Major Hochstetter was not happy. That wasn't unusual. At least the implosion was happening on the other end of the telephone line this time, and not in Klink's office. Hogan stood in front of Klink's desk, listening to the major scream through the earpiece which was a good four or five feet away, and being held at some distance from Klink's ear. He could hear every word, clear as a bell, and he was pretty sure that it even carried to the hidden microphone on the wall, so the boys in the barracks could follow along. Schultz could also hear it perfectly, since he stood, more or less at attention, directly behind the Kommandant.

"Major…" Klink attempted yet again to break into the tirade. "I assure you…"

"Do not assure me of anything, Klink!"

"Please, Major…"

"Do you or do you not have an explanation for what happened to the explosives that were being stored in that bunker?"

"Ah ha… there, Major, I must remind you, that you yourself said that I should have nothing to do with the bunker, that I was responsible only for what goes on inside the wire…" Klink struggled to recall any more of what Hochstetter had said to him that day. "That I had more than enough to tax my capabilities right here." That didn't sound good. He was sure it was a direct quote, but it certainly wasn't a flattering one. "Probably what you actually meant was…"

"Klink, someone replaced that dynamite with useless fakes! Half of a division has been wiped out because they would have mustered up more defensive firepower by lighting birthday candles! I demand an explanation!"

"Are you suggesting that I personally had something to do with it? That I took your dynamite?"

"You, or someone else at Stalag 13!"

"There is no one here but me, my guards, and my prisoners. I can assure you that I had nothing whatsoever to do with it. As for my guards, they wear the uniform of the Third Reich with pride, and they are not common thieves."

Schultz took the opportunity to pop open the flask of schnapps on the drinks tray on the sideboard behind the Kommandant, and raised the bottle to his lips. He took a quick swig and swirled it in his mouth while wiping the flask on his sleeve, then swallowed. Hogan gave him a wink. No, not common thieves… uncommon ones, maybe.

"That appears to leave only your prisoners!"

In the barracks, the group standing around listening via the coffee pot had to agree. "Oui, he's right… that does leave the prisoners," nodded LeBeau.

"I'll check my pockets," Kinch said.

"Specifically," Hochstetter continued, "that leaves Colonel Hogan."

"Tiger, would you be a luv and ask the colonel to check 'is pockets?" Newkirk asked. "I mean, when he has a minute and all."

Tiger smiled and lowered her gaze. The few moments she might be able to spend with the colonel before she had to leave again would not be spent in any discussion of the contents of his pockets.

"You have not heard the last of this, Klink!"

Klink was unable to get another word out of his mouth before the loud click on the other end of the line indicated that Hochstetter had reached the limit of his patience… patience was a rare commodity for the volatile officer to come by, and he ran out quickly and often. "The nerve of that man…" Klink muttered as he replaced the phone in its cradle.

"Why don't you call him back, sir?" Hogan asked.

"Why would I want to call him back? I've already heard enough from him to last me another three or four wars."

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"You know what happened to his dynamite."

"I had nothing to do with any theft of dynamite, Hogan!" Klink countered defensively. "Absolutely nothing!"

"I know that, sir. And I know that you know that there never was any dynamite. I mean, not really."

Klink looked completely confused. "There wasn't…?"

"Of course not. Who transported the alleged dynamite to Stalag 13?"

"The Gestapo, of course."

"Right. And who loaded the explosives into the bunker?"

"Obviously, the Gestapo did."

"Don't you get it? It was a set-up right from the start. Hochstetter's own men obviously stole the explosives in transit, figuring to sell them on the black market, and replaced them with the fakes before they even got into that bunker, and they figured you for the fall guy. Naturally the Major would rather blame you, instead of investigating his own men and creating a lot of embarrassment for himself in front of Himmler. It's very unfair of him, sir."

Klink pressed his thumb against his bottom lip. "I wonder…"

"Or, maybe he even pulled the heist himself. That stuff brings a pretty penny... sorry; pfennig... on the black market. He might have his own little racket going on the side, and he wants to blame you to keep the heat off him."

"You think that's the answer?"

"There's no other possible explanation. Unless someone stole the explosives right out of a locked and heavily-guarded bunker while he was standing right on top of it." Actually… that was pretty much what had happened. Hogan had to work to keep from grinning too broadly. This had been a good score, all right. A very good score for the Good Guys. Top hole, as Crittendon might have said if he were there. Which, thank goodness, he wasn't.

"All I know is that I never want to hear another word about that bunker again. They'll fill it up, seal it off, and that will be the end of it."

And they could start any time, Hogan thought to himself with still more satisfaction… every last stick of live TNT had already been removed and replaced in their own underground arsenal. They had enough to blow half of western Germany to kingdom come. If they wanted to, they could even open a branch office to supply local Underground efforts… there was more than enough to go around.

"I wonder if I might be allowed to return to the barracks, sir?"

"I don't know what you're doing here anyway." Klink saluted and turned his attention back to the spread of papers on his desk. "Dismissed, Hogan. You get out too, Schultz. I'm very busy."

That suited the heavy-set sergeant perfectly. He gestured for Hogan to precede him, and they walked together through the outer office and down the steps to the compound.

"Colonel Hogan…?"

"What's on your mind, Schultz?"

"Is that what really happened to all of the Major's dynamite?"

"Actually, no. What really happened to it was…"

"Please…! Don't tell me…" Schultz took a couple of deep breaths. "And are the two frauleins gone from out of the barracks…?" Before Hogan could open his mouth to answer, Schultz kept going. "Nein! Please don't tell me that either… and that Englander Oberst, he is… nein, I do not want to know!"

Hogan zipped up his jacket. "I'm going back to the barracks, Schultz. You don't need me for this conversation; you've got both sides covered."

oo 0 oo

Things were finally back to normal in Barracks 2.

Almost.

In Hogan's office, the colonel and Tiger were finally in each other's arms. The door was ajar, though, and Hogan knew he would have to do something about that in a minute or two, if things progressed to the point he was hoping they would. "I don't know if I can wait for that candle-light dinner I owe you," he told her softly as he nuzzled her ear. "I'm getting kinda hungry."

To his surprise, she pulled away rather coolly, with a slight pout on her full lips. "I have been meaning to ask you…"

"Ask away… I'll tell you right now, whatever you want, the answer's 'yes'."

"With the war… we do not see one another other often…"

"Not often enough for me, but I'm game to change that if you are. What are you doing Friday night?" He kissed her neck. "And how 'bout Saturday? The war empties out on the weekends, I hear."

It was difficult not to lose her train of thought with the handsome colonel's lips working their way down her throat, but Tiger persisted. "I cannot help but wonder… when I am not here…" She glanced toward the barracks proper. "If there might be… someone else...?"

"Honey, this is a prison camp… who else is there?"

She lifted one smooth shoulder. "La gamine… perhaps?"

"La what?" Then Hogan realized what she was implying but was too polite to say in so many words. "You mean Bluebird?" When she nodded, he burst out laughing, and it was several seconds before he found himself with the breath to speak again. "That'd be like taking my sister to the prom!"

"Then… you have no feelings for her?" Tiger pressed, coquettishly fanning her long lashes.

"Sure I do." Hogan smiled at her sudden expression of surprise. "After all… she is one of my best men." He gave her neck another suggestive nuzzle. "Now… what do you say you and I get back to steaming up my eagles…?"

Outside the office, Carter and Kinch played a hand of cards at the table while LeBeau swirled a wooden spoon in the pot on the stove and sifted a few herbs between his fingers to add to the already-tantalizing aroma that arose from it. Newkirk scraped a straight razor down his soapy chin at the mirror above the sink. Bluebird stacked an armload of tin plates in readiness for dinner. At the sound of the colonel's laughter, they all turned towards his office door. "Officers have all the luck, don't they?" Newkirk grumbled.

Carter discarded the eight of hearts. "You know, I like Tiger and all…"

"I'm sure the feeling's mutual, Andrew," Kinch nodded as he added the card to his own hand. "But maybe not quite the same way she likes the Colonel."

"That's not what I mean." Ever the clean-living American boy from the Midwest, Carter actually blushed a little bit at the very thought before continuing. "What I was gonna say is, it's a pretty busy war. We've got a lot to do, what with all the sabotage and keeping the escape route running and stuff, and sometimes I think Tiger gets a little… I dunno… distracted."

"I'm all for that type of distraction, mate," Newkirk stated unequivocally. He rinsed the razor under the cold running water and rubbed a threadbare towel across his face and neck. "Anytime. And I do mean anytime, no matter how busy the war gets."

"You see what I mean? You too." Carter shifted uncomfortably; he felt so awkward even broaching the subject that it was almost a shiver. "All that funny stuff with girls…"

"There ain't nothin' funny about it when you know what you're doin'." Newkirk glanced again towards the nearly-closed office door. "And mark my words, the Colonel knows exactly what he's doin'. I just wish now and again he'd give someone else a chance. He's gone and cornered the flippin' market." He held out the shaving mug, still half-full of lather. "Who's next, then? How 'bout you, Hugh? You're a bit scruffy." Bluebird stuck out her tongue at him as she passed by with the stack of tin plates. "You look like a khaki zipper," Newkirk informed her.

"I wouldn't let her near that razor right now if I were you," Kinch chuckled. "Unless you want the closest shave you ever had."

LeBeau set the heavy pot on the table, shooing Kinch and Carter's card game away with his free hand. "Eat now, play later. Boeuf bourgignon is not meatloaf; you don't just make sandwiches out of it when it gets cold." Then he bustled towards the colonel's office door. "Mademoiselle, Colonel… tout le monde à table, s'il vous plaît…"

The barely-open door clicked gently closed just as LeBeau reached up to knock on it. Normally easily-offended whenever someone put any other activity before sampling his cuisine, the Frenchman smiled knowingly and nodded. "It's okay… I understand. C'est la guerre."

THE END

A/N: Thanks to all who read! And I appreciate the comments!