody at some future time."

"That's very interesting," Klink said. "I still don't understand what it has to do with me or Stalag 13."

"I would think that is quite obvious. The last thing Von Gruner did before he disappeared was to visit this camp."

"But he left the camp under his own power, in his staff car."

"So you have told me," Burkhalter responded. "One of the last people he talked to was Colonel Hogan. I am under orders from the Fuhrer to get to the bottom of the Von Gruner situation. I have the feeling if I do that, I will find Hogan there."

"Hogan? How could Hogan have anything to do with it? He's a prisoner!"

"Yes, he is a prisoner. Still, stranger things have happened than prisoners having access to outside connections. You will send for Hogan at once. I want to question him."

"I'm sure he's resting, General. Perhaps–"

"Resting?" Burkhalter's tone bode of a building rage. "You propose to keep me waiting because I've interrupted Hogan's nap time?!" Burkhalter bellowed.

"No, of course not, sir. I'll send for him right away."

********

"You feeling up to taking on Burkhalter, sir?" Baker asked as Hogan disconnected the coffee pot.

"Don't have much choice. The pain pills are wearing off, so I'm not too foggy. LeBeau, why don't you come with me? If Burkhalter wants proof I'm in bad shape, let's give it to him."

********

Burkhalter grew impatient, up and pacing now as Klink sat nervously behind his desk. Finally, the office door opened, and Hogan made his way slowly in, LeBeau supporting his right arm solicitously. It had taken Hogan much longer than usual to make it across the compound, and not all of his leaning on LeBeau was feigned, but he was definitely making the most of the situation.

"I see you finally decided to join us, Hogan," Burkhalter said sarcastically.

"Sorry about that, sir. I was about to take some of my medication when Schultz came to gt me. I'm not moving too swiftly right now."

"Corporal LeBeau, you are dismissed," Burkhalter said, and LeBeau looked at Hogan. "You have been given an order, Corporal. Do not look at Hogan for confirmation."

"Colonel Hogan is my commanding officer, General."

"Do as he says, LeBeau," Hogan said quickly, unnerved at the thought that LeBeau was prepared to take on Burkhalter simply to stay there and hold onto his arm. "I'll be fine."

"So this is your iron discipline, Klink? The prisoners only obey if Colonel Hogan concurs with your orders?"

"Sir, if I may say something here," Hogan interjected. "Ordinarily such an order would have been obeyed without question, but LeBeau knows I'm injured, and I'm sure he was only hesitating in case the General didn't realize I needed assistance to walk back to the barracks when our meeting is over." Hogan shot a very pointed look at LeBeau, who responded on cue.

"Oui, that is true, General. I beg your pardon, sir."

"Very well. You are dismissed," Burkhalter snapped. This time, LeBeau fled the room at the proper speed. "Have a seat, Hogan," Burkhalter instructed, and Hogan eased himself into the stiff office chair. "I understand you had a bit of an accident yesterday."

"It was pretty foolish, really. My foot slipped on something on the steps, and I fell. Unfortunately, the steps caught me in a bad place on my back. I was unconscious for a bit, and the pain was pretty intense, so the kommandant was kind enough to send me into town for x-rays and a check up."

"Yes, I am aware of Colonel Klink's...kindness. I am more concerned with the content of your last meeting with Field Marshal Von Gruner. We all know that the story you two conjured up for Major Hochstetter was completely false. I am fully aware of what happened to Corporal LeBeau, and also find it unlikely you would negotiate sending him to Von Gruner's country house as a cook in return for a little meat and extra showers for the men. But what I don't know is what really happened here that night."

"I said all I had to say about my meeting with Von Gruner when I spoke to Major Hochstetter."

"You can't expect me to believe that nonsense?" Burkhalter demanded.

"I can't change what you believe or don't believe, sir. But you're implying that I lied to the Gestapo, and something like that can shorten a man's life considerably. So if you're looking for me to tell you something different, it won't happen."

"You'd be amazed what prisoners will say under the right circumstances," Burkhalter stated, making an obvious threat.

********

"We can't just stand here and wait for him to torture Colonel Hogan," LeBeau protested as the other men stayed clustered in silence around the coffee pot.

"Colonel Hogan wouldn't want us barging in there and blowing the whole operation. Not yet," Carter said, shifting a little uneasily where he stood. "Besides, the colonel always seems to handle the krauts all right."

"He's already hurt. What if they get rough with him? You know what the doctor said about his kidneys and taking it easy!"

"Burkhalter couldn't get rough with much of anything besides a plate of sauerbraten, and Klink's not going to torture him," Baker stated calmly. "We just have to cool it."

********

"General Burkhalter, would it be wise for us to recant any statements we made to the Gestapo in the past?" Klink asked. "If the Gestapo even detects the slightest air of deception here, there's no telling who might be blamed. After all, they would have no way of knowing how far reaching such a cover up was."

Hogan tried not to gape at Klink with his jaw slack, but it was difficult. Klink had never proven himself very adept and clever in the past, but his smooth, confident, subtle suggestion that Burkhalter might find himself strung up like a goose for Gestapo interrogation was verbal footwork that would have made Hogan himself proud.

"I have been involved in no cover up!" Burkhalter bellowed. Hogan watched with interest as Klink didn't flinch or back down like he usually did. Deciding to remain silent through this turning point, Hogan knew he would either witness the solving of the problem or Klink's one-way ticket on the Stalingrad Express.

"If I may remind the General, I made you aware of the situation with Corporal LeBeau the very night it occurred. I was never at any time dishonest with you about the difficulty we had with the Field Marshal. With all due respect, Herr General, when you declined to become involved, it was necessary for me to decide what was best to keep order, and to satisfy the Gestapo's curiosity. As you can see, both of those goals were accomplished. Begging the General's pardon, I see no benefit in going back to the Gestapo now and telling them we were not entirely truthful."

"You know you weren't directly involved, General, but you're in charge of all the Luft Stalags in the area, and I doubt Hochstetter and his goons would easily accept your denial of any knowledge of what was going on between us and Von Gruner," Hogan said, deciding Klink was doing a superb job but needed some back-up. It was time to tag-team Burkhalter, and Hogan had to adjust his thinking to include Klink as an able partner in such an effort. "Actually, you did know that much, and decided not to share that information with the Gestapo."

"You would be wise to hold your tongue, Hogan. If I had shared any such information with the Gestapo, you would have most likely been dead months ago."

"Possibly, but I wouldn't have gone out alone," Hogan said. "And I still wouldn't. I think you know that."

"My reputation with the Fuhrer speaks for itself," Burkhalter announced, straightening his posture as he strode about the room.

"So did Von Gruner's, and now he's at the top of Hitler's most wanted list."

"I can see this is a futile conversation." Burkhalter picked up his hat and gloves from their resting place on the corner of Klink's desk. "I cannot assure you that the Gestapo will not have additional questions. Since you insist that what you are telling them is the truth, you should have nothing to worry about in answering them." Burkhalter paused at the door, and without turning, said, "Klink, you are becoming far too familiar with your prisoners, and far too lenient. Tighten up the way things are run in this camp, or you will find yourself Eastward bound. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, sir," Klink responded. Both men heaved a sigh of relief when Burkhalter exited, slamming the door behind him. "You think he'll leave the Von Gruner situation alone now?" Klink asked Hogan, who sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"I can't see much reason for him to stir it up. He lied to them, too. I think that slips his mind from time to time. They might not believe just one of us saying he was in on it, but both of us? He can't really throw his considerable weight around here as easily as he used to. He can take us down but he'll be going with us."

"He knows something's going on." Klink sat behind his desk again. "The only way he's seen me be 'familiar' or 'easy' on the prisoners has to do with offering some medical treatment, and that doesn't qualify as fraternization."

"You handled the situation quite well, Kommandant." Hogan looked pointedly at Klink, as if to convey his growing skepticism about Klink's dingbat act. More and more, it seemed like an act, and more and more, snatches of the real Klink seemed to be rising to the surface.

"Thank you, Hogan. I have my moments."

"More of them lately, it seems."

"That will be all, Hogan. You may go." Klink seemed flustered by the conversation, and busied himself at his desk with paperwork that was surely less urgent than he was pretending.

Hogan pushed himself up with a grunt of pain. He wanted to curse aloud that a stupid fall on two lousy steps was making him dotter like an old man. That he couldn't even rise and stride out of Klink's office when he was dismissed. He was surprised when Klink appeared at his side and supported his arm as he worked at straightening his back and getting his footing.

"Thanks. Sitting down is no problem. Getting up is another story," Hogan said, smiling.

"You should get some rest, Hogan. There was little point in my sending you to the doctor if you aren't going to follow his orders."

"I'm not used to being an invalid," Hogan said before he realized he'd even said it out loud.

"I would hardly say you were an invalid. Of course, you Americans are very impatient. One day you aren't in top condition, and you've branded yourself a cripple," Klink concluded. "I'm escorting you to your quarters, and confining you there for the remainder of the day. I don't want to see you in the compound, or at roll call, until further notice. That's an order, Hogan."

"You're ordering me to lie around my quarters? I'll go nuts in there."

"I could put you in the cooler, you know." Klink was escorting Hogan by one arm out of the office, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Hilda as the two of them made their way to the door, and onto the porch. LeBeau was waiting at the foot of the fateful two steps, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. "Remember, Hogan–you are confined to quarters until further notice." With that, Klink turned on his heel and strode through the door, closing it decisively behind him.

"What was that for?" LeBeau seemed outraged at what sounded like disciplinary action. Hogan accepted his help down the steps, but reduced his dependence on LeBeau to a hand on his shoulder as they walked slowly across the compound.

"So I'll follow the doctor's orders and rest. Burkhalter should be worried. Klink's turning into a human being, and that's not an acceptable trait in Hitler's Germany."

"I thought maybe he was taking it out on you because Burkhalter was here scolding him."

"No. He did all right with Burkhalter." Hogan shook his head, then brought his hand up to his forehead, regretting the motion. For a blow that wasn't a concussion, it was certainly causing him enough pain. "I think we may have misjudged the kommandant all these years." Hogan snorted a laugh. "And here I've been priding myself on my cleverness, and I have the uncanny feeling he's been playing the game with me all this time, rather than me just moving him around the chessboard like a brainless pawn."

"Even if Klink played along sometimes, it doesn't mean that you've accomplished any less in the last few years than you did before you thought he was occasionally onto something."

"You're good for my ego, Louis, but let's face it. No one could be as stupid as Klink seemed to be sometimes, and something kept telling me that he couldn't be that dense."

"Maybe he's just wising up now. After all, he knows about at least a part of our operation."

"Yeah, maybe."

"How about a back rub and some cocoa to go with your painkillers?"

"Sounds like paradise."

Carter, Newkirk and Baker were gathered around the table playing cards when they walked in. A few of the other prisoners were on their bunks reading, while others were outside soaking up a bit of sunshine.

"Sounds like everything's under control with Klink," Baker said as Hogan paused by the table.

"So far, so good. I'm going to take it easy for a while, so if you guys need me, or anything comes up, just knock loudly in case I'm sleeping."

"We'll be fine, Colonel. You should rest a while," Carter said seriously. Hogan had to smile at the genuine concern.

"Good idea, Carter. Don't blow anything up while I'm asleep, okay?"

"If you insist," Carter quipped back, smiling.

"You have any more of your magic pain potion, LeBeau?" Hogan asked, the question sounding as casual as intended.

"Oui, Mon Colonel. I'll be right there."

As Hogan entered his office, he noticed a sheet of paper on his desk. Picking it up, he saw that it was the list of work assignments for the previous day. Confused at why it was left there, he frowned, scanning it. One item caught his eye.

"Sweep porch and steps around kommandant's office – LeBeau"

"I think I have enough of the ointment left over. I'll have to get Schultz to take me out for more flowers," LeBeau closed the door behind him.

"Do you know who left this in here?" Hogan asked, holding up the paper.

"What is it?"

"Yesterday's work assignments."

"I don't know why anyone would leave it in here. Maybe Schultz left it here." LeBeau was quiet a moment. "Something wrong?"

"I was just noticing item number 4 on the list." He handed it to LeBeau.

"Oh no."

"Louis, I'm not blaming you for yesterday. That's not why I showed it to you. I'm just curious who wanted me to see this. I looked over the work schedule a few days ago–I didn't really remember who was doing the porch which day. Someone's obviously either jealous or suspicious of the time we spend together."

"It's all my fault. I'm so sorry, mon amour. I would never–"

"Hey, stop it. Listen to me." Hogan took a hold of LeBeau's shoulders. "I'm not angry at you and I don't blame you. You weren't paying any more attention to this than I was to Klink's rattling on about beautifying the camp. We had other things on our minds. Hell, I probably fell on my ass because I was too busy thinking lecherous thoughts about chasing you around in the tunnel and wasn't watching where I was going. I feel like a damned idiot. It's not your fault I fell just because there was a little rainwater or a few leaves on the step."

"If I had swept the steps, you wouldn't have fallen."

"No, maybe not. But it doesn't make it your fault. It was an accident, and you missing that work assignment was an honest mistake. What really concerns me is who wanted me to see this, and why."

"I feel terrible about this. I would never hurt you."

"I know that, mon chair," Hogan said. Despite having looked so stricken a moment earlier, LeBeau burst out laughing. "What did I say?"

"I know what you meant to say, but it's what you said," LeBeau managed through his laughter. "We have to give you some official French lessons."

"What did I say?" Hogan insisted, smiling.

"I think you were trying to say 'mon cher'–which is roughly the same as 'my dear'. What you did say was 'mon chair'–which means 'my flesh'."

"Oh," Hogan said, unable to resist sharing the laugh. "Sorry about that. Well, if we hadn't gotten sidetracked yesterday, it would have been my flesh."

"It still is, but we need to work on your pronunciation."

"You can work on anything you want." Hogan pulled him close and claimed his mouth in a passionate kiss. When LeBeau moved away, however, he was all business, like any good nursemaid should be.

"Right now, it should be your back. I brought water so you could take your pills."

"Right now, I need to have a little talk with everybody." Hogan said, waving the paper and heading toward the door.

"Wait! Won't it look worse if we make a big issue out of it?"

"Someone left this in here for a reason, and that someone is a coward. I don't want cowards in my outfit. If anybody's got something to say, they're going to say it now. I won't tolerate this kind of schoolgirl tattling, leaving notes on the teacher's desk." He rattled the paper angrily before walking out into the main room. He approached the table, noticing that most of the men who had been outside were now back inside, and the barracks was just about full. "I want everybody's attention right now. Obviously, someone here has something to say to me about this, but is too yellow to do it in person. Maybe they're trying to imply that I don't know what my own men are doing each day, or maybe they don't like their work assignment, or maybe it's something else, but whatever it is, I'm not going to know it from this approach, am I?"

"What is it, Colonel?" Carter asked, frowning.

"Yesterday's work assignments. Someone left it on my desk. Obviously, that someone is a coward who can't approach me face to face, like a man, and say what he has to say." Greeted with utter silence, Hogan folded up the paper in four neat squares. "I'm only going to say this one time. There is no place for cowards in this unit. I will find out what this is about, and when I do, I'll take the appropriate action."

"With all due respect, sir, what kind of action? All someone did is leave a paper on your desk," Baker spoke up.

"My door is always open for any of my men, and I've never reprimanded anyone for asking me a question or expressing concerns about my orders or my decisions within the confines of military courtesy, as long as it didn't jeopardize an operation. That someone would take such a vague, cowardly approach to telling me something is a slap in the face to everything this command has been about." With that, Hogan turned and retreated to his office, shutting the door decisively behind him.

"You better let him cool off a bit," Newkirk said, noticing that LeBeau began following Hogan toward his office. "Unless it was you who put that on his desk. Your way of admitting it was you who didn't sweep the steps yesterday."

LeBeau stared at him a moment, not just sure how to answer that. He honestly hadn't noticed the work assignment, and he knew that was because he was too busy rushing through his other assigned tasks so he could rendezvous with Hogan in the tunnel. If he'd known, confessing to Hogan, to his lover and best friend, would have been the very first thing he'd have done.

"I can't believe you would accuse me of that," he said, finally.

"I can't believe any of us would do that, or that we'd be sitting here accusing each other of it." Carter sighed, leaning his chin on the heel of his hand. "Who says it's one of us? Could have been one of the krauts."

"Or somebody from another barracks," Olson spoke up, shrugging. "It's not like we're the only ones who are ever in here."

"Sorry, Louis," Newkirk said. "I didn't mean to say that."

"But you thought that of me."

"I thought it was possible. I knew you were the one who missed that work assignment, and I thought you might be looking for an easy way to tell the Colonel."

"Well, it wasn't me."

LeBeau set about making the cocoa he'd promised Hogan, figuring it would give him a more natural excuse to go to Hogan's door and disappear into his office again for a while. The others seemed to know LeBeau was waiting on their commanding officer and tending to his injuries somehow, so they hadn't raised too many questions, or eyebrows, about his constant close proximity to Hogan. Still, as Newkirk had observed when Hogan chose LeBeau to accompany him to the doctor, it seemed peculiar that their medic was never Hogan's choice to assist him with any of his medical needs.

When the cocoa was ready, LeBeau filled a large mug and took it with him to knock on Hogan's door. Before he did so, Carter broke what had become a tense silence.

"Maybe that'll put him in a better mood."

"Wish me luck," LeBeau said, feigning concern about Hogan's mood. He knew he'd be welcomed with open arms, but the others didn't have to know that. He tapped on the door, and at Hogan's grunted response, entered the office, closing the door behind him.

"That went well," Hogan said. He was sitting on his bunk in his robe, looking as if he'd stripped off everything else.

"No one is admitting leaving it there. Some of the guys think it might be someone from another barracks. It could be, you know."

"I know. I probably shouldn't have come on that strong."

"I brought your cocoa. It will need a little time to cool." LeBeau set it on the desk.

"That back rub offer still stand?"

"Of course it does." LeBeau sat next to him on the bed a moment, reaching up to caress Hogan's hair lightly. "Your head is hurting, too."

"Let's just say it's doing a better job on the drums than I do at the moment."

"Maybe the massage will help." LeBeau kissed Hogan's cheek and his temple, and Hogan had to smile at the sweet, comforting gesture.

Hogan tossed the robe aside, and LeBeau wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved to see Hogan still had his shorts on. They really weren't safe to do anything more than the massage, which could easily be explained as the pain-relieving activity it was. LeBeau brought the covers up to Hogan's waist, to keep him from being chilled. He scooped some of the ointment into his hand and warmed it there before starting the slow, gentle rubbing motion. Smiling, LeBeau leaned forward and nuzzled Hogan's neck, planting little kisses under his hair.

"Je t'aime avec tout mon coeur," he whispered against the soft strands. Hogan smiled at that, knowing it meant love but not exactly sure what the words were. "I love you with all my heart," LeBeau translated, still planting little kisses along Hogan's neck and shoulder.

"I love you, too," Hogan said easily, the pain pills kicking in enough to make thinking up a French phrase a little too taxing. He closed his eyes as LeBeau started singing something softly. Hogan smiled as he recognized the romantic strains of "The Very Thought of You" flowing in LeBeau's smooth, soothing voice. He knew he was losing the battle with sleep, and he fought valiantly to hear as much of the song as he could.

The very thought of you,

And I forget to do

The little ordinary things

That everyone ought to do.

I'm living in a kind of daydream,

I'm happy as a king,

And foolish though it may seem,

To me, that's everything.

The mere idea of you,

The longing here for you,

You'll never know

How slow the moments go

Til I'm near to you.

I see your face in every flower,

Your eyes in stars above,

It's just the thought of you,

The very thought of you,

My love...

By the time LeBeau carefully tucked him in, kissed his cheek again, and slipped out of the room, he was sound asleep.

********

Hogan opened his eyes and blinked in the darkened room. He knew something had awakened him suddenly, his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn't discern what it was. Then he heard it again–LeBeau's voice in a distressed shout. Without a thought for the protest of his back to the sudden movement, he sprang out of his bunk and grabbed his robe, hastily tying it as he rushed out to the main room of the barracks.

Newkirk was already at LeBeau's side, waking him from what was obviously a powerful nightmare.

Von Gruner back for another nocturnal visit, Hogan thought bitterly.

"Just a nightmare, Colonel," Newkirk explained, somewhat unnecessarily. They rarely saw Hogan in such a ragged state, hair disheveled, robe sloppily tied leaving a large "V" of chest visible, bare legs and bare feet.

LeBeau had rolled away from Newkirk, his body still heaving with labored breathing and the obvious effort to control his reactions to the nightmare. Newkirk stood up and shrugged, heading back for his bunk.

"He'll be okay in a few minutes, sir," Carter said. Hogan had barely noticed the other man, who was standing behind Newkirk, having been roused from sleep by LeBeau's shouts.

Hogan worked diligently to have the self control to turn and walk back into his office, letting the aftermath of LeBeau's nightmare take its usual course: one of the men woke him, then moved away when it was obvious he didn't want them there anymore, and left him to settle back down again on his own. Instead, Hogan sat on the edge of LeBeau's bunk and rested a hand on his shoulder, and one on his head.

"It's me, Louis. Just relax," he said, trying to keep the affectionate tone of a lover out of his voice, and wondering how much he was succeeding. He wanted to pull LeBeau into his arms and comfort him, but even this was more than he should do in front of the others, and he knew it. But then again, the others hadn't been brutally raped by a sadistic kraut, either. "You're safe now. It was just a nightmare." He let the hand on LeBeau's head move down to his back, patting gently. He could sense the others moving back to their bunks and settling back in again, but he also realized many pairs of eyes were still on them. LeBeau's hand came up to cover Hogan's hand as it rested on his shoulder.

"Merci, Mon Colonel," he said softly, the affection in his tone much warmer than the words. "I'll be all right now."

"Good. Go back to sleep."

"Are you all right?" LeBeau wiped over his face with his free hand and looked over his shoulder at Hogan.

"Who knew I could move that fast?" Hogan said, chuckling. "I'm fine. Go on, go back to sleep. Obviously, Schultz is dead to the world out there." Hogan's words brought a couple snickers from Newkirk, whose bunk was close enough to overhear the conversation. "Good to know we could all be murdered in our beds and it wouldn't disturb Schultz's beauty sleep." Hogan tucked the blanket around LeBeau's shoulders again, hating the inadequacy of the gesture. He finally rose, a little unsteadily now that the adrenaline rush had left him, and made his way back to his quarters. The painkillers and the massage had helped, but whatever good they'd done was fading fast.

With the door of his office closed behind him, he leaned against it, ignoring the protest of the bruises on his back. Both hands knotted into fists, he resisted the almost primal, instinctive urge to bring LeBeau in here with him, where he could comfort him and hold him close and try to drive the images of Von Gruner out of his mind once and for all.

Ironic how you can be the commanding officer and not really be in charge of anything in your life that really matters.

********

The next morning, Hogan was at roll call with his men as usual, and Klink said nothing about him being out of his quarters, apparently accepting that Hogan was too stubborn to confine. Hogan thought he caught the ghost of a smile from the kommandant as he noticed the senior POW officer refusing to allow his injuries to keep him down. While the men went about their work details, Hogan seated himself on a crate outside the barracks to soak up a little of the spring sunshine and watch the goings-on in the compound. He wasn't particularly comfortable there, but the pain was becoming less debilitating and more of a nuisance with each passing day.

His relaxation was short-lived as a truck drove through the gates, pulling up near Klink's office. Baker, Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau made their way to where Hogan was sitting as it came to a stop.

"Looks like we have company," Carter said. As soon as he'd spoken the words, two Gestapo guards got out of the back of the truck. A moment later, an American POW followed. This man was obviously older than Hogan, and an officer.

"That could be trouble, sir," Baker said nervously.

"I think Klink would have told me if it was a permanent camp assignment. Maybe they're just lodging the guy here temporarily."

"You think he's a colonel?" LeBeau asked.

"Can't tell for sure. Could be a major, but my best guess is a colonel. I'll go check it out." Hogan smiled at the arm LeBeau extended to help him up. He was able to walk on his own, and he could have stood without assistance, but his back had stiffened up and the little pull helped. "Plug in the coffee pot. Klink might keep me waiting before he lets me in."

"Right, sir," Baker replied, leading the men back into the barracks. Meanwhile, Hogan arrived in Klink's office, to be greeted by the already-closed door and a none-too-receptive Hilda.

"Who's the new guy?" Hogan asked, moving around the desk to sidle up to the comely blonde. Just because his heart lay elsewhere, he hadn't lost his ability to charm a pretty woman. Hilda, for her part, seemed unmoved by his proximity.

"A new prisoner. I am not at liberty to say anymore. You'll have to speak to the kommandant."

"So he is a new prisoner, not just a temporary visitor?" Hogan tried to plant a kiss on her cheek but she moved away, pretending to file something in one of the cabinets.

"I'm sure Kommandant Klink will give you all the information you need as soon as he calls for you, which he always does when a new prisoner is brought in."

"I'm feeling just a little chill in the air here, honey," Hogan said, putting on his best sweet smile.

"Apparently spring will be a little late this year," she snapped back. "If you'll have a seat over there, I'm sure he'll call you in soon enough."

"Hilda, honey, I know I haven't been around as much lately–"

"You barely say hello to me, and I can't remember the last time you...arranged for a car for us," she said, blushing slightly. "I know well enough to know when I've been replaced."

"Who would replace you?" Hogan asked, then cursed himself inwardly for being so blunt about the lack of selection of female company in a POW camp. "I mean, who could replace you?" he amended, hoping she concentrated on his latter question. She merely looked at him a moment, as if sizing up his intentions, then decisively closed the file drawer she had pretended to be organizing.

"I don't know who, but a woman knows these things. I'll have you know I am no longer turning away the attentions of eligible bachelors in town."

"You know my options are kind of limited here. I can only do so much to court a beautiful woman."

"You managed before. I daresay if you were still as interested, you would still manage somehow." Before Hogan could protest that assessment, Klink opened his office door.

"Hogan, come in here, please," Klink said, not sounding at all as inflated or boastful as he usually did when he had a potential replacement for Hogan to lord over him. He closed the door behind Hogan and gestured toward the middle aged man with sandy hair and a mustache who stood in front of his desk. "Colonel Hogan, this is Colonel Matthews. He was captured near Hammelburg late last night after your air force's somewhat unsuccessful bombing raid on a key strategic target not far from this camp."

The two men saluted each other, then the older of the two colonels extended his hand to shake hands with Hogan.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," Hogan said.

"Likewise, Hogan." The other man smiled, but his expression held a tinge of regret, as if he knew he was about to supplant the existing senior officer and had no real desire to do so.

"Colonel Matthews' date of rank predates yours by five years, Hogan. He is, therefore, the new Senior POW Officer of Stalag 13. I have assigned him to Barracks 9. I expect you to speak to your men, and encourage them to give Colonel Matthews the same level of respect and cooperation they have given you."

"Of course, kommandant," Hogan said, not feeling the same animosity toward Klink he had in the past, since Klink didn't appear to be enjoying a moment of this changing of command. Matthews seemed like a likable enough sort, but first impressions were not enough to hang one's hat on when a firing squad would be the result of a poor judgment.

"Matthews, I would advise you to be a bit more forthcoming. We do have ways of getting information from prisoners," Klink said, waggling a finger at Matthews, who simply stared at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.

"Kommandant Klink can be brutal, it's true," Hogan said, and didn't miss the withering look it earned him from Klink, before he picked up the phone.

"Fraulein Hilda, send in Sergeant Schultz." He hung up, then looked back at Matthews. "Sergeant Schultz will show you to your quarters. I will leave it up to you to show Colonel Matthews the ropes and acquaint him with our strict discipline here," Klink said to Hogan, who nodded. Before he could speak, Schultz reported in. "Sergeant Schultz, take Colonel Matthews to the officer's quarters in Barracks 9."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," Schultz responded, escorting the new officer out of the office, closing the door behind them.

"What did you know about this?" Hogan asked Klink.

"Nothing, Hogan. I didn't know about his arrival until about thirty minutes before he got here."

"Well, for quite a few years you've been hoping to replace me, so I suppose–"

"Oh, let's not play that game, Hogan. You and I both know that it's not in either of our best interest to replace you at this time." Klink got up and walked over to his bottle of schnapps, filling the two small glasses and handing one to Hogan. "Please, sit down."

"Thanks," Hogan said, a bit thrown by Klink's attitude. He eased himself into the unforgiving chair.

"Will this be a problem with your medication?" Klink asked, indicating the schnapps.

"No, it'll just be a little extra dose, and I could use it at the moment." Hogan downed it in one gulp. "Damn it."

"I was hoping you might have some...idea how we could best handle this."

"There are a lot of things we don't know yet. For instance, the timing on this is interesting. All the time you wanted to land a bigger fish than me–a higher ranking officer, or at least one with more jewelry on his dress uniform–Burkhalter wouldn't let you have squat. The only reason you got me is because I was young and didn't have as much seniority in my rank."

"You don't have to recall my inadequacies, Hogan."

"Hey, I'm not any more thrilled to have been the little fish than you are to be in charge of a crummy fish tank. But that's not my point. Why now? When Germany is suffering heavy losses, and you and I both know that's true, and captured high-ranking Allied officers are few and far between, why do you suddenly get a more senior colonel than me, when you already have a prisoner of similar rank?"

"I thought perhaps it was our no-escape record."

"Perhaps it is, or perhaps he's a spy."

"A spy?" Klink's eyes bulged.

"A Gestapo plant. We'll run him through some paces, but it's a little trickier with an officer than an enlisted man. The guys can't pal around with him as much right off hand to get information. But we'll do our best to check him out. Meanwhile, you better live up to your nickname–Blood and Guts," Hogan added with a devilish grin.

"What would you suggest, Hogan? Nightly beatings in the compound?"

"I'm just suggesting that you back up all that talk of strict discipline and clean living for a while. We'll be on our best behavior. Let Matthews think for the time being that you really have this camp in an iron grip of fear, and that we really are either too afraid or too unmotivated to escape."

"If he's not a spy, what do we do about this?"

"Let's take first things first. If he's not Gestapo, and he truly is who he says he is, we'll have to figure out the best course of action from there. If he's a good man, I have no plans to harass him or attempt to undermine him. He's an officer in my air force, kommandant. While we may have a common interest in saving our collective neck here, my first allegiance is still to the men on my own side. Ultimately, I have to do what's best for our side."

"I think you retaining your command is best for both our interests at this time."

"I agree. But if he's on the level, I'll need some time to figure out how to proceed."

"I am sorry about this, Hogan. It was not my idea."

"I can see that. Thanks." Hogan smiled slightly. "I'll keep you posted." Hogan pushed up from the chair with a little grunt.

"You seem to be doing better today," Klink said, his tone almost friendly.

"I'm getting there. Just stay extra vigilant around Matthews, just in case. I'll let you know what we find out."

"Thank you, Hogan. You're dismissed," he said, smiling a little as Hogan was leaving the office anyway. Hogan turned and executed a sloppy salute and was out the door.

********

"This is a disaster," Carter stated dismally as Baker unplugged the coffee pot.

"At least he didn't sound as flaky as Crittendon," Baker responded, shrugging.

"That might be worse. Colonel Hogan doesn't sound like he's going to fight this guy taking over. At least he was willing to put up a fight against Crittendon," LeBeau said, resting his chin on the heel of his hand.

"Better that he gets stuck over in Barracks 9 than here," Newkirk stated.

"I'm glad for that, but it doesn't change a whole lot," Carter observed grimly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well I say we just go on with what we're doing and pretend he's not here. What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"You're not too far off for the time being, Carter," Hogan said, walking through the office door and closing it behind him. "We don't know yet he's on the level. Even if he is, we're going to check with London before we let him in on anything."

"Any way we can get rid of him, sir?" Carter asked hopefully.

"Let's make sure he deserves to be gotten rid of first," Hogan responded with a smile.

"I didn't mean...get rid of him. But just...relocate him."

"Baker, radio London and tell them what's going on. You got all the details from listening in. See what their instructions are, and what they have on the guy." Hogan wrote a number on the notepad on his desk. "Serial number. I read it off Klink's desk."

"You could have probably just asked him for it," LeBeau commented.

"He doesn't need to know how sophisticated our ability to check up on someone is–at least not yet. Besides, that would take the fun out of snooping."

********

LeBeau was serving dinner when Baker made his way up from the tunnel. He looked a bit grim, but that didn't tell them anything. It would be grim news if the guy was to be a permanent replacement for Hogan, and an equally grim verdict if he turned out to be a Gestapo plant.

"Allied command confirmed that a Colonel Gregory Matthews was shot down in the bombing raid on a ball bearing plant outside Hammelburg."

"I thought we blew that up already," Hogan said, frowning.

"We did. They built another one we haven't gotten around to taking care of," Carter recalled.

"Industrious people, those krauts. So what's the word?"

"Well, the physical description of Matthews fits their records, and they say he's a good man. They advised proceeding cautiously, though, because he could still be a phony. Intelligence hasn't been able to locate Matthews elsewhere, so we don't have reason to believe he's a phony, but they could have stashed the real one somewhere, or he may have died when his plane was shot down."

"They have any sort of sure-fire clue for us? Something we could ask this guy about?" Hogan asked.

"He's got a wife named Janice, and a daughter named Harriet. He calls her 'Hattie' for short. She's little–five or six, I think."

"That's pretty thin," Hogan said, taking a drink of his coffee. "The krauts could probably get that much from looking at pictures he carries with him."

"It's all they've got for now. Well, except for the usual information on his bomber squadron and his last mission," Baker said, handing the paper to Hogan, who skimmed over it.

"Make sure all the guys in Barracks 9 know enough to keep their mouths shut. I know we've got a silence policy in place with all new prisoners until they're checked out, but Matthews is an officer, and a high-ranking one at that. Somebody might get intimidated into saying something."

"We'll spread the word, Colonel," Newkirk said. "Won't be as easy without popping over there through the tunnels, though."

"Do what you can at the night roll call, and the rest will have to be tomorrow."

********

With the dinner dishes cleared away, a few of the men busied themselves with a card game while others read or mended again oft-mended socks and other garments that were showing signs of excessive wear. Hogan was feeling the effects of being up and around most of the day, and relished the opportunity to retreat to his quarters and lie down on the double-mattress arrangement the men had set up for him. His bruised body thanked him for the rest, and after a couple of pain pills, he felt himself drifting. He still planned to make the evening roll call, but right now, he had time to rest.

A sharp knock at the door startled him, and he muttered a somewhat grudging, "Come in." Matthews stood in the doorway, smiling faintly.

"Early bedtime, Hogan?" he asked, a note of humor in his voice.

"Sorry, Colonel." Hogan did his best to sit up without faltering, but he winced as his back protested the movement.

"You look as if you're injured," Matthews said. "At ease. No need for the formalities," he said, waving a hand in Hogan's direction. "I'll just pull up a stool, but I want to know how you got yourself banged up."

"It was a stupid accident. Pretty embarrassing, actually," Hogan said, smiling and shaking his head. "I slipped on some wet leaves on Klink's steps, but the way I fell, I managed to bruise my kidneys, wrack up my back pretty well, and smack the back of my head on the porch. I had less problems than this bailing out of my plane."

"That's a pretty good story, Hogan. But let's be honest, now. Is that Klink's thing? Or is it one of the guards? It's nothing to be ashamed of if you haven't been able to stop the krauts from getting heavy-handed with the prisoners–"

"It would be less humiliating if I could blame it on the krauts, but I did this one all by myself."

"I thought I'd come over, meet your team. I got permission from Klink to come over and see you, even though he usually keeps the prisoners inside at night."

"Sure. I'll introduce you to the guys. Of course, I'm sure you'll want to choose your own staff. I can go over the qualifications of some of our other non-commissioned officers with you tomorrow." Hogan made it all the way to his feet this time, zipping his jacket and putting on his cap.

"I know this is awkward, Hogan. You've been in charge here a long time. Kind of late in the game for me to come in and take over."

"Nothing personal, but I don't wish you as long a command," Hogan said with a smile.

"Anytime the Allies want to liberate us, I'll be glad to step down," he replied, laughing.

"Listen up, everybody," Hogan said as the two officers walked out into the main room. "This is our new Senior POW Officer, Colonel Matthews," Hogan announced, and the men scrambled to come to attention.

"At ease, men," Matthews said, waving them back to their activities. "I didn't come for any sort of formality. Just wanted to meet a few more of the men here, and meet Colonel Hogan's staff."

"Sergeant Andrew Carter, Corporal Peter Newkirk, Corporal Louis LeBeau, and Sergeant Richard Baker," Hogan introduced.

"What's your specialty, Sergeant?" Matthews asked Carter. Hogan hoped he would remember their cover stories.

"I'm the gadget man. I can fix almost anything, and I do some woodworking as well."

"So you maintain the, uh, communications system?" Matthews asked, lowering his voice.

"That would be me, sir," Baker spoke up. "I handle any of our radio communications, though I'm afraid we don't have much to show for it."

"You don't have radio contact with the outside?" Matthews asked Hogan.

"We have a radio or two, but the guys mainly use them to tap into the BBC," Hogan lied blatantly, hoping he wouldn't end up in front of a court martial for playing this game with their new commander.

"Corporal LeBeau, we don't have too many Frenchmen here, do we?" Matthews said, his tone friendly.

"No, Colonel, I'm afraid I'm one of only three French prisoners, and the other two are housed on the other side of camp."

"Maybe we can arrange some moves so you can be in the same barracks with your countrymen," Matthews offered.

"If it's all right with you, sir, I prefer to remain here. We're all Allies, so it doesn't really matter to me that my friends aren't French."

"Good attitude. What's your specialty?"

"I'm the chef. Of course, I don't exactly have ideal conditions or ingredients here, but I do my best."

"A chef? Hogan, you do know how to assemble a staff. Corporal Newkirk?"

"I can forge most anything you need, sir. Requisitions, work assignments and the like. I also sew on the occasional button."

"Newkirk's our tailor," Hogan supplied. "At least, that's his legitimate profession."

"Hogan, I don't think I'm getting the straight story from you, or your men. I find it hard to believe you've been here all this time and the most you've done is listen to the BBC or forge a few requisitions. You're checking me out, is that it? Seeing if I'm legit?"

"What my men have told you is true. We do have a couple of radios we use to tune into the BBC, and we've dug a few tunnels, but as the kommandant explained, no one has ever successfully escaped."

"I know the party line, Hogan. I'll give you a bit of time to do your investigating, but don't take too long. I think you realize that as the commanding officer here, I will be taking over whatever operation you do have going."

"I'm well aware of the chain of command, sir, and you will have my complete cooperation. But my duty to the Allied war effort, and the safety of my men, come first."

"I hope we're not going to have problems with this transition."

"It's not my intention to cause problems with the transition. We've had Gestapo sniffing around here in the not too distant past, Klink's been catching it from the brass for getting a couple of us decent medical care, and frankly, we can't be too careful."

"Uh-huh." Matthews nodded. "Just one thing," he said, opening the door, then pausing. "The meal I just ate was God-awful. I'm sorry, LeBeau, but we're going to have to get you moved into Barracks 9. I hate to pull rank on you, Hogan, but if there's a French chef on the premises, he's living in my barracks. Be ready to move after tomorrow's roll call," he directed to LeBeau, pulling the door shut behind him.

"He can't do that!" LeBeau protested.

"He just did," Hogan said, a note of defeat in his voice.

"That's it. I will not cook for him." LeBeau crossed his arms over his chest and turned his back to Hogan.

"It's not worth facing a court martial to avoid cooking for Matthews. You'll go cook for him. There's nothing we can do about that right now. His attitude isn't looking good."

"You think he's Gestapo?" Newkirk asked.

"No. That would be relatively easy. I think he's on the level. He's just a jerk."

"We've gotten people transferred before for being jerks. What's different about him?" Carter asked.

"He's an officer, and he outranks me. If I do something to undermine him and Allied Command considers him a good man, they'll assume I just didn't fall into line with the chain of command. I could end up in front of a court martial for that. There are a lot of officers out there who are grade-A assholes."

"I guess we're kinda spoiled," Carter said. "We really don't want this guy in charge, Colonel."

"I know. Neither do I." Hogan sat at the table, visibly tired now. "Look, we'll figure something out. If he's trustworthy and he knows what he's doing, he's going to be smart enough to know we've been running this operation a long time, and even if he's in charge, he isn't going to take over blindly and get us all killed. If he's not trustworthy, we'll have to find a way to get him out of here."

"He's already trying to split up our unit," Newkirk said angrily.

"It's a power play. He knows I'm resisting handing over command, even if I'm obeying him on some superficial level. He's showing me who's boss. He looks on having a French chef as a luxury for the commanding officer. So he's going to let me have my period of adjustment but he's going to be eating well while he's doing it."

"I could poison his food and he'd never know what hit him. All I'd have to do is pick the wrong mushrooms some dark night–"

"Let's save that strategy in case he's a kraut," Hogan interrupted, chuckling. "We can't start killing each other."

"Why not?" LeBeau asked sullenly, and somewhat rhetorically. He knew he'd get a slightly exasperated but reasonably tolerant expression from Hogan, and he wasn't disappointed.

"What about old Blood and Guts?" Newkirk spoke up. "Can't he put a stop to Matthews moving prisoners around?"

"Sure. But even he might want a better reason for doing it than the fact I don't want to hand over my chef or we don't want to lose one of our buddies."

"If I stop cooking for Monsieur Klink's dinner parties, he may move me back to this barracks in a big hurry."

"That's a possibility. We still have Matthews to deal with, though, and if we choose to make him an adversary instead of an ally, and he's on the up and up, we could have long, unpleasant tour of duty under him." Hogan stifled a yawn. "Sorry, guys, it's those stupid pills." He blinked a couple times and tried to ignore the insistent pounding in his head. "Intelligence is doing their best to verify he's for real, and we have our own intelligence operation here, so we'll do all we can to be sure he's one of us. If he is, we'll have to find a way to work with him, not against him. Once he knows what we're sitting on here, and the implications of it, I'm sure he'll understand why we behaved the way we did at first."

"You're talking awfully fast, Mon Colonel," LeBeau said quietly. Hogan had a tendency to talk fast and pace when he was really worried and trying to reassure his men. The pain was keeping him from pacing, but his mouth was going a mile-a-minute.

"We've been in tight spots before. We'll get through this one. Don't worry about your move, Louis. We'll figure something out." Hogan patted LeBeau's arm where it rested on the table before standing and making his way slowly to his office. "Somebody get me up if I don't hear the bell for roll call." With that, he closed his door behind him.

"This is wrong. It's so wrong!" LeBeau protested. "Colonel Hogan doesn't deserve to be replaced like this. And it's going to destroy our whole operation."

"I hate to say this, but I sort of agree with Colonel Hogan–I don't think Matthews is a spy, either," Baker said. "He acts like every puffed up jerk I ever served under."

"Except Colonel Hogan," Carter added.

"He's different," Baker agreed.

"What if one of us talked to Klink?" LeBeau suggested. "Ask about getting Matthews transferred?"

"The Colonel would blow a gasket if you did something like that, Louis. He was even a little bit angry when we ignored his orders to save him from Von Gruner. He's not going to put up with us going to Klink behind his back for this," Newkirk concluded, and the others nodded grimly.

"Maybe London would help us," Carter suggested. "If they know this guy is bad for morale, and he's splitting up our team, maybe they'd do something to get him transferred."

"Possible. But that would mean going behind Colonel Hogan's back again, because he's already said if Matthews is on the up and up, he'll be in command. Doesn't sound like he's planning to fight the transition at all," LeBeau said, sighing.

"How can he without getting into hot water?" Newkirk said, getting up to refill his coffee cup. "Not going to solve anything for him to move from one prison into another when the war's over."

"I guess I better start packing." LeBeau stood and went to his bunk, pulling the cloth bag from under the bed to begin stuffing what few possessions he had in it for his ordered move.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence.

********

Hogan stirred and opened his eyes, smiling when he felt the warm body against his, and locked gazes with another pair of brown eyes.

"When did you get here?" he asked, leaning in for a kiss.

"About an hour ago. I didn't want to wake you, but I wanted to be with you as long as I could. Tomorrow...when I am in Barracks 9, I won't be able to see you this way."

"Don't worry too much about it, Louis. I promise I'll figure something out. I think he's gauging my reaction."

"To moving me?"

"Someone made a point of leaving that work assignment list on my desk, which makes me think that someone either is jealous of the fact you appear to be my favorite–even if they haven't suspected anything more than that–or they do suspect us of more than friendship, and they're trying to cause problems. In any event, if any of those men are in Barracks 9, they could have tipped off Matthews."

"You've always treated your men equally. Why would anyone think you were playing favorites?"

"The amount of time we spend together. Even though I do my best to be fair with work assignments or distribution of the 'good' jobs in the operation, we spend a lot of time together–much more than we used to. We've always spent time together, or stuck close by each other, but you know as well as I do that we're even more obvious with it now."

"Oui, I know. You think Matthews suspects we're more than friends?"

"I would guess he does. Aside from wanting to fill his belly with decent food, I think the idea of targeting the man who seems closest to me appeals to him as a way to show me who's in charge." Hogan sighed. "I'm sorry it's aimed at you, amoureux."

"I'm not. They can aim whatever they want at me as long we have each other."

"I don't like what's happening any better than you do. I'll do what I can to change it."

"Do what you think is best, mon amour. We agreed when all this started that there would be times duty would come first...times when our love for each other couldn't be the most important thing..."

"Sounds real good when you're making a speech, but when you have to live by your own words, they don't sound so great."

"Maybe we shouldn't be wasting the night on words."

"Maybe we shouldn't," Hogan agreed, grinning before swooping down for a long kiss. A lot of fumbling and muffled cursing later, both were naked under the blankets. "You did put the wedge under the door?"

"Oui, it's there. Actually, I put two of them under there."

"Then barring an Allied liberation tonight, we should be okay."

Mouths sparred for control of kisses, then joined for long explorations of each other's mouths while hands roamed over rapidly heating flesh. Hogan's hand strayed down to LeBeau's backside, squeezing gently, a couple fingertips brushing the entrance to his body. To his delight, LeBeau only groaned into their kisses, arching against him. He'd tried such touches before, and while LeBeau had forced himself to accept them, to try to overcome his fears, he'd always stiffened his body noticeably, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant any time Hogan's fingers wandered too close to his center.

"Let's do it tonight, mon amour," LeBeau gasped against Hogan's mouth. "I want you that way. For the first time, I really want to try it."

"Are you positive, Louis?" Hogan kissed him again. "You know I'll wait–"

"I know you will. But I don't want you to."

"If this is because of the move, I promise you, it's only temporary."

"No. I couldn't do this just because of that. It's how I felt just now when you touched me. Please, mon amour, tonight." LeBeau kissed him again, eagerly.

"There's a little hand lotion left on my shelf," Hogan said before surrendering to another deep kiss.

"I'll get it," LeBeau offered, getting up and moving swiftly to the small shelves where he located the bottle of lotion. He was short, but nicely built, and in good shape. There was nothing small about the erection he was sporting. Hogan wondered briefly what he would think of Louis trying to fit that inside of him. For once, he wished something on LeBeau was just a bit smaller. He also wished for better light, since all they had was a sliver of moonlight coming in between the closed shutters of the room. It was rare for him to have a chance to really look at his lover this way, and the shadowy room was not helping his cause. "I guess it's not exactly what you're used to seeing," LeBeau said, and Hogan realized his scrutiny must have made him uncomfortable.

"No, it's not, but it's what I want to see. I just want to see it, period. The light's not the greatest."

"That's probably working in my favor," LeBeau joked, sliding back into bed, the little bottle of lotion firmly in hand.

"Hey, hold on a minute." Hogan took LeBeau's face in both hands. "Let's get something straight right now. You're not substitute, you're not less than what I want, and just because I don't make a habit of admiring good-looking men doesn't mean I don't love looking at you and being close to you. There's nothing about you I could see in bright lights that would make me love you any less than I do in the dark."

"I love you."

"I know. I feel it anytime I'm with you. I love you, too... It's never felt like this with anyone else, Louis. Whatever happens here in camp, or after the war, if we have to be separated a while...I won't forget, and I won't want to spend my life with anybody else."

"I feel the same. Whatever it takes, it's worth it if we're together in the end." After another kiss, LeBeau hesitated a moment. "How...what should I do?"

"You're asking me?"

"Silly, huh? Guess I know as much as you do." LeBeau paused, thinking about what he'd just said. "I guess I know more," he said quietly.

"You know about being hurt. That's got nothing to do with this."

"I know."

"Why don't you lie on your side, with your back to me, and I'll try touching you a little. We'll see where it leads."

LeBeau shifted carefully in the confines of the narrow bunk until his back was to Hogan, who spooned around him, enveloping him in a warm embrace. Hogan trailed kisses down LeBeau's neck and shoulder, one hand straying up to tweak at sensitive nipples, the other sliding down to pump at the growing erection. Hogan's own hard length was probing on its own, nudging against the seam of LeBeau's buttocks. Sliding his hand from front to back, Hogan fumbled awkwardly with the lotion bottle until he got a dollop of it on his finger. Figuring it was now or never, he pressed the lubricated finger against the entrance to his lover's body. The tip slipped in a ways, and Louis moaned quietly, moving his leg up a bit to give Hogan better access.

"It's tight," Hogan whispered, swallowing thickly. He couldn't help but think of what Von Gruner had done to his Louis, how violently he had done it, and feeling the tightness of the opening around his finger, he couldn't even imagine how it had hurt. "I'll be careful, amoureux. If it hurts, tell me to stop."

"Don't stop now," was the hushed response. Hogan smiled at that and nuzzled Louis' neck. He eased his finger in a bit further, a bit more aggressive now.

He'd never done this with a woman before, but he'd read a couple dirty books in his life that gave him at least some idea of what he had to do. Mostly they were cheesy scenarios with busty women moaning copiously with exaggerated pleasure over something that there was no logical reason for them to enjoy, but at least he knew where to put his finger and what to do with it. His questing finger hit a small knob deep inside, and LeBeau buried his face in the pillow to smother a cry.

"Louis? Oh, I'm sorry, I–"

"Sorry? If you don't do that again, I will kill you, even if you are an officer."

"That was a good thing?" Hogan asked, his voice rising slightly. "I thought I'd really hurt you."

"The only way you'll hurt me is if you stop."

Hogan brushed over the little nub again, amazed as Louis' whole body jerked in response, and he stuffed a corner of the blanket in his mouth.

"I'm going to try putting in two fingers. If I hurt you, I want to know about it."

"Just get back in there," Louis gasped, freeing the blanket from his mouth for a moment to speak.

Hogan withdrew the first finger and added more lotion before trying to breach the slick opening with two fingers. It was an extremely tight fit, and Louis was deathly still. He left the two fingers only partially inside, giving Louis' body time to adjust to the stretching. Not sure what to do to relax his lover, Hogan stroked Louis' chest and belly gently, kissing his neck and nibbling at his ear. He felt a slight lessening in the resistance, and his fingers slid in a little further.

"Everything okay, love?" Hogan asked softly.

"Feeling good now," Louis replied, moving his ass slightly, as if experimenting with the sensations a bit. This made Hogan a bit bolder, and he slid his fingers as far as he could, far enough to brush over the little pleasure button that drove Louis wild with every stroke. "Mon amour, maintenant..." Louis gasped.

What? Hogan froze in place, waiting for another word that might help.

"Please, now," Louis said, belatedly realizing he had a long way to go on Hogan's French lessons. "'Maintenant' means now," he managed, before stuffing the blanket in his mouth again, barely stifling his reaction to another brush over his prostate.

"I want to know if it's too much, or you need to stop."

"Oui, mon amour, I know." Louis reached back and stroked Hogan's cheek. "I trust you."

Hogan coated himself with the lotion, then, deciding he'd done all he could to be careful, he lined himself up with the small, lubricated opening. With an indrawn breath, he pushed carefully, and felt the head of his cock pass through the tight ring of muscle. Louis was quiet and still, but Hogan didn't know if that meant he was hiding his pain by biting the blanket, or if he was truly all right. He lingered there, nearly unable to bear the tight pressure that was unlike anything he'd ever felt surrounding his cock before. Even the sweetest virgin wasn't this tight, and in any event, deflowering virtuous virgins wasn't his style...or at least, it hadn't been since high school, when most anyone available for deflowering was a virgin.

"More," Louis whispered, finally seeming to realize that Hogan needed a sign from him. Relieved beyond all measure, Hogan slipped in a bit further, and reached down to pump Louis' slightly faltering erection. If the sheath around him felt this tight, the stretching had to be uncomfortable for Louis.

"Je t'aime, amoureux," Hogan whispered, finally sliding in as far as he could, his groin resting against rounded buttocks. He worked at controlling his need to thrust, an audible groan escaping at the marvelous sensation of having something other than a hand wrapped tightly around his cock. The promise of pumping in and out of that tight, slick place was so good it nearly hurt.

Louis moved a bit, as if testing whether or not he could take the enthusiastic cadence of sex. Hogan matched his movement, no more, no less. Then Louis moved again, and Hogan responded. Slowly, they built a slow, steady, satisfying rhythm together. Every now and then, Louis would stifle a cry and Hogan knew he'd managed to rub over that magic button inside his lover's body. Maybe being on the receiving end of this wouldn't be all bad, he thought, seeing how insanely intense those moments of pleasure seemed to be.

Then rational thought took flight, and all he could do was pump in and out of the willing body held in his arms, the tight velvet heat massaging and milking him with every stroke. He felt his climax building, and pumped Louis' cock more intensely, hoping to bring him to climax first. Then Louis' passage was flexing and spasming around him, and come was coating his hand where it still pumped. He felt disappointed not to hear Louis' shouts of pleasure. He had a feeling his eager French lover was going to be vocal in bed when they no longer had to hide like naughty teenagers to make love.

When Hogan came, it was the most intense experience he could remember. The tightness, the heat, the need...and the love. He'd never had such a potent mixture of all those feelings, of his whole body, heart and soul being engulfed by the lover he was with. He groaned and gasped his pleasure into the pillow, knowing that he was filling Louis, leaving some small part of him deep within his lover's body.

When it was over, they lay panting together, still joined. Hogan held Louis close, kissing and caressing him, unable to find the right words. Then it came to him.

"Your name suits you," Hogan said softly, leaning forward to kiss Louis' cheek. "I may not know much French, but I know 'le beau' means 'the beautiful one'. You're my beautiful one, Louis. Every time I call you 'LeBeau', I want you to know that's what's in my heart."

"Je t'aime, mon Robaire," Louis whispered. "Vous étiez merveilleux."

"I think that's a good thing," Hogan said, admitting defeat with the translation. Louis laughed softly.

"I said, 'you were wonderful.' It was a very good thing."

"It was an amazing thing. I never felt anything like that before. I didn't hurt you?"

"I can feel it, and I'll feel it tomorrow, but it'll just be a reminder of what we shared tonight."

"I think it's safe for you to stay a while," Hogan whispered, kissing Louis' cheek.

"I think it has to be, because I'm not leaving you yet."

Hogan eased out carefully, and Louis turned in his arms so they could share passionate kisses. They caressed each other lazily, soothing each other as their breathing slowed and returned to normal. Finally, Louis found himself wrapped in a tight embrace, Hogan's heart beating reassuringly beneath his ear. He could no longer fight the urge to doze, and he fell asleep held safely in the arms of his lover.

********

"Louis, wake up, it's almost time for roll call," Hogan whispered a little anxiously. If LeBeau didn't rally and move, they were going to have some serious explaining to do. Fortunately, he did wake up, and smiled at Hogan with a look of such pure love, that Hogan had to put off his worries about discovery long enough for a good morning kiss.

"I don't want to leave you."

"We'll get past this problem with Matthews. I promise, my LeBeau," he said, smiling as LeBeau smiled, recognizing what Hogan was really saying with his name.

"I know. I just feel so close to you."

"I hate having to hurry this morning. We should have time..."

"But we don't. You're right." LeBeau eased out of the bed, moving a bit gingerly.

"How sore are you?" Hogan asked, raising up on one elbow.

"Probably no sorer than you are after giving your back a workout last night," he responded, pulling on his longjohns quickly.

"You have a point there."

"I'll think about you all day."

"Same here."

They kissed once more, and LeBeau slipped out the door to take his place among the still-sleeping prisoners in the main room. Hogan rose and began hastily pulling on his clothes for roll call.

********

Hogan looked across the compound to see the men of Barracks 9 assembled there with the new Senior POW Officer. He tried to fight the ache in his gut at the thought LeBeau would be standing over there by evening roll call if he didn't find a way to reverse the move. Everything inside him screamed to devise a scheme to discredit Matthews, to get him transferred out, to make him look incompetent. He'd given birth to and smothered at least three such plans since Matthews had breezed in and ripped from his midst the one person he didn't feel able to go on without. Matthews, damn him, knew that somehow. Hogan looked over again, a bit more surreptitiously this time. Bastard.

"Colonel Hogan?" Klink's voice sounded impatient, and he was only a few feet away now.

"Yes, Kommandant?" Hogan replied innocently, despite the fact he realized he'd probably driven Klink to frustration by not responding. Despite a look of exasperation, Klink didn't comment on that.

"Have you familiarized Colonel Matthews with camp operations?"

"Not yet, sir. I expect to do that today."

"Fine. Please see to it that he is briefed on camp policies and procedures and is ready to take full command as soon as possible."

"He's already begun changing prisoners' barracks assignments, so I believe he's taking full command immediately," Hogan said. They were well out of earshot of Matthews and his barracks-mates, and Hogan's legitimate reasons to go to Klink's office were fast dwindling. This was an opportunity he had to use.

"Is that so? Perhaps he's forgotten that he is the Senior POW Officer and not the kommandant?" Klink's voice rose a bit and his posture stiffened.

"I couldn't say, sir. I assumed Colonel Matthews had your permission to move prisoners from barracks to barracks." Hogan had shuffled a few men around himself when he took command, but after sizing up Klink's personality and leadership style, he'd immediately realized that asking his permission before shuffling prisoners was the best course of action. Matthews obviously didn't have the same diplomatic approach.

"Well, he does not. I make the barracks assignments in this camp, and I see no need to make any changes at this time."

Good boy, Klink, deny permission solely because he didn't ask you. I may be the former Senior POW Officer, but I'm the only one who can play you like a well-tuned violin. Or, maybe I'm the only one you let play you that way.

"He prefers to have Corporal LeBeau in his barracks since he feels the French chef should be housed with the commanding officer."

"Corporal LeBeau may be excused from your barracks for a limited time each night to deliver a meal to Colonel Matthews, but his barracks assignment does not need to be changed for that purpose. Schultz, you will notify Colonel Matthews of my decision."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," Schultz responded, stealing a quick look at Hogan with a devilish gleam in his eyes. Hogan couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from rising just a bit.

"Dis-missed!" Klink called out, saluting and turning on his heel, striding back toward his office.

"That was beautiful, Mon Colonel!" LeBeau enthused. "I knew you'd think of something."

"I thought of plenty, but that was the only plan that wouldn't get me court martialed for treason," he responded, smiling as the men gathered around LeBeau with backslaps and happy faces.

Hogan glanced in Matthews direction, and was rewarded with a withering glare from his superior officer. This was not going to be easy or pleasant. Fake or authentic, Matthews was trouble.

********

Still walking a bit slowly in deference to his back and the doctor's orders, Hogan made his way across the compound to visit Matthews. He was supposed to be helping him get acclimated to the camp and its procedures, despite whatever their differences might be.

"Colonel Matthews in?" Hogan asked the men of Barracks 9, who were taking a brief mid-morning break from their work details.

"He's in his office, sir," one of the men volunteered, pointing with his thumb toward the door.

"Thanks."

"Colonel Hogan?" The voice of a young private slowed Hogan in his tracks. He couldn't have been much more than eighteen, with red hair and freckles. Something about the youthful face made Hogan smile. "Is he taking over for good?" the young man whispered.

"You got the word we're still checking him out, right?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes, sir. But...I was hoping it was like...when Colonel Crittedon came...and went."

"We'll see," Hogan responded, chuckling a little at the kid's choice of words. "Meanwhile, he's in charge in everything except the operation for now."

"Right, sir. Thanks."

Hogan approached the door and tapped on it. A barked invitation called for him to open the door.

"Thought we might take a tour of the resort if it's convenient," Hogan said, trying to keep his tone light.

"Close the door, Hogan." Matthews got up from where he'd been sitting on his bunk, poking through the meager belongings he'd brought with him. "I don't appreciate that stunt you pulled with Klink this morning."

"I'm sorry, sir?" Hogan said, feigning ignorance.

"You're not that dense, Hogan, and don't insult me again by implying that I am. I know you pulled the right strings on Klink to reverse my transfer of LeBeau from your barracks to mine. You might not have done it directly, but you indirectly went against my orders."

"I beg your pardon, Colonel, but the kommandant wanted to be sure you were ready to officially take command soon, and I assured him I felt you were already doing so, and had begun making barracks reassignments. Klink likes to be on top of all those details, so if I hadn't told him, he'd have found out. Probably have been mad as a hatter, too," Hogan added.

"Mm-hm," Matthews said, nodding, his hands on his hips. "Hogan, it's apparent to me that despite your outward behavior, this is going to be a battle of wills right from the start. You've been in charge of this place a long time, and you're out of the habit of taking orders from a superior officer. That much is obvious. But if you want a battle of wills, you've got one, and you're not going to win it. I can find my own way around the camp, but I could use your help with something else. Whitman has a bad cold, and shouldn't be serving food while he's sneezing into it. So, since we seem to be a man short for work details, you can make yourself useful by taking his duty serving lunch for the non-commissioned officers."

"Excuse me, Colonel, but I am an officer, not an enlisted man."

"You are an officer, Hogan, but one who's lost his grasp of the chain of command. You've been given an order by a superior officer. That's your cue to say, 'yes, sir' and get to it. I'm sure you know your way to the mess hall." Matthews looked at Hogan expectantly.

"Yes, sir," he said, barely managing to avoid gritting his teeth. He strode out of the office, ignoring the pain in his back at the exertion. When he made it back to his own barracks, he slammed the front door hard. All of his men appeared to be out on their work details, and the men who served lunch to the guards were usually on their way to the mess hall by now.

Matthews had him right where he wanted him. He could run whining to Klink and probably get the assignment reversed. He could refuse and then he'd have directly defied an order. He could plead his injury and be perceived as weak, infirm and unfit to be in command anyway. He could obey and deal with the humiliation of serving lunch to German privates, corporals and sergeants.

The bottom line was that LeBeau was not moving to Matthews' barracks, and that was a more important round to win than this was. It wasn't as if this was the first time he'd ever been humiliated in his life, and it probably was far from the last. It was the price he paid for keeping his promise to LeBeau to stop the move. Viewing it that way, he resigned himself to the brief but demeaning assignment and headed for the mess hall.

********

"Hi, Colonel," Olson greeted, smiling. He was stacking clean plates at the spot where the men would file in to get lunch from the steaming trays of food one of the Germans' own men was busily cooking.

"Whitman is sick, so I'm standing in for him," Hogan said, figuring it was the least embarrassing explanation he could come up with.

"I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy," Olson frowned, turning away from the neat stack of plates to face Hogan. "Is this that jerk, Matthews', idea?"

"How'd you guess? Better watch what you say. That jerk's in charge at the moment."

"In a pig's eye. How long do we have to put up with him?"

"Until we can figure a legitimate reason to nudge Klink into transferring him or prove he's a kraut in disguise."

"That's really lousy. C'mon, I'll get you set up with the easy job."

"I should do whatever Whitman would have been doing."

"The doctor said to take it easy until you went back to see him, right, sir?"

"Right."

"So we need to put you on an easy job."

"Can't argue with that logic," Hogan said, smiling.

"All right, then," Olson confirmed, smiling back. "The two easiest jobs are spooning up the food, but that can get pretty hot and smelly depending on what the kraut back there cooks up, or pouring the coffee. The guy who pours the coffee just stands right here and fills the cup for anybody who comes by."

"I think that's easy enough that even an officer can handle it," Hogan said, and Olson laughed.

"Colonel, I think it was really great, what you did for LeBeau, keeping him in our barracks. I figure you're taking the heat for that from Matthews, and I really admire that, sir."

"Thanks, Olson," Hogan said, smiling. The words were good medicine for his wounded pride. No matter what Matthews threw at him, Hogan had the respect and admiration of his men, and Matthews was going to have an even harder time taking command if he chose to badger and demean Hogan in the process.

Hogan found the lunch duty to be fairly uneventful. Thought a few of the guards looked a bit surprised to see him standing there pouring coffee, most paid little or no attention to the situation. Olson had steered him to the easiest, least offensive job, and overall, it could have been much worse. Olson himself was spooning up servings of sauerkraut and sausage, while another prisoner moved about the room, cleaning up after the guards who had finished eating.

"Wir haben einen neuen kellner!" (We have a new waiter!) The booming voice belonged to Corporal Karlsen, a guard universally disliked by the men for his tendency to harass them whenever the opportunity arose. The other guard with him, a stout private, shared his derisive chuckle.

"Guter Nachmittag, Oberst," (Good afternoon, Colonel.) the other guard said, his tone exaggerated with phony courtesy.

"Coffee?" Hogan asked, his tone icy and even as he glared at the two men. He knew they were making fun of his situation, and he had caught the gist of what they were saying.

"Fragen Sie uns auf Deutsch," (Ask us in German.) Karlsen insisted, smiling smugly as he waited for a response. He'd shot the order out rapidly, and Hogan didn't catch most of it, beyond knowing it had something to do with "German."

"I don't understand," Hogan said. "Auf Englisch bitte?" (In English please.) He forced himself to be courteous, and use one of the first German phrases he'd learned as a POW for communicating with guards who spoke little or no English.

"Nein! Sie sprechen mit uns auf Deutsch, oder Sie polieren unsere Aufladungen!" (You will speak to us in German or you will polish our boots!) Karlsen snapped back, then laughed, joined by several of the other guards in line. Olson watched from behind the lunch counter, as transfixed as the Germans with the scene playing out before him. He didn't know enough German to help Hogan out. He knew they were harassing him about speaking German, so he ventured to say that much.

"Colonel, they want you to speak to them in German," he said, earning a glare from Karlsen.

"Sorry, gentlemen, but ich spreche nicht Deutsches," he managed, glad he had at least enough background in the language to tell them he didn't speak it.

"Erhalten Sie dann unten dort und polieren Sie unsere Aufladungen!" (Then get down there and polish our boots!)

Hogan shook his head, shrugging. The other corporal with Karlsen had moved behind Hogan, and took him by surprise with a shove hard enough to send him to his knees. He threw a towel at Hogan and repeated the order Hogan still didn't understand.

"Polieren Sie seine Aufladungen!" (Polish his boots!) The guard used his boot on Hogan's back to push him forward until he braced himself on his hands on the floor, stifling the moan that wanted to bubble forth at the blow to his already bruised back. He wouldn't give them that satisfaction. The guard drew his weapon and aimed it at Olson as he stepped forward. "This does not involve you!" he snapped in broken English.

"Auf zweitem Gedanken möglicherweise sollten Sie sie lecken sauber," (Maybe he should lick them clean instead.) Karlsen said, chuckling now that Hogan was on his hands and knees on the floor.

"Was ist los?" Schultz's voice came from behind the group. It had the full boom and authority he carried as Sergeant of the Guard. "Was tun Sie?" (What are you doing?) Schultz demanded.

"Wir sind gerade, einen wenig Spaß mit dem Offizier habend," (We're just having a little fun with the officer.) Karlsen replied, chuckling.

"Colonel Hogan, get up." Schultz motioned to Olson who immediately moved to Hogan's side, though Hogan was resolved to get back on his feet without help, despite whatever protests his back might offer. "You two will wait outside until I am finished with my lunch and then we will take a walk to the kommandant's office!" Schultz ordered both of them.

Karlsen translated the orders to his somewhat baffled companion, whose English seemed as spotty as Hogan's German.

"Helps when you understand the orders, doesn't it?" Hogan said bitterly, drawing an angry look from Karlsen, who said nothing as he led his cohort out the door.

"What was that all about?" Schultz asked.

"By the time they had me on the floor, I figured out it had something to do with cleaning their boots, but I'm still not sure what it was all about," Hogan explained. "They kept talking to me in German, and I couldn't follow it."

"Sergeant Schultz?" A young German guard approached Schultz. "They told him to speak German, and said if he didn't, he should polish their boots. When he didn't understand, they pushed him down and said he should lick them clean."

"Danke, Hoffmeier," Schultz responded, and the young man nodded, moving back to his place in line.

"Now I get it," Hogan said, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry about this, Colonel Hogan. You know that's not how we do things here."

"I know, Schultz. Thanks for breaking up the party. You want some coffee?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Matthews' idea," Hogan said.

"He's going to be trouble, I can tell."

"No kidding," Hogan agreed.

"I will tell Kommandant Klink. He won't approve." Schultz started moving away, drawn by the aromas of sauerkraut and sausage. "I should get my lunch. Excuse me, Colonel Hogan."

"Looks like good stuff today, Schultz," Hogan said, actually getting quite hungry from the aromas wafting his way. While he wasn't exactly enamored with German cuisine as a rule, the fat, meaty sausages and the tangy sauerkraut looked and smelled delicious. Another reason why working in the cafeteria was a grim assignment. Even though Klink didn't starve them and feed them inedible waste the way some kommandants did, the food wasn't plentiful and it wasn't all that good. Only their own subterfuge and LeBeau's culinary skills kept the men in Hogan's barracks a bit fatter and happier than the average.

Olson loaded up Schultz's plate, giving him more than the others, much to the portly guard's delight. Schultz made his way to the spot where Hogan stood with the coffee pot. Hogan smiled, noticing that Schultz was hesitating holding out his cup.

"It's okay, Schultz. Let me fill it up for you." Hogan held up the pot and Schultz held out the cup.

"Danke, Colonel Hogan. Matthews was very angry about not getting the cockroach in his barracks."

"What'd he say?"

"Not much, but it was the look on his face," Schultz said, leaning in a bit to share the confidence. "I don't think he's a very nice man," he concluded, shaking his head.

"I'm not too fond of him either, Schultz."

"Couldn't you...do something...?"

"Have patience. Rome wasn't built in a day."

"No, but it burned down that fast," Schultz replied with a devilish smile.

"Can't argue that point." Hogan chuckled. "As kraut food goes, is that stuff any good?" He nodded toward the plate.

"I like the sauerbraten better," Schultz responded.

"Maybe for dinner," Hogan suggested, and Schultz nodded.

"Ja, when they give us something that's mostly cabbage for lunch, we usually get a good dinner."

"At least there's still some justice in the world," Hogan joked as Schultz moved on with a chuckle.

********

When Hogan emerged from the mess hall, he was surprised to see LeBeau, Newkirk, Carter and Baker gathered there.

"We heard what Matthews did," LeBeau said angrily. "We have to do something about him!"

"We will." Hogan hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jacket. "No word from London?" he asked Baker.

"I radioed them again this morning just to be sure they hadn't found anything out. So far, they can't disprove that Matthews is who he says he is, but there was one bit of a break for the good guys–even if he is for real? They want him transferred. That's why we were looking for you in the first place." Baker beamed happily, and the other men practically bounced where they stood.

"So either way, he's out, huh?" Hogan's mouth curved into and evil grin.

"The exact words from London were, 'He's a fine officer, but we prefer to leave the operation under Hogan's control'. They want to verify his identity before we do anything, but as soon as they give the word, they want him out of here."

"Music to my ears, gentlemen."

"Ours, too, sir," Newkirk added. "I'd like to sort him out."

"And I wanna help," Carter chimed in.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you never secretly wanted to see your commanding officer get stuck doing some of the dirty work," Hogan joked, smiling.

"Maybe so, but not like this," Carter admitted bluntly. "Matthews just did this to be mean."

"Besides, I'd rather do the dirty work any day than be responsible for this whole operation," Baker added.

"You've pitched in with work assignments before when we needed help," LeBeau said. "You've never pulled rank on us to get out of hard work."

"Thanks, guys," Hogan said, a bit embarrassed by the show of support, but warmed by it at the same time. "So let's get out there and find out what our spies have gleaned from Matthews. Maybe we can move this along faster," Hogan said, breaking into a bright smile.

********

Hogan sighed and checked his watch. Klink had summoned both him and Matthews to his office, and then gotten a call from Burkhalter that left them waiting. At least, it left Hogan waiting. Matthews had yet to show up. Hilda had the day off, and it was a poker-faced private who came to fetch Hogan from the barracks, so not even good-natured Schultz was there to visit with. Klink didn't exactly keep a doctor's office supply of good magazines to read, so Hogan had taken to drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair in which he sat.

The outer door opened and Matthews strode in, then stood and stared at Hogan.

"You don't remember to rise in the presence of a superior officer?"

It was on the tip of Hogan's tongue to tell Matthews that if a superior officer walked in, he would gladly rise. Instead, he stood up, a little stiffly, his back still not 100% yet.

"At attention, Hogan, or don't you remember how to do that either?"

"That's enough, Matthews," Klink said from the now-open doorway of his office. "I want to see you both, now."

The two officers walked into the office and Klink closed the door behind him. Matthews stood ram-rod straight, at attention, in front of Klink's desk. Hogan stood next to him, casting an incredulous glance in the rigid man's direction.

"At ease, at ease," Klink said, sitting down and waving his hand as if he'd had enough of the show of protocol. "I understand you ordered a barracks assignment change for Corporal LeBeau," Klink said. "I trust Sergeant Schultz communicated my decision on that matter to you."

"Yes, sir," Matthews said.

"Colonel Matthews, there has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13. Never. Not one. Do you understand what that means?"

"That Hogan doesn't know how to organize a decent escape, sir."

"It means unparalleled security that I am on top of every minute of every day," Klink said tightly, accenting each word with a whack of his riding crop on the surface of his desk. He tossed the implement aside. "It means that issues like barracks assignments are decided by me, not by you. Prisoners are not shuffled about here on the whims of other prisoners, even if they are officers, is that understood?"

"Absolutely, sir. I wasn't aware I had no control over the barracks assignments."

"I will let this infraction pass on the assumption you were not yet familiar with camp policies, but take care not to make the same mistake in the future. I hope I make myself clear?" 

"Yes, sir. Perhaps Hogan will share some of his knowledge of such matters with me so I don't make similar mistakes in the future."

"You are the Senior POW Officer now, not Colonel Hogan. Your misdeeds are your own responsibility, not Hogan's. Perhaps one thing you can learn from Hogan is to take responsibility for your own actions and not attempt to blame them on your subordinates."

"But, Kommandant–"

"Enough," Klink said, holding up a forestalling hand. "There is another issue that needs to be addressed. Colonel Hogan may be a prisoner, but he is an officer, and we have always afforded him the privileges and courtesies due his rank. I expect you will do the same."

"Of course, sir."

"Of course? If you are in agreement with that, why was he working in the non-commissioned officers' mess hall during lunch hour?"

"Because Colonel Hogan needed a reminder of how to obey orders and respect a superior officer."

"Strange, he's never needed such reminders from me. I am not going to argue the point with you, Matthews. Whatever personal differences you and Hogan have, you'll have to work out on your own time. However, when it comes to matters of disciplinary action, you will both report to my office and I will make the final determinations what form of punishment will be used. Another policy you will soon learn is that official disciplinary actions by the Senior POW Officer for one of his men are approved by me before they are enacted."

"You're making it impossible for me to keep order! I can't move the prisoners, I can't bring them into line, I can't do anything without your approval!"

"Silence! You are a prisoner of war, Matthews. You are not in charge of this camp. I am. As for keeping order, Colonel Hogan has managed all this time, so I would hope that you would be capable of doing the same. You have exceeded your authority not once, but twice, and you've only arrived yesterday."

"I get the feeling you don't want me in charge of the prisoners."

"You are absolutely correct, Matthews. You are not in charge of the prisoners. I am. I am in charge of everything in this camp, including you and Hogan, and you report to me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Matthews said, his lip curling almost visibly.

"It seems we understand each other then. Colonel Hogan, I expect that in the future you will not accept disciplinary action from Colonel Matthews without my approval."

"Yes, sir," Hogan responded.

"Colonel Matthews, you are dismissed." Matthews shot a venomous look in Hogan's direction and left the office with a decisive slam of the door.

"That man is not doing much to get on my good side," Klink said tersely.

"I can't say I'm really warming to him myself."

"Have a seat, Hogan." Klink shuffled a few files on his desk. As he was doing so, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thank you."

"No other symptoms the doctor told you to watch for?"

"No, nothing other than pain, which I expected. But that's getting better. I'm not walking like my grandmother anymore."

"Good, good," Klink said, nodding and making a couple of notes. "Your doctor's appointment is the day after tomorrow, I see?" Klink obviously had a file on Hogan's fall and subsequent treatment open in front of him.

"That's right, sir."

"Be ready by 12:00. Schultz will take you into town." Klink paused. "I have the feeling Colonel Matthews is targeting you, Hogan."

"He is."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not handing over the reins as fast as he thinks I should." Hogan was quiet a moment. "Do you have time to take a walk?"

"A walk?"

"I'd like to talk to you about those benches, and where you'd like us to put them." Hogan gestured around the room, then pointed at his ear. His men knew where their listening devices were, but they hadn't checked them recently, and on the outside chance Matthews was a spy, he may have planted his own. Even if he was not a spy, he may have had one of the men in his barracks plant one.

"Of course. I was hoping we could make some plans for that." Klink donned his hat and picked up his riding crop and they left the office, starting out around the compound at a slow but steady pace.

"Kommandant, you and I both know there's more to this camp than meets the eye."

"I admit I was worried when Matthews arrived. Not so much that he was Gestapo–his credentials seemed authentic enough–but that he would not have the same discretion or...skill in handling...whatever it is you handle." Klink's summation made Hogan smile.

"And it won't reflect well on you if whatever it is I handle is uncovered by the krauts."

"Exactly." Klink paused. "Hogan."

"Sorry. The glorious Third Reich. Better?"

"You don't have to overdo it."

"Matthews suspects something more is going on than a couple of hidden radios the guys use for entertainment. He knows I'm holding off and checking him out. I'm hoping the men in Barracks 9 can be trusted to keep quiet. I don't know every man well enough to be sure of all of them."

"Would there be a safer location for him?"

"Yeah, in another camp."

"That can be arranged, too."

"Good. But wait until you hear from me, okay?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Before you do anything to get him transferred, wait until I give you the all clear."

"Based on your 'checking him out'?"

"Exactly. If he's a krau– Sorry. If he's Gestapo or any sort of spy, we'd have to handle him differently. Be more careful. If he's really an American and just a jerk, it's a simple matter of sending him elsewhere."

"All right, Hogan. We'll try it your way. I'll wait until you give me some signal, and then I'll transfer Matthews out. Maybe to Stalag 5. I never did like Schweinbruner. It'll serve him right." Klink smiled wickedly.

"Thanks, Kommandant."

"Hogan, wait." Klink caught hold of Hogan's arm lightly, then let go again. "What about...?" Klink inclined his head toward his office.

"I'll send a couple of my men over to check your office for listening devices. Until they're finished, I would watch what I said if I were you. I don't really think Matthews is one of yours, but you can't be too careful."

"Ironic, isn't it? My greatest concern is being overheard by someone from my own side of the war."

"War puts a lot of us in strange situations."

"Yes, indeed it does." Klink nodded solemnly.

********

LeBeau finished serving dinner, and now joined the others to begin eating. Just as he took the first bite, Schultz poked his head in the door.

"Colonel Matthews wants his dinner, LeBeau."

"So let him fix it," LeBeau retorted, taking another bite of his own food.

"The kommandant said you could take him dinner. So he wants you to bring him dinner."

"Sit tight, Louis. I'll take it over there," Newkirk said, starting to rise.

"It has to be LeBeau," Schultz stated emphatically. "Colonel Matthews said–"

"Okay, Schultzie." LeBeau got up and scraped together the last of the food that was to be used for their seconds. It made a fair-sized portion of the stew he'd created out of various hoarded odds and ends. He put the cover on the pot, but made a point of putting the last small piece of prized white bread on Hogan's plate. "What he doesn't see won't hurt him," he reasoned, pulling on his coat, hat and scarf to follow Schultz across the compound.

When LeBeau entered Barracks 9 with the small pot of food, Matthews was already seated at the head of the table. The other prisoners were grimly making do with camp rations. It occurred to LeBeau that Hogan would never order food from a gourmet cook and then eat it at the same table where his men were eating slop.

"Your dinner, sir." LeBeau set the meal on the table near Matthews.

"Merci, LeBeau," Matthews said, opening the pot. "Stew? I thought you were a French chef."

"I am, sir, but it is rare for me to have what I need to make anything truly exceptional. Usually the best I can do is scrounge scraps and try to make them taste better with a little inexpensive seasoning or a few herbs I manage to gather when we're out on work details."

"Guess this is better than camp food, anyway," Matthews said, poking at it with his fork.

"May I go now, sir?" LeBeau asked, already backing toward the door.

"This'll keep a few minutes. I want to talk to you." He got up and led the way back to his office. When LeBeau had entered, he closed the door behind them. "Colonel Hogan blocked my efforts to move you to this barracks, but that won't prevent me from making use of your services, Corporal."

"I understand you want your dinner delivered to you each night."

"I'm not talking about dinner. Let's not beat around the bush here. It's obvious you provide...other services for Hogan that make him so reluctant to part with you. It's pretty obvious you're not exactly vital to whatever operation Hogan has going. Little French chefs are good for cooking, but not much else when it comes to fighting a war. I'm talking about more...personal services."

"I don't know what you're talking about." LeBeau tried to ignore the blunt insult, but it angered him nonetheless.

"Oh, I think you do. We've all been away from home too long, away from feminine company. Gets to a point where all you need is a willing mouth or a willing ass to do the job. I could break in one of these boys, but I figure Hogan's already got you trained."

"I won't listen to this!" LeBeau protested, turning to leave. Matthews blocked his exit by standing in front of the door. LeBeau felt his heart drop and his stomach clench with the terror of being trapped by another large man who didn't seem at all averse to forcing himself on someone to get his jollies.

"You'll listen to it, Frenchie. And you'll obey orders. Unless you want me to round up a couple of my guys and go get what I want from Hogan. That oughtta take a little of the defiance out of him."

"You leave him alone!"

"Hit a nerve, eh? He must treat you pretty good, give you lots of special favors."

"Get out of my way," LeBeau said levelly, knowing he had no way to enforce the order, but feeling that assertiveness might be his only hope. He moved forward, as if to reach for the doorknob, but Matthews grabbed the extended arm and twisted it behind LeBeau's back, pushing him against the unforgiving wood of the door.

"I bet you lie down real easy for Hogan," he barked angrily, wrenching LeBeau's arm up against his back as hard as he dared without snapping the bone.

"You're sick, Matthews," LeBeau ground out, steeling himself against the pain in his arm and refusing to give Matthews the satisfaction of acknowledging it. It was harder to ignore the hand that grabbed his genitals, giving him a hard squeeze.

"You're pretty well hung for a little guy. Tell me, does Hogan take it up the ass from you?"

"Damn you, Matthews. You sick bastard."

"Disrespect and insubordination." Matthews finally moved the offending hand, turning LeBeau around and pushing him back against the door again, using both hands to grab his coat and pin him there. He leaned down low near LeBeau's face, his breath hot and not altogether fresh. "Your mouth was made to suck a man's dick, and you're gonna do as your told. On your knees."

"I'd sooner die," LeBeau shot back, and something in his voice apparently conveyed to Matthews that he meant it, because the other man stepped back, releasing LeBeau's coat.

"I'll nail you, Frenchie. In every sense of the word. Hogan can't protect you forever. Someday, you have to take a shower alone, or you have to use the latrine late at night, and don't forget, you have to bring me my dinner. When I decide it's time, I'm having you for dessert. You got that?"

"If you stick your filthy dick in my mouth I'll bite it off, and I'd kill you before I'd let you touch me, you got that?" LeBeau opened the door and strode out, stunned that Matthews wasn't following him, that he hadn't been grabbed from behind and mercilessly beaten. He'd tried the same resistance with Von Gruner, and only earned himself a horrible beating and a violent rape. By the time he walked out of the barracks, he could barely control the trembling of his body.

"Was ist los?" Schultz asked as he escorted LeBeau back across the compound toward his home barracks.

"I'm okay, Schultz. Just cold," LeBeau lied. Though it was unseasonably cold for May, even in Germany, the temperature had nothing to do with the fact he was visibly shaking and couldn't stop himself. He tried to cover it by rubbing his hands together, but he knew Schultz realized there was more to it than that. He did his best to calm his nerves as he walked into the barracks, knowing Hogan's eyes were upon him the moment he entered.

The dinner dishes had been cleared away, and the guys had a poker game going, though Hogan was only standing by as an observer, drinking a cup of coffee and obviously pacing, waiting for LeBeau to return.

"Everything go okay with Matthews?" he asked, a concerned look on his face. LeBeau took off his hat, scarf and coat, tossing them on his bunk.

"Oui, he was a little disappointed with the stew, but I'm sure he'll survive."

"I want to talk to you for a minute," Hogan said, heading toward his office. LeBeau followed, noticing that the other guys were rather engrossed in their card game, and hadn't taken much note of his arrival or Hogan's summons to his private quarters. When the door closed behind them, LeBeau couldn't resist making a beeline for Hogan. He wrapped his arms around that warm, familiar body, and held on for dear life. Hogan's arms came around him as gently and protectively as he knew they would. "You want to tell me what happened over there?"

"Not right now."

"You're shaking like crazy. What'd he do?" Hogan's voice rose an octave.

"He wanted more than dinner," LeBeau said, unable to say anymore. He didn't want to give Matthews the power to reduce him to tears, so he struggled valiantly to keep his control.

"Louis, come on, look at me." Hogan moved away a bit, holding gently onto LeBeau's shoulders. "Tell me what happened."

"He made a lot of remarks about what kind of things I did for you, things we did together, and that he wanted me to do the same for him. He wanted me to...to take him in my mouth but I told him no. He threatened to come and get what he wanted from you if I didn't do it for him." LeBeau's heart was thundering in his ears, and his eyes were brimming, but he wasn't going to lose control. He'd fought so hard to exorcize the demons Von Gruner left behind. He wasn't going to let Matthews raise them again.

"Did he touch you?" Hogan asked gently, resting his hand on LeBeau's cheek. A tear slipped out as he nodded. "Louis, did he rape you?"

"No, no, he didn't get that far. He just...grabbed me with his hand."

"Looks like he grabbed you in a couple of places," Hogan said, holding LeBeau's arm and pushing his sleeve up to inspect the fresh bruises left from Matthews twisting it. "That does it." Hogan let go of LeBeau's arm, grabbed his hat from its resting place on the desk, and strode out the door.

"Colonel, no!" LeBeau was hot on his heels.

"Newkirk, Carter, Baker, Olson, come on. Now. Move."

"What's happening, Colonel?" Newkirk asked even as he grabbed his own hat and jacket to follow Hogan. He'd never seen their leader this resolutely irate before, and whatever happened, LeBeau was chasing behind them trying to stop him.

"We need to set a few boundaries with Matthews. I don't give a damn what London has to say about him."

"Where do you think you are going?" Schultz asked as the posse of prisoners emerged from the barracks.

"We're going visiting, Schultz," Hogan said, flipping up his collar against the night wind. "We've got a few things to get straight with Colonel Matthews and it can't wait."

"You know you're not supposed to be out of the barracks–"

"If you're with us, the tower guards won't shoot," Hogan said, an implied plea in his voice. "Look, Schultz, this can't wait, and I need your help. Name your price in candy bars, coffee, nylons, whatever."

"All right." Schultz escorted the group. "Whatever you are planning, Colonel Hogan, you know I can't stand back and let you fight with each other."

"It's not going to be a fight. It's going to be very one-sided."

"Is that a good thing?" Schultz asked, troubled.

"Not for him." Hogan responded, swinging open the door of Barracks 9, letting it slam against the wall behind it. "Matthews, I want to talk to you in your office. Now."

"You seem to have forgotten that you don't give me orders, Hogan." Matthews stood up from where he had been seated at the table, finishing the stew LeBeau delivered.

"He isn't worth it, Colonel," LeBeau said, but Hogan didn't spare him a backward glance.

"Listen to your ladyfriend, Hogan. Don't do something you're going to regret."

"You're the one who's got something to regret, Matthews. You don't want the privacy of your office, that's just fine with me. If you ever lay a hand on one of my men again, you'll answer to me. And I promise you, it won't be pleasant."

"Are you threatening me, Hogan? You're all witnesses," he said to the other men in his barracks.

"Funny, I don't hear a thing," said the young private Hogan encountered on his earlier visit with Matthews.

"Me, neither," another man spoke up, standing next to the first prisoner. Several of the other men shook their heads in agreement. Only a few hung in the corners, sullen looks on their faces. Whether they were supporting Matthews or simply afraid of him was hard to tell.

"So what do you want to do, Hogan? Punch me in the nose for roughing up your little piece of–"

Matthews never got the final word out before Hogan's right cross knocked him on his ass on the floor.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, that's exactly what I wanted to do. Stay away from my team, stay away from me, and you better treat these men who are unfortunate enough to share a barracks with you with the proper respect and decency. If you don't, I'll make you pay. Is that clear enough?"

"Clear enough to put you behind bars after the war," Matthews said, struggling to stand without help from any of the prisoners who were watching the spectacle.

"Make all the threats you want. Because if you come after me after the war, you're going to have to answer for what I was so angry about, and you're not the only one who's got witnesses, so think hard before you make any accusations. They just might backfire." Hogan started for the door. "You're dismissed, Matthews," he shot over his shoulder before leading his somewhat stunned posse back out into the compound. They returned to the barracks in silence.

"Okay, Schultz, what's it gonna be?" Hogan asked. "Chocolate, coffee–"

"Nothing," Schultz said, smiling. "I've been wanting to see that for three days now," he concluded. With a chuckle, he left the barracks.

"I would've killed to have a camera to catch the look on Matthews' face when you told him he was dismissed," Carter said to Hogan, elbowing Newkirk, who joined in the laughter.

"Colonel Hogan, that was the most beautiful moment of my entire military career," Baker said, laughing.

"He was one sorry-looking sod, sitting there on the floor with a fat lip." Newkirk shook his head, chortling.

"He's not going to give up," LeBeau said solemnly. "This is going to get uglier."

"That's fine. I'm already fighting one war. What's another one with a piss-ant like Matthews?"

"We," Olson corrected. "We're fighting–the war and Matthews. Not necessarily in that order."

"I knew I could count on you guys," Hogan said, smiling. "Hopefully, we'll get the all clear from London and we can get him out of here."

"If you can get Klink to give up his big fish," Newkirk said.

"He's already agreed to transfer him as soon as I say the word."

"Klink?" LeBeau asked, eyes widening.

"I talked to him earlier. The kommandant's no more thrilled with Matthews than we are, and even as much as he knows about our operation compromises him, so he doesn't trust Matthews any more than we do to be at the helm of things, even though he's not exactly sure what those things are."

"Never thought I'd see the day when Klink was an ally," Baker said.

"I had the feeling sooner or later something was going to happen to make him choose sides," Hogan said honestly, sitting at the table. The others joined him. He flexed his hand a couple times, confident that Matthews' jaw felt worse. "There was something deep inside that kept telling me no man could be that stupid and still be a colonel–at least, I hoped not, for the dignity of my rank–but Klink's played it pretty shrewdly all this time. Even now, I can't be 100% positive when he's falling for something I'm telling him and when he's playing along. He gets this smirk on his face sometimes now, and I know he's letting me get away with something."

"You think Klink's been trying to help us all along?" Carter asked, frowning. "Boy, I don't know, Colonel."

"I don't think he's actively worked at helping us, no. But I think he's turned his head plenty. He's just not as obvious about it as Schultz. Now, being he knows something, and if the truth ever comes out about Von Gruner, he's a dead man at the hands of his own people, he's helping. But I don't forget the fact that came about because he was humane enough to step in and help us instead of letting Von Gruner reign terror on this place." Hogan glanced LeBeau's direction, and wanted nothing more than to retreat to his office and spend some time comforting and reassuring his lover after the miserable encounter he'd had with Matthews. Hogan hoped his reaction to it had served that purpose to some extent.

"What did Matthews do that made you so mad, Colonel? You're okay, aren't you Louis?" Newkirk asked, and LeBeau blushed the color of his sweater before nodding quickly.

"Oui, I'm all right."

"He made some remarks and he pushed LeBeau around when he took the food over there. He's got some sick notions and he needed to be set straight," Hogan explained. They had all heard the kinds of remarks Matthews was making, so he wasn't revealing much more than they already knew.

"How much trouble can he make for you after the war?" Newkirk asked.

"Not much. Allied Command knows I don't go around getting into fistfights and defying direct orders. If my reputation with them isn't good enough to weather a few accusations from Matthews, then I've been wasting my time the last several years."

********

Hogan was lying awake, waiting for the sound of his door being opened carefully. He wasn't disappointed, because a little after midnight, LeBeau slipped into the room, placing the wedges beneath the door to keep it securely closed. He didn't say anything, and neither did Hogan. Hogan simply moved back and raised the covers, and LeBeau slid into the bed, nestling readily into Hogan's arms.

"Schultz told me what happened in the mess hall," LeBeau said, his hand sliding under Hogan's pajamas, seeming to unerringly find the spot where the guard's boot had made contact with his back. "That was because of me. Because of you keeping me here with you."

"That was because Matthews is a sadistic asshole, not because of you."

"But you made him mad when you didn't let him change the barracks assignment. If you hadn't riled Klink up about it–"

"I wouldn't let him get his mits on you, Louis. I promised you that and I meant it. I couldn't stop Von Gruner, but I can stop this."

"I didn't think I was going to get away from him tonight."

"I know." Hogan tightened his hold, rubbing LeBeau's back gently. "I'm proud of you for standing up to that creep. I know you had to be scared. That it had to bring back some bad memories."

"I guess I wanted to think the Von Gruners of the world were all on the other side, not on our side. We're supposed to be the good guys."

"I know. It's a sorry day when I feel like Klink and Schultz are more our friends than one of our own officers." Hogan stroked LeBeau's arm. "How's it feeling?"

"A little stiff. Not too bad. He just twisted it. Nothing's broken." LeBeau was quiet a moment. "You want to tell me about Karlsen and the mess hall?"

"Not much to tell if Schultz told you what happened."

"I know it had to be hard for you, mon amour. When I am hurting or afraid, you listen to me. I want to listen to you, too."

"Nothing more serious than some wounded pride, which was Matthews' goal in the first place."

"Those wounds hurt, too."

"Yeah, sometimes they do," Hogan admitted, cuddling LeBeau close to him and soaking up the warmth, both physical and emotional. It felt so good to have someone soothe him, and nurse his invisible hurts. LeBeau had always done that, so it came as no surprise he was doing it now.

"You are the finest officer I ever knew. Don't let something ugly that happens make you feel less than that."

"You always know what I need to hear." Hogan smiled, kissing LeBeau's forehead. "It's dumb to let it get to me."

"It's not dumb. When someone takes away your dignity, there is nothing dumb about that. It's very difficult to get over."

"I know. Thinking about Von Gruner?"

"Too much since Matthews got here." LeBeau smiled. "Thank you for fighting for my honor," LeBeau said, moving up for a long kiss. "I guess I know why women like that so much now."

"I would have done the same thing whether we were lovers or not. He had no right treating you, or any other man in this camp, with that kind of disrespect."

"But you wouldn't have slugged him for anybody but me."

"No, you're right, I wouldn't have," Hogan admitted, chuckling. He hated to admit that, and wouldn't outside the security of a shared bed, but LeBeau was right. He'd have confronted Matthews on behalf of any of his men, but stormed into the other barracks and knocked him on his ass? No, that was for his Louis, and no one else. "I thought about you all day today," Hogan admitted. "Couldn't wait for tonight."

"Me, too," LeBeau agreed readily, his hand gently rubbing Hogan's back, soothing the residual stiffness there. "You go to the doctor tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow afternoon."

"Do you think everything is okay?"

"I feel a lot better. I'm sure it's fine. I had good care," Hogan added, kissing LeBeau.

"Tomorrow, I'm giving you the whole works."

"I thought you did that last night," Hogan teased, kissing the end of LeBeau's nose.

"You can have that, too, anytime you want it, amoureux," LeBeau responded, moving up for another long kiss. When they finally parted, he continued. "I mean a shave, hot towels, and a full body massage."

"Mmm. Sounds like heaven."

"This is heaven."

"Thank you." Hogan hugged LeBeau tightly.

"For what?"

"All this time, you've been my light, Louis. You make me laugh, you make me mad, you make me cocoa when I need a lift, and you've always done something to make me feel better when I needed cheering up. The last few years...I couldn't have done it without you."

"Of course you could, mon amour."

"No, Louis, I couldn't. The things you've given me, as a friend first, and now as a lover...those are the things that give me my strength back, that keep me going. I might have to watch out for the fate of the guys in the camp, the operation, the German Underground, you name it–but you watch out for me."

"And I always will."

"Just in case you're still wondering how important you are to this operation, I want you to know that you're what keeps the commanding officer going, besides any one of a dozen other things I've called on you to do in the last few years."

"I don't mind. Just think of the job experience I'll have for after the war."

"Dizzies the mind," Hogan agreed, laughing. Then he became serious, pulling LeBeau closer, kissing him deeply, indicating that he was finished wasting their precious time on conversation. LeBeau's response was eager, bordering on greedy, devouring Hogan's mouth as voraciously as Hogan was devouring his. At last feeling limber enough to move about more freely while they made love, Hogan began kissing his way down LeBeau's chest, opening the front of the longjohns as he went. He finally freed the hardening cock from its cloth confines, stroking it a time or two before engulfing it in his mouth. He heard a moan turn to choked laughter as his hand clapped over LeBeau's mouth just in time to stifle a too-loud expression of pleasure.

"You know me too well, mon amour," LeBeau managed before stuffing a corner of the blanket in his mouth to quiet his responses to Hogan's ministrations.

Being in Hogan's mouth this way, being loved by him that way, was fast erasing the ugly memory of Matthews' hands on him, grabbing at him through his clothes. He relaxed into the lovemaking, concentrating on the man eliciting such wonderful reactions from his body. He stroked Hogan's head, carding his fingers through the soft brown strands. He loved the feel of Hogan's hair sliding between his fingers, of something so silky and baby soft on a man who exuded such strength.

He moved his hand from Hogan's hair, grabbing the blanket instead. The pleasure was becoming intense, and he feared hurting his lover by grabbing onto his hair with the same enthusiasm as he now squeezed the blanket. His climax was coming, rapidly, sweeping over him in waves, and he longed to shout Hogan's name up to the heavens, but settled for muttering it into the blanket as he came, feeling Hogan drinking him down, milking him with that talented mouth.

Hogan moved up LeBeau's body, smiling as he kissed LeBeau's neck, then his cheek, then his mouth.

"Let me take care of you," LeBeau whispered against Hogan's mouth. He pushed some damp, wild strands of hair back that he'd help dishevel. Hogan just rested there a moment, smiling, his expression giving no indication that they were on stolen time, or that his insistent erection was poking LeBeau in the thigh. He just gave LeBeau the sweetest smile of pure love and utter contentment to be close to him that it made LeBeau fall in love with him all over again.

"This is worth anything it takes," Hogan said finally.

"You are worth everything to me," LeBeau responded, caressing Hogan's cheek. "I love you so much," he said, wanting to say it in Hogan's native tongue. And part of him wondered how much Hogan would enjoy playing language games in bed tonight, after being taunted with them earlier. "Let me show you."

He encouraged Hogan onto his back, then worked his way down Hogan's chest, opening his pajama top and trailing kisses on each bit of revealed flesh. He let his tongue dart out, tracing a circle around a nipple that was hardening to a tiny pebble. He took it in his mouth and sucked, knowing how that made Hogan crazy.

"Oh, shit, ugh," Hogan groaned into his pillow, and LeBeau smiled around the flesh he was sucking. He'd found a delightfully sensitive spot on his lover, and he wasn't about to give up having some fun with it. Hogan had tried the same thing on him before, and he loved it, but it didn't seem to send the electric jolts through his body that it did Hogan's. "God, Louis," Hogan gasped, stroking the back of LeBeau's head, trying to encourage him to move to the second nipple, which he did willingly. He had no reason to make Hogan wait for what he wanted. He spent the same time on the second nub he had on the first, before abandoning it to drag his tongue in a long trail from Hogan's heart to his groin.

Urging Hogan's legs further apart, he dipped low to lick and suck Hogan's balls, loving the way Hogan arched into the sensations. By the time he took Hogan in his mouth, the long cock was rock hard, and it wouldn't be long before he'd feel Hogan shudder and come, filling his mouth the way he'd filled his ass the night before. LeBeau groaned a bit himself at that memory, and Hogan moaned above him, the vibration of his voice obviously adding some interesting sensations. He moaned low in his throat again, making sure the vibration reached the sensitive organ in his mouth.

Hogan bit the pillow and began thrusting, and LeBeau swallowed eagerly as his lover came, taking in every drop until Hogan lay there panting, and LeBeau released the spent cock, kissing it gently. He moved up beside Hogan, lying there with his head on Hogan's shoulder, kissing the sweat-damp flesh beneath his face.

"Oh God," Hogan gasped, still catching his breath. "God, that was incredible."

"You're not too bad yourself," LeBeau retorted, smiling and wrapping his arms around Hogan.

"Did I mention I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you?"

"I think you said something about that a couple times," LeBeau said, smiling and snuggling close. "You're never getting rid of me, so don't try."

"God, never." Hogan kissed the top of LeBeau's head. "Your mouth might be the one great hidden weapon of the war," Hogan joked.

"And it's all yours."

"You bet it's all mine. Just like you. For keeps."

"For keeps. I like the sound of that." With that, LeBeau dozed a bit, not allowing himself to drop into a dead sleep. He knew that hateful, inevitable moment of parting and beginning the day's charade was close at hand, but for now, it was just the two of them, clothes askew, bodies sated, twined together in the haven of Hogan's bunk.

********

Hogan sat on a crate outside the barracks and watched the volleyball game with quiet amusement. It was a good thing that amidst all the tension and bleakness of war, the guys could get out and blow off steam doing something fun for a change. Even the krauts seemed to get a kick out of watching some of the spirited matches. Schultz had even been known to join in briefly on occasion. Hogan had to give him credit–he knew he could never mobilize three hundred pounds that well and move as quickly as Schultz could. Checking his watch, he noticed it was nearing noon, almost time to leave for Hammelburg for his doctor's appointment.

"Colonel Hogan!" A dark-haired sergeant whose name Hogan couldn't place immediately rushed up to where he sat. "You better come quick. Matthews has LeBeau in the Rec Hall."

"The Rec Hall's closed," Hogan said, bolting up off the crate and following the other man on a dead run toward the building. He was surprised to find the door unlocked and rushed inside to be met with only darkness and silence.

At the moment he realized he'd been tricked, something made of dark cloth was pulled over his head and he was restrained from behind by multiple strong hands that gave no hope of escape. As the first of the expected blows fell, he had the insane thought that he'd have to apologize to Frau Linkmaier someday for using a similar tactic to kidnap her awhile back. Now that he knew the terror of being restrained and unable to see the assailants, he hated himself for inflicting that on a middle-aged woman.

His last conscious thought, besides the pain and wondering if he was going to die like this, was that he was glad it was a trick and LeBeau was not really in danger...better him than his Louis...

********

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.

********

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

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

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

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

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

"But there are dishes and wine and–"

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

"But, sir, Colonel Hogan–"

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

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

"You really don't want to know."

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

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

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

"And you objected because I was here."

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

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

"And as usual, I failed."

"I could have moved."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then what are we going to do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I wasn't talking about real Gestapo."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do?"

"You will."

"What will I put in it?"

"A letter explaining all of this."

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

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

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

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

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

"Right."

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

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

"How do we set this in motion?"

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

"All right, I can do that."

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

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

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

"Right. I will do that."

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

"Are you thinking we should cut our losses?"

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

"Leave Klink behind to face a firing squad."

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

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

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

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

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

"And now?"

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

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

"For our own purposes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that how you feel?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where do you think you're going?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

"You all know Burkhalter was here last night."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, leave off."

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

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

"Me, too," Carter agreed, nodding.

"Thanks, guys."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am?" LeBeau responded, grinning.

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who?" Carter asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

"Who's the joker with the camera?"

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Schultz stood back, watching, eyes wide.

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

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

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

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

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

"Go ahead, Carter."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Remarks?"

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

"Who threw the first punch?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't think they deserved that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I leave that to your discretion, Kommandant."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you think I'd do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But he could be recognized!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

"The supreme leader in?" Hogan asked Hilda.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

"I'm working on it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"True," Klink agreed, nodding.

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

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

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

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

"So do I."

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, I'm scared."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Anything you say, Doctor."

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course. Thank you, Colonel Klink."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ordinarily, yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Again."

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

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

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

"Why is that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We've already been trying it."

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

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

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

"Anything."

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

"And leave you? Are you insane?"

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

"What about the operation? The others?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't understand."

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

"What are you saying?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I remember."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hollywood?" LeBeau's eyes bugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

"No, a Major Neuchterlein."

"Thank you, Langenscheid."

"What should we do, Kommandant?"

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

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's hardly your fault, Colonel."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, I hope not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who are you?" he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

"So he's leaving?" LeBeau prodded.

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

"Now we just have to get past Burkhalter."

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not if I shoot him myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow? Impossible."

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

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

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

"I cannot say the same," Burkhalter snarled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You heard what the doctor said. Walking."

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

"That's right," Kinch confirmed.

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry, sir. Insensitive choice of words."

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

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

"No, probably not."

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

"That's nothing new."

"I mean about this operation."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Some guy named Igor?"

"Right."

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

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

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

"I thought you might want a rematch."

"A rematch, sir?" Hogan frowned.

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?" Hogan frowned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You do. All the time."

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

"Are you propositioning an officer?" Hogan asked.

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

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

"You must be feeling a lot better."

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

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

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

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

"Or in the tunnel."

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

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

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

"I don't want to hurt you."

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

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

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

"Do you think the operation is going well?"

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

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

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

"You don't know that."

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

"Burkhalter here," he greeted tersely.

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

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

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

"I know the place."

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You should be in bed," LeBeau stated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, sir. No way."

"Okay, then. Good night, everybody."

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

"You can go ahead and say it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He paid off your Gestapo man."

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

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

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

"I remember my lines, Hogan, don't worry." Klink took off his hat and coat and sat in the chair LeBeau had occupied. "How do you do this?"

"Do what, sir?" Hogan looked at him, confused.

"Stand this kind of pressure, waiting to find out if something's going to work or not?"

"You get used to it," Hogan said, shrugging. "It's all part of the job."

"I couldn't do it. Not all the time. This once has nearly driven me insane."

"Insanity is probably a requirement for my job," Hogan said, laughing.

"What exactly is your job, Hogan?"

"I thought you didn't want to know."

"In a way I don't, but I'm still curious."

"Well, don't be. You know what curiosity did for the cat."

"Thank you, Hogan. I needed that."

"Sorry, sir. Just a little gallows humor, I guess."

"Gallows? You think they'll hang me?"

"Figure of speech. Sorry." Hogan shook his head. "Kommandant, if you're going to be in the spy business, you need steadier nerves."

"I am not in the spy business," Klink said righteously.

"Good. You keep telling yourself that, and maybe you can convince Burkhalter."

********

Never a man to inconvenience himself, Burkhalter went home for a good night's sleep before making the short trip from his chalet to Stalag 13. It seemed quite serene and ordinary there, given the turmoil in its administration. Prisoners played volleyball while Schultz and Hogan occupied a bench to watch, guards patrolled in their usually leisurely fashion, watching the other prisoners who were engaged in various recreational games and activities during what must be the exercise period. There was a bit of a flurry with his arrival, and by the time his car pulled up in front of Klink's office, the kommandant was rushing out to the porch to greet him.

"We'll talk in your office," Burkhalter said, moving briskly past Klink and ignoring his salute. Klink followed him past a somewhat puzzled Hilda, who had given up trying to keep track of the comings and goings of Luftwaffe and Gestapo men over the past several days. Klink's office door slammed decisively behind the two officers.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Herr General."

"Let's get right to the point, Klink. I know what you told the Gestapo."

"You do?" Klink feigned surprise, and for once in his life, did it quite convincingly.

"Yes, I do. Major Neuchterlein paid me a visit. Fortunately, he had a price for his knowledge, and his silence. That price has been met." Burkhalter glowered at Klink. "That leaves only you to deal with."

"I was prepared something like this might happen. When I was released and the camp restored to my command last night, I was fairly certain something had gone wrong. I fully expected to be shot for my part in this...deception about Von Gruner."

"I should shoot you myself," Burkhalter replied.

"You have that option, sir, but I think you should know that I have taken precautions against such an occurrence."

"Precautions?"

"I have not kept this information only in here," Klink said, tapping his temple.

"I suspect there is very little in there, so that does not surprise me," Burkhalter responded, taking a seat in one of the chairs. Klink sat against the edge of his desk.

"There is a letter in a safe deposit box in a bank. I have left instructions for that box to be opened in the event of my...untimely passing, or should I be injured in such a way as to incapacitate me or rob me of my faculties. And there is someone else who knows, but will stay silent to protect me."

"Your good friend, Hogan, no doubt. Let me tell you something about that, Klink. Shooting you would cause me some inconvenient paperwork. Shooting Hogan would give me a good story to tell at the officers' club."

"With all due respect, sir, I never said it was Hogan. Furthermore, shooting Hogan wouldn't accomplish a great deal unless you can be sure you've shot anyone he might have contacted in the last several months regarding this situation. And all his men. And half the guards here who know what Von Gruner did–none of whom, at this point, are interested in defying the official story put in place by a colonel and a general."

"I could take you back to headquarters and drag the answer out of you."

"You could, that's true. But do you want to take that chance?"

"You're enjoying this little moment of power, aren't you, Klink?" Burkhalter didn't wait for an answer. "What is it you want to keep your mouth shut?"

"My command restored, the ability to run Stalag 13 without undue interference, and the guarantee that all of my prisoners will remain under my authority until the time of their release." Klink added the last stipulation himself, hoping it would offer Hogan and his men some measure of safety from an irate Burkhalter.

"No money? No general's stripes?"

"I'm not a greedy man, Herr General. As for general's stripes? It seems to me they come with a great deal of...personal distress. I think I shall be satisfied to remain kommandant of Stalag 13, at my present rank."

"Very well." Burkhalter rose and headed for the door, picking up his hat and coat along the way. "We will consider the matter closed. Your command is restored."

"Danke, Herr General."

"But I warn you, Klink," Burkhalter said, pointing a fat finger in Klink's direction. "You are playing a dangerous game. I would advise you not to push me too far, and not to attempt to use this situation to your advantage to an undue extent. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, sir."

Burkhalter nodded curtly, once, and left, pulling the door shut behind him. Klink slid into his desk chair, feeling like someone had just let all the air out of him.

********

"Congratulations, Colonel Klink," Hogan said, disconnecting the coffee pot. "The old boy did all right."

"Does this mean we're in the clear?" Carter asked.

"Break out the champagne, boys. We did it again," Hogan announced, smiling at the flurry of cheers and backslaps that statement started.

********

After sharing a champagne toast with his men–using a bottle they'd pilfered from Klink's stash some time ago–Hogan paid a visit to the kommandant's office. He found Klink sitting behind his desk, looking a bit perplexed.

"You aren't exactly dancing in the streets, sir," Hogan said, shutting the door behind him. "Something wrong?"

"I can't believe he went along with it."

"He did. Not that any operation comes with guarantees or results carved in stone, but he has a lot less to lose leaving you alone, leaving this whole mess alone, than he does trying to untangle it." Hogan poured two glasses of schnapps, keeping one for himself and delivering one to Klink. "After all, even if Burkhalter were to proudly uncover whatever it is he thinks is really going on here, the fact remains that it's been going on here right under his nose. That's not even addressing the lying-to-the-Gestapo issue."

"You believe we're safe from him now?"

"Safe as we ever are, yeah, I think so," Hogan replied, downing the small shot of whiskey.

"Thank you, Hogan. That was very reassuring."

"Look, Kommandant, we got Burkhalter off our backs. That's the best we can do. If you're looking for absolutes and risk-free endings, that's not gonna happen."

"I guess I just don't have the nerves for your kind of work, Hogan."

"What work is that?"

"Whatever it is you do," Klink replied, gesturing with his hand. Hogan had to chuckle at that.

"Well, all this excitement's got me a little worn out, so I think I'll take a nap. You ought to do the same. You look a bit winded, sir." Hogan rose and headed for the door.

"I don't recall dismissing you, Hogan."

"You didn't send for me, either, so why start with formalities now?" Hogan executed a sloppy salute and left, closing the door behind him.

"American," Klink groused, downing his whiskey.

********

Two very distinct teams, standing a good distance apart, paid grudging attention while Hogan explained the "big picture" of the improvement project they were about to undertake. He was still recovering, but he was back in his barracks again, and mostly into the mainstream of camp life except for a few lingering limitations on his physical activities. He certainly seemed hale and hearty when it came to handing out orders, though, much to the consternation of the Barracks 2 and Barracks 9 residents, who were about to begin camp improvements while their fellow prisoners frolicked in the Recreation Hall or amused themselves outdoors.

"Now, I want any of you with any experience in woodworking to step forward," Hogan said, waiting for the response. Carter volunteered, and that shamed a couple other guys from Barracks 2 into coming forward. Finally, grudgingly, two men from Barracks 9 emerged from their group. "Great. You guys are now the bench makers."

"Excuse me, sir," Middleton, an RAF flier from Barracks 9 interrupted. "You expect us to work together?"

"I'm not going to order you to do that, but I'm hopeful you're mature enough to get over your past differences. The work will go much faster if it's handled with a team approach."

"We've got a month," Newkirk grumbled.

"You're not giving me a whole lot of incentive to reconsider that, either, are you?" Hogan responded. "The purpose of discipline isn't to give me a chance to throw my weight around when I'm bored. The purpose of it is to learn something. At least, that should be the purpose of it. Now we've got a project to do, and two groups of men to do it. You can either waste most of your time dividing up the work so you don't have to speak to each other, like a bunch of feuding ten-year-olds on a playground, or you can get in groups of similar skills, and tackle this thing as a team, and get it done in half the time."

"And if we do that, you're saying you'd cut the punishment down that much?" Newkirk asked.

"I'm saying that if you give me a good reason to reconsider the original one-month time span, I will reconsider it. Now, we need landscapers. Anybody here got a green thumb?" Several guys stepped forward for that request, joining the woodworkers who were already separated from the group. "Okay, woodworkers over here," Hogan pointed in one direction. "Landscapers over here." He pointed in a different direction. The men somewhat reluctantly moved into the mixed teams, but regarded each other with suspicious, dark looks. Hogan checked his clipboard. "We still need a maintenance team, a painting team, and a cleaning team. The guys who are handy, who can fix things, should volunteer for the maintenance team." Hogan recruited volunteers for the three remaining teams until all the men were divided into five teams ranging from about four to eight each. "Okay, now, some of you may have to do some double-duty, since we'll probably need more than four cleaning people, and we might not need eight landscapers for the duration of the project. Klink's bankrolling this, and he's very open to camp improvements right now, so this is an opportunity for us. Not to make him look good, but to make this place a little less miserable for ourselves. If something leaks, it should be patched. If we're out of light bulbs, they should be replaced. I want each one of the teams to assess the camp for what needs to be done, and report back to me with a list of tasks."

"I thought you said we had a choice about working together?" Nicholas said, uneasy to be the only Barracks 9 man on the maintenance team, which he shared with Kinch, Baker, Olson and Metcalf, all men from Barracks 2.

"You do. If you want to work alone, be my guest, as long as you don't delay or hinder the project while you're doing it. I do expect you to assess the camp as a team, so you are all familiar with the tasks on the list, and I don't think I need to tell you that choosing a 'foreman' for your team would be a good idea."

"Aren't you going to assign the foremen, sir?" Carter asked.

"Nope." Hogan crossed his arms over his chest. "You men take it from here and report back to me in two hours with your lists. Dismissed," Hogan said cheerfully, leaving the five groups to stand there, staring at one another, trying to figure how they could avoid working together and still function as teams with foremen.

"They're probably going to kill each other, you know that, don't you?" LeBeau said as he sat on a crate outside the barracks, peeling potatoes. Hogan wondered how many recreation periods LeBeau actually gave up to work on their meals. He'd never thought too much about it before, but he figured it must be quite a few.

"What're you making tonight?" Hogan asked, ignoring the dire assessment of the work project. He had faith in his men, and he truly believed with the right motivation, they'd figure a way to reconcile their differences.

"Carter asked for hash browns. I can do that. With a few extra special seasonings, of course. I'm not making a pan of semi-burned potatoes without fixing them up a bit."

"I love hash browns."

"In that case, I'll make them exactly the way you like them," LeBeau said, smiling sweetly in Hogan's direction. Hogan soaked up the love in the expression, and returned it, wishing he could touch Louis right now, but figuring the look was all he should try for the moment.

"Add some onions, huh?"

"That's all?" LeBeau asked, seeming disappointed, as if there should be more to the recipe than that.

"And anything else you think I'll like." Hogan smiled as LeBeau immediately brightened at that. Telling LeBeau to make a dish with only two ingredients would be like telling Monet to paint in black and white. "I need your opinion on something," Hogan said, leaning against the building.

"My opinion? About what?" LeBeau seemed a little surprised, and quite pleased. Hogan often asked for input from the group, but he didn't often pull one of men aside specifically this way. And while he confided his deepest thoughts and feelings to LeBeau, he was usually quite independent and decisive in matters of opinion.

"When we do that railroad job tomorrow night, I'd like to use McAllister is the kraut guard who'll be with me to stop traffic at our phony checkpoint."

"Why him? Carter or Newkirk could do it."

"Carter has to supervise wiring things up. Newkirk does a great kraut accent, but we're dead if they start speaking German beyond a few catch phrases. McAllister's fluent."

"You trust him enough to let him do that?"

"That's kind of my point in asking you about it. Am I being overly idealistic to think he's genuine and that he can be a good addition to our team?"

"He could have sold us out during the whole fake takeover. He played that part like a pro." LeBeau chuckled. "Schultz is still afraid of that 'crazy Gestapo sergeant'. I don't think he'll sell us out." LeBeau paused, his hands stilling in what had been perpetual motion in peeling potatoes. "What bothers me is that it seems like rewarding him for what he did. He was mad at you for giving him what he thought was a dumb job, and he nearly got you killed over it, and now we promote him up to the inner circle? That bothers me. He doesn't deserve to be rewarded for getting you hurt."

"He made a bad mistake, and he lashed out. He was spiteful, and he was immature. He didn't mean for it to turn into what it did. I believe that much."

"We've always thought it would make things easier if we had someone fluent in German on our team."

"We don't have to bring him into the inner circle to use him on one job. Maybe we could pull him in for the jobs where the language issue is front and center. Where we're most likely to have to think on our feet and answer in German."

"That makes sense. If he really proves himself, we could use him for more. I suppose it's a bad idea to not use him just to keep punishing him for what he did, even if he does deserve it."

"Good point. What's more important? Punishing him or making our operation the best it can be?"

"I know your answer to that one, Mon Colonel," LeBeau said calmly, going back to his potatoes.

"Guess that gives me my answer, huh?"

"Guess so," LeBeau said, smiling.

"Hope you're making a lot of those hash browns. I'm starving."

"You're always starving since we moved out of the guest quarters," LeBeau needled, his smile lingering as he used one finger to playfully poke Hogan in the belly.

"Guess I got used to eating like a normal person again, instead of squeaking by on camp rations." Hogan looked down at himself. "At least my pants are too loose again and my dress uniform jacket ought to fit better."

"I can take those in for you," LeBeau said.

"Don't worry about it right now. Wait and see what happens after the hash browns." 

Later that afternoon, Hogan began seeing the "foremen" of the work teams in his office with their checklists. In most instances, they reported the teams had opted to work together to get the job done faster. Only the painters, one of the larger groups, had stayed divided by barracks lines, preferring to split up the jobs rather than tackle the whole list as one group. While he was a bit disappointed with that decision, Hogan didn't force the issue. He'd given them the latitude to handle it their own way, and that's what they were doing. At least they'd managed to develop the list without killing each other.

When Baker came in with the list from the small group that included himself, Kinch and Nicholas, Hogan was waiting anxiously to hear how they'd fared with the ringleader of the Barracks 9 troublemakers. If any two could keep their cool while being slightly intimidating if necessary, it would be Kinch and Baker. Plus, though all three men were sergeants, Kinch was a staff sergeant and Baker's date of rank put him a notch above Nicholas.

"How'd it go?" Hogan looked over the list of tasks, which would keep the small group of only three men extremely busy for the next few weeks. "If you want to get a few volunteers from among the other prisoners, go ahead and ask for some. Just let me know who you sign up."

"Right, sir, thanks. It went all right. Nicholas didn't have much to say, but we aren't looking to form a social club with him. We just want to get the work done. He used to work in a machine shop at home, so he'll be a good addition to the team."

"He managed to keep his mouth shut today?"

"Pretty much. He gave us a few dirty looks, but he didn't say anything. I think when Kinch mentioned to me in conversation that he was a Golden Gloves contender back home, Nicholas decided to change his attitude."

"Remarkable how those attitudes just magically change, isn't it?" Hogan handed him the list. "Let me know if he gives you any problems."

"Will do, sir. Any chance I could get a transfer to the painting team?" Baker asked as he headed for the door.

"Nice try. I think you're fine right where you are."

"Can't blame a guy for trying," Baker responded, shrugging as he left the office.

********

"You know, I wish we could send the good doctor a thank you note," Hogan said, adjusting the tie that was part of his Gestapo uniform. "As long as she keeps dating Klink, the coast is clear at least twice a week." They were suiting up down in the tunnel to go out on the train job, Hogan's first mission back in the field since his surgery.

"Klink isn't causing us too many problems anyway," Newkirk said, crouching low to check the hem on Hogan's coat. "Can't have Major Hoganburg walking around with a torn hem, now can we?" he asked, going to work on the offending garment. "You sure you're up to this mission, Colonel?"

"All I have to do is stand by the side of the road and look intimidating. I think I'm up for that much now."

"So is old Klink really done checking up on us, or do we still need to worry about him?"

"I think it's better we stick with our old procedure. Klink may not want to catch us at anything, but I don't want him to have too much information, too many details. I trust him not to sell us out voluntarily, but I'm not sure how long he'd hold out or how much he'd give up under Gestapo interrogation. Plus, he might trust me personally or my immediate inner circle not to try escaping, but he's not that trusting of the whole camp."

"Better safe than sorry, eh? Probably a good idea," Newkirk concluded, finishing the work on Major Hoganburg's coat hem. Just then, McAllister joined them, decked out in full Gestapo garb.

"Ready, sir?" McAllister asked anxiously.

"Almost. We'll be starting out ahead of the others, to set up the phony checkpoint. Carter!" Hogan called, and a moment later, their resident pyromaniac appeared around the corner from his lab, dressed in black and carrying a box of explosives, timers and other supplies.

"Ready and standing by, Colonel," he said, a slightly deranged glint in his eye. In anyone else, such maniacal glee would be unsettling.

"Okay. Round up the others. Give us a fifteen minute head start." Hogan headed for the ladder, leading the way up top, through the tree stump. When he slammed down the top to duck behind the stump and avoid the search light, he heard a thump and a muffled curse. A moment later, McAllister came hesitantly out of the stump, closing it quickly and following Hogan's lead as they wove through the trees and underbrush to the spot where they would set up their phony checkpoint.

"I guess I should have mentioned that you shouldn't follow the guy ahead of you too closely going up," Hogan said, smiling as he opened the bag they'd brought, taking out the hand-held "HALT" sign McAllister would be using. "Never guessed you'd come all the way to Germany to be a crossing guard, did you?"

"Colonel Hogan...it's a real honor. I mean, I wanted to thank you for giving me a chance to do this."

"Just do it right. That's all the thanks I want."

"Are you...you know...okay now?"

"I'm doing fine, thanks. How are things going with you? The guys giving you a rough time?"

"No more than I deserve, I suppose," he said, shrugging. "Nobody's gone against your orders and done anything. But you said the popularity contests were my problem, so I guess I just have to deal with that."

"First you have to deal with that," Hogan said, gesturing at an approaching car. "Remember, you're re-routing them to the old Hammelburg Road for security reasons."

"It's a staff car."

"Just stay calm. I'll be right behind you. The probably won't question you. The detour's not much out of their way."

McAllister looked a bit panicky, but he walked out into the road and held up the sign, calling to the driver to "Halt." He exchanged a few phrases in German with the occupants of the car, and in a few moments, they drove on, veering off on the old Hammelburg Road, as ordered. McAllister walked back to where Hogan was standing, visible but not clearly identifiable, at the roadside.

"A captain and a lieutenant. They were Luftwaffe, so they backed down from the Gestapo uniform pretty quickly."

"Gestapo is the best uniform to wear when you need to boss the krauts around. You did fine."

"I think I just aged ten years," McAllister admitted, laughing.

"You'll get used to it."

"You think you'll ever be able to stand the boredom of civilian life after the war, Colonel?"

"Me? Sure. You can only keep up the excitement for so many years before it's not all that exciting anymore."

"Do you think you'd feel differently if...if you hadn't been injured?"

"I don't know. I doubt it. You've been in the espionage business at a dangerous level on two missions now, for a few weeks. I've been at it for three years, and I don't even want to count the missions and the close calls."

"I think I'd be ready to go home, too, sir."

"But I wouldn't trade a minute of the last few years," Hogan added, smiling. "It'll be the part of my life I always remember–the stuff I tell my grandkids about," Hogan added, before he realized that if his future followed its chosen course, there would be no grandkids to tell. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it arose. He could always rent his brother's progeny for a weekend here and there if he felt the overwhelming need to be paternal.

"I've got a girl back home," McAllister said.

"You do, huh?" Hogan asked, smiling as McAllister dug into the leg of his shiny black boot to produce a somewhat beleaguered little photo of a pretty blonde with an abundance of curls and full, lipstick-shiny lips curved in a sweet smile. "No wonder you tried to jump the fence the first week you were here," he said, passing the little picture back to the younger man, who laughed.

"Her name's Lucy. We're gonna get married after the war. She's in college right now."

"She's a beautiful girl. I hope it works out for you two."

"You have anybody special back home, Colonel?"

"Nah. I played the field, mostly. Never had much inclination to pick just one." Until now. "My mother'll be glad to see me again," Hogan added, chuckling.

"I met Lucy in the first grade. I always wanted to marry her."

"You knew that when you were six?"

"Well, maybe not about the marriage part, but I kept following her around the playground."

"You always were an early achiever then, huh?" Hogan teased.

"She didn't know I was alive until high school, so not really. An early trier, maybe."

"How's the work project going?" Hogan asked.

"Great. I can't believe those guys actually elected me the foreman–even if it is the cleaning team."

"The cleaning team might not be glamorous, but it's necessary. Just look around that place sometime. For such a tidy people, the krauts have a tendency to let their stalags get a little on the sloppy side."

The radio crackled to life, and Hogan picked it up from where he'd laid it on their supply bag.

"Sparky to Top Dog," Carter's voice came over the little speaker.

"Top Dog, here. Go ahead, Sparky."

"It's almost boom time, Top Dog," Carter said, pure delight in his voice.

"Good show, Sparky. Let's wrap things up and get back to the doghouse."

"We're not staying for the show, Top Dog?"

"That's a negative, Sparky. Too dangerous. Top Dog, out."

"He's really crazy about his explosives, isn't he?" McAllister said, chuckling as he re-packed the bag and followed Hogan along the same path they'd traveled to get there.

"Sign of a true artist," Hogan responded.

********

The sun was shining, but the chill of impending autumn was in the air. Klink took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air, appreciating more than he ever had before the relative serenity of his post at Stalag 13. Burkhalter visited occasionally for routine camp business, but their encounters were brief and limited strictly to business matters. Even the threat of Gertrude Linkmeyer hadn't reared its ugly head since Burkhalter was blackmailed into restoring Klink's command. As for Hogan, Burkhalter never sent for him for any reason on his visits, and if looks could kill, Hogan would have been flattened on the two or three occasions they crossed paths.

Still, all of that was only infrequently troublesome. For the most part, life was comfortable, and it was bizarre to think that since he'd more or less turned a blind eye to Hogan's shenanigans or become even more amiable to the schemes Hogan pulled on him to get what he wanted, he suffered little or no real stress in his life. His biggest worry was balancing the camp budget and beating Hogan at chess.

The men were engaged in a rollicking game of volleyball, and it was good to see Hogan out there with them again, the normal color back in his cheeks, his usual vigor restored to its old level. He still seemed to suffer a few aches and pains in his side when the weather was especially rainy and miserable, but overall, he was the same old Hogan he'd always been.

"Think fast, kommandant!"

Klink barely heard the warning before the oncoming volleyball was almost in his face. On pure reflex action, he hit it hard back toward the game, raising a few shouts from the men, who managed to keep the somewhat wild-flying ball in play. The culprit was sprinting over in his direction, a little out of breath, a few strands of hair flying loose under his hat.

"Almost nailed your monocle that time, sir," Hogan said, smiling, his thumbs hooked in his jacket pockets. "Nice recovery."

"Thank you, Hogan. I have always been quite athletic."

"You sure you don't want to join the game?"

"I think we might want one or two shreds of protocol left here." Klink smiled as Hogan laughed softly at that statement.

"Protocol, huh?" Hogan asked.

"The kommandant must maintain some distance with the prisoners, or else it encourages too much familiarity."

"I see," Hogan replied, nodding seriously.

"The camp really looks quite nice now, Hogan. Your men did a very good job on the improvements, I must say." Klink referred to the benches in front of the barracks, the shrubbery planted around the office, his quarters, and the guest quarters, the painting and repairs to any buildings that needed it. The last inspection had earned him a perfect rating, and the most recent visit by the Swiss Prison Commission saw the inspectors leaving wreathed in smiles.

"We all appreciated your help over the last several months."

"We've looked out for each other's interests, I would say," Klink concluded, nodding.

"At least the roofs don't leak anymore," Hogan said, noticing the clouds gathering for rain.

"I hadn't realized what poor repair some of the buildings were in. I don't suppose I'd be too pleased with rain coming down on my bunk through the night."

"If I were running a camp full of German prisoners, I'm not sure I'd stay up nights over a little rain dripping in the barracks."

"I suppose friendship makes you look at things differently," Klink said a bit hesitantly.

"It has a way of doing that, yeah," Hogan agreed, smiling as he nodded. "So how's it going with the lovely Dr. Weiss?"

"We're going to dinner tonight, as a matter of fact." Klink nudged Hogan's arm. "At her parents' house."

"You're meeting the parents, huh? That's serious."

"They have quite the home, I understand. Quite a wealthy family."

"Looks, brains, money...you really landed a good one this time, Kommandant."

"I understand her mother is quite a patron of the arts. I had considered taking my violin. Do you think that would be too...presumptuous of me?"

Hogan foresaw the future, and it wasn't pretty.

"Definitely," he replied, then noticed Klink's face had fallen. "It's best if you don't mention your talent, sir. Play it humble. I mean, your military achievements are enough for them to digest for one evening."

"Perhaps you're right, Hogan." Klink nodded. "I'll wait for Ilsa to invite me to play for them."

Let me know when that happens, Kommandant. I want to mark the date on my calendar when Hell is going to freeze over.

"Let the woman set the pace with her parents. Smart thinking, sir." Hogan paused. "You sure about that protocol thing, or do you want to break down and have a little fun for a change?" Hogan asked, gesturing toward the game.

"Oh, why not?" Klink took off his top coat and hat, and handed them and his riding crop to a startled Schultz. He tucked his monocle in his pocket, and followed Hogan over to the game. Within moments, he was as involved in the activity as the prisoners.

"Now, I have seen it all," Schultz said to Langenscheid, who joined him in watching the unlikely spectacle.

"I was afraid of this," Langenscheid said, nodding sagely.

"Of what? The kommandant playing volleyball?"

"You know that every time he feels he's fraternized too much with the prisoners, the next morning, he makes a long speech at roll call about the glorious victories of the Third Reich."

"For him to do that, there would have to be some," Schultz said, chuckling.

"The Propaganda Ministry will think of something," Langenscheid replied. "They have to."

"Maybe we are better off being lowly guards in a prison camp."

"Ja, better here than at the Front. I understand it's already snowing there."

********

"I can't believe you talked Klink into playing volleyball," LeBeau said, coming the rest of the way down the ladder into the tunnel.

"We've got a couple hours alone in the tunnel. I can't believe you're talking about Klink," Hogan said, chuckling. He reached back and took LeBeau's hand, relishing the rare chance to do something as simple as walk hand-in-hand with his lover. LeBeau started to swing their hands slightly, and Hogan had to laugh. He'd gotten used to finding moments of utter joy in the oddest places.

"You really think we're safe down here for a while?" LeBeau asked, pulling his sweater over his head as soon as they were near the cot. Though it wasn't the best of accommodations, the little cot had seen quite a bit of action in the last several months.

"Baker and Kinch are working on those faulty electrical outlets in Klink's quarters. They'll be busy quite a while, and everybody else is out on work details. There's no reason for anyone to come down here." Hogan was making good use of the time while he talked, and was already dispensing with his t-shirt. "You need help with that?" he asked LeBeau, who didn't resist having his t-shirt pulled over his head for him.

"Impatient today, aren't we?" LeBeau teased, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

"Now I'm getting impatient. Put a nickel in it, will ya?" Hogan tossed his underwear in the pile with his clothes and stretched out on the cot, moving over and holding the blanket up for LeBeau to get in with him as soon as he'd rid himself of the last of his clothes. "Mmm, you smell good." Hogan nuzzled LeBeau's neck, pulling him tight against his body.

"The guys mixed up a new batch of aftershave, and it turned out pretty good."

"It sure did." Hogan sucked on LeBeau's neck, marking him in a spot his collar would easily cover.

"If I'd known you were going to do that, I'd have rubbed bearnaise sauce on instead."

"You talk too much," Hogan said, covering LeBeau's mouth with his own, kissing him deeply. They settled into a lazy pattern of long kisses, luxuriating in the sensation of flesh-on-flesh, something they rarely experienced, even in the best of times. Since Hogan had fully recovered from his injuries, there was less and less certainty that the other men wouldn't disturb him at ungodly hours of the night, and less excuse for LeBeau to be constantly sneaking into his room at night. "Did you bring anything?" Hogan asked, and LeBeau smiled knowingly. Since they'd left the seclusion of the guest quarters, they'd never been able to risk anything more than a quick hand job and one or two times, a bit of hurried oral sex.

"Oui, I did." LeBeau reached down to the pile of his clothing and retrieved a small bottle of hand lotion from his pants pocket. "I stole it out of Hilda's desk the last time I was cleaning in there."

"Edelweiss, huh?" Hogan read the label, shrugging. "Well, it's not he most manly scent in the world to have up your rear, but beggars can't be choosers."

"I hardly think it will matter," LeBeau said. "I think we'll be more concerned with other things than the scent of the lotion." He started to turn over.

"Hey, hold on a minute. Who says you're gonna relax and have all the fun?"

"I thought you wanted to...?"

"I do, but it's my turn this time. It's not like I haven't waited long enough for it. How do you want me?"

"Any way and any time I can have you," LeBeau quipped, moving up for another kiss. "But for now, on your side will be good."

"I'm on my side."

"The other side," LeBeau retorted, rolling his eyes as Hogan smiled devilishly before turning over. LeBeau was close against his back in a heartbeat, kissing his neck and shoulder, nipping at his earlobe, blowing hotly into his ear. Hogan groaned low in his throat, loving the puff of hot air, having no idea why it should be any turn on at all. It wasn't as if his ear was an erogenous zone.

Louis' hand slid up his stomach to his chest, rubbing firmly over the hardening nubs there, kissing his way down Hogan's back at the same time. The questing hand slipped lower, finally wrapping around Hogan's hardening shaft and pumping gently.

"Don't do that too long, or I'll be all done before we get started."

"You would be more relaxed if you came first," Louis said, his voice a little hushed at the intimate suggestion.

"But a lot less interested. I want to do it when I'm eager, not half asleep."

"Je t'aime avec tout mon coeur. Il n'y a pas de mot pour ce que ceci me signifie," Louis whispered softly, kissing Hogan's shoulder. (I love you with all my heart. There are no words for what this means to me.)

Hogan smiled, recognizing the first part of what LeBeau said, and picking up small fragments of the rest of it. He knew it was about how much he was loved, and that was enough. That, and the rich sound of Louis' voice in hot puffs of breath against his skin. He could hear him opening the little bottle of lotion, and felt himself harden even more at the thought of what was to come.

He'd thought a lot over the last few weeks about what it meant that he loved having another man's finger probing his ass, and after a certain shallow level of soul-searching, decided he really didn't care why. He did–or more specifically, he liked Louis' finger up there–and felt more and more like a jerk for his own attitudes about men who took it up the ass from other men. They were queers, fairies, pansies...they certainly weren't men. Most importantly, they were perverts and sinners, though whether or not they were going to burn in Hell was of little consequence to Hogan. If the catechism of his youth was any indication, he'd be at the barbecue with them for a number of other offenses, anyway.

And then he fell in love with the most wonderful person he'd ever known, and the fact he came in a male package was just one more of dozens of other hurdles standing in the way of their love for each other. And now, he was happily leaping over the last of those hurdles without looking back.

The feeling of Louis' tentative, questing finger at his center brought his thoughts back to the moment, and he bore down on it a bit, glad the encouragement caused Louis to be a bit bolder, sliding his lubricated finger well inside the tight opening, spreading the lotion there. It was an odd sensation, but it felt good, and the intimacy of it felt good, too.

The finger was becoming more aggressive now, pushing against the resistance of tight muscles intent on guarding Hogan's virtue. Damn you, loosen up. If I want my virtue guarded, I'll let you know, he thought, willing himself to relax. Truth be told, he was a bit nervous. There was always that chance that what he liked about a single finger he wouldn't like with a full-sized organ moving rapidly in and out of a very small hole. Still, if Louis could like this and want it after all he'd been through, how could Hogan not enjoy himself?

"Il n'y a rien l'amour plus merveilleux que faisant à un vierge," Louis whispered, placing wet, lingering kisses on Hogan's back as he stretched him, taking his time preparing him. (There is nothing more wonderful than making love to a virgin.)

Hogan had no clue what Louis said, but he knew it was something good. He groaned in response, feeling the questing finger finally move deeper, then brush firmly over the little nob that drove him wild. He cried out at that, relishing the fact they were far enough in the dark recesses of the tunnel that a man's cry of pleasure and passion wouldn't carry to the world above.

"I am going to try two fingers, mon amour. I want you to tell me if it's too much."

"It won't be, but I'll tell you."

The two fingers were a bit uncomfortable at first, even with the liberal amount of lotion on them. He was quiet, concentrating on relaxing his body, reminding himself how much he wanted this, how much he wanted to feel Louis inside his body, how much he wanted those electric jolts of pleasure over and over until they made him senseless with ecstasy. He was getting harder now, impossibly harder, it seemed, and then Louis' fingers rubbed his little pleasure button and his whole body arched as he gasped his lover's name.

The fingers withdrew, and a moment later, he felt a hand stroking his hip.

"I'm going to try it now, mon amour. Please tell me if you need me to stop."

"I will, amoureux," Hogan replied, reaching back to stroke the warm thigh that was pressed close to his own.

"Vous êtes ma vie, mon coeur, et mon âme. Je t'aime." Louis said the words slowly enough that Hogan, with his novice's grasp of French, could follow them.

"Vous tout êtes," Hogan managed. It wasn't nearly all he wanted to say, but he knew how to tell Louis he was everything, and when it came down to it, that summed it all up nicely.

The words moved Louis deeply as he clung to Hogan's body a moment, pressing his chest to Hogan's back, his thigh moving between Hogan's.

And then Hogan felt the blunt pressure against his opening again, and he relaxed, knowing the first stretching would be uncomfortable at best. As the large organ moved slowly inside him, he gasped at the intrusion. It was bigger than he'd expected, though he wasn't sure why, since he certainly was familiar enough with it to know how large it was. His hand and his mouth had pleasured it, and he knew that LeBeau's small stature in no way related to his endowment in that area.

"Relax, mon amour. Breathe." Louis' hand began rubbing gentle circles on Hogan's belly, as if he'd detected the exact thing that was bothering him most–the cramping in his stomach at the unfamiliar filling of his body. Hogan tried to ignore the thought that Louis knew better than anyone how painful this act could be.

The rubbing hand moved from his stomach to his cock, wrapping around it again and pumping, bringing the slightly faltering erection back to life again, giving Hogan something more enjoyable to focus on than having what felt like a tree trunk pushed into his body. As he relaxed, and the organ moved further inside him, the pain subsided, and soon, he felt Louis pressed tight against him. They were joined, and it was all the way inside him.

"Feels so good inside you. So good to be inside you," Louis said, stroking Hogan's hard shaft more aggressively now, bringing it to full hardness.

Hogan moved a little, feeling the bulk shift inside him. It was a strange mix of pain and pleasure, feeling too large to really fit, and yet the conflicting sensation of being delightfully overstuffed with his lover. He moved again, and this time, Louis moved a bit with him, pulling back and then moving forward. They tried the motion again. And again.

"Mmm, that's good," Hogan moaned, really enjoying himself for the first time since Louis had made it all the way inside him. "Move a little faster."

Louis seemed only too happy to accommodate him, though he did his best to keep his strokes gentle. Hogan was moving with him, enjoying himself, and the tight sheath around Louis' cock was like nothing he'd ever felt before. Even the most virtuous girl he'd had the fortune to deflower hadn't been this tight. More importantly, though when he was sixteen he'd told her he did, and meant it, he hadn't loved her the way he loved this man. The realization of what Hogan and he were doing, of the fact that Hogan wanted him this way and gave himself so willingly and joyfully and passionately, awed him and broke his heart with the love he felt.

He tried shifting a bit, angling his strokes, and managed to hit that magic nub inside Hogan's body. The reaction was immediate and electric. Both men were moaning now, moving together in a shared rhythm, Hogan's occasional shout of unabated pleasure driving Louis wilder than the incredible stimulation of the tight sheath around his cock.

Hogan couldn't remember any of the initial discomfort, and he didn't care that he was doing the very thing that would have convinced him some time ago that he was no longer a man. He was, and Louis was, and what they could do together was amazing, and if any man hadn't tried it, he damn well shouldn't knock it.

He felt his climax rippling through his system, washing over him in waves as he gave into it, shouting Louis' name, gasping and moaning his pleasure, giving himself over to the sensations of sex in way he never had before. He didn't care what he sounded like or looked like, and he wasn't trying to impress anyone. Louis was already impressed with him and loved him more than anyone else ever had. He had no shows to put on for this man; all he had to do was share his pleasure with him, to join him in moaning and panting and sweating and moving and touching each other in ways neither had before.

And then Louis was coming, gasping muddled words in French, kissing and sucking on the skin on Hogan's back, filling him with his come.

When it was over, they lay there, still joined, motionless except for the heaving of their chests as their bodies settled and cooled. As Louis slipped free of his body, he felt sore and empty, and wondered if his body would ever feel complete with what seemed like part of it missing. He turned over and pulled Louis close, kissing him soundly, then kissing every inch of his face until they both lay there together, smiling at each other, relishing the undisturbed intimacy of what they'd shared, of kissing and cuddling and saying silly, sweet things to each other like lovers do.

"I wish we could stay here all night," Hogan said, nuzzling Louis' neck.

"Oui, I would kill just to have a whole night for us to love each other and touch each other...do all the things we want to do to each other."

"We'll have all that, amoureux. I promise you." Hogan cuddled him close.

"The apartment over the restaurant?"

"That's the place. Just you and me. And what's anybody gonna say about it? Two bachelors who put all their money into the business. Where else are we supposed to live?"

"I knew you'd think of something. You're the most amazing man I ever knew."

"Oh, come on, Louis. You're forgetting DeGaul, aren't you? You said you met him once."

"You think I consider him more amazing than you?" Louis thought back of how he'd treated Hogan when he wanted to answer DeGaul's summons for all Frenchmen to take up arms. He hadn't given Hogan much indication that he, or the operation, had much worth when held up in comparison to General DeGaul. He'd gone to Hogan when it was all over, after he'd chosen to stay, and let him know that he felt badly about pushing their friendship aside in the heat of the moment, and Hogan understood Louis' love for his country, and admired it. Still...

"He's your national hero, Louis. I'm just teasing you."

"You've always been my hero, mon amour."

"I know. I love you, too." Hogan smiled, kissing Louis' forehead.

"No, you don't understand. DeGaul may be a general, and a great man, and a hero to the French people, and therefore, a hero to me, but he would never lay his life on the line just for me. He would never risk a major strategic operation just for me. He would never risk everything just to make love to me. He would never sacrifice his whole life and what his future could be just to be with me. He wouldn't give me his body and soul and heart for safe-keeping. He wouldn't be my best friend and my confidante. He wouldn't smile at me the way you do, the way you always have...and I don't believe any other officer I ever met would care for all his men the way you do. It is one thing to be a hero in the heat of battle, but it is quite something else to answer the call to be a hero day in, day out, with the expectation you will succeed in making things happen that are utterly impossible. If I ever made you feel that I didn't think that highly of you, then I want you to know now that I always have. If I could think of the greatest example of a hero, it would not be DeGaul. It would be you, l'amour de ma vie."

Hogan didn't say anything; he couldn't. Instead, he pulled Louis into a fierce embrace.

********

Hogan watched Klink's staff car pull up near his quarters, and the kommandant get out and sprint up to his door, positively–and nearly literally–walking on air. Hogan chuckled at that. Apparently he wasn't the only one who'd gotten lucky in the last twenty-four hours. He shifted a little where he stood, leaning against the barracks, glad no one was there to see his cheeks color as he felt the residual tenderness in a particularly intimate location. It was insanity that having overworked muscles and chafed skin up your rear was a cause for a constant state of arousal and the disquieting inability to quit blushing as if everyone else in the room knew it.

Ah, love, it's a wonderful thing. Makes idiots of us all.

And then there was Klink. He couldn't remember ever seeing the kommandant leave for dinner and not come home until two hours after breakfast. Gruber had handled morning roll call on his own, and Schultz had been containing a serious case of the giggles through the whole thing.

True to form, Hogan couldn't resist teasing the kommandant just a bit. He made his way over to Klink's quarters, telling himself repeatedly that he was not walking bow-legged and that the entire camp wasn't as obsessed with his ass as he was. Well, okay, maybe LeBeau was equally obsessed, but even he was doing something useful in the motor pool with Newkirk and Carter.

Hogan walked into the sitting room and overheard Klink's voice from the bedroom, singing some presumably sappy love song in German. He shook his head and smiled, going back out and then coming in again, slamming the door. A moment later, Klink emerged from the bedroom, freshly dressed in a crisp, pressed uniform.

"Have a good night, kommandant?" Hogan asked, his expression a blended smile and knowing leer.

"Let us just say that the temperature in Dusseldorf was considerably warmer than it is here at Stalag 13," Klink said, beaming.

"You must've passed inspection with Mom and Dad, huh?"

"They were lovely people," Klink stated, pouring coffee for both of them from the small pot Schultz had brought and left there at Klink's orders. "And what a magnificent home," he added.

"I'm surprised old bubblehead hasn't confiscated it yet," Hogan said, sitting on one end of the couch, and feeling his face burn as he shifted a bit on the cushion. Klink was too elated to notice his odd expression as he took his seat on the other end of the couch, sipping his coffee.

"Her father is the personal physician to someone very high-ranking on the Fuhrer's Staff," Klink said in a low tone. "He wouldn't say who, but I'm sure it is one of the top men."

"Good thing she didn't tell him who one of her latest patients was," Hogan said, rolling his eyes a bit as he took a drink of his coffee.

"He knows all about that, and was very pleased that she treated you and the surgery was a success. He is very loyal to the Fatherland, but he is also dedicated to his profession. He agreed with her decision not to question providing you treatment based on your status as a POW."

"Sounds like a good family."

"Hogan...how do you feel when you've found a woman you think might be...the right woman?"

"I haven't gotten there yet, sir." Hogan took another drink of coffee.

"Surely you must have been in love sometime?"

"You mean, how do I tell when it's more than just infatuation?"

"Ja, ja, that's what I mean."

"When you think about that person all the time. When there's nothing you wouldn't do...no sacrifice that would be too great. When you're not happy without that person by your side, and just one smile can light up your whole day. When every part of you responds when..." Hogan swallowed and then took a gulp of his coffee. "Well, let's just say you know it when you feel it."

"For someone who hasn't gotten there yet, you certainly seem to have quite a grasp of the sensation," Klink said, grinning like a lovesick sap. "Ilsa is really a wonderful woman, Hogan. I confess there are times I'm positively speechless that she will go out with me, let alone..."

"You're hooked," Hogan said, smiling.

"From that little speech you made, it sounds as if you are, too. I don't think I want to know how you've managed to find yourself a fraulein from inside a POW camp."

"There are some things you're better off not knowing, sir," Hogan said, nodding in agreement as he finished his coffee.

********

THE END