The Hand of a Friend

A faithful friend is a strong defense; and he that hath found such a one hath found a treasure.
Apocrypha: Ecclesiasticus 6:14

Late March, 1944

He raced through the woods with speed born of desperation, shoving aside branches, hurdling fallen trees, and dodging boulders that loomed out of the darkness. A protruding root, unseen in the darkness, tripped him up and threw him to his hands and knees. With a snarl of frustration, he reached for the burning ache in his side with one hand and tightened his grip on his gun with the other. A few more panting breaths, then he scrambled to his feet and broke into a fast lope.

A wall of brush appeared ahead of him. He hesitated a split second, then bulldozed into it. Tangled branches snagged his clothing, clawed at his hair, threatened to knock the gun from his hand. He fought his way forward, determined to get to the river that he knew was close by. Between one step and the next, he was through the brush and skidding down a gravel slope. Though he couldn't hear the patrol any longer, he knew they had to still be there. The path he was leaving was so obvious a child would have no trouble following it.

His inelegant slide ended in a spray of loose rock just short of the river's edge. He eyed the water uneasily. The current gurgled and foamed around roots jutting out of the bank, while further out, miniature waves provided evidence of the swiftness of the river's flow. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing in the distance the first of the patrol's lights moving toward him. Without allowing himself a chance to change his mind, he stepped off the bank and into the water. The biting cold that attacked his feet and legs made him want to vault right back out again. Ruthlessly curbing the impulse, he lurched further into the current, laboring against it momentarily before turning downstream.

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"He's heading for the river," Wenzel commented aloud to his commanding officer.

Hauptmann Klaus Leidel nodded absently and continued his study of the broken twigs and other obvious signs marking the man's passing. Of course he's going for the river. He has no choice. This trail is much too easy to follow. Waving his remaining two men onward, he silently followed, considering the events of the past thirty minutes.

Their night patrol had been uneventful until in a rare moment of luck, they'd spotted two figures separating to either side of the road ahead of them. Shouting a warning to halt, he and his men had approached the two people. As they grew closer, the pair became recognizable in the moonlight as a man and woman. In response to their command to surrender, the man had slowly walked toward them from the trees; his hands held low and slightly away from his body. Leidel had felt a flare of alarm. No one voluntarily walked toward capture -- unless they were up to something. His instincts had been justified, for in the next instant, the man had snapped into a firing position and taken out two of Leidel's four men.

Respect and admiration manifested itself in a shake of his head. The shots had been placed to incapacitate, not to kill and within seconds had taken the odds from five to one down to three to one. Hilbrandt had been clipped in the fleshy part of his calf, while Elrich had taken a bullet to the arm. His gun arm, to be exact. And the distraction had worked. Their return fire had been concentrated on the man as he'd lunged into the woods, leaving his companion to flee unmolested in the opposite direction.

Leidel chuckled deep within his throat. The sound, so uncommon coming from him, startled his men. They turned their heads and stared curiously over their shoulders at him. He schooled his face into a formidable glare and snapped their heads forward again.

"Herr Hauptmann!"

Leidel walked to the bush bathed in the beam of Wenzel's flashlight. Lifting one of the branches closer, he saw what had caught the other man's attention. Viscous liquid glistened on a few of the dead leaves. So, we managed to hit our target after all. Judging by the speed at which the man was moving, it wasn't a serious wound.

"He's reached the river by now," Leidel mused aloud, visualizing the man's progress. Upstream or down? Surely not across? What would I do? Without further hesitation, he pointed into the darkness to his left.

"Let's parallel it downstream. I believe he'll attempt to get around us that way."

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Thigh-deep in icy cold water, he could only watch while the lights closed in on him. The patrol had countered his move. His options were dwindling.

Staying in the water was out of the question; the cold was quickly sapping his strength and body heat. His feet were already numb and his teeth were on the verge of chattering. But if he got out of the river, they would hear him breaking through the dense undergrowth skirting the bank. He didn't have the strength left to fight his way back upstream to get around them. That meant crossing to the other side to find a place to wait them out.

Turning his back on the lights, he started across the river toward the bank that suddenly appeared a mile away. It was probably only his imagination, but the current felt as if it had gotten stronger. It pulled at his legs, threatening to knock him off his feet at any moment. He stumbled against a particularly strong wave, caught himself, and pushed his leg forward against the current.

What seemed an eternity later, he hoisted himself out of the water and onto the opposite bank, shuddering in misery. The river had deepened three-quarters of the way across, drenching him up to his neck. The once warm, black shirt and lined jacket now hung heavily from his shoulders and his trousers clung to his legs like a sodden, second skin.

Ingrained habit made him take a few precious moments to check the condition of his gun. He was about to move on when he noticed faint movement directly in front of his face. He blinked, then blinked again. Rising into the air from every part of his drenched clothing were smoky tendrils of escaping body heat.

Trembling violently from the cold, he entered the woods without a backward glance. Only one thought was uppermost in his mind now. If he didn't find shelter soon, the patrol would be the least of his problems.

Fifty feet later, he surrendered to his body's demands and paused, leaning forward to brace his hands on his knees and pull in deep, ragged breaths. He was in very serious trouble. He needed shelter, but there were few places nearby that he knew of and all were outside, with little or no means of providing warmth. The hand he'd been scrubbing across his face stopped mid-motion as he remembered another time when he'd needed shelter from the cold. It wasn't much, but it was the best possibility. He glanced around and found several familiar landmarks. The distance was farther than he would've liked, but he had to try for it.

The alternative was to simply lie down and die.

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Leidel stared across the water, at a complete loss to explain what he was feeling. By the time he'd arrived at the river, his quarry was already midway to the other side. For a very brief moment, he'd considered shooting. Training insisted upon it. Duty demanded it. But conscience forbade him from shooting any target in the back no matter what the circumstances.

Instead, he'd remained silent, his gun held loosely at his side, while the man struggled through the frigid water. His own body shook with shivers of sympathy as he watched the slow progress. At one point, the dark head came close to disappearing beneath the current. Leidel had grimaced, expecting the river to accomplish what he had not. But the man had slowly emerged from the water and onto the other bank. It briefly appeared that the crossing might have been too much. The man swayed, staggered and nearly fell, but managed to stay on his feet and moved out of sight.

Leidel stared across the river. He'd truly believed the man wouldn't cross, but would instead skirt the river's edge and attempt to slip past the patrol in the darkness. It was a cold night, just above freezing. The odds of survival were little to none for someone wounded and soaking wet. Yet, rather than risk capture, the man had chosen to cross.

He shook his head in wonder, struggling to wrap his mind around that fact. A smile slowly stole across his face.

Labored breathing signaled his men's arrival. Banishing all traces of the smile, he turned.

"I found no sign of him here. He must have doubled back and slipped by us somehow." He pointed past them in the direction of the road. "If we hurry, we may yet be able to catch up with him." Immediately, they spun and reentered the woods.

He looked across the river again. Despite the odds and all logic to the contrary, he felt certain that he and the man would one day meet again.

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Time passed in an ever-thickening fog of freezing exhaustion. His legs grew stiff and numb and his eyelids drooped from the overwhelming urge to lie down and sleep. The only part of his body that seemed to have retained any feeling at all was the ache in his side, which throbbed with every leaden step he took. Eventually, even that sensation faded. He fought against the deadly lethargy with every ounce of his will and stumbled onward, desperate to reach shelter. Finally, just when he thought he could go no further, he arrived at his destination. Leaning heavily against a tree to catch his breath and gather his strength, he blearily studied his surroundings.

The farm was exactly as he remembered it, right down to the battered old truck parked at an angle in front of the barn. The only difference he found after a few moments of study was the car parked alongside it. The rest of the scene looked like something out of a Christmas card. The modest but well-maintained house stood against a backdrop of trees. Golden light gleamed invitingly from windows evenly spaced beneath a wrap around porch, while smoke curled in lazy wisps from the stone chimney.

He rested his cheek against the tree and closed his eyes, a breath that was more of a sob escaping numb lips. What he wouldn't give at the moment for a blanket and fire.

He could break into the house. He had a gun. But in his condition, they still might be able to take him. The risk was too high.

Feeling himself drifting into oblivion, he pried his eyes open and pushed away from the tree. Forget the house. Get to the barn. Keeping his gaze locked on the barn's side door, he staggered across the barnyard, silently repeating with each step, One more. Just one more.

Somehow, he stayed on his feet and made it to the door. He collapsed against the barn and reached for the handle, muscles shaking with effort. The door opened with a grating squeal of its hinges. Apparently, the farmer still didn't believe in using oil.

His next obstacle was the ladder leading to his ultimate destination: a loft, where he could burrow deep beneath the fluffy straw he remembered. The climb looked insurmountable, but he had to make it. He'd come this far. He wasn't about to give up now.

His hand was reaching for the ladder when he heard the barn's front door open. Knowing he couldn't possibly reach the loft in time, he went for a corner as fast as his cold, leaden feet would carry him.

The farmer stepped into the barn, humming softly. The humming broke off and he stopped, lifting his lantern to avoid bumping the cat that had appeared to twine around his feet. He gave the yellow tomcat a gentle push with one foot, grinning at its plaintive meow of protest.

"You have had your milk, Oskar."

The rangy feline threw him a green-eyed look of displeasure, and with a switch of its bent tail, slunk back into the shadows.

Chuckling softly, the farmer took a firmer grip on his axe and continued across the barn floor toward the chickens' nesting boxes. He was nearly there when the lantern light touched upon an unfamiliar shape in one corner of the barn. Curious, he turned and walked toward it, lifting his lantern higher for a better view.

The distinctive sound of a handgun cocking froze the farmer in place. Now clearly illuminated by the lantern's light was the metallic shine of a gun aimed directly at his chest. Slowly, he looked beyond it. The face staring back at him was bisected by harsh shadows, leaving most of the man's darkened features hidden from view. For some reason, the effect made the man appear more menacing than the gun. Being very careful not to move, the farmer spoke soothingly to the eyes glittering at him from the shadows.

"I mean you no harm." The eyes flickered to his left hand, reminding him of what he held. "It is for the chicken," he explained with a smile. "She is no longer laying, so she is for the table tonight."

The gun remained trained on his chest, the eyes again unwavering.

The farmer swallowed. Mein Gott.

"Father, is she giving you trouble?" a voice called from just outside the barn door.

The man’s head jerked upward and his eyes blinked and widened. A brief pause, then the hand holding the gun dropped, as though it had grown too heavy to hold up any longer. The farmer sighed in relief when he heard the gun's safety being engaged. Slowly leaning to one side, he placed the axe and lantern on a nearby barrel, hearing the door open behind him. Keeping his gaze upon the stranger, he called out to his son.

"We have a guest for supper." Cautiously, he moved closer when the man uttered a guttural moan and dropped to his knees.

"Robert!" Doktor Kurt Metzger leaped forward, catching Robert Hogan's limp body in his arms.

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Corporal Peter Newkirk, RAF, grumbled under his breath and brushed a drift of snow from his shoulders. Casting a beleaguered look at the heavy clouds obscuring the stars, he wrapped his arms about his shivering body.

This night just keeps getting better and better.

He’d hoped to make it back to camp before the snow started, but several patrols had kept that from happening. The first squad of Germans had quickly moved on, but the second had caused him considerable concern. He'd waited in the thick brush, hunkered in a tight ball, while they'd tramped back and forth between the river and the road he had to cross. By the time they'd finally moved off down the road toward Hammelburg, he was stiff and shivering from the forced inactivity.

A grin pulled at his chapped lips. Stiff and cold, but still free . . . and alive. He looked heavenward again, this time touching his woolen cap in salute.

Some of the snow sifted under the collar of his greatcoat and down his neck, making him squirm uncomfortably. As if that insult weren't enough, the wind suddenly rose, gusting through the trees, rattling the bare branches above his head. Snow swirled about him in growing density, almost obscuring the path he was following. Without warning, he sneezed, simultaneously grabbing his cap to keep from losing it in the process. He sniffled and wiped at tearing eyes.

This bleeding war is going to give me pneumonia!

London's call had not been welcome. Particularly to him, since he'd drawn the short straw for pick-up duty. The fact that his CO was also braving the elements for a last-minute meeting with one of their contacts didn't make him feel any better. At least Rapunzel was feminine and beautiful. Rumpelstiltskin, however, was the image of his codename: sixty-ish, gray-haired and gnarled.

Ruddy officers get all the perks! Newkirk silently groused, brushing another layer of snow from his shoulders.

The patrols hadn't been the only unpleasant surprise of the night. He'd expected to rendezvous with Schnitzer at a small pull-off from the main road for a ride back to camp in the relative comfort of the German’s dog truck. For once, he'd actually been looking forward to sharing his ride with a pack of drooling, friendly dogs. In his opinion, being covered in hair and sticky dog kisses was more attractive than a long hike in cold weather. But upon arriving at the appointed spot, the truck and Schnitzer had been mysteriously absent and he'd ended up with the hike after all.

Newkirk sighed and tugged his collar tighter around his neck, images of steaming hot tea and his bed filling his head. If his luck improved, he’d be allowed to go straight to bed once he’d given his report delivered the package into Hogan's hands. That thought alone was enough to make him pick up speed.

He felt like cheering when he finally arrived at the squat tree stump concealing the entrance to their tunnel system. He gave the area a quick check, relieved to find the wind-driven snow had drifted in a manner that left the ground around the entrance clear. Tracks disappearing at the base of the stump would attract unwelcome attention.

He timed the rhythm of the searchlight's sweep and once it had passed, lifted the stump lid and descended into the tunnel.

He jumped off the ladder two rungs from the bottom, twisting in mid-air to avoid landing on top of Sergeant Andrew Carter.

"Bloody hell, Andrew! I could've done myself a mischief!"

"Did you see the colonel? Was he out there?"

"Eh? What are you on about?" Newkirk asked, looking up from shaking the last of the snow from his coat. Carter hovered in front of him, fidgeting from foot to foot.

"The colonel! He's way overdue!"

"Rapunzel's a beautiful bird, Andrew," Newkirk said with a leer and suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. "Maybe they're keeping each other warm."

Carter's blue eyes rolled and his voice rose in outrage. "There was trouble tonight, Newkirk! Rapunzel radioed she and the colonel met up with a patrol. He drew their fire while she got away. That was hours ago!"

Newkirk briefly locked eyes with him, then shouldered past and headed straight for their radio room. Kinch and LeBeau were keeping vigil at the radio set and looked up at his entrance. The bleakness in their faces sent his heart plummeting into his stomach.

"Any word on the guv'nor?"

"No," sighed Kinch, pulling off his headphones.

LeBeau's face brightened as he thought of a possible explanation. "Maybe he's waiting until it's safe to go back to Schnizter's truck."

Carter dropped heavily onto a nearby stool and shook his head. "He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't risk leading them to Schnitzer."

Kinch wrapped his arms around himself and stared down at the table, seeing not its wooden top, but an image of Hogan lying dead or dying somewhere in the woods. Previous experience made the vision much too vivid and he mentally cringed away from the memory. "Carter's right. If anything, he'd take off in the opposite direction. And besides, Schnizter's long gone by now. He knows not to stay that long and risk drawing suspicion."

Newkirk leaned back against one of the tunnel's brace beams, one hand creeping to his ever-present pack of cigarettes. "Kinch is right about Schnitzer. He was long gone and it wasn’t because I was late to the rendezvous. That's why it took me so long to get back. I had to hoof it the whole way." He pulled out a cigarette, then tucked the pack back into his pocket. "I think I might have run into that same patrol, mates. They were pretty close to where the guv'nor and Rapunzel would've had their meeting."

Carter paled even more. "Do you suppose they got him?"

Newkirk absently played with the unlit cigarette as he reviewed the patrol's movements. "No. They were beatin' the brush. Lookin'. And not findin'. Whatever happened, they hadn't caught the guv'nor."

Kinch's expression was somber when he looked up. "Then where is he?"

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Hogan slowly drifted awake to blessed warmth. With a sigh of contentment, he burrowed deeper into the soft duvet wrapped about him and let himself float in pleasant drowsiness. Gradually, he became aware of the crackle and snap of a fire burning nearby. He turned his head toward the sound and felt the flame's heat fall directly upon his face, warming his cheeks even more. His nostrils twitched at the pungent tang of wood smoke before he buried it beneath the duvet.

A hand gently touched the crown of his head, then stroked lightly back over his hair. Still fuzzy from the effects of bone-chilling cold giving way to heat, he lay still, pondering the touch. The hand stroked over his hair again, drifting past his ear to his cheek -- a whisper soft caress that spoke of care.

His senses finally woke up. Tilting his head back, he looked directly into the bluest pair of eyes he'd ever seen. They widened, then turned away.

"Kurt? Josef? He is awake."

He glimpsed two people rushing toward him from the corner of his slightly blurred vision. The surprise that had initially held him immobile gave way to full-fledged alarm. Perceiving a threat, he tried to get up and protect himself. Unfortunately, his body wouldn't cooperate. He flailed clumsily within the duvet, but only managed a sitting position.

"Robert, calm down! You are safe!" Kurt dropped to his knees beside the mattress positioned in front of the fire. He latched onto his friend's shoulders, noting with concern how little effort it took to hold the normally robust American down.

His reassurances finally penetrated Hogan through his panic. He stopped struggling and looked up in surprise.

"Kurt?"

"Ja, Robert," Kurt soothed. Hogan shivered and clutched at the duvet that had fallen to his waist. Kurt frowned, worried. "Lie back down," he urged, gently pushing against Hogan’s shoulders.

Too disoriented to object, Hogan sank back onto the mattress and Kurt rearranged the duvet around him. The disorientation cleared enough that several pieces of information filtered through the fog in Hogan’s brain: he was completely naked beneath the duvet and somewhere close by was a woman he didn't know.

Sensing his discomfort, Kurt patted him on the shoulder before taking a seat on the floor beside him. "Your clothing was completely soaked and your temperature was dangerously low. We removed your clothing so that we could warm you back up." He watched Hogan's gaze travel slowly around the room. "You are in my parents' home."

Hogan flicked a sharp glance toward him. "The barn."

"Ja," Kurt nodded gravely. "Your infamous luck held once again. If Father had not gone out to the barn when he did, we would not have found you, and no amount of straw would have kept you from dying of exposure." He looked away, horrified at the possibility of one day discovering his friend's corpse in the loft.

Hogan shifted beneath the duvet and discovered a warm, yielding object that sloshed when prodded with his foot. Hot water bottle. No wonder my feet are so warm. Refocusing his wandering thoughts, he looked toward the kitchen.

"You said this is your parents' home?"

"Ja." Kurt turned toward the kitchen, calling out, "Mutter? Vater?" The couple immediately appeared carrying a loaded tray. Hogan rose into a sitting position and looked again into the brilliant cerulean blue eyes that he'd awakened to.

"Robert, this is Romie, my mother." A petite woman with delicate features and wavy, dove-gray hair smiled down at Hogan. He nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt.

"My father, Josef." Herr Metzger leaned forward, tipped his head in greeting. Hogan stared; remembering him from the time he and Carter had spent hiding out in the Metzger barn. Herr Metzger appeared much the same as he had then: slightly stooped from age, but still bearing a head full of silver-blond hair. His pale blue eyes held an inner youthfulness.

"Herr Metzger, Frau Metzger, I'm honored to finally have the chance to meet you both face to face. But I have a confession to make."

The couple shared a puzzled look with their son. Kurt's head tilted quizzically. "We don't understand, Robert. What do you mean?"

Hogan shifted to a more comfortable position. The wound in his side sent out a minor spasm of pain, reminding him of its presence. "One of my men and I once hid out in your barn. I entered your home and stole some food." Their faces immediately lit with understanding.

"Ah, the cheese and bread!" Romie nodded. She reached out and squeezed one duvet-covered shoulder. "So that was you, then?" She chuckled when he confirmed it with a dip of his head. "Colonel, we did not suffer from the loss. We had assumed that some poor soul needed it more than we. Besides, you really did not take much at all."

"Romie is right, Colonel," Josef agreed, pulling his pipe from one pocket. "We found later where you had been sleeping in the loft, as well. We understood that our guests had obviously meant us no harm, but had only needed food and shelter for a short time." He struck a match and held it to the bowl of the pipe, puffing away until it lit with a soft sputter. The rich scent of tobacco wafted into the air.

"But didn't the Gestapo come here looking for us?" Hogan remembered Schiller commenting that their temporary shelter in the loft had been discovered during a search of the farm. He sank lower in the duvet, swamped with guilt at the thought of the couple being harassed due to evidence of their presence. He glanced at Kurt, berating himself for putting his friend’s parents in danger.

"They had no reason to suspect us of any involvement, Colonel," Josef replied evenly. He avoided looking at his wife or son, knowing that they had caught the lie. The Gestapo had left them alone . . . eventually.

"The soup!" Romie cried, reaching for the long-forgotten tray. "Colonel, you must eat before it becomes cold! You need the warmth." She started to hand him the bowl, but paused when Kurt put a hand on Hogan's chest and held him down.

"Stay completely within the duvet, Robert. Not even your arms are to come out." Kurt laughed at Hogan's look outrage. "Your temperature was still a degree less than normal the last time I checked, which was just before you awoke. And I have not missed the shivers you have been trying so hard to hide from me. I will help you sit up, but you are to stay completely covered. As much as it may bruise your pride, one of us will feed the soup to you."

Josef leaned forward, his pipe in hand. "It is chicken soup, Colonel." As he'd hoped, Hogan snickered and relaxed, allowing Kurt to help him sit up. Romie lifted a spoonful of the warm broth to his mouth, and after a moment's hesitation, he accepted it.

Kurt sat back and watched his mother happily fuss over his friend. He smiled, enjoying her quiet laughter over Hogan's praises for her cooking and the now-deceased chicken that had indirectly saved his life.

It was good to hear her laugh again and to see the animation lighting her face as she kept up a running commentary with Hogan to keep his mind off his discomfort. That soft lilting laughter, once a daily part of the Metzger household, had been rare treasure over the past twelve months. But it flowed freely now and the haunted, withdrawn expression was nowhere to be seen.

He hid a chuckle behind the shelter of his hand, knowing how much his friend hated to be coddled and fussed over by anyone. But Hogan endured the loving treatment and warmly thanked Romie after finishing the soup. Josef helped Romie to her feet, then took up the tray and dishes and accompanied her into the kitchen.

Kurt studied Hogan's appearance with a critical eye. His friend’s face had regained a healthy flush of color and the intermittent shivering was finally abating. The brown eyes were bright and clear and Hogan appeared relatively alert. Kurt relaxed, sighing in relief.

Hogan had been frighteningly white when they'd found him, his condition rapidly deteriorating. By the time they'd gotten him into the house and wrestled him out of his wet clothing, he'd stopped shivering and had become completely unresponsive. The most disconcerting aspect of his condition had been his eyes. They'd remained slitted open, dull and fixed throughout their urgent attempts to warm him.

Kurt blew out a harsh breath, reliving the helpless rage and fear he'd felt watching his friend hover between life and death. They’d worked over him for more than forty-five minutes before seeing the first indication that they were pulling him back. A small tremor had run the length of his body and then he'd slowly blinked. Just a single blink, but Kurt had felt the first leap of hope. Soon, his friend’s eyes had squeezed shut, his teeth had started chattering, and rapid, violent shivers had started the lean frame shaking. Hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, they'd quietly rejoiced when Hogan had finally lapsed into natural sleep with an audible sigh.

A foot connected solidly against Kurt's leg, jostling him back to the present. Inwardly, he was pleased by the pain-free action. Frostbite had been another very real concern. He looked up, meeting the alert brown eyes with a bemused smirk.

" I see that your reflexes have returned to normal, Robert."

"Oh, very funny." Hogan rose onto one elbow, then sat bolt upright when the mantle clock caught his attention. "Where are my clothes?" He swore beneath his breath when he received only a blank look in answer. "I’ve got to get back to camp! By that clock over there," he hitched his head toward the mantle, "Roll call's in less than ninety minutes!"

"Tell me, Robert," Kurt sighed, lazily rubbing one finger back and forth beneath his chin. "How do you propose to travel twelve miles in less than ninety minutes in your condition?"

Hogan glared at him. "That must be your car out front. You can give me a ride back to camp." He started gathering the duvet around him.

Kurt jumped to his feet. "Stay by the fire! I'll find clothes for you. Yours are still damp and I'll not have you putting them back on and sending yourself right back into another chill!" He stomped out of the room, muttering beneath his breath about stubborn jackasses.

Hogan was on his feet by the time he returned and held out a hand for the clothing, only to yelp in alarm when the duvet took a sudden slide to the floor. He grabbed at the folds of fabric, yanking them back up a scant second before Josef and Romie returned from the kitchen.

"Kurt?" Romie's gentle voice held a definite note of censure. "Should the colonel be up so soon?"

Kurt snorted. "Absolutely not, Mutter. However, Robert has always had his own ideas concerning his health, haven't you, Robert?" Hogan shot him another dark glare, then carefully let go of the duvet with one hand and reached again for the clothing. Kurt stepped back, yanking them beyond his reach

"Come on, Kurt!" He took a step forward, reached out again. Kurt thrust out his free hand, blocking the attempt.

"Nein. Either you sit on the couch and allow me to check your wound, or you will continue to wear that duvet." Hogan's head lowered in stubborn determination. Kurt frowned. "Give in, Robert, and I'll have you back at camp that much faster." He folded his arms, prepared to be as just stubborn.

Hogan rolled his eyes, shuffled over to the couch and gingerly sat down. Kurt sat beside him and lowered the duvet just far enough to check the wound. He couldn't hold back a tiny grin when he noted the position of the graze.

"It seems you will have a scar to match Christopher's. The wound is just below your ribs, in nearly the exact same spot."

"Great. I can't tell you how excited I am," Hogan growled. Next time he saw his youngest brother, they could compare war wounds. He consulted the clock again. "Are you done?" He shivered, clutched the duvet closer.

Kurt noticed the reaction and his reply died on his lips. He looked up to find his ever-observant mother had noticed it as well. She glanced at him and concern, then started forward. Kurt pursed his lips, waving her back as Hogan twisted on the cushion to face him.

"Kurt? As much as I appreciate this duvet, there's a lot to be said for clothes."

Throwing a look heavenward, Kurt surrendered the clothing with ill grace. Hogan's hand darted out from the duvet and grabbed them. He started to dress, only to suddenly remember Romie's presence. Blushing, he looked at Kurt, then hitched his eyes in her direction. Kurt sputtered with laughter.

It is much too late for modesty, my friend!

Hogan glared at him, unamused. "Kurt . . ." he warned.

"Oh, very well, Robert," Kurt chuckled, looking to his father for help. Josef smiled in understanding and led Romie from the room with a murmured explanation. Her soft laughter floated back to them from the kitchen.

Without warning, a wave of weakness hit Hogan. He slumped, his eyes slamming shut.

"Robert!"

"What?" His brown eyes snapped open again, showing definite signs of renewed exhaustion.

"You almost fell asleep just now." Kurt put out one hand, propping the sagging body upright. "I am not happy about this." Hogan ignored him and started pulling on the trousers. Kurt bit back a curse. I should have kept my mouth shut and allowed you to fall completely asleep!

"You should not be going back out into the cold so soon."

Hogan pulled the thick, woolen sweater over his head, the material muffling his response. "I won't be soaking wet this time and I won't be out that long." Brushing the thick fall of hair out of his eyes with a sweep of his hand, he allowed the duvet to fall to the floor and quickly pulled on the socks and boots.

Kurt felt his heart clench in pain. The clothing fit Hogan as though they’d been made for him. Reality blurred, superimposing his brother Philipp's face over Hogan’s familiar features. His temper flared; his voice lowered to a snarl. "You are the most mulish, thick-headed, stubborn, insufferable . . ." Anger contorted Kurt’s face, his diatribe not slowing even when Hogan went still in surprise. "You were this close to death! And now you want to waltz right back out into the cold before your body has fully recovered from the severe shock!"

Without warning, he seized Hogan by the arms and hauled him to his feet, then immediately withdrew his support. Hogan staggered, struggling to regain his balance. Taking Hogan's jaw in one hand, Kurt snarled, "You see?! You are still very groggy and weak. You will feel chilled for quite sometime and you are trembling in my hands at this very moment! Verdamnt, Robert! We did not save your life just to have you so cavalierly risk it again! When did you decide you were indestructible?" Hogan's reply was lost as Kurt shook him hard again. "When did you decide that your body could take any amount of punishment and bounce right back without repercussions? You are A FOOL, Robert Edward Hogan!" he spun away, retreating.

Hogan felt like he'd been caught in a whirlwind. He studied Kurt’s rigid back, Carter's favorite phrase of "Holy cow," echoing through his mind. He looked toward the kitchen, finding Josef and Romie watching from the doorway, Romie wrapped in her husband's arms. Hogan swore there were tears in their eyes.

Absently, he fingered the borrowed clothing, then looked down at the sweater and trousers, noticing only then that they fit perfectly. They were too large to have come from Kurt's closet. Nor could they be Josef's. Slowly, his eyes went to the small table near the fireplace. The picture of the young Luftwaffe officer was still there, the frame still wrapped in black crepe. He winced, suddenly understanding Kurt’s pain and anger.

Their son. Kurt's brother.

Taking a deep breath, Hogan carefully went to Kurt. "I'm sorry about your brother."

"His name was Philipp," Kurt offered, swinging around to face him. "And he was just as stubborn as you."

"And seeing me in his clothes just brought back all of the pain."

"Ja," Kurt murmured, lips twisting in a weak smile. "But do not misunderstand, Robert. I was speaking to you, not Phillip, and I meant every word."

Josef approached them, his gray brows drawn together by a frown. “Colonel, we do not begrudge you the clothing. After all, Philipp has need of it no longer." Romie nodded her agreement from the doorway, sniffling softly and wiping her eyes.

Hogan didn't know what to say, torn between duty and the desire to stay with them. His eyes returned to the mantle clock. Sixty minutes until roll call.

Kurt noticed him looking and moved toward the door, his voice low in resignation. "Come, Robert. I'll take you back."

"Wait." Hogan quickly shrugged into the jacket Kurt had provided, then went to Romie. Taking her hand, he bent over it and placed a light kiss on her palm. Her cheeks pinked with a girlish blush and she pressed her other hand to her lips. "Danke, danke vielmaus, Frau Metzger," Hogan said softly, bowing his head over her hand.

Her blue eyes blazed with pleasure and she reached up and cupped his cheek with her free hand. "I wish you well, Colonel, and hope that we will have the chance to see you again. Until then, I will pray for your safety and that of your men."

He gave her his brightest smile, and releasing her hand, turned and bowed in respect to Josef. "Herr Metzger, you saved my life. I will never forget that nor your gracious hospitality."

Josef took his hand in a firm grip. "You are welcome in our home . . . or our barn," he chuckled, "anytime, Colonel." He produced Hogan's gun and damp clothing.

"Thank you, sir." Hogan accepted them and started for the door, throwing a glance at them over his shoulder. Romie looked up at her husband and made a soft comment. Josef put a fist to his mouth and choked back a laugh. Shaking his head in amusement, Kurt followed Hogan out.

Outside, Hogan holstered his gun and turned to Kurt, his expression quizzical. "I realize this is really none of my business, but what was it she said to your father just now?"

Kurt laughed softly and stepped off the porch. "She said that you are much too charming for your own good and that she hopes you don't one day find yourself in trouble because of it."

Hogan laughed all the way to the car.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

"Roll call in twenty-five minutes."

LeBeau, Newkirk and Carter glanced up at Kinch's flat announcement. He stiffly rose from his chair and headed into the tunnel leading to their barracks. They watched him go, making no move to follow. He paused and looked back at them, weariness and worry bowing his shoulders.

"Come on. There's no use waiting around here any longer. London doesn't know any more than we do. He'll either show or he won't."

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

They were as close to Stalag 13 as they could get without being seen. Kurt brought the car to a stop, and after setting the brake, glanced around, noting with satisfaction that they were fairly close to the tunnel entrance. As Hogan had predicted, he wouldn't be outside for long.

Kurt looked across the seat at his passenger and gritted his teeth in renewed frustration. Pale and trembling, Hogan was slumped against the door in uneasy sleep. Kurt reached across the car and shook his friend by the shoulder.

"Robert!"

Hogan jerked awake and levered himself away from the door, blinking owlishly at Kurt. "We're at Stalag 13?"

Kurt nodded, making note of the slurred speech and bleary eyes. He briefly debated the merits of another lecture, but abandoned the idea as a waste of breath.

"Thanks for saving my life, Kurt, and for getting me back here, even though it is against your better judgment."

Kurt's expression grew stormier. "I want your word that you will immediately go to bed and sleep, and that you will stay inside for the next few days. No running around outside. Stay out of the cold." He waited, but Hogan refused to look at him.

"Your word Robert!"

Hogan grimaced. His friend rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was with considerable volume. "All right! You have my word." He opened the door and had one foot on the ground when Kurt leaned over and grabbed him by the arm.

"I'll return this evening to check on you."

Hogan knew better than to argue at this point. Giving Kurt a quick nod, he jumped out of the car and turned to leave, inadvertently brushing against a low-hanging evergreen branch. Snow cascaded over his back like a heavy, wet blanket. He hunched his shoulders against the downfall, shot a rueful grin back at Kurt.

Muttering in disgust, Kurt watched his friend disappear into the brush and then threw the car into gear and drove away.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Feeling a strange sense of deja vu, Hogan sped through the tunnels, shedding clothing right and left. The sweater gave him some difficulty, but he finally managed to wrestle it off by the time he reached the radio room. He tossed it without aim, vaguely noticing it land in a heap against the radio set. Kinch wouldn't be pleased at the disrespect to his equipment, but Hogan couldn't spare the time to remove the evidence.

Reaching his locker, he grabbed his uniform and started yanking it on in a frenzy of motion. His hand caught against the bandage on his side. Clenching his teeth, he ripped it off, ignoring both the sting of pain and the renewed trickle of blood.

Less than two minutes until roll call. Swearing softly, he stuffed his shirttail into his trousers, zipped and buttoned, then grabbed his shoes. Trying to put them on while hopping to the ladder was too much to ask of his already shaky equilibrium. He knelt and tied them in record time, then leaped for the ladder, only to bounce right back off again to retrieve his cap and bomber jacket. He scaled the ladder to the barracks, jacket drooped mid-way down his shoulders, cap precariously perched on his head.

The burst of energy was completely gone by the time he hoisted himself out of the tunnel. He reeled drunkenly next to the bunk, only his grip on the frame keeping him from pitching face forward onto the floor. After a few seconds, the wooziness subsided enough that he felt it safe to move. He closed the entrance and slowly walked to the door, fumbling with the jacket's zipper.

His men were already assembled in front of the barracks for morning roll call, stamping and muttering to each other while Schultz called their names. Hogan hung back, waiting for an opportunity to get into line unnoticed.

"Colonel Hogan?" Schultz stared at the empty space in the front rank, as though expecting Hogan to materialize out of thin air. When he didn't, Schultz sidled closer to Kinch, nervously asked out of the side of his mouth, "Where is Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan figured that this was as good a time as any. He slipped between Carter and Newkirk and stepped into rank.

"Right here, Schultz."

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz hurried to his side. "Puh-leeze, Colonel Hogan! I'm up for another three-day pass. Please NO monkey-business!"

Hogan shook his head to clear the whine from his ears. "Don't wuh-worry, Schultz. I've pruh-promised to be a guh-good boy and behuh- have myself."

Hogan gritted his teeth, annoyed beyond words at the stuttering. The last thing he wanted was to draw even more attention to himself. Unable to stop shivering, he jammed his hands beneath his arms and watched without interest as Kommandant Wilhelm Klink approached from his quarters for morning report. Klink came to rest in front of them, one hand twisting and tugging at the riding crop tucked beneath his arm. Hogan groaned inwardly. A lecture was coming. And Klink's lectures tended to be lengthy.

"I've just received a report from our last inspection," Klink barked, his pale blue eyes darting over the length of their ranks. "We received another below average rating. Below average!" He petulantly stamped his foot and clenched one fist at his side. "This is a disgrace and will not be tolerated! The inspector will return in one week and at that time, I expect this camp to receive the highest rating possible! You will work each day until I'm satisfied that the inspector will be impressed by Stalag 13's . . . "

Hogan tuned out at that point, concentrating instead on staying awake and on his feet. He huddled in on himself, trying to imagine hot desert sands and cactus. For some reason, all the images he came up with were tinted blue.

"Hogan! Are you listening to me?"

The bellow jerked him out of his blue-tinged world and he looked up, surprised to find Klink directly in front of him. "Yuh-yes, s-s-sir."

Klink peered at him closely, taking in the pallid face and chattering teeth. Simultaneously, his head shot up and he took a hasty hop-step backward. "Hogan, are you ill?"

"Nuh-no."

"Then why are you shivering, with your arms wrapped around yourself and your teeth chattering while the rest of us are fine?"

"Thuh-thin buh-blood?"

Klink's head tilted in thought. "My grandfather had thin blood . . ." he shook himself, his gaze returning to Hogan and going flinty hard. "Get inside, Hogan! I'm getting cold from just looking at you! The rest of you are dismissed, also!"

Hogan didn't need to be told twice. He spun toward the barracks, making a quick course adjustment when his traitorous balance deserted him again. He still ended up running smack into Kinch. The sergeant grunted in surprise and quickly reached out to steady him. Hogan gave him a grateful look, pointed himself toward the door, and set out again. His men trailed after him, peppering him with questions. He ignored them and made tracks for his bed.

Refusing to give up, they crowded into his quarters and gathered around him as he dropped into a seat on the bunk. Newkirk elbowed a path through the crowd.

"Let's get you comfortable, Guv'nor." Without waiting for an answer, he plucked the cap from Hogan's head and handed it to Carter, then took the leather bomber jacket. His gaze immediately fell upon the blood staining the shirt beneath it. "Colonel Hogan . . ."

"It's nuh-nothing!" Hogan snapped, wrapping his arms back around himself. He was cold and miserable again and in absolutely no mood for any more mothering. With an awkward twist of his body, he lay down on the bunk and burrowed deep beneath his thin blanket until only his face showed.

Kinch didn't like the way Hogan was shivering. "Louis, get some more blankets."

Hogan blinked up at Kinch, fighting to keep his eyes open. "Rapunzel?"

"She's fine, Colonel. She radioed us about your run-in with the patrol. I don't mind telling you, we were really worried when you didn't show last night." Kinch took the blankets from LeBeau and started layering them over Hogan. "Where have you been, Colonel?" Receiving no answer, he bent down and peered into Hogan's face. The officer had fallen asleep, despite the tremors still shaking him.

"What do you suppose happened to him?" Carter stared at Hogan, surprised at how quickly he'd gone under.

Kinch studied Hogan. "Well, we know one thing for sure. He got clipped when he drew their fire."

"Oui." LeBeau nudged him aside and crouched beside the bunk. After a brief hesitation, he moved closer until his face was only inches from Hogan's.

"Whaddaya doing, Louis?" Carter shifted nervously, expecting the brown eyes to fly open at any second.

LeBeau waved a hand over his shoulder in Carter's direction. In a low and tentative voice, he called, "Colonel?" Hogan slept on. Raising his voice slightly, he called again. "Colonel Hogan?" Still no response.

LeBeau shared a look of amazement with his friends. Steeling himself, he ever so slowly peeled the layers of blankets back to Hogan's waist. Hogan twitched and curled further in on himself as the warmth was removed. LeBeau grimaced. He didn’t want to cause his CO more distress, but Hogan was notorious for underplaying his own injuries and illnesses. LeBeau would make his own assessment.

With a touch light enough to make Newkirk proud, he carefully eased the officer's shirttail out of his belted trousers, revealing the wound. The other men crowded closer. What they saw was a mere crease that had already stopped bleeding. They glanced at each other, exchanging smiles of relief. Satisfied, LeBeau lowered the shirt and tucked the blankets back around Hogan.

"You deserve a medal of bravery for that, Louis," Kinch teased when LeBeau had finished.

"I think one of my bombs could go off in here and he wouldn't even know it!" Carter shook his head in wonderment that the feat had been accomplished without Hogan awakening. He knew for a fact that the officer was normally a light sleeper.

"Where was he all night?" Newkirk muttered to himself; thinking again of the patrol and how cold he'd gotten in the short time he'd waited in the brush for them to leave.

LeBeau leaned over the bunk and placed the back of his hand on Hogan's cheek. "He's warmer." He straightened, then turned and tapped Newkirk on the chest.

"Do you still have those two chocolate bars from your last Red Cross package?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Le colonel hates warm milk, but he does like hot chocolate." LeBeau flashed a wide smile and held out his hand.

Newkirk huffed with exasperation, but retrieved the chocolates from his stash and grudgingly handed them over.

"Coffee or hot tea would work just as well, mate."

LeBeau ignored the complaint and bustled away with the coveted chocolate.

Beaming ear to ear, Carter bounced over and bumped shoulders with Newkirk. "Nothing hits the spot like hot chocolate after being out in the snow, Newkirk"

"No one bloody well offered to make me any hot cocoa after nearly freezing me vital parts off last night!"

They continued bantering back and forth, never stopping even when Kinch gathered them up and herded them from the room. Kinch paused at the door, checked Hogan with a glance, then left him to rest undisturbed.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

"Still asleep?" Kinch asked, when LeBeau tiptoed out of Hogan's quarters that evening.

"Oui." The little Frenchman shrugged, just as surprised as Kinch.

The bunk entrance shot open, distracting them from their concern. Kurt appeared, ice-blond hair askew, his fair cheeks reddened from the cold.

"Doc! What are you doing here?" Carter jumped up from the table and took Kurt's coat and scarf from him.

Kurt frowned in mock annoyance and ran a hand through his hair, brushing it off his forehead. "It is good to see you, also, Carter." He ambled to the table, medical bag in hand. "I am here to see a certain mule-headed officer, and he had better be in."

"Now, I wonder who that would be?" Kinch muttered mildly, setting down at the table with a cup of coffee. Kurt ignored the aside and reached over his shoulder to pluck a cookie from a platter. "He's not only in, Doc, he's been asleep the whole day."

Kurt stopped mid-chew, a look of disbelief crossing his face. "The whole day?"

"Yeah." Putting two and two together, Kinch stood, causing Kurt to quickly back-pedal to avoid a collision. "Wait. This isn't just a friendly visit, is it?"

Newkirk dropped down from his bunk, skillfully landing between them.

"You know what happened to him last night, don't you, Doc?"

Kurt started to reply, but Hogan appeared in the doorway to his quarters at that moment, looking like a little boy just awakened from a nap. His jet-black hair was tousled from sleep and his eyes were heavy-lidded as he glanced around the room. Yawning, he slowly crossed the room and dropped into a seat at the head of the table.

"How are you feeling Colonel?" LeBeau hovered at his elbow, making another quick evaluation.

"Like Rip Van Winkle. I figured that when I opened my door, I'd find that the war had ended and all that was out here were rats and cobwebs." He yawned again, then looked over at Kurt. "I'm glad you're here. We need to talk."

Kurt stuffed the last bite of cookie into his mouth and brushed his fingers against his sweater. "Very well. Your quarters." He strode briskly for the other room, leaving them staring after him.

"Okay," Hogan breathed, standing to follow. A thought caused him to hesitate mid-step. "Carter, there should be some clothes lying --"

"Already got 'em, boy! Sir!" Carter went to his bunk and returned bearing Philipp's clothes. "It was kind of like following a trail of breadcrumbs, only with clothes instead of crumbs."

Hogan took the clothing and turned once more to leave, but had to pull up to keep from running over LeBeau. A steaming mug rose into view. Shifting the clothing to one arm, he took the cup, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Hot cocoa, Colonel."

Hogan nodded his thanks and shuffled off to his quarters.

Newkirk jammed his fists into his trouser pockets and swept the group with a glare of disgust. "Well, how do you like that? Neither one of them talked. This is as bad as someone telling a joke and leaving out the flippin' punch line!"

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

"So, Robert. I am pleased that you used good sense for once and followed my instructions."

Hogan sipped the rich cocoa, using the time to carefully assess his friend's mood. After setting the cup and clothes on the desk, he by-passed the chair Kurt indicated and went to his bunk.

"I did give you my word."

The trace of hurt in his voice tweaked Kurt's conscience. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Not to make excuses, but I am still a bit rattled by last night's experience. It is not every day that I have a friend almost die in my arms." At Hogan's questioning look, he explained, "I spent most of the night wrapped around you like an octopus. There were several times I believed you weren't going to draw another breath." He sighed and dropped into a chair beside the bunk. It had been one of his worst fears brought to life. One day, no matter what he did, no matter how expert his skills, he'd be unable to save someone he cared about. He'd been lucky this time. But that day was coming, just as surely as the sun rose and set.

Hogan blinked several times at the picture that had popped into his mind. "You were under the duvet with me?" At Kurt's nod, his voice thinned to a squeak. "Were you . . .?"

Blue eyes sparkling with mirth, Kurt nodded again. "You know that it is the best way to share body heat, Robert. After all, you did the same for Carter when he had been shot, remember?"

"We weren't both buck-naked at the time!"

"And neither were we," Kurt returned evenly. His devilish smile did nothing to ease Hogan's discomfort. "You were buck-naked. I was still in underwear."

Completely mortified, Hogan lowered his head and covered his face with one hand. "Let's just keep that between you, me and your parents, okay?"

"As you wish," came the chuckled reply. Though I may use it occasionally to keep you in line! "Now, what was it you wanted to talk with me about?"

Hogan looked up, immensely relieved that the subject had been dropped. "General Ryker got banged up when his staff car took a near miss during an air raid a couple of nights ago in Mannheim. There's a very good chance he'll be transferred to your hospital in the next few days so that he can be near his staff and headquarters."

"And?"

"He's agreed to pass some vital information to us. We were supposed to meet, but this changes everything. I'll need your help to get in to see him if he does end up in your hospital."

"I see." Kurt thought for a moment. "I suppose you could be passed as another doctor, come to consult."

"No. They'd make it their business to know all the doctors, and have their names on record. And I don't want you anywhere nearby when I contact him. If I get caught, I don't want any suspicion to fall on you."

"Then how do you expect me to help?"

"Sketch out the hospital's floor plan, along with anything else you think might be important. And if he does get checked in, I'll need the room number and details of their security."

"Very well."

Kurt glanced around the room, then went to Hogan's desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. Shortly afterward, he presented Hogan with a detailed floor plan, complete with several places that would do for short-term concealment, along with a rough description of the hospital's daily schedule.

Hogan quickly looked the information over before tucking it behind his pull-down map of the camp. Returning to the desk, he picked up the pile of clothing and placed them on Kurt's lap. "Thanks again for lending me Philipp's clothes," he murmured.

Face pale and immobile, Kurt stared down at the clothes, making no move to touch them. "Please take them, Robert. They fit you well and as Vater said, Philipp has need of them no longer."

Hogan returned the clothes to the desk, then seated himself on the bunk so that he faced his friend again. Quietly, knowing he was treading on familiar pain, he asked, "How did it happen?"

The sudden tightness in Kurt's throat momentarily kept him from speaking. Though his brother had been dead for over a year, it was still difficult to talk of his death. Philipp, with his love of life, his wise-cracking humor and gentle nature, was now buried in a stark grave miles from his family. Never again would he arrive home and wrap his arms around Kurt and laugh about how he had grown so much taller than his older brother.

Kurt cleared his throat. "Have you ever heard of Aplerbeck?"

Hogan shook his head.

"It is a children's institution, or hospital and I use these terms very loosely in describing it." Kurt shot to his feet and began pacing, feeling Hogan's gaze following him around the room. "In actuality, it is a place where unwanted children and children with disabilities, whether physical or mental, are sent to be murdered by the hundreds. All, of course, with the Third Reich's knowledge and approval." He spat out the words, his eyes blazing with hatred. "The men who dare call themselves doctors, put in the dead children's records that they died of measles, or the influenza, or some other nonsense, when in truth, they died from lethal injections of morphine!" The hatred abruptly died in his eyes, replaced by deep sorrow. "You see, Robert, infirmities of any kind are not allowed in Hitler's so-called glorious and perfect Third Reich."

His steps faltered to a stop. "Philipp learned of Aplerbeck and its sinister function when he stopped there while on patrol. He was horrified and asked me of it when he saw me next." He stared blindly at a point just above Hogan's collarbone, seeing again the pain in Philipp's face as he described the slaughter of innocents. "I told him to leave it, to forget what he'd seen. What could we do?" His voice cracked, his face crumpling in anguish. "Philipp could be incredibly naive about some matters."

Hogan sighed. "He questioned his superiors." It was more statement than question.

"You can imagine their response. Shortly afterward, he was sent to the Russian Front, where he was conveniently killed in battle just one day after arriving there." Kurt’s eyes sought Hogan's. "My parents and I know, of course, that he was murdered. We could no longer remain neutral in this damnable war. We joined the Resistance and have worked for it ever since. It will not bring back Philipp, but it is a small, personal way of striking back at Hitler and the monstrosity his insanity has created." He collapsed back onto the chair and scrubbed at his face, feeling the dampness on his cheeks. "If only I had not dismissed him so quickly. If only I had --"

"If you had tried, your parents would be mourning both their sons," Hogan interrupted. He leaned forward and gripped Kurt's shoulder. "Don't, do it, Kurt."

Kurt's eyes squeezed shut and slowly, his ragged breathing evened out. When he looked up, eyes soft with concern were gazing down at him. He grinned weakly and patted the hand still resting on his shoulder.

"Never would I have believed that I would ever have the good fortune to have a friend such as you, Robert. I can talk with you about things that I wouldn't dare to even hint at with my own people."

Hogan’s dark eyes glinted with humor. "And you've literally lain with the enemy."

Kurt threw back his head, erupting into laughter.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Kinch's head whipped to his left when the door to Hogan's quarters opened and the two men stepped out. They seemed subdued, despite the laughter that had emanated from behind the closed door just thirty minutes earlier. He looked across the room to where Newkirk stood next to his bunk restlessly rolling an unlit cigarette back and forth between the fingers of one hand. Kinch smirked. The cigarette was bent and ragged from the mistreatment.

If there was one thing Newkirk hated, it was an unsolved mystery. It was driving him crazy that he didn't know what had happened the night before to Hogan. The rest of the men were certainly curious, but figured they would get the story eventually. Newkirk's patience didn't extend that far. Flipping the limp cigarette to the barracks floor, he resolutely strode over to Hogan and Metzger.

"Hey, Colonel. Just what did you get into last night?"

"He chose the wrong night to go swimming," Kurt answered. He looked Hogan squarely in the eye, smiling at the scandalized expression. Squirm, my friend. I will not let you off that easily.

"Swimming?" Carter yelped in disbelief, rushing over from his bunk. "It was barely above freezing last night, Colonel!" He'd known officers to do strange things before, but this was too much!

"Guv'nor, have you gone 'round the twist?"

"A very good question," Kurt quipped in a casual tone.

Hogan blew out a sigh of disgust and gave him a glare that promised reprisal. Thanks to Kurt, his men would mother-hen him into next week.

"I crossed the river to get away from the patrol."

"Wait-a-minute." Kinch shouldered into the group now gathered around the two men. "There's no possible way you could have survived the entire night outside in wet clothes. Where'd you stay?"

Hogan sighed to himself. "At the Metzger farm."

Carter perked up, way ahead of the others. "You mean the farm that you and I stayed at was really --"

"My parents' farm, yes," Kurt broke in. He caught the warning look Hogan aimed in his direction. "He got warmed up in front of our fire, and then I brought him back to camp this morning in my car." Satisfied, Robert?

The explanation was too pat. Carter called to mind several telling facts and carefully, he pieced everything together. He tossed a sharp glance at Hogan. His CO deliberately turned away and followed Kurt into the tunnel.

Carter's eyes narrowed, then slid to Kinch to check his reaction to the explanation. He wasn't surprised to find his fellow sergeant frowning at the closed entrance.

Kurt grinned broadly at Hogan after the officer had stepped off the ladder. "I believe the expression is, 'you owe me one.'"

Hogan ran a quick mental total. "Actually, I'm up to four." He started for the emergency exit, Kurt keeping pace at his side.

"You got off much too lightly," Kurt proclaimed, waggling a finger at him like a school marm. Hogan wrinkled his nose and bared his teeth as if to snap at the finger. Kurt hastily yanked the digit back. "I should have told them the complete story. You deserved having the entire group hovering around you like butterflies just as they did after your last idiotic stunt."

Hogan stopped dead in alarm. "You wouldn't!"

"Try me," countered Kurt with a feral smile. He sauntered past, forcing Hogan to take several long strides to catch up. "As it is, you may have to answer to Carter, since he knows exactly how far you would have had to travel soaking wet in last night's frigid weather. It appeared to me that he has already puzzled out your adventure."

"Yeah. He's a lot quicker than most would believe." They reached the ladder and Hogan leaned against it, blocking Kurt's way. "If Ryker shows, contact us and I'll meet you at the farm."

"At the farm? Why not here?"

"Because I like your mother's chicken soup," Hogan answered brightly, stepping aside.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Newkirk was muttering irritably atop his bunk when Hogan returned to the barracks. He gave the Englishman's bunk a double tap, drawing his attention from the game of solitaire he was clearly cheating at.

"Any trouble picking up those spare radio parts last night, Newkirk?"

"No trouble, Colonel, other than meeting up with that patrol looking for you and Rapunzel." And freezing me arse off! Newkirk scrubbed the game, then restlessly shuffled his deck of cards. "I sure miss having that arrangement with that bartender in town getting us parts."

Hogan grinned up at him. "We couldn't keep using the excuse of going to the dentist. Klink was getting suspicious of the abundance of bad teeth, especially when he had the bakers stop using sawdust in our bread." He looked down when rich aroma of chocolate reached his nose.

"More hot chocolate, Louis?"

"Oui, Colonel." The Frenchman placed the mug into Hogan's hands with a smile of satisfaction.

"No more after this, LeBeau, or I'll be visiting the dentist for real."

"Were you able to get the information from Rapunzel before the patrol found you?" Carter asked, stepping to Hogan's side.

"Yeah. Ryker won't be able to make the meet tonight. An air raid took out his staff car and he was in it at the time." Hogan took a sip of the cocoa, winced as the hot liquid burnt his tongue. "He's laid up with injuries. We're hoping he'll be transferred to Kurt's hospital -- "

"Where we'll be able to make contact." Kinch finished, his bushy mustache lifting in a grin.

"Right. The sooner we get that information for London, the better." Hogan sighed, thinking of the wasted time. If all had gone as originally planned, the information would've been on its way to London by morning. Taking his mug of cocoa with him, he returned to his quarters to study Kurt's map.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

A day passed. Then two, with still no word from Metzger as to whether the general had been transferred to his hospital.

Hogan grew snappish, his nerves fraying with impatience at the delay. Even Kinch's temper grew ragged from London's repeated calls demanding an up-date.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Feeling every bit of his thirty-four years, Kurt wearily climbed out of his car. He paused, one hand tightening on the car door's frame, when he saw the two men stationed on either side of the hospital's side entrance. Fully armed and imposing, the Gestapo guards stared back at him suspiciously. Kurt's jaw clenched. So, Ryker has arrived. Taking a deep breath to calm the rush of anger, he slammed the car door shut and walked toward the entrance.

As he'd expected, one of the guards stepped forward, lifting his rifle in challenge. "What is your business here?"

Kurt fought to keep from throwing back a sarcastic reply. Bringing his patience to bear, he answered, "I am Doktor Kurt Metzger. I work here." Trying to save the lives of those you're probably responsible for placing here! he added silently while pulling out his credentials. The guard inspected them, his eyes darting from the documents to Metzger repeatedly, giving Kurt the impression he was expected to change before their very eyes into some sort of deadly assassin. The papers were finally handed back with a quick snap of the guard's wrist.

"You may go, Herr Doktor."

"Danke," Kurt muttered, forcing a smile. He pocketed the papers and made straight for his office, just as he did each morning. He was a notorious creature of habit. Any change in his routine would instantly be noted by the staff and arouse suspicion. Though he'd worked side by side with most of them for the last five years, he trusted not a single one. Since Philipp's death and his entrance into the Resistance, he'd tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. He went to work, he did his job, he went home. Just quiet, unassuming, Doktor Metzger.

He reached the sanctuary of his office and let his eyes travel slowly over its interior while he shed his coat, hat and gloves. It was a practice he'd begun the year before, shortly after finding some of his charts had mysteriously vanished from his office. No amount of searching had ever located the missing medical histories of two men suffering from a sudden unknown malady. Brought to him with open running lesions, blindness, high fevers and severe abdominal pain, he'd placed the two men in the quarantine ward. Testing had barely begun when he’d been called away to an emergency in Düsseldorff.

The emergency had turned out to be a Gestapo officer with acute indigestion from eating too much Strammer Max. After treating him, Kurt had returned to the hospital, only to find that the two men had vanished without explanation from the ward and their charts and notes from his office. The nurses on duty had fearfully waved off his questions, indirectly confirming his unspoken suspicions.

His gaze settled upon his desk. Being a very orderly man, he kept everything arranged as neatly as a surgical tray. Each item had a specific location, so that he could quickly reach for it without having to look. So far as he could tell, nothing was out of place or missing. Relaxing slightly, he walked to the desk and sat, then pulled each drawer open to check its contents.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Doktor."

Frau Karla Frankel, thirty-nine years old, plump and garrulous, entered and dumped an armload of charts on his desk. She fluffed her hair back into place and plunked down in the chair across from his desk.

Kurt's face lit with a smile of genuine pleasure. Karla was the resident source of hospital news. Nothing passed by her notice. Getting information on Ryker might be easier than he first thought.

"Guten Morgen, Frau Frankel."

Once their usual amenities had been dispensed with, Kurt sat back in his chair, laced his fingers comfortably across his stomach, and waited.

True to habit, Karla launched into a running account of all that had transpired at the hospital since his last shift. Foremost in her dialogue were the general's arrival and the subsequent upheaval it had caused. He listened attentively, nodding and grunting in the appropriate places. Within ten minutes, he had most everything he needed to know, right down to what Ryker had eaten at Frühstuck. Her self-appointed report finished, they discussed the patients' charts as per their established routine. Thirty minutes later, he breathed a sigh of relief as he watched her bustle out of his office.

According to Karla, Ryker was comfortably ensconced on the second floor, west wing, corner room. The double-occupancy room had been reduced to a single bed, the previous patients having been moved unceremoniously into the hall by the Gestapo. There they remained, the two men crammed into the single bed, until the nursing staff had arrived and resettled them into another room. A single man guarded Ryker's door, with other guards stationed throughout the hospital. Kurt snorted softly.

You'd think Hitler, himself, were a patient!

He let out a short squeak of surprise when he noticed the time. He was five minutes overdue for morning rounds. He shot out of his chair, grabbed the charts and flew out the door, only to careen directly into a passing nurse. The impact drove the breath from him with a grunt and sent the young woman flying into the opposite wall. He dropped the charts and hurried over to her.

"I am terribly sorry! Please, let me help you," he murmured, taking her hands and helping her to her feet. She smiled up at him, her lustrous dark eyes brimming with amusement.

"Danke, Herr Doktor." She gently removed her hands from his grasp, then ran them down the skirt of her uniform, smoothing it back into place.

He gave her a sheepish smile. "I apologize most sincerely for my clumsiness. I don't usually run down nurses in the halls. We are short-handed enough." His smile broadened at her soft chuckle. "Are you unhurt? That was quite a fall."

Taking a closer look at her, he realized that he'd just made the acquaintance of the new nurse Karlal had described somewhere between Ryker's arrival and room 23's gout. Petit, with a dancer's lithe figure and sleek black hair trimmed into a simple short style, she was an attractive change from the stolid, matronly women he usually worked with. Not even the drab nursing uniform detracted from her beauty.

"No damage, I assure you, Herr Doktor." He reached out as she started to move away, his hand hovering hesitantly in mid-air. Noticing the gesture, she turned back, one elegant brow lifting. "Yes, Herr Doktor?"

"Metzger," Kurt blurted. "Kurt Metzger. You are new here, yes?"

Her dark eyes twinkled. "Yes." She held out her hand. "Katrina Bach. I started two days ago, but only just today made my escape from records."

"Ah, the crypt." That would explain why I haven't seen you before. He followed her gaze when she looked down at her hand, still held firmly within his own. Releasing it, he cleared his throat and glanced down at the floor, only then noticing the charts scattered from one side of the hall to the other. He dropped to one knee and started gathering them, then looked up in surprise when she knelt beside him and quickly took over. Within seconds, the charts were once more neat and tidy. He smiled appreciatively as they were placed in his hands. She smiled back, one shoulder sketching a shrug.

"After two days in records, I can do this in my sleep." Rising gracefully to her feet, she waved and walked away. Kurt watched her until she turned the corner, then brought himself out of his reverie with a brisk shake of his head. Ach, get your mind on business, Kurt!

He set off down the hall, determinedly shoving all thoughts of beautiful nurses, generals and subterfuge out of his mind.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

The bunk entrance opened and Kinch bounded out, barely pausing long enough to close it behind him. His sudden appearance and broad smile prompted a spate of questions, which he answered by waving the sheet of paper in his hand. He walked to Hogan's door and rapped on the doorframe.

"Good news, Colonel! The Doc wants to meet tonight."

Hogan's face broke into a smile as he took the paper. Finally! "I was beginning to think this whole thing was going to be a bust. I'm going to need a truck from the motor pool, Kinch."

"Check."

Hogan headed into the other room and went straight for LeBeau, who was seated at the table, peeling a pile of potatoes. Hogan stopped beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "LeBeau, do you have those items I asked you to get?"

"Oui, Colonel." Wiping his hands on a towel, LeBeau rose and went to the locker. When he returned, he held a large sack, which he placed on the table in front of Hogan. "Everything you asked for," he winked, leaning closer to add sotto voce, "with a few extras."

Hogan peered inside the sack, uttering a low whistle at the contents. "This is great, LeBeau. Thank you."

"What do you have there, Guv'nor?" Newkirk tugged at the side of the bag with the tip of one finger, attempting a peek inside.

Hogan pulled out the items so all could see. A large loaf of brown bread appeared first, followed by a round of rich, yellow cheese, several chocolate candy bars, a foot-long piece of knackwurst, and lastly, a bottle of wine. Carter took in the spread, then smiled up Hogan.

"Tell 'em thanks for me, too, colonel."

"I'll do that, Carter," Hogan chuckled.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Hogan parked the truck out of sight a safe distance away from the Metzger homestead, then traveled on foot to the edge of the woods bordering the house and barnyard. Taking a moment to look around, he noticed Kurt's car, already parked beside the truck. He walked to the car and brushed a hand across the hood. Warmth still lingered in the metal. Kurt hadn't arrived too far ahead of him.

Tucking the paper bag closer against his side, Hogan climbed the steps to the porch and knocked on the door. It squealed open and Josef stepped into view. His wary expression relaxed into a smile.

"Welcome, Colonel!" Josef cried warmly. Reaching out, he rested one hand upon the officer's shoulder and ushered him into the gathering room. Kurt waved from one of the chairs, a cup of steaming tea balanced upon one knee. Romie scurried out of the kitchen, absently patting her hair into place. As soon as she saw Hogan, she rushed forward and took his face between her hands.

"Ah, Colonel! It is good to see you again. And looking so much better!" Hogan blushed as his head was pulled down, and a quick peck was planted on each cheek. Setting the cup of tea next to his chair, Kurt went to his friend's rescue.

"Abend, Robert," he nodded, a half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Please don't tell me you came here on foot."

Hogan scowled. "I drove, courtesy of our local motor club."

Kurt's blue eyes moved curiously to the sack. Hogan turned to Romie and placed it into her hands. She peeked inside and let out a gasp. Quickly, she shoved the bag into Josef's arms and gathered Hogan into a tight embrace. Blue eyes awash with tears, she whispered in a voice thick with emotion, "Danke, Colonel, but it was not necessary to repay us."

He leaned down and gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Not repayment. An overdue thank you from Carter and myself." He gently disentangled himself from her arms and shifted to include Josef in his gaze. "I think it's high time you started calling me Robert, don't you? After all, you've both seen me stark naked."

After a moment of shared laughter, they moved into the kitchen, where Romie insisted they sample the gifts of food. They tasted, nibbled and sipped until Hogan finally cleared his throat and glanced meaningfully in Kurt's direction. With a nod of understanding, Kurt rose from the table and gently directed his parents into the gathering room. Returning to the kitchen, he seated himself close to Hogan so that they might talk without being overheard. It would be safer for Josef and Romie not to have any knowledge of what they were planning.

Quickly, he gave Hogan the details he'd learned from Karla and his own careful scouting. He concluded the briefing by saying, "It will not be easy, Robert. The entire hospital is under guard, not just Ryker himself."

"It won't be that difficult." Hogan leaned back and crossed his legs. "I go in as another Gestapo general. I tell the guards I'm there to give Ryker my best wishes for a speedy recovery. They let me in, Ryker gives me the information. I leave the way I arrived." He shrugged carelessly. "What's so difficult?"

Kurt grew absolutely still. "There are times you scare me with your reckless attitude toward danger."

Hogan studied the concern and fear clouding the blue eyes. He leaned forward over the table, closing the distance between them, his voice low and measured. "I am never reckless. Not with my life, nor those of my men. When I'm given an assignment, I get it done any way that I can, the best that I can, with as little risk as possible to all involved. You can bet I'll be careful, Kurt."

Kurt nodded, but couldn't shake the stifling apprehension that had descended upon his mood. Reaching across the table, he dug his fingers into the muscles of Hogan's arm. "Listen well, Robert, and remember. You will be in a hospital when you go to see Ryker, not some woods, open field or deserted building. There will be other people there, men, women and children who are patients, and doctors and nurses going about their duties. I am a doctor, first and foremost. If something goes wrong, there will be no gunfire. I do not want you shot and I want no innocent victims."

"Understood," Hogan acknowledged, gently pulling his arm free.

Kurt sighed and with both hands, rubbed at the ache building at the base of his skull. "When do you plan on meeting with Ryker?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, right after lunch. Klink has an appointment in town. I'll ride in and back in the trunk of his car." He pulled the cuff of his sleeve back and grimaced at his watch. "Correction. I'll meet Ryker today, after lunch. But right now, I've got to get back to camp." He smoothly unfolded from the chair, stretching and yawning in an attempt to ease the tension knotting his muscles.

Kurt followed him into the other room and waited while Hogan made his good-byes to Josef and Romie. Together, they escorted him onto the porch and watched as he crossed the barnyard and disappeared into the woods. Intent upon sleep, Josef and Romie wished their son good evening and re-entered the house.

Kurt remained on the porch long afterward, staring into the darkness until the cold finally drove him inside.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Hogan stood ramrod straight, eyes lifted to the ceiling with ill-concealed impatience. LeBeau and Newkirk fussed about him adjusting medals, straightening his collar, tugging on the hem of the tailored uniform. He allowed it to continue a few minutes longer, and then, patience completely at an end, snatched the cap from Newkirk's hand and tugged it into place. "Enough, you two. If I don't get goin', my taxi will leave without me." He marched out of his quarters with the two of them hustling to keep up.

Despite the warning, LeBeau couldn't resist a last smoothing brush of his hand across the shoulders of the black uniform. Hogan turned his head and growled out a warning. LeBeau shrugged, smiled apologetically and snuck in a final tweak to one of the medals. Newkirk nimbly sidestepped around him, and with a grand flourish, held out a heavy caped overcoat. Hogan pulled it on over the Gestapo uniform -- overly decorated in his opinion -- and waited for his men to encircle him like a human screen. From his position at the door, Kinch cleared his throat and tapped the top of his head. Hogan's eyes rolled upward to the black cap that he'd forgotten. With a sigh of disgust, he yanked it from his head and nodded to the group. Moving as one, they slipped outside and made for the motor pool.

While his men stood watch and provided cover, Hogan folded his tall frame into the cramped trunk of Klink's staff car. He started to close the hood, then reached behind him, yanked out the jack digging into his back and thrust it into Kinch's hand. "Get rid of this somewhere."

"What if you have a flat?" Kinch absently glanced around for somewhere to stash the tool.

"We'll call the motor club."

Breathing much easier with the slight addition of room, Hogan closed and re-latched the trunk lid. Seconds later, he heard Newkirk cheekily greet Schultz. He listened while the men teased the staff sergeant mercilessly until a bellowed warning sent them scurrying from the motor pool. The car shifted and groaned beneath Schultz's bulk, the motor roared into life, and the car began to move.

Hammelburg, here I come.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Kurt walked the hospital's crowded halls, thankful that his rounds were finally complete. The pounding headache of the evening before was still with him, though sometime in the night, it had migrated, settling with a vengeance between his eyes. His nerves were stretched thin, brittle and ready to snap at the least provocation. His office door beckoned to him, offering the promise of solitude. Yanking the door open, he all but dove into the room.

He circled his desk and collapsed into his chair, one hand reaching to shield his eyes from the late morning sunlight streaming through the room's window. Normally, the warmth and light would have lifted his spirits, but not today. His rounds had felt never-ending and always in the back of his mind as he'd worked, was the Gestapo's hovering, malevolent presence. Closing his eyes and blowing out a sigh, he tipped his chair back and tried not to think about anything at all.

I will be happy when this entire affair is over!

His eyes snapped open and he stared at the cracked plaster ceiling above him. He'd managed an entire two seconds.

The strident warble of ambulance sirens catapulted him out of his chair. He rushed into the hallway and ran for the stairs, agilely dodging aides, linen carts and Gestapo. He took the steps at a rapid trot, foregoing the last two steps altogether, and arrived at the ambulance entrance just as the attendants brought in the last stretcher. It bore a man's badly burned body. Still conscious, the man moaned piteously and without interruption. Pressing his fist below his nose to try to block out the smell of roasted flesh, Kurt waved them into the treatment area and into the midst of the swarm of doctors and nurses already at work on the other victims. He pushed into the room behind the attendants, immersing himself in the controlled chaos.

Hours later, he all but crawled from the triage and surgical area, emotionally and physically spent. A family of six had been reduced to three by a rapid fire that had broken out in their squalid housing tenement. Packed into run-down buildings, sometimes two and three families to a floor, it was actually a miracle that only the three people had died.

The ambulance attendants had explained that the mother and father had gone out briefly to do some errands. Their building was ablaze when they returned. Not finding their children amongst the milling crowd, they'd dashed past restraining hands and into the building to search.

The father had managed to carry out three of their four children before finally collapsing on the street from burns and smoke inhalation. The mother and remaining child had never come out, and had eventually been found just fifteen feet from the building's main entrance. The mother died as she was being loaded into the ambulance. The daughter she'd died trying to save had succumbed to severe burns shortly after arriving at the hospital.

The father had lived a scant hour longer than his daughter before dying from the burns and smoke inhalation that were more than his body could fight. The three surviving children suffered mainly from smoke inhalation and minor burns. They would make a complete physical recovery.

Would that they could so easily recover from the emotional trauma!

Kurt covered his face with his hands and slumped against the wall, trying to banish the memory of the last few hours. A ragged sigh escaped his control and he bit his lip hard. What is to become of the children? He uttered a moan of despair and rolled his head back and forth against the wall.

He already knew the answer.

A hand gently wrapped around his wrist. Feeling hollow to the core, he dropped his hands and looked up. Katrina Bach stood before him, silky, dark hair mussed, compassion softening her face.

"Come with me, Herr Doktor."

Kurt blinked. "What is wrong?" He jerked away from the wall and looked around, certain that another emergency had somehow broken out without his noticing. His gaze swung back to her, adrenaline rushing through him again. "The children?" Her firm grip held him back when he turned toward the doors.

"The children are resting as comfortably as we can make them." She tugged on his wrist, leading him down the hall to the stairs. He followed numbly, still not knowing where they were going and not caring. Without another emergency to battle, the adrenaline vanished, leaving him even shakier than before. He focused on walking, taking comfort in the warmth of the hand still wrapped about his wrist.

He came out of his daze when she gently pushed him into his chair. He stared blankly at his desk blotter, then looked up in time to see her vanish through the doorway. She returned moments later carrying two cups, one of which she set before him on the desk, before seating herself. He stared at the cup for a moment, then looked at her, seeing amusement in her eyes.

"Tea, Herr Doktor. It will help your headache."

"How did you know . . ."

She laughed softly, giving him a smile over the rim of her cup. "I noticed you kept rubbing your forehead, even while you were tending to our patients." Her head tipped toward his still untouched cup. "It is really much better hot, Herr Doktor."

He lifted the cup and drank, closing his eyes in gratitude when it immediately soothed his ragged nerves. Is it the tea -- or her? He opened his eyes and saluted her with the cup. "Danke, Fraulein Bach." The cup hesitated mid-way to his lips. "Am I correct in saying, Fraulein?"

She wiggled fingers bare of rings beside her cheek. "Quite correct. But please, call me Katrina, at least when we are not in the company of others on duty." She ducked her head and took another sip of tea.

He patted his chest. "Kurt."

They fell silent, appreciating the stillness after the clamor and tragedy of the trauma ward.

Kurt studied her while he drank his tea. Even with the horror and frenzy of trying to save the lives of the children and father, he'd noticed her calm efficiency and total concentration on her duties. When the dying man had lifted a peeling, charred hand, blindly searching for comfort, most of the nurses had turned away, too sickened to approach his bed. Katrina, though pale and visibly affected, had immediately gone to his side. Unable to hold the hand – for to do so would only cause more pain -- she'd simply remained with him, her voice providing a small measure of comfort in the last few moments of his life. It was an image Kurt was certain he would never forget.

She looked up from her cup and their eyes locked. It suddenly dawned on him how completely at ease he felt in her presence. When did this happen? He watched her place her cup on the desk and lean forward.

"Kurt, there is something I must speak with you about . . ."

"Get out of my way, sergeant, or I will have you sent to the Russian Front before nightfall."

The baritone outside his door brought them to their feet.

Robert!

Shock crossed Katrina's face before being concealed by a carefully neutral expression. Kurt wondered at her strange reaction, but shelved it for later thought and stepped into the hall. Hogan, dressed in full Gestapo regalia, stood just twelve feet away, staring down a stiff-necked sergeant. Kurt cleared his throat, gaining their attention.

"May I remind you both that this is a hospital? Your presence alone has caused enough disruption. Keep your voices down." He joined them, his face set in a fierce glare.

"My apologies, Herr Doktor . . .?" Hogan waved his riding crop through the air in a wide arc, barely missing the end of Kurt's nose.

"Metzger," Kurt replied silkily, yanking his head out of striking range.

"Yes," harrumphed Hogan, tilting his hat back from his forehead with the tip of his riding crop. "I am here to see Herr General Ryker, and this sergeant -- who will very soon be in need of heavy woolen underwear -- will not let me pass despite assurances that I've already shown my papers to the guards at the front entrance."

"This is easily taken care of, yes?" Kurt pointed out with a sigh. "Just show him your papers, and I will take you to Herr General Ryker."

Hogan made a show of pulling the papers from his uniform, then slapped them into the guard's waiting hand.

The papers were quickly scanned and returned. "My apologies, Herr General. It is only a matter of procedure." The guard moved aside, allowing Kurt to fall into step with Hogan.

Kurt took several sidelong glances at Hogan while they walked to the stairs. After a time, he spoke, keeping his voice just above a whisper. "Honestly, Robert! Do you believe you have enough ribbons and medals? You are positively clanking with them all!"

Hogan's mouth twitched. "Can I help it the fellas want me to look good when I go out in public?"

Kurt choked back a laugh and refrained from taking another peek. When they arrived at the base of the central stairs leading to the second floor, Hogan stopped, turned and placed one hand firmly against Kurt's chest.

"This is as far as you go. The less we're seen together, the safer it is for you. Just tell me where he is."

Kurt sighed heavily, gave him the information, and walked away.

Hogan went up the stairs and turned to the left. The corridor was swarming with hospital personnel busy with assorted duties. It suited him fine that few glanced his way. That was one thing about impersonating Gestapo - everyone went out of their way to avoid them.

There was no one was in sight by the time he reached the end of the hall, save for the single guard stationed outside Ryker's door. Hogan performed a stiff-armed salute and barked "Heil Hitler," then stated his name and business. Moments later, he was standing in Ryker's room.

General Oswald Ryker, silver-haired, with a lined and weather-beaten face, stared dispassionately at him from the bed. Hogan felt the hawk-like gray eyes taking his measure as he marched forward, his boot heels clacking on the worn linoleum.

"Heil Hitler, Herr General!" Hogan snapped, loud enough to be heard by the guard. Lowering his voice, he added, "The snows are very heavy this year."

Ryker stared, finally replied, "Spring will be late arriving, I am told." His cold expression twisted with the mockery of a smile. "So. You are Papa Bear."

Ordinarily, Hogan tried not to make snap judgments based upon surface details and first impressions. Not only was it a dangerous practice, it went against everything he'd been taught as a child. But in this instance, he couldn't help himself. He didn't like this man. Not one bit.

"I must admit to being impressed," Ryker continued, looking Hogan up and down. "Not many would have the courage to walk into the middle of Hammelburg in broad daylight dressed as a Gestapo officer. Yet here you are."

"Listen, General, I'd love to stand around and chit-chat, but frankly, I don't want to overstay my welcome, if you know what I mean. So, if you'll just give me the information I've come for, I'll leave you to your rest."

Ryker's face smoothed over with steely resolve. "Nein."

"What?" Hogan snapped, taking a step closer. "You agreed to give us the information on those panzer divisions and I'm not leaving here without it."

Ryker gave him a smug grin and settled comfortably against the stack of pillows at his back. "Oh, but you will, Papa Bear, unless you are prepared to take me with you when you leave here today."

Hogan had a sneaking suspicion of what was coming next.

Ryker smirked, enjoying his stony expression. "I want out of Germany and you will get me out. Or I will tell you nothing."

"You have really lousy timing, Ryker. Why wait until now to mention this?"

"I was foolish to make that agreement without first providing for my own safety. My perspective has recently grown much clearer." Ryker lifted his head from the pillows, his eyes glittering like ice. "What is your answer?"

Hogan had a sudden urge to take him by the lapels of his silk dressing gown and shake him. After waiting so long, there was to be yet another delay in getting the information to London. Ryker had the advantage, leaving him no choice. He gave a single, hard nod and bristled when the general's expression grew smug once more. He glanced toward the door, then fixed the German with a cold stare.

"All right, we'll play this your way. How much longer have the doctors said you'll be here?"

"Three, possibly four days."

Hogan headed for the door.

"I did not give you leave to go!" Ryker snapped, rage sizzling through his voice.

Hogan spun back, one hand slicing sideways through the air at his side, motioning Ryker to lower his voice. He placed his ear to the door and listened. Hearing nothing, he stalked back to the bedside.

"I'll be back. Until then . . ." he smiled impudently, "enjoy the sponge baths." With another loud, "Heil Hitler!" he turned and left.

He strode past the guard and made quickly for the stairs. He was almost there when Major Wolfgang Hochstetter's strident bellow echoed up the stairway from the floor below. Kurt's challenge followed, once again demanding quiet. Hogan pulled up short.

Oh, this is just great!

He angled to the right and headed away from the stairs, this time aiming for the elevator on the east wing. Luckily, this wing seemed to be fairly deserted. Behind him, Hochstetter's voice grew louder as he ascended the stairs with Kurt trailing on his heels, still protesting. Hogan cursed. He wouldn't be able to reach the elevator before Hochstetter reached the upper floor and spotted him. Thinking fast, he looked for the linen closet Kurt had marked on the floor plan. He found it and slipped inside a split second before Hochstetter crested the stairs with Kurt still snapping at his side like an angry guard dog.

Hogan cracked the door open and peeked out. The two men were exchanging more heated words at the top of the stairs. He smiled at the scene. Far from being intimidated, Kurt stood toe to toe with the blustering Gestapo officer, not backing down in the least. The argument continued for several minutes, until Hochstetter finally ended it with a fisted gesture in Kurt's face. He turned on his heel and marched out of view, undoubtedly bound for Ryker's room.

Hogan was just about to step out when a nurse appeared on the stairs. She glanced in the direction Hochstetter had taken, then quickly went to Kurt. As they talked, she turned squarely in Hogan's direction, giving him an unobstructed view of her face.

Miri!

Miriam Broadbent, an operative for the Royal Army intelligence, had once done an undercover stint in the Gestapo as Lt. Col. Elena Schmidl. Both Hochstetter and Maj. Dietrich Feldcamp had eventually seen through the masquerade to her true identity. If Hochstetter caught sight of her, she was as good as dead.

Damning the consequences, Hogan started out of the linen closet, bent on getting her safely out of Hochstetter's vicinity and preferably out of the hospital altogether. But just as he stepped out, Miri left Kurt's side and skipped lightly back down the stairs.

Hogan blew a low whistle. The sound carried in the empty hallway and jerked Kurt's head in his direction. Spotting him, Kurt lifted his hands, palms up, in a ‘What now?’ gesture.

With a snap of his arm, Hogan pointed to the floor at his side.

GET OVER HERE!

Kurt thrust his hands into his pockets and advanced on the closet.

When he was close enough, Hogan seized his arm and snatched him into the darkness of the room. Kurt sputtered in outrage and knocked his hand away.

"What is this about, Robert?!"

"What time does your shift end?"

After a lengthy pause, Kurt asked slowly and deliberately through clenched teeth, "You pull me into a closet to discuss my schedule?"

"Just answer the question!"

"Eight o'clock!" The darkness didn't conceal Kurt’s exasperation.

"I'll be at your parents' house at nine. We have a lot to talk about."

Kurt rolled his eyes, wincing when the movement aggravated his headache. Gently massaging his forehead, he thought longingly of Katrina's tea and the full night of sleep he'd planned. "Oh, very well. I'll be there." He reached for the door handle, only to turn back when Hogan somehow managed to grab his arm again, despite the cloaking darkness.

"One more thing. Keep Hochstetter away from that nurse you were talking with just now."

Kurt's ill temper dropped away. "Why?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"I'll explain tonight. Just keep him away from her." Hogan moved Kurt aside and peeked out the door. The hall was still deserted, so they stepped out, and Hogan quickly walked away and entered the elevator. Just before the doors closed, he sent a jaunty wave back to his friend.

Kurt absently returned the gesture and ambled down the hall, head bent in thought, worriedly pondering Hogan’s cryptic warning.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Ryker stared straight ahead while a nurse flitted about his room like a tall, awkward bird. He was peripherally aware of her furtive glances while she carried out her duties of checking blood pressure, temperature, clearing away trash from his nightstand and straightening his blankets. Growing tired of the nervous activity, he ordered her from the room, catching a flicker of fear in her eyes before she left. Fear, he was used to, and expected from any in his presence. The American's insolence and disrespect, however, were completely foreign, and made him angrier than he cared to admit.

He mentally reviewed the short conversation with the underground leader, cataloguing every detail and nuance of Papa Bear's tone and expression. An unpleasant noise escaped from between his clenched teeth, echoing off the bare floors and walls of the room. If he'd been twenty-five years younger and uninjured, he would have taken the encounter to a physical level and taught the upstart American exactly whom he was dealing with. Beating the younger officer until nothing but respect and fear shone from the other man's eyes would have given him great pleasure.

His gaze fell upon the ebony cane placed within easy reach of his bed, an unpleasant smile forming.

Perhaps he might yet have that pleasure.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Hogan spent the return trip to Stalag 13 mulling over Miri's presence at the hospital. By the time Klink's staff car pulled into the motor pool, his thoughts were on full boil. Being stuffed into a space better suited for a man of LeBeau's size hadn't improved his temper, either. Impatiently, he waited while his men diverted Schultz from the motor pool, then stiffly climbed out and slipped into their midst. Once again gathered into a tight unit, they quickly made their way across the prison yard and back to the barracks. Hogan remained tight-lipped en route, ignoring all attempts at conversation.

Only after changing back into his own uniform did he brief his men on the unexpected change in their plans. Getting Ryker out, he explained, wouldn't be that difficult, especially since he'd been able to check out the hospital's layout and security for himself. Sensing a "but" hanging in the air, they waited for the other shoe to drop. Hogan didn’t make them wait long.

"I spotted Major Broadbent while I was there."

They glanced knowingly at each other, hearing the concern in his tone.

Kinch rested his elbows on the table and stroked one hand over his mustache. "Now why do you suppose she's in town?"

"That," Hogan muttered, meeting his gaze, "is what I intend to find out."

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

The Metzger family was seated at their kitchen table sharing a late evening snack when Hogan arrived back at the farm. Josef escorted him to the kitchen, all the while running a paternal eye over him. He noticed that Hogan smiled and walked with the same loose stride as before, but there was a tightness about his eyes that spoke of tension; the same tension that Kurt had shown when he'd arrived.

The four of them spent some time exchanging pleasantries at the table, before Hogan and Kurt excused themselves and moved into the gathering room. Kurt glanced around the room. The air suddenly felt stifling, the walls closing in on him. He took several deep breaths, snagged his coat from the couch and tipped his head toward the door.

"Come, Robert. I feel the need of some fresh air." He fled the house, still in the process of donning his coat.

The rapid retreat surprised Hogan, but it also got them outside, where they could speak freely. Once Kurt heard his news, there was a distinct possibility that their conversation would become quite animated.

The door's hinges squealed as he followed Kurt onto the porch. Catching his friend's eyes, he pointed to the hinges, stuck a finger in one ear and made a face. Kurt gave a bark of laughter and some of the stiffness left his posture. Side by side, they stepped off the porch and walked in silence to the barn.

Upon entering the darkened building, Kurt struck a match and carefully lit the lantern hanging from a nail just inside the door. The wick sizzled, the flame caught and a soft glow lit the immediate area around them, throwing the rest of the barn into deep shadows. Hogan took a deep breath, savoring the fresh, clean smell of dried hay that permeated the air. Then he glanced around at the border of darkness surrounding them and a thought came to him like a hard slap across the face.

A hell of a place to die.

Unaware of his morbid thoughts, Kurt ambled over to the cow's stall. Resting an arm on top of the partition, he leaned over and gently ran a hand down the animal's shoulder. The cow grunted at the touch and turned her head to peer at him with one liquid brown eye. With an air of ‘oh, it's only you,’ she grabbed another mouthful of hay and went back to the important business of eating.

Hogan leaned next to Kurt and scratched the cow's back, just above her hip. "Hello, old girl. Remember me? I'm the Amerikaner with the cold hands."

Kurt chuckled softly. "Another female you've charmed, Robert?"

The question reminded Hogan of Miri, erasing the smile from his face. "The nurse you were talking with in the hall --"

"Katrina Bach."

"How long has she worked at the hospital?"

Kurt crossed his arms atop the stall partition and gave the question some thought. "Only for a very short time. I just recently met her, myself. What --"

"Has she questioned you about anything or anyone in particular?"

Kurt frowned, wondering where the line of questioning was taking them. "Robert, but for a very few brief moments, I have had a day fit for hell itself and am in no temper to be interrogated." One eyebrow lifted into the blond hair draped over his forehead. "Why are you so interested in Katrina? If you are about to tell me that she is a Gestapo plant, I will not believe it. Not with her compassionate nature."

That brought a laugh totally lacking in humor. "Gestapo? Oh, far from it."

"Robert," Kurt groaned, dropping his forehead onto his arms. "Get to the point."

"Katrina Bach is really Major Miriam Broadbent, Royal Army. I know that for a fact because we've worked together before."

Kurt lifted his head and stared at him, stunned by the revelation. Royal Army? A nurse who is really a British officer. An American P.O.W. who is more in command of a German Stalag than its kommandant. And a doctor who is also a member of the Resistance. Is anyone truly who they appear to be anymore?

He studied Hogan, still waiting patiently at his side. The other man's expression was wavering between neutrality and expectancy, with a steely take-no-prisoners determination thrown in for good measure. Kurt hid a smile, easily identifying the emotion in the dark eyes. So, my friend, your heart has finally been claimed. Scratching at his chin, he voiced the thought aloud. "Miriam is more than a colleague to you."

Hogan smiled ruefully. "She might be." His expression settled, hardening into the steel Kurt had glimpsed. "As to why I'm so concerned about Hochstetter, other than the obvious, Miri was once undercover in the Gestapo. Hochstetter and Feldcamp eventually found out exactly who she is, and, as you can well imagine, would love to get their hands on her."

"I'm sorry, Robert," Kurt sighed, shifting his weight onto one foot. "but I cannot help you. Katrina -- " he interrupted himself with a tiny shake of his head, "Miriam, was busy with patients most of the day after you left. I saw her only from a distance and that was just as I was ending my shift. So you see, I have no idea what sort of spy business your lady is up to. However, you need not worry about Hochstetter. I overheard him telling one of the guards that he had pressing business in Berlin for the next week. So he is no longer a factor in this."

"You're sure he wasn't just saying that for your benefit?"

"Ach, Robert! Now, you are becoming paranoid. Why would he? The Gestapo have absolutely no reason to suspect me of anything and Hochstetter wasn't even aware I was nearby."

Hogan's expression turned sheepish and he wiped a hand across his face, as if trying to physically rid himself of tension. "Yeah, okay. I guess seeing Miri there threw me more than I thought." He felt his face warm when Kurt grinned. With a mental shrug, he moved on to the other reason for their conversation.

"There's been another change in plans." He paused at Kurt's groan. "I ran into a problem when I met with Ryker. I'll need your help again. He wants out of Germany before he'll disclose the information. So, we're going to have to get him out of there . . ." he held up his hand as Kurt opened his mouth. "and I'll make certain that it's done safely."

Kurt shoved away from the stall with a derisive noise and placed his hands on his hips. "How can you guarantee that? With the Gestapo involved, there is no safely!"

"Look, I'm no happier about this than you are, but I've got to get him out. London needs that information!"

Kurt tipped his head back and stared up into the barn rafters, wishing he were someone else, somewhere else. Myriad thoughts flew through his mind, until one of them leapt to the forefront. Perhaps this change is actually a blessing in disguise. Perhaps I can turn the circumstances to suit my own purposes. He immediately banished a stab of guilt at using his friend in such a way. This is for the best. Everyone will benefit.

"Very well. I will help you get Ryker out, but my agreement comes with a condition."

"Which is?" asked Hogan, warily eyeing him.

"In return for my help, you will help me get three children out of the hospital and you'll see that they're taken to London."

When Hogan was able to get his mouth working again, he croaked, "Getting a grown man out from under the Gestapo's noses is one thing, but three kids?"

"That is my condition." Kurt crossed his arms, blue eyes resolute. "You recently said that you owed me. Four, I seem to remember." His mouth twitched into a smirk when Hogan shifted and started studying the stitching in his gloves. "Do this for me and I will call us even." Another stab of guilt made him add, "I'll even forget that we shared a bed buck-naked."

Hogan's head shot up. An instant later, he burst into laughter. The cow tossed her head, bellowing protests at the rude disruption of her meal. Kurt glanced at her and shrugged an apology. Still chuckling and sputtering, Hogan offered his hand.

"You've got yourself a deal."

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Hogan dropped down the ladder from the emergency exit and landed with a soft thump on the hard-packed dirt floor. One hand still clasping the ladder, he rested his forehead against one of the rungs and thought of all the details that had to be arranged in a short amount of time. London, for one, would have to be contacted and told that Ryker wouldn't be making the trip alone. He grimaced, worry tightening his grip on the ladder. With children involved, anything could happen and most likely would.

He started to move, then froze as he noticed small and definitely feminine boot prints in the dirt at the base of the ladder. Without lifting his forehead from the rung, he twisted his head and traced the prints leading away from the ladder and further into the tunnel. His nostrils flared, detecting a faint scent of sandalwood in the air.

So, Miri, you've saved me the trouble.

He shoved away from the ladder and followed the trail. At its end, he found Miri seated primly next to Carter at a table in the nerve center of the tunnel system. Catching sight of him in the doorway, Carter jumped to his feet, his blue eyes widening with a nervous smile

"Hey, Colonel!" He waved one hand at waist level, then gestured to Miri. "We've got company."

Hogan rested a pointed look on Miri. She set down her cup of tea, amusement curling her full lips. "I see that, Carter." He swung his attention back to his sergeant and crooked one finger in the air. Carter sauntered over, expressive face alight with curiosity. Hogan took hold of the sheepskin collar and tugged him aside, safely out of Miri's earshot. After a brief conversation, he sent the younger man away with a pat to one shoulder.

He waited a few beats, then slowly turned in place and studied the petite Welshwoman. Their eyes met; her gaze steady and calm. Irritation flashed through him. How and when had this tiny bit of a woman taken such a grapple hold on his heart? By turns coquettish and commanding, Miriam Broadbent, RA, had somehow managed to turn his emotions into a veritable stew of confusion since their first meeting.

Caught between wanting to kiss her and wanting to throw her over his shoulder and bodily carry her back to London, he did neither. Instead, he crossed to her side and said in a voice low with concern. "You want to tell me just what the hell you're doing at the hospital, dressed as a nurse, with Gestapo hanging around like they're in town for a convention?"

Miri sighed in exasperation, then took a steadying breath, more than a little aware of his physical presence. Despite the distraction, her voice was carefully neutral. "I am here with four others, Robin, to establish a listening post and gather intelligence on scientific research that Hitler has ordered on jet propulsion."

Hogan frowned at both the explanation and the strange mangling of his name. "What does that have to do with you waltzing around under the Gestapo's noses as a nurse? You saw Hochstetter, Miri. I don't have to tell you what would happen if he were to see you."

Miri fought down the urge to glare at him. "Don't be impertinent, Robin, of course I know. But I wasn't expecting him to show up at the hospital. Our last report just two days ago, placed him in Dortmund." She reached for her cup of tea, wanting another sip before it grew tepid. "As for my being at the hospital, I have established myself as a nurse when we decided it likely that Ryker would be transferred. There is reason to believe he may have some knowledge of the jet research. So far, I have been kept so busy by activity at the hospital, I've been unable to make contact with him . . ." She frowned, seeing the muscles in his jaw bunch and his eyes darken in anger. "What is it now, Robin?"

Frustration set him pacing beside the table. Why is it that the left never knows what the right is doing? He turned to her, bracing his hands on his hips. "My assignment is to get information from Ryker regarding western panzer divisions, which he'd promised us before his accident. Only now, he wants out of Germany before he'll supply the information. I've agreed. He goes out tomorrow afternoon." What is with this 'Robin'?

Miri grimaced. "That does throw a spanner into the works."

"Oh, you haven't heard the best part yet," Deliberately putting the table's width between them, he rested one hip on its edge and crossed his arms. "Three kids have been thrown into the mix. We're taking them out with Ryker."

She thought quickly while finishing off the last of her tea. It stood to reason that the three children were the orphans from the housing fire. Regardless of how they came to be involved, she would happily do everything within her power to get them out while still accomplishing her own mission. Setting down the empty cup, she looked up at him from beneath thick lashes. "Robin, perhaps we may be able to help each other." He shifted uneasily, his expression growing guarded. "I will help you get Ryker out and go with him to London. That way, I will be able to question him about the research, and help with the children as well."

"London can get that information themselves once he reaches headquarters."

"Granted," she said, smoothly rising from her chair and strolling around the table. "But what of the three children? They have already been through a severe trauma, and will certainly be further frightened by this trip and being isolated with Ryker, a man they know not at all. And who will take care of the little ones during the trip, Robin? Surely not Ryker." She stopped in front of him and reached out to lay her hands on his chest. He tensed beneath the touch and shifted once again. "The children already know me and are quite comfortable with me. You should also understand that two of them are mentally quite slow for their ages. Liselotte, the youngest, is six years old, but her mental age is closer to three. And Erich, while eight years, acts closer to four. Maximillian is nine and the only one to have no handicaps of any sort. So you see, I can be of great help to you and also fulfill the reason why I was sent."

He lowered his head with a deep sigh and watched her hands rub gently back and forth across his chest. The soothing caress slowly drove away the tension that had been plaguing him. His thoughts drifted until it dawned on him that he'd relaxed to the point of bonelessness. With a tiny shake of his head, he forced himself upright again and focused on her suggestion. After coming at the problem from every angle he could think of, he grudgingly admitted that she was right.

"Okay. I'll go along with it if you follow our plans on this. No improvising, Miri. Agreed?"

"Our plans?" Her hands stilled on his chest. "Who else is involved, Robin?"

"Metzger." Cocking his head, he asked, "'Robin'?"

"My name for you. Doktor Kurt Metzger?"

He wasn't certain how he felt about the name. After a moment, he realized she was waiting for an answer.

"One and the same. He's with the underground. He insisted that the kids go out with Ryker. They're scheduled to be sen