Ah, hell, Hogan thought as he shuffled back to Stalag 13. He was walking along a bridge that had iced over for Christmas, and being careless, which was highly unusual. The whole problem was Katrina, the little Jewish girl they had protected for the last week. He had quickly grown to love her, with her quiet smiles, and warm hugs. He was going to miss her, he realized with a lump in his throat. Suddenly, his foot hit an especially slick patch of ice, and he went flying into the air. He grabbed the side of the bridge for support, but his hands scrabbled at icy stone, and he found himself hanging off the side of the bridge, slipping steadily.
His hands gave way, and right before he fell, he felt a firm hand grip his. Another one reached for his arm, and he found himself being hauled up over the bridge. After he was swung over the side, he looked up to the face of his rescuer. The face was blurred, and a soft light glowed behind him, making his features unable to recognize. Hogan licked his lips and softly whispered,
"Where did you come from?" The figure might have smiled, and tilted his head upwards, casting his eyes toward Hogan. Something about the man's face was familair, and Hogan struggled to remember, when it suddenly came to him. "John!" he cried, reaching forward. His hands passed through his brother. "Goodbye," he said, tears running down his face. John gave a sad smile, then slowly faded away, leaving only pitch darkness in his wake. Hogan sat down and cried for his lost brother, and out of happiness. All he ever wanted to do was say goodbye, and he had gotten his chance. He sighed, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and looked up at Heaven. "Merry Christmas, John."