Disclaimer: Hogan's Heroes is not mine. If it was, I wouldn't be struggling to pay for school right now. I just borrowed it for a while. The plot, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow it.

Author's notes: This is from the point of view of any of the prisoners in camp, but not that of Newkirk or Lebeau.

What am I doing here? I'm a flier, not a commando!

The cold night wind whipped through the German forest as a sharp crack shattered the silence. The party froze yet again, desperately hoping that German patrols had not heard the stick break.

A soft apology came from behind the airman, and was quickly muffled by the others.

The corporal in the lead only sighed, and continued leading the way back to Stalag 13, with his charges following inexpertly behind.

I don't have to be here, the allied airman thought. I could have escaped. I could have asked for a transfer to another POW camp. I could even have stayed in Stalag 13, only safely behind the wire. Instead I am living in a hellhole by day, eating bread made with sawdust and freezing, and I'm out here risking execution and worse by night.

And for what? To maybe go home at the end of the war? To see people who think I just sat in a prison camp for the duration, never brave enough or smart enough to escape?

Papa Bear's organization is Classified, Top Secret. No one will know of our efforts here. No one can know. We will get no honor, no recognition, and no glory. We're the unsung heroes of the war.

If no one knows about the operation, then know one will know if I bail. There will be no shame in leaving. I might even be praised for escaping the Germans. Except…

Except the guys in camp would know. They'd know I left while they stayed. But I wouldn't be the first to leave.

The Colonel would know. He wouldn't care. He's sent other guys home. He almost went himself, once. But he didn't leave. He came back. He disobeyed orders to return to camp.

But he's the colonel; he's an officer. He is supposed to do that. That doesn't explain why I am here, why I am doing this.

The corporal grinned in relief as he spotted the familiar tree trunk. He knelt to open the door to the tunnel and motioned his charges inside. They all hurried to obey, pushing and shoving in their anxiousness to enter the relative safety of the tunnel, but they never made a sound.

All of his charges hurried to obey, except for one. She was the youngest of the group of children, maybe six years old. Her large, brown eyes glowed in the reflected glare of the camp searchlights as she stood with her thumb in her mouth.

She pulled on the corporal's sleeve to get his attention. When he turned, still kneeling, she took her thumb out of her mouth and wrapped both arms tightly around his neck.

Oh, yeah, he thought as he felt the six-pointed gold star on her shirt burn his chest. That's why.