No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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"Well, he is gone again," Le Beau observed needlessly, as he, Kinch and Carter huddled outside the barracks, looking toward the front gate that had let the truck carrying Newkirk out of camp a few hours earlier. He glanced toward Hogan, who stood leaning against the wall of the hut, his eyes closed, garrison cap covering his eyes, his arms crossed. Quiet. "Bon chance to him. Some day we will all follow."

"That'll be great, boy," Carter said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "I can't wait till we go waltzing out of here, either. Of course, my brother won't come here to get me. I mean, I don't have a brother, but if I did, he wouldn't be coming here to get me; I'd be running out to get him!"

"Careful, Carter, you'll hurt yourself," Kinch laughed. He grew somber when Hogan still didn't react. "We'll get word from London by early morning that they've made it back okay. So we should sleep well tonight."

Hogan still did not move.

"Oui," Le Beau answered, now watching their commanding officer openly. "Pierre will be safe and so will his brother. They will be pleased to be home; Newkirk will barely remember this place!" he added, trying to put some lightness into his voice.

Hogan suddenly brought a hand up and began to massage his forehead and temples. Something was clearly bothering him. But still he said nothing.

Carter gave Le Beau a searching look. "Do you really think he's gonna forget about all of us that fast?"

Kinch shook his head. "No way, Andrew. Newkirk won't forget." He smiled. "Besides, who could forget you?"

His face brightened on hearing Kinch's words. "Well, I'm sure he wouldn't forget any of you guys, either!" Carter replied.

Le Beau looked at Kinch, who was grinning, and shook his head. "Sometimes I wish I could forget," he said. Then he let out a short laugh. "Soon, he will be so busy he will not have time to think about us, though. He will get a hero's welcome back in London, and then he will be given a desk job in a properly heated office with a pretty secretary. What's to remember about this place?"

Hogan suddenly pulled away from the wall of the barracks and pushed his cap back on his head. "I'll be downstairs pulling radio duty. Kinch, you can have tonight off. Let me know when it's time for evening roll call."

And he was gone.

No one spoke for a few minutes after Hogan disappeared into the barracks. It was Carter who finally broke the silence with a low-voiced comment. "The Colonel's taking this real hard, isn't he?" He sighed. "I know what he did was right, but it's gonna take him a long time to get over it."

Kinch stared at the door after Hogan. "The problem is, I don't think he knows what he did was right." He shook his head. "And that kind of thing is pretty hard to get over."

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Hogan blinked again slowly as he stared at the gauges on the radio set in the tunnel. He had been sitting at the desk stubbornly for hours now, waiting for a message to come through from London telling him that Peter and Tristan were safe in England. He knew by the message from the Underground that the brothers had been brought to the rendezvous point, but there was no way the pair could possibly be in London yet; still, he refused to leave the equipment. Stubborn fool, Hogan, he berated himself, even as he stared harder at the radio. What do you expect to hear now?

Hogan felt his stomach rumble and frowned. He had skipped supper, going upstairs only for roll call and then coming back down into solitude. The headache that had started behind his eyes when Newkirk rolled out of camp had not diminished, and he welcomed the cool air and the darkness of the tunnel. He grabbed his coffee cup and drained the dregs to appease his stomach, then almost slammed the cup impatiently on the desk.

"Come on," he said aloud to the radio before him. For what would have been the fourth time in the last hour, Hogan put his hand on the microphone and moved as though to put a call through himself, just to make sure no one had forgotten to contact him. And for what would have been the fourth time in the last hour, he sighed and stopped himself before he followed through.

This time, though, he left his hand on the microphone handle, and squeezed hard. "Come on," he said again, softly now. "Come on, Newkirk," he said, as though his thoughts could reach through the dead airwaves; "get home safe, and call."

Hogan stayed this way a few more minutes, unmoving, then gave in to his thumping temples and lay his head down on the desk, still holding the mic. "Come on," he muttered even as his eyes closed against his will. "Come on, get home."

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A dark-clad figure made his way through the dimly-lit emergency tunnel, moving with the ease of familiarity as he approached the central hub. He paused by the clothing rack, running a hand over the collar of a Gestapo uniform before putting a small pack onto the makeup table. He glanced at the mirror, shaking his head at the tear in the sleeve of his battle dress jacket, and turned to go back to the clothing rack for the sewing basket that stood under it.

He'd just picked up the basket when he realized that while the electric light over the radio was on, he didn't see anyone close at hand. He frowned and checked the pistol that was tucked into his waistband before going to take a closer look. His expression cleared, the frown replaced by a gentle smile when he saw that Colonel Hogan had fallen asleep at the desk. The radio was on, and one of the American's hands was wrapped around the base of the microphone; it was clear that the Colonel had been waiting for a message when sleep had finally claimed him.

You didn't have to wait up for me, gov'nor. Newkirk studied his commanding officer thoughtfully, then retrieved a blanket from the nearby cot. He shook it out and carefully placed it over Hogan's shoulders, intending to let the man sleep awhile longer while he tended to the repairs on his jacket.

But Hogan felt the weight of the material on him and shifted slightly. His arm slid off the desk and dropped by his side, jerking him into semi-consciousness. "Hmm?" he sighed sleepily. Then he frowned, his eyes still closed, and he muttered breathily, "'S'okay, Kinch, I'm just waiting for London to call. Go to bed."

Newkirk shook his head, smiling at the idea of being mistaken for Kinch. Knowing that the American's deep tones were well out of his range, Newkirk did his best imitation of the Sergeant's voice anyway. "Sure, Colonel. Just checking in on you." Hoping that Hogan would be reassured enough to go back to sleep, Newkirk turned away, heading for the sewing basket again.

"Y'sound like… you have a cold, Kinch," Hogan replied, still anything but alert. "Make sure you… sleep in…" He turned his head toward the wall and brought his arm back up to rest on, sighing as he seemed to fall back fully into sleep.

Looks like I pulled that one off. Newkirk picked up the basket, sorting out a packet of needles and some thread as he took a seat at the makeup table.

Newkirk laid aside the sewing supplies and took off the jacket, taking care not to let it drag across his upper arm. The button-down uniform shirt he was wearing also had a torn sleeve, with a white bandage showing clearly through the gap in the blood-stained cloth. Newkirk dug through a box under the makeup table, bringing up a bottle of peroxide that he kept for washing out hair dye, and set about using it to get the blood out of his jacket sleeve before sewing it up. But he dropped another bottle onto the floor and cursed softly, picking it up and wishing it hadn't echoed so much in the enclosed area.

Hogan drew in a deep breath he was about to sigh out when the noise reached his ears. "Kinch, I told you to go up to…" Hogan almost drunkenly raised up his head and turned toward the source of the sound. He frowned when the back of the figure he saw didn't seem to fit Kinch somehow, and he sat up straight at the desk, only then seeming to take in that he had actually fallen asleep there. "Hey," he said sternly to the intruder. "What are you doing down here?"

Newkirk froze at the tone of Hogan's voice, and took a cautious glance over his shoulder to make certain that the Colonel wasn't holding a pistol on him before he straightened up. "Evening, gov'nor," he said quietly.

Hogan brought a hand up to rub his sleep-filled eyes and let his mind process what he'd just heard. I must be dreaming, he thought ironically. He blinked and stared hard at the figure in the dim light. Unwilling to believe his ears, he stood up and ordered, "I told Kinch I didn't want anyone down here tonight. Why are you in the tunnel?"

The Englishman raised an eyebrow as he stood and started toward the radio desk. "I'm here because I just got back, sir." Newkirk frowned at the look of confusion on Hogan's face. "Are you all right, Colonel?"

The bewildered expression changed to include consternation. "Newkirk?" He glanced quickly back at the radio, like it would be able to provide an answer to what he was seeing. Then he studied the man before him again. "Newkirk, what are you doing here?"

"I missed the boat," Newkirk smiled as he put on his best innocent expression. "And as I didn't fancy a swim across the ruddy Channel this time of year, I had nothing better to do than come back."

Hogan frowned. "What do you mean you 'missed the boat'? Didn't you get to the sub on time? The message from the Underground said you got to the rendezvous point okay."

Newkirk leaned against a roof support post and nodded. "That we did, gov'nor. Got there in plenty of time, and the sub was right on the mark." He paused. "What we hadn't counted on was a Kraut patrol showin' up at the same time and sticking their bleedin' noses in where they didn't belong."

Hogan's face lost any trace of uncertainty now. "A patrol? So they saw the drop point?" Hogan's frown got deeper. "Damn. Now the sub's going to have to find another rendezvous." His mind was swimming with all the implications of Newkirk's statement. "What about the members of the Underground—did they get away? And what about Tristan? Where is he now?"

"Easy there, mate." Newkirk held up a hand to try to get Hogan to slow down long enough for him to get a word in edgewise. "They saw the drop point right enough, except it's the last thing they'll ever see in this lifetime. The Underground folks all got clean away, and are already working on a new location for the rendezvous, so everything's in hand with that. As for Tristan, he made it to the sub with no trouble, and should be getting back to England," Newkirk took a quick glance at his watch and nodded, "any time now. And he's promised to call in as soon as he's able."

Hogan paused long enough to let Newkirk's explanation sink in. "Good," he said finally. Then another pause. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I am, gov'nor."

Hogan's eyes fell away from Newkirk's face. "It would have been hard to watch your brother leave without you." He squinted as he noticed a bloody tear in Newkirk's shirt with a patch of what was clearly white gauze underneath. "And what's that?" he asked, his voice rising just slightly.

Newkirk glanced at his arm and shrugged. "It's nothing. Only a scratch, sir. Really." And you're right about one thing: watching Tris as they rowed him away from the shore was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. But we had time to talk it over while waiting for the sub, and though he wasn't entirely happy about it, Tristan does understand my reasons for staying. I only hope I can make you understand them, too, gov'nor. "One of the Underground blokes has a sister who's right handy with bandages and such." He gave Hogan a grin as he continued. "Not a bad-lookin' bird, either."

Hogan nodded slowly, not entirely convinced, then took in and let out a long breath. "You should have gone with him, Newkirk." Steeling his resolve, Hogan said, "Tomorrow we'll figure out a way to let you follow; after all, the Krauts are sure you've escaped so you're not expected here. Meantime, you're probably tired; why don't you hole up in my office, and we'll cover if Klink comes through. I was… working when you came back; I've got a few things to finish down here anyway."

"Colonel? About that..." Newkirk shook his head. He'd thought about this all the way back to camp, but now that it was time to tell Hogan how he felt, he almost couldn't find the words. "I've decided to stay."

Hogan looked like someone had just slapped him in the face. "Stay?" he echoed. He shook his head. "Newkirk, you need to go home. You deserve to go home. Now that Tristan is gone, you can't stay here; it wouldn't be right. I didn't ask that of you." He paused, swallowing the overwhelming desire to simply shut up and welcome the Corporal back with open arms. Instead, he lied, "I don't want that of you."

"Maybe not, sir, but it's what I want," Newkirk said quietly. "Even though there's a part of me that wants to be home more than anything, it's simply not my time to go. I volunteered to stay back in '42 when this whole thing started, and now I'm volunteering to stay and see it through to the end."

Hogan shook his head, still at a loss. "But I don't understand, Newkirk. Why volunteer to stay in this cesspool of a place when you can go home and fight from there? Sure, you won't be blowing up bridges and capturing Nazis, but you'll still be a part of the war. You have nothing to feel guilty about by going home."

"It's not guilt, Colonel." Newkirk sighed and dropped his gaze to the tunnel floor as he struggled to find the words that had come so easily when he'd been talking to his brother only hours earlier. "It's the fact that I can make a difference here. Back home, I'm just one of the other ranks, a Corporal in need of a lot of re-training before I could be assigned to a squadron again. That, or Heaven forbid, I end up chained to a desk for the rest of the war."

Hogan let a small, wry smile cross his lips. "Newkirk, I thought I'd have taught you by now that rank doesn't matter. It's what you do that makes the difference, not how many stripes and medals you wear."

"Rank might not matter to you, gov'nor, but it does back in London." Newkirk returned Hogan's wry smile with a small grin of his own. "But it's that part about makin' a difference that makes me want to stay instead of going back."

Hogan smile had disappeared, and now he replaced it with a raised eyebrow. "You've made a difference, Peter," he said quietly, firmly. "You'll make a difference wherever you are, that's one thing I know for sure."

"Well, I want to do it here, sir, if it's all the same to you. I think the RAF can spare me as an Air Gunner." Newkirk shrugged. "They've been getting on all right so far without my help, and I think they'll be able to get by without me a while longer. At any rate, I can do more damage to the German war effort from right here in Stalag 13 than I ever could from the dorsal turret of a Lancaster."

"Why don't you sleep on it," Hogan suggested, his voice still hushed. "Go on upstairs and get some shut-eye. And when you get up in the morning, you can tell me for sure what you want. I guess I can't force you to go… no matter how much I try to."

Newkirk's voice was quiet but firm. "I've already made me mind up, Colonel. I'm staying."

Hogan absorbed the resolve in Newkirk's voice, the unwavering look in his eye, the determination in his stance. Whatever his reasons, whatever Hogan thought of letting Newkirk stay under his command, there was something about the Corporal right now that told Hogan nothing he could say could change what was happening. He swallowed hard before speaking. "If you're sure, Newkirk."

"I know exactly what I'm giving up, and even with that... the answer's still the same." Newkirk's eyes never left Hogan's as he replied. "My duty lies here, sir, with you and the rest of the men. I knew what I wanted to do back when all this started, Colonel Hogan, and I know what I want to do now."

Hogan's dark eyes met Newkirk's gaze, and he returned it with equal strength. "Then you're welcome back under my command, Corporal," he said, hoping the relief he felt was anything but evident in his voice.

Newkirk masked his own relief with a casual nod. "Thank you, sir." He didn't say anything for a few moments, then gave his commanding officer a grin. "So, what are we gonna tell the old Bald Eagle so I can officially get back inside the camp?"

Hogan's serious face melted into a smile and he put his arm around Newkirk as he led him to the ladder to the barracks. "Well, Newkirk, the way to Klink's heart is through his ego. I figure you escaped from the guards transferring you, right? And you let one of the guards capture you just outside the fence…." Hogan's voice became more animated as his idea took form. "And now it's Klink's duty to keep you here because no other camp has the perfect No Escape record that he has. And how could he let you roam around outside the safe barbed wire of this camp… when there's every chance you could get shot? No, no, Newkirk," Hogan concluded solemnly, shaking his head, "Klink is far too much of a humanitarian to let that happen to you."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Layin' it on a bit thick, aren't you, gov'nor?" He shook his head, then gave Hogan a serious look. "I know I'll have to spend some time in the cooler over all this, but could you at least make certain this time round that I get the cell we've got connected to the tunnel?"

"That all depends, Newkirk. I thought you wanted to go on a bit of a diet after eating too much of Le Beau's cooking. It might be too tempting to try to get to his creations if you've got access to the barracks while you're there."

"Got me mixed up with me brother there—" Newkirk cut himself off mid-sentence as the radio crackled to life.

Hogan grabbed the headsets and the microphone and listened as Newkirk came up alongside him. "We read you, Goldilocks, this is Papa Bear. Go ahead please, over." Hogan nodded thoughtfully as the transmission continued. "That's right, Goldilocks, the other bowl of porridge is here," he said with a nod, glancing at Newkirk. "It's just right." Hogan shook his head; sometimes having to use code made him feel like a five year old.

"What about Tristan?" Newkirk leaned over the radio desk, staring intently at Hogan. "Did he make it back? Is he all right?"

Hogan smiled indulgently, nodding toward Newkirk even as he spoke. "Will do, Goldilocks. Make sure our friend doesn't make himself scarce. I know a few folks that would love to hear from him….. We'll be looking forward to it," Hogan said into the microphone. "Papa Bear, over and out." He replaced the headsets and flicked the switch to turn off the radio, then turned to Newkirk. "Tristan's fine," he said, feeling the concern of Peter for his brother, and being warmed by it. "He's going to have a hot meal and a sleep and then a bit of interrogation from the brass, and he'll be back at work in no time."

Hogan rubbed his eyes, then expanded the gesture to briskly rub his whole face. "Look, it's been a long night. I don't want you to make a decision that could affect your whole life with no shut-eye. Go get some sleep. I'll close up down here and come on up when I'm through."

Newkirk shook his head. "If it's all the same to you, Colonel, I'd just as soon stay down here tonight. I'd... like some time to myself before I face everyone."

Hogan nodded, understanding. "Look, Newkirk…" Hogan started, almost reluctantly, "I know I'm the one who was pushing for you to go back to England. I know you weren't sure if you should, but I want you to know that I did it because I thought…" Hogan faltered, suddenly uncertain with his words. "I mean, I didn't want you to think that you owed me any…" More awkwardness, from a man who made a career out of smooth talking in almost any situation. "I know you think you can do more from here. But staying alive has to count for something, too, and the chances of that happening if you're in England are a lot bigger than they are if you hang around with me. I want you to know that you're still free to go; I won't hold it against you if you decide to take me up on that in the future."

Newkirk straightened up and moved away from the radio desk, taking the time to get his feelings in order. He finally turned back to the Colonel, giving Hogan a long, thoughtful look. "It's a rare thing to find an officer worthy of his rank, sir, and even rarer to find one willing to put it all on the line for his men. The way I see it, since I'm in this whole bloody mess until it's over, I may as well be here with you instead of going back and risk getting some uptight desk officer who hasn't a clue how to run a war."

Hogan listened pensively, and now gave Newkirk a direct look. "Is that worth taking a chance on being shot as a spy?" he asked softly.

"It is, sir," Newkirk replied quietly. "Hitler overran most of the continent with his politics and his blitzkrieg, and he made a hell of a run at England along the way. I don't have to tell you how close he came to winning there as well." Newkirk shook his head slowly. "I can't go back to London and sit this out, sir, not so long as there's something I can do about it.

"Tristan's gone back to do his part, Colonel, and I'm doing mine by staying here. We talked about it before he left, and we both agree that we're doing the right thing. Hitler has to be stopped, else one day we might wake up to the sound of jackboots doing the goosestep through Picadilly, and seeing that damned red and black Blutfahne hanging in front of Parliament instead of the Union Jack." Newkirk paused and took a deep breath. "I want my sisters to be able to walk down the street without worrying about being bothered by arrogant sods wearing this—" He turned to the clothing rack and yanked out a Gestapo uniform, giving it a look of hatred and loathing before flinging it away. "And I don't want my Nan taken somewhere and shot because she's too old to work in a forced labor camp."

Newkirk looked back at Hogan, again catching the American's eyes with his own. "If that means I stay and take the chance of being shot as a spy, Colonel, so be it."

Hogan let all of this sink in before he answered. Finally, he said quietly, "You do your family proud, Newkirk." Then he added, "And me, too." Not willing to get trapped in the emotional charge of his admission, Hogan turned toward the ladder. "Close up for me, would you? I'm going to get some sleep; don't know how I managed to stay awake half the night already."

Newkirk moved behind the radio desk, absently picking up the blanket that had slid to the floor unnoticed by Hogan when he'd awakened to find Newkirk had returned. I know how you managed, gov'nor: by sleeping the other half. He smiled as he folded the blanket and put it on the nearby cot. "Righto, gov'nor," he said aloud, happy to rein in his emotions after unexpectedly laying his soul bare the way he had just done.

Hogan put his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, then took a long look at Newkirk. "You know, Newkirk—" he started. He stopped, unable to express his jumbled thoughts. Newkirk looked at Hogan expectantly. Hogan shook his head and said something totally off-track instead. "Uh—well, now that you're back…"

"Yes, gov'nor?"

Hogan smiled, a gentle, lopsided smile that spoke of his fondness for the Corporal before him, yet still lightly teasing and somehow self-deprecating all at the same time. "Can I have my drumsticks back?"

Newkirk stared for a moment, caught off-guard by Hogan's question. How the Colonel had found out about that particular memento he'd intended to take home with him, he didn't know. "I think I could arrange that... on two conditions."

Hogan cocked his head and furrowed his brow. "What would those be?" he asked.

"Well, first, that you don't forget you promised my brother you'd do Anvil Chorus for him again." Newkirk grinned. "And second, that you don't let so much dust gather on them in the future. Tris isn't the only one that wants to hear you play."

Hogan paused. While he loved playing the drums, and used to do it as often as possible when he was back home, since he had come to Germany, his time at the skins had been limited, by his own choice as well as by circumstances. Hogan got lost in himself when he was playing, and that kind of soul-baring came hard to the Colonel, especially since he knew that he had to watch every move he made when in the vicinity of the Germans, and in front of his men, who looked to him for stability, not emotion. His session the other night had been a release, but it wasn't one he was about to repeat any time soon. Not in front of his men, in any case.

But a promise was a promise. "I'll have the song ready to go for him when we all get back. Unless you expect me to bring the drum kit down into the tunnel to play for him over the radio."

Newkirk glanced around the central hub of the tunnel system and shook his head. "No, sir. The acoustics down here are bloody awful."

"I'll leave the details to you, then," Hogan said with a small smile. He looked Newkirk right in the eye as he again readied himself to head upstairs. "I'll see you in the morning," he said, his eyes intense with unspoken words.

"All right, gov'nor." Newkirk took a seat at the desk and began to turn the radio equipment off for the night. I suppose I really didn't expect an answer on the rest of it. That just means things are back to normal, then. "Best you get some sleep so you can talk Klink out of givin' me the entire thirty days in the cooler for my 'attempted escape.'"

Hogan snorted as he climbed up toward the barracks. "Who says I want to do that? I was looking forward to some peace once you were gone—if you're in the cooler, there's one less thing I need to worry about for a month!" And he hopped up into the common room and disappeared.

Newkirk laughed softly as he flipped off the last switches and turned off the electric light. Yes, gov'nor, things are definitely back to normal.