Author's note: This story is in response to the "Nothing is Black and White" Challenge and a look at the episode "How to Cook a German Goose by Radar" through Kinch's eyes. And as always, thanks to the wonderful honu59 for being an awesome beta!

Roll call at Stalag Thirteen was generally either total doldrums or glorious chaos, but that was to be expected as living in the extremes was a fact of life for those who called this place their temporary home. A fact that Sergeant James Kinchloe knew all too well. It was all he could do to hold back a yawn as Kommandant Klink droned on about German victories in Russia or maybe it was North Africa - he wasn't paying all that much attention - because today was undoubtedly a doldrums day.

Glancing over at Colonel Hogan, Kinch silently willed the officer to give a signal that would allow them to turn the mundane into mayhem, but none was forthcoming. He would just have to suffer in silence with the rest of the camp.

Well, almost everyone. Klink always enjoyed listening to himself speak. "The victorious Third Reich has proven the superiority of the German forces and it is only..." Klink stopped and turned as he heard the office door behind him open and close.

Paying attention for the first time that morning, Kinch stood a little straighter as the beautiful Fraulein Helga approached her CO and handed over a memo. "My apologies, Herr Kommandant," she said, "but Major Weber is demanding an immediate response."

Taking the paper, the German officer read it quickly before handing it back. "Yes, yes, tell Weber we can accommodate him."

"Yes, sir."

No sooner than Helga had turned to go back into the office, Hogan shifted his feet and adjusted his cap. Kinch grinned; that was the signal - let the chaos commence!

Clearing his throat, Klink continued where he had left off. "As I was saying, it is only a matter -"

"TTTTHPBT!" Carter let loose a rather unpleasant sound.

Klink paused for a second and then shook his head as if he had imagined it all. "Of time until -"

Newkirk leaned forward as if to fake a cough. "TTTTHPBT!"

The second raspberry was significantly louder than the first, causing Klink to look up before raising his voice. "All of our enemies!"

"TTTTHPBT!" Kinch was thoroughly enjoying this as he added his own contribution to the fray.

"Cower!"

"TTTTHPBT!"

"Before the!

"TTTTHPBT!"

"Might!"

TTTTHPBT!"

"Of our glorious -"

Kinch could only assume that Klink's final words were a reference to Hitler as they were drowned out by a chorus of "cheers."

Throwing up his hands in defeat, Klink yelled, "Dismissed!" He then turned and stomped off in his best toddler impression.

The POWs congratulated one another on their success as they returned to their barracks. "Did you see Klink's face?" Carter asked.

"Yeah," Newkirk said, "LeBeau could have fried enough eggs to feed the whole camp on it."

LeBeau shuddered. "Boche boiled eggs. Never! I won't feed such swill to the pigs."

"What about the guards?" Kinch asked.

"They would eat anything."

Hogan smiled as he sipped his coffee. "That they would."

Grabbing a mug of his own, Kinch changed the subject. "Sir, what do you think that message was about it?"

"No, idea, but I expect to find out in..." Hogan glanced at his watch. "... five, four, three, two..."

The barracks' door opened then closed with a bang and Sergeant Schultz stepped inside. "Kommandant Klink wishes to see Colonel Hogan right away."

Hogan raised his mug. "Sorry, Schultz, but I don't go anywhere before finishing my morning cup of coffee. Which equates to about three of this stuff."

"Please, Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant is furious."

"Furious!" LeBeau protested. "What for? It's not like he is locked up in here."

Schultz changed his tone of voice to the one Kinch suspected he used with his own children when they misbehaved. "You boys promised no more monkey business at morning roll call. Interrupting the Kommandant's speech was very naughty."

Newkirk threw his arm around the guard's shoulder. "Come on, Schultzie, even you have to admit Klink's speeches are boring."

Carter came around the guard's other side. "We were just spicing things up a little."

Schultz stepped forward out of the POWs' grasp. "No, no, no spice. And no more monkey business!"

Hogan drained the rest of his coffee. "Alright, Schultz, I'll go see what ole blood and guts wants. After you." Opening the door, he waited for the German to leave and then, after donning his cap, the officer winked and followed the guard.

Rushing to the crack in the door to see what the wink was about, the men of Barracks Two's jaws collectively dropped at the sight in front of them.

Newkirk was the first to speak. "He's gone 'round the bend, he has."

"No," Carter said, "he's just happy."

LeBeau shook his head. "To see Klink? No one is ever happy to talk to Klink."

Olsen finally asked the question on all their minds, "Is our CO ... skipping?"

"Yes," Kinch replied. "Yes, I do believe he is."

Kinch had been surprised to hear that Helga had interrupted roll call over the arrival of a single new prisoner - and a corporal to boot - but that surprise had paled in comparison to the shock he felt when Corporal Walter Tillman stepped out of the truck. The others sarcastic remarks hadn't been far off the mark as Kinch figured that Tillman had to be at least sixty. And there was no denying that their newest arrival did not look happy to be here.

Joining the others surrounding the Corporal, Kinch found his path was blocked by Schultz's generous bulk. Stepping back, he caught Tillman's eye and he didn't miss the flicker of disgust that flashed across the man's face. Immediately, Kinch's guard went up even as he reminded himself that the look could have been directed at Schultz. Still, he would have to be careful. An older man would probably be more set in traditional ways of thinking, and a lot of things at Stalag Thirteen were far from regulation - starting with Kinch's own position.

Forcing his attention back to the scene in front of him, Kinch found Klink in the middle of his usual welcome speech. Thankfully, Colonel Hogan was in fine form and they all were silently laughing by the time they capped off the encounter with a hearty Bronx cheer.

As Hogan escorted Tillman to their barracks, Kinch decided to try to keep an open mind. He couldn't think of many sixty-year-olds willing to do the grunt work required in the military and he had to give the man credit for that. Unfortunately, after two minutes in the barracks, it was very obvious that Tillman was never going to work out. The man was rude, unpleasant and flat out disrespectful. When he had grabbed the cigarettes out of Carter's hand, Kinch jumped to his feet, ready to punch the newcomer's lights out if necessary. Thankfully, Hogan swiftly took control of the situation and sent Tillman to the showers to cool off.

"How are we going to convince Klink to transfer Tillman?" Carter asked once the unanimous decision had been made to send the man packing.

"Make him think it is his own idea," Hogan said.

"But transferring a prisoner involves work. Something our Kommandant avoids like the plague," LeBeau countered.

"Unless Klink becomes convinced that keeping Tillman around will be more work than transferring him out," Kinch said.

"We could tell Klink that Tillman plans to escape," Carter suggested.

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "That's a laugh. Just how far do you think Pops could get before the guards catch him?"

"Even our lot would spot him before he reached the fence," Hogan agreed.

Kinch sighed. "No, the only trouble Tillman is likely to cause is the riot that's going to break out when the rest of camp sees him lighting up those cigarettes.

Hogan snapped his fingers. "That's it! Done in by his own greed. Corporal Tillman is going to regret holding onto to those cigarettes by the time we are through with him."

While the others prepared for "Operation Firebug," Kinch took up a position somewhere between Barracks Two and the delousing station. Their plans would be all for naught if Tillman could prove he was in the showers when the incident occurred, so he chose a spot that gave him a good view of the whole area. Ten minutes later, he saw his target coming his way.

Kinch planned to remain in his spot until the corporal had walked past him, but the old man had noticed his gaze and he didn't look happy about it. "What are you looking at, boy?" Tillman sneered.

Kinch bristled, but keep his calm as any reservations he had about the plan he was about to help execute suddenly disappeared. "I could ask you the same question, Corporal."

Tillman didn't reply immediately. Instead, he walked towards Kinch, stopped only a couple feet away, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Now, is that any way to talk to your betters?"

His adversary was trying to intimidate him, but Kinch stood his ground. "I'm not the person who needs to learn some manners. I outrank you, Pop." He then bit his lip as Tillman blew a cloud of smoke directly into his face. He would not give the man the satisfaction of seeing him cough.

"If I was back home, I'd round up some friends and teach you your proper place, boy. And we'd be lighting something a lot bigger than a cigarette."

The threat in Tillman's words was unmistakable as was the meaning behind them. Tillman was in the Klan. But even as fear rose within him, Kinch met his enemy's gaze and reminded himself of three important truths: Tillman can't hurt you. He's just a corporal. Colonel Hogan has already decided to transfer him out.

"It's a good thing we're not back home, then." Then without another word, Kinch turned on his heel and walked away. With every step he took, he could barely believe what had just happened. Not the blatant racism - that wasn't surprising - no, what shocked Kinch was his own response. He had spoken words he had wanted to say his whole life, but never could. Words he had only been able to say because his was a prisoner of war in a German POW camp in the middle of Nazi Germany. The irony of that fact was not lost on him.

Tillman had spoken the truth in their conversation. If they had been back home, a burning cross in his yard would have been the least of Kinch's worries. But here he didn't have to worry; he didn't even have to confide in his CO. Tillman was leaving and Kinch was going to take great joy in carrying out this particular caper.

"Kinch!" Colonel Hogan waved his XO over to his side. "I saw you speaking with Tillman. Do we need to change our plans?"

"No, sir. Our friend is still as pleasant as ever. I'll be glad to see the back of him."

Hogan clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Good; everyone is in position, but I still need a rat for this to work."

Kinch smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

Hogan nodded and Kinch watched as his CO gave Carter the signal to begin. The American Sergeant walked past the porch with his stick and bag, leaving a large pile of paper balls in his wake.

Kinch hurried forward, gathering up as many "balls" as he could. He easily tossed the first two in and smiled as he lifted up his leg and pretended that he was back on the court, showing off to his friends. Running and jumping, he lost himself in the moment. This was no longer about Tillman, but about all the times in his life that he had been powerless to do anything but bite his tongue and keep his head down. No more. This time he was fighting back and it didn't matter that he was slightly winded, his hands were sticky and he stank of gasoline. Because when Hogan threw that lit cigarette into the waiting basket, the ensuing inferno was one of the most beautiful things Kinch had ever seen.

"You guys were great!" Carter said as he met Kinch, LeBeau and Newkirk outside of their barracks. "But I still think a nice little explosion would have worked even better."

"Yeah," Newkirk replied, "if we wanted to get the guy shot."

Kinch held up a hand as they reached the barracks' entrance. "Hold up." Opening the door, he peeked inside. "It's clear."

"I wonder where Tillman went," Carter said as they walked into the empty room.

LeBeau rolled his eyes. "Who cares? Let's celebrate."

Newkirk rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Wait 'til you see what I liberated from the boot of Burkhalter's car." After digging through the trunk, he reached into a secret compartment and pulled out a bottle of champagne.

"I'll get the cups." LeBeau walked over to his cupboard.

Even though Kinch wanted nothing more than to partake with a well-deserved glass, unfortunately, it was his job to reign in the others. "I think we should wait for Colonel Hogan."

"And watch him drink it all," Newkirk shot back. But in spite of the Englishman's complaints, he hid the bottle in the ash bucket - just to keep it close. Then sitting at the table, he started shuffling a deck of cards. "Anyone up for a game?"

Carter joined him. "As long as it's rummy. Your luck in poker is a little too good."

"Deal me in," Kinch said as he sat down, LeBeau sliding in next to him.

Emboldened by their victory, they began a very lively game. So engrossed was Kinch in his cards, he didn't even think to call out to Hogan as the officer returned and went into his office. But when Carter, once again, won another round, Kinch couldn't resist. "Carter, if Newkirk wasn't losing as badly as the rest of us, I'd say he'd been giving you lessons."

Carter smiled. "I guess in rummy, I'm the lucky one."

"Ha. Ha. Ha." LeBeau threw his cards down in disgust.

Gathering up the cards, Newkirk announced, "This time, I'm dealing."

But the cards were never dealt as Hogan swiftly strode into the main room and ordered, "Kinch, with me."

Kinch jumped to his feet; there was no denying the urgency in the officer's voice nor in his step as he moved swiftly to the tunnel entrance and hit the button. But Kinch almost froze when he spotted Corporal Tillman watching from inside Hogan's quarters. How had he gotten in there? How had he missed him? What had the man told his CO and, more importantly, what had Hogan believed? Duty kept his feet moving as he followed Hogan through the bunk entrance and down into the tunnels below.

Jogging to catch up, he asked, "What's going on, sir?"

"We've got two minutes to tune into the BBC."

"Why?"

"Tillman claims he's really General Tillman Walters, Signal Core."

Kinch couldn't believe his ears! This was worse - much worse - than anything he could have imagined. But he didn't have time to panic, not if he wanted to catch that message!

Moving as fast as he knew how, Kinch switched on the radio, adjusted the dials and grabbed the notepad he always kept at his station. The announcer was in the middle of a news bulletin, but it wasn't long before the words "Unsung Heroes" came through loud and clear.

Transcribing and decoding the message was easy. What wasn't easy was speaking the words that would change everything. But it never crossed his mind to speak anything but the truth.

Hogan took a moment to process the news. "Great! That's just great!"

There was an uncharacteristic hint of panic in Hogan's tone, but Kinch had worries of his earlier thoughts of reassurance turned into fears: Tillman's a general. He can hurt you. He now has to stay.

Looking over at Hogan, Kinch wanted to confess everything: his confrontation with Tillman, his foolish words, the man's threats but he wouldn't. Hogan needed to be able to work with Tillman, no, Walters, and his private battle would only get in the way of that. So instead, Kinch fell back into his role of supporting his CO and asked the question that he knew would get the officer back on track. "What do we do now, sir?"

Hogan started toward the tunnel entrance. "We see what the General needs." Then glancing back at his XO for a moment, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Kinch lied. "Just surprised."

There was nothing more to say. Nothing more he could say. So silently he followed his CO back up the ladder.

The mood in the barracks was unmistakably tense when Kinch climbed into the room. No one was speaking, but the actions of the others said more than any words could. LeBeau was sharpening his chef's knife, Carter was fidgeting with something (probably explosive) in his pocket, while Newkirk was standing with his arms crossed in front of the exit. Walters seemed oblivious to the others' hostility as he waited patiently in Hogan's quarters until theColonel joined him inside and firmly shut the door behind him.

The others all moved at once. "What happened?" Carter asked.

LeBeau gestured with his knife. "Is he a spy?"

"Put that away before you hurt yourself," Newkirk said. "What did London say?"

Holding out his hands for silence, Kinch said, "Corporal Walter Tillman is really General Tillman Walters. London confirmed it. He's from the Signal Corps and has a mission for us."

LeBeau dropped the knife. "No."

Newkirk shook his head. "You've got to be kidding me!"

Carter sank onto his bunk in shock. "Holy cow! Tillman's a general. Boy, did we read him wrong!"

"Well, he shouldn't have acted so bloody unlikeable," Newkirk said.

"And we got him transferred!" Carter shouted.

LeBeau picked up his knife and started cleaning it. "What's the penalty in your army for sending a General to a POW camp for the rest of the war?"

Kinch didn't even want to think about the answer to his friend's question but it was impossible not to. "A court martial - if we're lucky."

"Don't worry," Carter said, "Colonel Hogan will think of something. He always does."

"But Colonel Hogan's not in charge anymore," Newkirk countered. "This Walters bloke is."

That depressing fact brought the silence back to the barracks as they all turned and stared at the closed office door. Hopefully, when it opened things would be different. Walters would be everything Tillman was not: friendly, likeable, respectable.

Not racist.

Kinch shook his head. Even though they would need a miracle to make it through today without being court-martialed, there was no point in pushing things. The best he would wish for was that they would be able complete whatever mission Walters had for them and afterward get him back to England as fast as possible.

The men jumped to their feet as the door to Hogan's quarters opened. No one spoke, they barely even breathed, but the grin on their CO's face told them more than the words that followed -maybe, just maybe, their miracle had happened.

"Gentlemen, General Walters has orders to install a radar signal right here in this camp and we're going to assist him. We only have a few hours. Newkirk, here's a list of supplies we need. Have LeBeau help you."

"Right, sir," Newkirk said as he looked over the list.

"Oh, and take care of Schultz while you're at it."

"That won't be difficult," LeBeau laughed. And then, as if suddenly remembering who else was in the room, he added, "Sir."

"Kinch, contact London and make arrangements. The General will not be visiting Stalag Eighteen."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Carter, show General Walters the downstairs apartments."

"I'll do that, boy, I mean, sir, sirs."

"You have one hour, gentlemen."

Dismissed, Kinch wasted no time in heading for the radio. He understood the order behind the order that once arrangements were made, he and Carter would need to process the General like they would any other escaped prisoner - a task that under circumstances would have to be handled carefully. And today's circumstances were anything but normal.

Kinch shook his head as he turned on the radio. He needed to focus. Imaging the worst-case scenario wouldn't do anyone any good, least of all him. He had a job to do.

"Papa Bear calling Mama Bear. Mama Bear, do you hear?"

"Papa Bear, this is Mama Bear."

"An eagle has landed in our den. Need to return to nest.

"Have the eagle meet Goldilocks at Neverland tonight, 0300 hours."

"Ten-four. Papa Bear out."

Turning off the radio, Kinch breathed a sigh of relief. London wanted Walters back tonight. It would be tight getting him to the coast in time, but if they moved quickly, and more importantly drove, it would be doable. Grabbing a piece of paper, the radioman began making a list of what he would need: a trusted guide, papers and clothing for Walters and his escort, a truck from the motor pool, a reason for them to be traveling to the coast...

"And this is our radio room."

...and a whole lot of patience, Kinch thought as Carter lead Walters down the tunnel. Rising, Kinch watched Walters as he paused and studied the room with a critical eye. Looking right at the radio, the General said, "I must say, I'm impressed with all that your Colonel Hogan has accomplished here."

Carter smiled. "Gee, thanks, sir. Colonel Hogan really is the best." Then turning toward his friend, he asked, "Any word from London?"

Kinch took a deep breath and reminded himself that this situation wasn't new; he knew how to deal with men like Walters. He would remain calm and he would play the perfect, dutiful, subservient servant. "You're in luck, General, London wants you back tonight. With your permission, we'll need your assistance in preparing your papers and clothing. And it would be helpful to know how well you speak German."

"I don't speak a word of the language. I got through the last war just fine without it and I'll get through this one, too."

"Very good, sir. Sergeant Carter will get you outfitted in some civilian clothing while I prepare your papers."

"This way, sir," Carter said. "Wait 'til you see our wardrobe, we have uniforms for every branch of the German military. I've gotten to play a general a couple of times..."

Kinch let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. That had gone well. Mostly, because of Carter's ability to chatter - God bless the man - and Kinch promised himself that he would find some way to reward his countryman once this mission was over.

Sitting back down, Kinch quickly began to formulate a plan. He needed Olsen - he would trust no one else with managing the General. But he also needed a reason for the two of them to be driving north, one that would let Olsen do all the talking...

He had it! Walters would be Olsen's father who had lost his hearing in the last war, which would explain why he wouldn't understand anyone who spoke to him. Olsen could teach him the bare minimum to pass the checkpoints and they would be in the clear! As for papers... Kinch tapped a pencil against the wooden table. The radioman smiled. They were in the middle of the forest and the coast was always in need of lumber. All he had to do was call the lumber mill and request to have a load of lumber ready to be picked up by civilian workers for some Northern Base. Then he'd call the base and inform them to expect a shipment of lumber tonight. No one would question it as long as the paperwork was in order.

Grabbing the box of signed stationary that Newkirk had procured from here and there, Kinch got to work.

"So, what do you think?"

Kinch looked up from his papers and saw Carter gesturing triumphantly at Walters who was dressed very convincingly as a German civilian. The scowl on Walters' face perfectly competed the look - no one would ever think he was American - that was, as long as he never opened his mouth.

Rising to his feet, Kinch couldn't resist. "Very German." Then, before the General could respond, he said, "Sir, we'll provide you with a guide who will escort you to the coast. You will be his father who lost his hearing in the last war. We just need to take your picture for your identity card and you'll be set."

Walters looked skeptical. "This is how you get all those flyers to England?"

"Yes, sir. Now if you will sit right here..." Kinch gestured toward a stool while Carter fiddled with the lightning. Grabbing the camera, Kinch inserted their last roll of film - he would have to add that to the requisitions list. "Now, sir, don't smile..."

The photo session passed without incident, but when Carter disappeared into the darkroom to develop the negatives, Kinch was left alone with Waters for the first time since their confrontation. Take a deep breath, pretend everything is fine...

"Sir, you can change back into your uniform now. I'll escort you to Colonel Hogan when you're ready."

Walter cocked his head and just stared for a few moments that felt like hours. Kinch clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking as he waited for the other shoe to drop. Then Walters finally spoke, "It seems you do have some manners after all."

Kinch spoke the only two words that were safe to speak, "Yes, sir."

"If you know what's good for you, boy, you'll follow your orders and stay out of my way."

"Yes, sir."

Walters smirked and walked away, satisfied that Kinch had been properly put in his place.

And as Kinch watched him go, even though it hurt to admit it, the truth was that Walters wasn't wrong. Walters was a white general, he was a colored sergeant. His "place" was very, very clear.

Forty Walters-free minutes later, Kinch had his spirit back as he showed Walters' finished ID card to Carter. "What do you think?"

Carter tilted his head as he examined the ID. "You know, he may have been too serious to play a German. Do you think the guards will be suspicious?"

Kinch laughed. "That would be a first."

"Hey, that's my camera!"

Kinch looked up and saw LeBeau walking into the radio room. "We needed it for Walters' ID card."

LeBeau scowled as he inspected it. "There's no film."

"We're out," Carter said. "Sorry."

LeBeau murmured softly in French as he put the camera back. Then he said, "We need another hand upstairs. Walters needs to take some measurements of camp."

Kinch said, "Go ahead, Carter, I'll finish up here."

"You go," Carter replied. "You're better at navigation than me."

"No." Kinch paused for a second. That had come out sterner than he intended. Forcing a smile onto to his face, he said, "You'll be fine. The General's an expert."

Kinch's distaste of Walters must have been obvious, because Carter pushed back. "Walters really isn't that bad of a guy. I mean I didn't like him at first either, but he's nice enough once you get to know him. I mean if he hid the signal in his cigarettes, that explains why he was so protective of them."

Kinch wanted to shake his friend; how could he be so oblivious? "Forget it, Carter."

"And as a general, he wouldn't be used to being bossed around-"

"I said, forget it!"

Carter stepped back, his eyes wide. "What's wrong?"

"If you took your head out of the clouds and into the real world, you might notice what is right in front of your face for once!"

Confusion turned to hurt and his friend flinched as if he had been hit and then turned on his heel and hurried away. LeBeau's head snapped back and forth between the two men. "Kinch-"

Kinch quickly cut his friend off. "I don't want to talk about it."

LeBeau stood silently for a couple seconds, clearly debating whether or not to press the issue. But Kinch refused to budge and duty upstairs called so the Frenchman reluctantly left, leaving the radioman finally alone.

Slam! Kinch brought his hands down hard on his desk, but that didn't help. His hands itched to hit a hapless punching bag - his old familiar target of choice when frustrations he could not voice aloud threatened to overwhelm him. The table was a poor substitute.

Forcing himself to take three deep breaths, he slunk down into his chair and buried his head in his hands. He couldn't afford to lose control like this. Especially not with Walters around. He knew that. He had been taught for as long as he could remember that when white people looked at him that the first thing they would see was a big, scary colored man - a threat. He had learned that he had to spend every moment of every day proving those assumptions wrong. He couldn't ever afford not to be calm, in control or disciplined. His life depended on this.

Yet, he felt his control slipping, his anger threatening to overwhelm a lifetime of discipline. Over what? A racist general who would be out of camp before the day was over. What was wrong with him?

The answer came to him as he raised his head and looked around him. He saw the tunnels he had helped dig, the radio he had built, and the operation of which he was a part. This place was his problem. Stalag Thirteen was the impossible place where he had discovered that the elusive dream of equality was possible. Yet, instead of giving him hope that what he had achieved here, could be achieved back home, Kinch feared this time of freedom in Stalag Thirteen was ill preparing him for the slavery of racism back home.

What was he going to do?

Click. Kinch touched his mug to the others after the champagne was poured. Newkirk had produced the bottle with which they celebrated the competition of a successful mission. Kinch was also privatively celebrating that in a few short moments, Walters would be out of his life - forever.

For it was that knowledge which made it easier for him to smile, laugh and pretend that everything was fine even though Walters was standing a few feet behind him.

However, all of that cheer disappeared the instant Hogan noticed the knot in the rope. Kinch felt a twinge of guilt when he heard the slight panic in Walter's voice. Because he knew immediately that LeBeau's error meant the calculations were off, that the factory would not be destroyed and that the mission would fail. But he didn't blame LeBeau or even Carter who was with him - they hadn't known the consequences of tying that knot. But he had. Carter had said it - he had experience in navigation, the others didn't. Kinch should have joined the others - not Carter. He could have stood up to Walters, been present where his talents were needed the most. But instead he had given in, choose the safer option.

He had let fear win.

However, failure was a word not in Hogan's vocabulary and before Kinch could dwell further on the issue, Hogan started speaking, reassuring the General that this wasn't a problem, that they would take care of it. Hogan led Walters to the tunnel and then spoke the word that stopped Kinch in his tracks.

Pop.

Not the joking or disrespectful Pop of earlier in the day. Just 'Pop'. Hogan smiled as he shook the General's hand, his tone full of both care and respect. Hogan had befriended Kinch's enemy and even though the Colonel could have never known the affect of that that one word, it still hurt. For it told Kinch that the war he been waging behind the scenes, the conflict he had tried his best to keep hidden had remained so. The others hadn't noticed or seen. And while part of him wanted to be relieved that he had been successful, the other part of him was upset. Because the truth was that a part of Kinch had wanted his friends to notice, to see, to speak up.

And now it was too late. Because when Hogan turned back to his men, it was clear that their CO had a plan and Kinch couldn't afford to dwell on what he should have done differently if he was going to help fix this mess.

"Kinch," Hogan ordered, "I need a car parked to the left of the front gate, underneath the guard tower in the next ten minutes."

Kinch rose. "Yes, sir."

Ideas swirled around Kinch's brain as he climbed down the ladder. The task was a difficult one, but the fact Hogan had given the job to him gave him a pretty good idea of where to start, even if he would have to make up the details as he went.

Reaching the bottom, Kinch sprinted down the tunnel. He was so engrossed in plotting his next steps that when he found his way blocked by Walters and Olsen, he simply called out, "Move," and shouldered his way past the two men.

Part of Kinch was all too aware of Walter's presence behind him, but the urgency of his mission propelled him forward. Because Hogan needed a car parked on the left side of the gate, next to the guard tower and there was only one person in camp who could give that order to move a car there: Colonel Klink.

Kinch dialed Klink's office and Helga picked up on the second ring. "Thirteen Stalag. How may I help you?"

"This is Major Loemann of General Kinchmeyer's staff. I need to speak with Kommandant Klink about the results of his last camp inspection."

"One moment, please."

A few seconds later, Klink's voice squawked in his ear, "Major Loemann, how pleasant it is to hear from you. We run a model camp here at Stalag Thirteen as your report clearly shows."

"I hardly consider a failing grade a model camp."

"But...but...Stalag Thirteen passed the last round of inspections with flying colors..."

"I'm not looking at the report from the last official inspection, but from the surprise inspection our office carried out three days ago."

"Surprise inspection! I wasn't informed of any surprise inspection."

Kinch held back laughter as he snapped, "It wouldn't be a surprise if you were informed."

"Of course, how very clever of the General to keep things a surprise. Now I must remind you that we've never had an escape from Stalag Thirteen."

"No escapes! I don't see how that is possible when you failed to implement policy forty-eight, paragraph two, subsection one in volume three of "Rules and Regulations of Prisoner of War Camps."

"Policy forty...forty..." Klink stuttered.

"Policy forty-eight, paragraph two, subsection one in volume three of "Rules and Regulations of Prisoner of War Camps" states: a parked car must be kept outside of the camp gates at all times in order to ensure easy access to a vehicle in case of an emergency."

"Major, that is such a minor violation-"

"Failure to follow policy forty-eight, paragraph two, subsection one in volume three of "Rules and Regulations of Prisoner of War Camps" result in an automatic failing grade."

"But.. But...My record is spotless. I assure you, Herr Major, that you may assure the General that we will fix this issue immediately."

"Good. I do have a man passing through your area today. I will ask and if he spots, say - a staff car parked to the left of your front gate, right next to the guard tower - I think we can forget about this little issue."

"It will be done immediately, Herr Major. Thank you, Herr Major."

Not willing to listen to any more of Klink's groveling, Kinch hung up. He had done it! Wonder what General Walters thought of that? With a grin on his face, Kinch turned around to face his adversary, but there was no one there. The General was gone.

When Kinch stepped out into the compound, he was pleased to see that Klink had followed his orders perfectly though what Hogan intended to do with the car was a mystery to him.

Seeing that Hogan was busy with Newkirk and LeBeau, Kinch walked over to Carter. "What's the plan?"

Carter shrugged. "No clue. Klink came outside a couple minutes ago and yelled at the guards to move a car. How'd you manage that?"

"Apparently, not having a car outside the wire is a violation of prison camp rules and regulations."

"Nice one!"

While Kinch appreciated the praise, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty about how he had snapped at his friend earlier. Though Carter being Carter, his friend had clearly already forgiven him and moved on. He knew he should say something, but how could he without explaining what he was hiding from them all?

POP!

Kinch and Carter both jumped at the loud sound that filled the compound, but before he could figure what the cause was, Hogan was yelling at Newkirk about knives as Klink hurried toward them. Less than a minute later, Hogan and Newkirk were outside the wire and fixing a flat tire.

Kinch kept a close eye on the proceedings, trying to follow his CO's plan. But he couldn't quite tell what they were doing when suddenly the guard tower started to move!

"Lean left," LeBeau ordered.

Kinch obeyed without hesitation and, as he did so, he realized Hogan had used the carjack to lift the tower. This was crazy! The plan had no business working, but Kinch didn't doubt for one second that it would. Because it was exactly the type of impossible plan that somehow always worked in Stalag Thirteen.

Since coming to this camp, Kinch had learned to embrace the impossible, but the truth was, there were some things that not even Stalag Thirteen could fix: racism, General Walters and others like him. It seemed crazy that he lived in a world where Colonel Hogan could move a guard tower exactly six inches with a carjack and a little bit of luck while he was forced to remain silent about the injustices he faced. Yet when explosions filled the air, proving once again that the impossible could be made possible, Kinch clung to the thinnest of threads of hope: that he would live to see the day when he could speak openly about the things he kept silent about today.

Author's Notes:

I suspect some of you may be wondering why this particular episode with this particular challenge? The story is when I was re-watching this episode, I kept asking myself, where is Kinch? He's present in the beginning of the episode but then he basically disappears for the rest of it. That's not unusual in this series except this episode happens entirely in camp and has the others helping Walters with something that is normally in Kinch's wheelhouse: navigation. And once that question was asked, I had to answer it.

Re-watching the episode again, I noticed that the normally level-headed Kinch was literally jumping for joy while participating in the plan to get rid of Tillman. Now none of the others liked the man either, but we do get later scenes with them and Tillman showing them changing their opinions. However, we don't with Kinch and that left the door open for other reasons for Kinch's outward dislike and this challenge came to me.

And once I knew the possibility was there, I had to do it. I had to do this challenge with this episode because Tillman is a character I really enjoyed and, like Hogan, by the end of the episode I could respect the character. But the sad truth is many people who hold racist and other prejudiced viewpoints do appear likeable and respectful to those of us who have nothing to fear from them. So to have Kinch deal with a private battle that the others don't even notice, felt like the most realistic way to portray this challenge. So sorry if I ruined the episode for anyone, but at least you now know why I did it.