Morning dawned on Hogan and Newkirk's second day in the cooler. After Schultz had stopped by with stale bread, watered-down coffee and a few kind words, the prisoners were left to their own devices for at least 10 hours.

They were stretching out aching muscles by leaning into the wall after a rough night spent trying to sleep on the two small cots that turned out to be only one small cot when all was said and done.

The night before, Newkirk had decided to brush up his mathematics after Schultz dropped off their supper trays. With his tailor's tape handy, he took various measurements in various circumstances before proposing a physics experiment to see who could propel a certain small wad the farthest. Newkirk won by three-eighths of an inch, and in the ensuing celebration the revelers collapsed in a tangled mass of limbs on Hogan's cot. Eventually, however, Peter had petered out and proved to be an immovable object. By morning, the dead weight of a sleeping, naked Newkirk had crushed Hogan's left arm into oblivion. Now the Colonel was shaking some life back into it while Newkirk began his daily chain smoking.

"What shall we do today, Colonel?" Newkirk asked. "I picked yesterday's fun activity. I think it's only right that you should choose today's."

"Well, that's very decent of you, Newkirk," Hogan said. "But I still want my shorts and undershirt back."

"You're OK without them for now, Sir," Newkirk said. "And it'll speed things along later on."

Hogan couldn't argue with that logic. He WAS warmer now that he had recovered most of his clothes. And he was pretty sure he would be removing them eventually anyway.

"But my crush cap," Hogan said. "I need that now, Corporal."

Newkirk made a hissing sound and he sucked the air in between his teeth. "Oh, but Colonel, I mightn't have another chance to wear it. Please, just another day with it, Sir? It brings me closer to you." He batted his eyes. Then he got an idea.

"Look here, Sir, you can wear mine," Newkirk said brightly. He plopped his garrison cap onto Hogan's head. "I must say, you look very nice in blue, Sir. I think I've only seen that color on you once before. It was last night when you took your shorts off, wasn't it?

Hogan rolled his eyes. Jeez, he was spending too much time with Newkirk if he had picked that habit up. "Very funny, Mr. Comedian. But I get my underclothes and my crush cap back tomorrow. No argument."

"Yes, Sir. Understood, Sir. Is that all, Sir?" Newkirk said.

Hogan leaned in and kissed Newkirk on the lips with such a sudden intensity that he seemed to be inhaling him. He pressed on and plundered his mouth until finally Newkirk pulled away with a yelp. He had to sit down and rest and give himself a chance to subside. "Blimey, Sir, I didn't see that coming," he said weakly while observing a wiggle in his lap.

"Anything to shut you up," Hogan said with a grin. "OK, today's plan. We're going to have a little contest."

Newkirk was still struggling to breathe, but he inhaled deeply and took the bait. "What kind of contest, Sir?"

"Size?" Hogan said.

"Sorry, Sir, that's not fair. You've already won."

"I thought you'd say that," Hogan said. "And I'm glad you noticed. All right then, endurance."

"Meaning what, Sir?" Newkirk asked anxiously. He wasn't sure this was his best event.

"Who can keep it up the longest," Hogan said.

Newkirk sighed. "Do I get a handicap, Sir? I mean, you are older. And it's a known fact that young chaps like myself are a bit, shall we say, quicker."

"No handicap, Newkirk," Hogan said. "This is the Olympics. We're all champions here. But there will be a second event where you may have an edge."

"Which one is that, Sir" Newkirk inquired.

"Frequency," Hogan said. "Over the course of let's say 12 hours. And there has to be proof in the form of… say the big word I taught you, Newkirk."

"… Ejaculation. Got it. Game on, Gov," Newkirk said. "When do we start?"

XXX

The first event was to commence after an hour of calisthenics, a ridiculous activity that Hogan absolutely insisted on. Fortunately, he had made it more interesting, at least for himself, by removing Newkirk's clothing from the waist down.

"Not fair, Sir. Your trousers are on," Newkirk complained as he performed his squat jumps "I'm getting sore bouncing about like this."

"I'm already down two items of clothing, Newkirk," Hogan said n the middle of his push-ups. "Just leveling the playing field."

They exercised a little longer until Hogan had to admit that Newkirk had insufficient support to continue with a handstand.

"All right, all right," Hogan said. "Calisthenics over. I am now going to remove my trousers for our first event. Are you happy?" He turned to face Newkirk.

"Blissfully," Newkirk replied, taking satisfaction in the sight of what Hogan had been hiding under those layers. Things were looking up, Newkirk thought admiringly. "This is the endurance event, is it?" he asked. "I think you're getting a head start, mate. That's not cricket."

"No, it's more like a baseball bat," Hogan said cheerfully before conceding, "OK, we have to reset so that we start at the same point. Help me think of something really, really boring."

Newkirk checked through his mental library and came up empty. "I can't think of anything that isn't terribly sexy, Sir," he said apologetically. "I am 22, you know. It's how we're wired."

"I think they left a copy of Mein Kampf in here for us," Hogan remembered.

"Ooh, that'll do it, Sir," Newkirk said.

By four pages in, the horses had settled down and could be calmly led to the starting gate. "Ready, Newkirk?" Hogan asked.

"I think so, Sir, but I have a query," Newkirk replied. "Is this an assisted or an unassisted event?"

With that question, Hogan leapt to an immediate lead. "Oh my God, Newkirk, we're off! How do you do this to me?" he moaned, slightly breathless from the speed with which his thoroughbred took to the course.

"Give me a chance to catch up and I'll tell you," Newkirk said as he pumped with purpose.

In the heat of battle, they agreed it must be an unassisted event, and as expected, Hogan triumphed. Newkirk was groaning and sputtering to a stop a solid five minutes before Hogan surrendered to the inevitable. Hogan celebrated his win by pushing Newkirk down on the cot for what he termed a "victory lap" – which turned out to mean a great deal of attention dedicated to reviving what was in Newkirk's lap with the help of tiny licks and laps administered by the Colonel's tongue. In this unscheduled special event, Hogan was also triumphant, to Newkirk's great pleasure.

Indeed, they carried for hours with other spontaneous sporting events. Hogan won best aim in directing a stream to a bucket across the room, while Newkirk racked up the most improved award after a messy start. They had a vigorous and rousing discussion of the origins of the sport of "cock-fighting," complete with a re-enactment. They concluded with an extraordinary combination of slow dancing and fast rubbing. All in all, they agreed, it was a memorable day in sporting history. So memorable, in fact, that they forgot they still had a grueling event ahead of them.

But soon it was half past 3 o'clock, and Hogan realized Schultz would be back before long. As was his custom, Hogan wiped down himself and his competitor, dressed himself, and then helped Newkirk back into his clothes. They were going to need a nap before they could begin part 2 of the contest.

XXX

Hogan and Newkirk slipped into deep comas on their respective cots, barely noticing when Sergeant Schultz arrived with their evening meal. The rotund Sergeant was placing the trays on the floor when Hogan awoke with a start.

"Oh, God, it's you, Schultz," he said. "What time is it?"

"Five o'clock," Schultz said. "I'm off duty now, but Colonel Hogan, I have something for you."

Schultz reached into his pocket and drew out a slip of paper, which he handed surreptitiously to Hogan. He read it and scrabbled around in his pocket for a pencil, jotted down a response, and handed it back to Schultz.

"Thanks, Schultzie," he said. "You'll get it back to Kinch?"

"Ja, Colonel. And LeBeau asked me to give these to you, too." He reached into his pocket and drew out two chocolate bars. Hogan smiled. A cooler stay offered lively entertainment, but lousy dining options. The chocolate would sure help.

"I'm off duty for a while, Colonel Hogan. Is there anything you need?" Schultz asked.

"Maybe a king-size bed?" Hogan replied. "Nah, nothing Schultz. But thanks."

Schultz missed the insinuation, but got the point. "These beds look miserable," he acknowledged. "But Colonel Hogan, why are you and the Englander so tired? You look exhausted."

"You'd be surprised how much effort it takes to teach a street urchin like Newkirk how to behave like a gentleman in a prisoner of war camp, Schultz," Hogan said. "We've been up late going over his lessons."

Schultz peered down at Newkirk, who was out like a light on his stomach with his left arm and leg draped over the side his cot. One false move and he would be on the floor. "He must be working very hard to improve himself, Colonel. He may be naughty, but deep down he is a good boy," Schultz said. Hogan just nodded.

"Excuse me for a minute, Colonel Hogan" Schultz said. He stepped out in the corridor and returned with two neatly folded blankets, handing one to Hogan and gently spreading the other one out over Newkirk. "Schlafen Sie gut," he said, patting Newkirk on the back. Newkirk responded with a gurgle and groan and then lurched just an inch too far to his left, crashing to the stone floor.

Schultz and Hogan sprang into action, getting Newkirk upright, semi-alert, and back on his cot, where he moaned, "Oooh, my loaf" five times before sinking back into his coma.

"I guess our contest is going to be postponed until tomorrow," Hogan said regretfully. Uh-oh. Had he really said that out loud? Man, he WAS tired.

"What contest, Colonel?" Schultz asked.

"Oh, we're doing some work on setting and achieving goals," Hogan said. "Self-improvement techniques. They're all the rage."

"Hmm. Very interesting," Schultz said. "Well, I wish you success. I'd watch out for Newkirk if I were you. I think he learns fast. He might beat you in the contest, Colonel."

"And that would be fine with me, Schultz," Hogan said, adding philosophically: "Is there anything more satisfying to a teacher than watching his pupil surpass him? I don't think so."

XXX

It was after 7 pm by the time Newkirk came to again. For a solid half hour, Hogan kept up a good pretense of having won Part 2 of the contest fair and square while Newkirk slumbered, but Newkirk eventually called his bluff following an examination of the required physical evidence. The milky slime that Hogan had attempted to pass off as his output bore a suspicious resemblance to the glop that the camp cook passed off as their evening meal.

Hogan, impressed by Newkirk's powers of deduction and willingness to taste the evidence, admitted the ruse and conceded the round. So by gentlemen's agreement, the contestants agreed to renew their exertions in the morning, when they would both be properly rested.

That matter settled, Hogan shared the news of the day from Kinch, which was that Burkhalter was expected in two days, that the Carter-Olsen-Broughton team had won the Stalag 13 relay race, and that nobody missed Newkirk.

By 8 o'clock, with a greasy bowl of soup, a moldy crust of bread, a mug of cold ersatz coffee, and a chocolate bar in his belly, Newkirk was ready for a few rounds of gin, most of which he magnanimously allowed the Colonel to win.

A rollicking game of Mein Kampf charades followed, and by 9 o'clock, after kissing Hogan in an effort to elicit the name "Eva Braun," Newkirk felt sufficiently revived to fit in some practice for the next day's competition. As usual, Hogan insisted on assisting with some of the preparations, namely the handling of garments.

By the time Hogan had tugged Newkirk's undershorts off, he found himself sportingly assisting his opponent with his efforts. Many strokes, many licks, many kisses, and multiple breathy exclamations of "Oh, God!" later, they were both a crumpled mess again as Hogan lifted himself off Newkirk. It was 10 o'clock.

"Sleep on your own damn cot tonight, Colonel," Newkirk groaned.

"You're kidding, right? I always sleep on my own cot, Newkirk," Hogan dished back. "You're the one who keeps crawling on top of me in the middle of the night for goodnight kisses. I'll be grateful to have the use of my arm in the morning without you grinding your elbows into it."

"Righto, Colonel. Well, good night, love," Newkirk said sleepily. Hogan shook his head and smiled. He pulled the blanket up over Newkirk, planted a kiss on his forehead, and settled back onto his own cot.