No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. The character of Joe Wilson belongs to L. J. Groundwater.

Chapter Fifteen: Coda

"Yes, sir. No, sir. No, sir. But… sir… yes, sir!"

Hogan stood ram-rod straight, his eyes glittering black with anger. Kinch, manning the radio, looked away from him, toward the wall. It was an act of friendship, because it was the only way to give Hogan privacy as he endured this tongue-lashing from London.

A tongue-lashing that he definitely did not deserve.

Whoever this General Adams was, Kinch thought, he had no idea of life in the trenches. Guy sounded like the worst type — a pencil pusher who was out to prove that a war could be fought "by the book."

Absolutely the worst type of commander for Colonel Robert E. Hogan.

The call finally at an end, Kinch finally looked over at the colonel. "They don't get it, do they?" he asked.

Hogan looked like he was ready to punch through the wall. "No, they do not," he said, shortly, turning to ascend up the ladder.

"Colonel?" Kinch called. Hogan glanced back at him. "There was some good news before you got here. DuBois got Schmedler safely back to London. And Bouchet got back to Paris. He said to tell you — all's well in Paris."

There was a noticeable loosening of Hogan's shoulders. "All's well in Paris. Well, that's good to hear," he said. Kinch grinned at the softness that entered Hogan's eyes at the message. As Louis Le Beau would say, la amour…

Hogan ascended the ladder, his fury abated somewhat. Schmedler had taken exactly two minutes convincing to defect to the allies, and Hogan had sent him back to London with DuBois. London would come up with something for the doctor to do.

"Why did you risk helping me, anyway?" Hogan asked him, just before he was about to send the two of them to meet with the Underground operative who would bring them to the pickup site. "Not giving me the second shot?"

Schmedler giggled a little. Hogan stared at him. The guy still gave him the creeps. "I am not what you would call a nice man, Colonel Hogan, so don't make the mistake of thinking I am. Sometimes my conscience chides me, however. That was one of those times."

"You can usually silence your conscience?" Hogan asked, curiously.

"Oh, yes," Schmedler nodded. "It's just too inconvenient."

Hogan sent the two men off with some misgivings. DuBois did say, rather grimly, that he'd keep a careful eye on the doctor. Apparently he had. Now Schmedler would be London's headache.

Thinking of London reminded him of that idiot, that General Adams. After all he had done… to be called on the carpet like that for not obeying orders was just ludicrous. Hogan shook his head. He had disarmed a serious threat to the Allies and discredited their work in using this form of — what had DuBois call it? — chemical warfare. That was on the plus side of his personal ledger. And he had done so without a single one of his men being hurt, including poor Newkirk and LeBeau. Another plus. But on the minus side — there was Adams and there was Appelmeister — two very formidable opponents out there waiting in the future.

Oh well, he said, shrugging as he walked out into the compound and over to the rec hall. It was nearly Christmas and the guys were having a little holiday celebration — with Schultz in his Santa Claus costume. Davidson and Barnet, they had told Schultz, had withered away in despair of winning the contest, and the prize was his by popular acclaim.

As he entered the rec hall, his men sent up a shout in his direction. Klink was in a corner, drinking some punch and benevolently looking over at the men. Hogan joined him.

"Nice little party, Hogan," Klink complimented him.

"Thank you, Kommandant," Hogan said, picking up a glass of punch. He grinned to see Schultz handing out Red Cross candy bars as presents. Each one seemed mysteriously stuck to his fingers, and LeBeau had to remind the guard of the special Christmas cookies and strudel waiting for him when he was done handing out the treats. And then remind him again.

For a brief moment, Hogan let himself relax. What had Bouchet said? All was right in Paris? It was only the briefest of respites, but all was right in Stalag 13 right now as well.

Hogan saw Kinch come in and join the men. He raised his glass high and cleared his throat.

"Fellas!" he called out. "I'd like to propose a toast."

"A toast!" went up the cry. "Shut it for a second, you guys!"

Hogan smiled. "Here's to all of you. Happy Holidays — and may any dreams you have from now on be Sweet Dreams only."

Laughing and cheering, the guys drank up. Someone started singing and the others chimed in. Hogan drank his punch, set it down, and joined the singers.

-the end-

Thanks, everyone, for reading and reviewing — it's been fun!