Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Hogan's Heroes characters; I just like to get them in trouble.

The Path Less Travelled

He was standing in a large field, a familiar place, a place he recognized from his youth. The sun blazed overhead in a clear, cloudless sky, bathing him with its comforting heat. In the distance a line of evergreen trees stretched across the horizon, the dark olive hue of their thick branches contrasting sharply with the lighter foliage overlaying the ground below. A slight breeze sent a ripple through the tall grass surrounding him, bending the long blades gently back and forth. The air was crisp and smelled of pine and wild flowers, and he breathed it in deeply.

He heard someone call his name, and turned toward the sound. There, standing on the porch of the farmhouse where he grew up was his mother, waving and beckoning him to come in.

"Supper's ready!" he heard her call out, after which she turned around and walked back into the house. He took off running toward his home, already anticipating the delicious home-cooked meal that waited inside. He rounded the porch and climbed up the stairs, taking them two at a time, grabbed the doorknob and was just about to enter the house…

"Raus, raus, everyone up for roll call!"

Sergeant Andrew Carter cringed at the sound of Sergeant Schultz's voice booming through the barracks, and opened his eyes. He heard the men around him complaining loudly as they stumbled from their bunks, and wished he could just roll over and go back to sleep, picking up where he'd left off in his dream that Schultz had so rudely interrupted. Instead, he sighed and pulled off the thin, scratchy blanket covering him before climbing out of his bunk to join in the melee.

"Schultz, why do you always have to wake us up like that?" Carter groused to the big German guard while trying to put on his uniform without getting knocked over by Corporal Peter Newkirk, who had just jumped down from the bunk directly above his.

"Yeah, Schultzie," Newkirk chimed in, "One of these days you're going to give me a bleedin' heart attack!"

Schultz frowned at them, clearly not in the mood. "How else am I supposed to wake you up? Tip-toe through the barracks, maybe? Tap each of you on the shoulder and say, 'It's time to get up now,' like a little child?"

"Boy, could you, Schultz?" Carter said, smiling at the guard as he stuffed his arms into his uniform jacket, "That would be so much better."

"Humph!" Schultz snorted and went back to bellowing at the men in Barracks Two.

The door to the inner office opened and Colonel Robert E. Hogan stepped out, holding his crush cap in one hand while fumbling to zip up his jacket. He got it zipped, and as he walked towards the barracks' door, he donned his cap, sidled up to the disgruntled German guard and asked, "Schultz, what's the matter? You don't seem very happy today."

Schultz let out a big sigh. "Oh, Colonel Hogan, it is the Kommandant – he is in a terrible mood this morning!"

Hogan eyed him with sympathy. "Why is he in a bad mood?"

"He had a date last night with a pretty Fraulein from town," Schultz dropped his voice conspiratorially, "I do not think it went very well."

"Sounds like went well for the Fraulein," Newkirk, who was standing close enough to overhear the conversation, remarked with a grin.

"Newkirk, that's not very nice," Schultz admonished him, but then his eyes twinkled and he tossed the Englander a sideways glance, "Even if you are right."

Upon hearing that, Hogan smirked. Then he raised his hand and began waving it toward the door. "All right, fellas," he said loudly, addressing the barracks at large, "Let's get this over with."

The men filed out into the compound, forming two lines in front of the barracks. Schultz walked down first one line, then turned and walked down the other, counting each man as he passed. Satisfied that everyone was present, he went to stand in front of the prisoners and wait for the Kommandant.

Moments later, Colonel Wilhelm Klink stepped out of the Kommandantur and glared in the direction of Barracks Two. He stomped down the stairs and strode briskly toward them, yelling, "Report!"

Schultz snapped to attention. "Kommandant, all prisoners accounted for."

Klink reached the line of prisoners and stopped in front of Hogan, a scowl clearly evident on his face. "I want no trouble from you or your men today, Colonel Hogan," he warned, "Is that understood?"

Hogan looked at him questioningly. "Is there something wrong, Colonel?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Hogan," Klink huffed.

Hogan tilted his head slightly, as if studying the German Colonel. "You know, you don't look so good, Kommandant… Did you have a rough night?"

"I said it doesn't concern you!" Klink shook his fist angrily at Hogan. "Schultz, dismiss the prisoners!" he snapped, barely tossing a glance at the sergeant. Then he turned on his heel and stomped back to his office.

Schultz looked at Hogan and shrugged. "Prisoners, dismissed."

"Boy, Klink sure was mad," Carter remarked as the men began filing back into the barracks.

Sergeant James Kinchloe, who was walking to the left of Carter, agreed. "Yeah, what's his problem today?"

"I hear he got turned down by a pretty Fraulein last night," Newkirk piped up from Carter's right.

A smirk formed on Kinch's face. "I don't why that would make him mad; he should be used to it by now."

The three men were chuckling as they entered the building and went to take seats at the large common area table near the stove. Corporal Louis LeBeau, their comrade in arms and resident chef, was already busying himself with the task of preparing the morning meal, when he suddenly let out a groan. He turned from the box of supplies he'd been rummaging through, a frown on his face.

"Mon Colonel," LeBeau said addressing Hogan, who had just come out of his office after putting away his crush cap, "Our food supplies are almost gone. I don't have enough here to make breakfast."

Hogan leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. "I was afraid of that. We haven't been able to get to the black market in days, and Schultz put another guard in charge of the trucks bringing the shipments in, and the new guy won't let us near them."

"So, what do we do about breakfast?" LeBeau asked, and before anyone could answer, he added hurriedly, "And please don't say what I think you're going to say."

"Sorry, LeBeau," Hogan sighed, "We're going to have to eat at the mess hall."

After an unappetizing breakfast of some sort of tasteless mush at the camp mess hall, the men returned to Barracks Two. Schultz showed up sometime later and, to their dismay, informed Hogan that the Kommandant wanted the prisoners to clean up the compound. Most of the men were assigned to cleanup detail, while Hogan insisted LeBeau be sent to help in the kitchen where, with any luck, the Frenchman would be able to procure some more food supplies.

Carter and Newkirk were part of the group assigned to clean up the camp. After collecting their tools, they headed out and got to work.

"At least it's nice and warm out," Carter remarked to Newkirk while stabbing a discarded piece of paper with the stick he was carrying and popping it into the trash bag slung over his shoulder.

Newkirk turned his face upwards and squinted at the radiant sun overhead. "Yeah, hardly seems fair we're stuck working on a day like today." He let out a sigh and turned back to sweeping dirt and leaves from the road that ran through the compound.

Carter's eyes lit up. "Hey, maybe when we're done, Colonel Hogan will let us set up the volleyball net! I mean, it's almost October; who knows how many more nice days we've got left? Pretty soon it'll get cold and before you know it, it'll start snowing, and then we won't be able to play volleyball anymore…"

"Andrew, quit your natterin'," Newkirk muttered and kept sweeping.

Carter's face fell. "Sorry, Newkirk." I did it again, didn't I, he admonished himself. He didn't mean to talk so much, but sometimes he just couldn't help it. Maybe it was some compulsive need he had to explain every thought that was rattling around in his brain, or maybe the filter between his thoughts and his mouth ceased to function when he became excited. Either way, whenever he started rambling, it usually led to the inevitable frustration of whoever was on the receiving end.

Newkirk sighed. He stopped working and straightened up to look Carter in the eye. "It's all right, mate, I'm not mad, see?" He flashed the sergeant a quick smile. "Now, let's get back to work. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can play volleyball."

Carter nodded, and as Newkirk turned and resumed sweeping, Carter went back to picking up trash, but this time he was determined to keep his mouth in check.

The hours ticked by and the men worked diligently, hoping to finish up with time left in the day to participate in some recreational activities outdoors. At last the work was done, and after putting their tools away, Carter and Newkirk headed for Barracks Two.

They were greeted with the aroma of something delicious cooking on the stove near the large common area table. LeBeau looked up from stirring the contents in the pot and smiled.

"Mes amis, you are just in time. Lunch is ready." LeBeau grabbed some plates and started dishing out the tantalizing stew he'd just made.

Hogan stepped out of his office and took a deep breath. "LeBeau, that smells wonderful," he said as the Frenchman handed him a plate. Hogan took it over to the table and sat down. Eyeing his two subordinates who had just entered the barracks, he gestured toward the stove, a half grin forming on his face.

"You guys better get something to eat; you look like you could use it."

"Boy, we sure could, Colonel," Carter replied, "I'm starving!" He walked over to the stove and grabbed a plate of stew from LeBeau.

Newkirk nodded in agreement. "Right, sir, I'm about weak in the knees after that ruddy slop they served us for breakfast." He followed Carter to get a plate as well, and the two men came back to the table, taking their seats across from Hogan.

Carter took a bite and sighed in delight. "Mmm, LeBeau, this is great!" he muttered as he chewed. A frown suddenly appeared on his face and, after swallowing the portion in his mouth, he asked the Frenchman, "But I thought you said we were low on supplies?"

"Oui, but I was able to sneak enough food from the kitchen to make this stew." LeBeau crinkled his nose up. "I'm with Pierre; after that horrible mush from this morning, I could not bear to eat my next meal there!"

"Got that right, mate," Newkirk mumbled through his own mouthful of food.

LeBeau fixed a plate for himself and joined the men at the table. They ate in silence until their dishes were empty, too focused on filling their stomachs to bother with conversation.

When they'd finished, it was Carter who spoke up first. "Say, Colonel, could we put up the volleyball net this afternoon?"

"Is the work all done out there?" Hogan asked.

Newkirk nodded as he pushed his plate away. "Yes, sir, it's finished."

"Yeah, the compound's so clean, you could eat off it!" added Carter.

"That would explain breakfast," LeBeau muttered as he collected the dirty plates.

Hogan smiled. "Well, I don't see any reason why you can't play volleyball this afternoon –"

He was interrupted by the sound of a bunk toward the rear of the barracks banging up to reveal the entrance to the tunnel below. Kinch appeared and, after quickly crawling out of the tunnel, hit the side of the upper bunk twice to make it close. He walked over to the table and addressed Hogan.

"Message from London, sir, it's important."

Hogan's face turned serious. "In my office," he said, rising from the table.

The other three men stood up as well, and they all followed Kinch into Hogan's quarters. As they situated themselves inside the tiny room, Carter, the last man inside, shut the door and moved over to lean against the end post of Hogan's bunk.

Hogan took the message from Kinch and skimmed through it. "Looks like the Krauts are building some sort of factory outside of town, and London wants us to find out what they're planning to use it for."

"Humph," LeBeau snorted, "Why would the Krauts want to build another factory around here?"

"Maybe because we keep blowing 'em up," replied Newkirk, jabbing his elbow lightly into the French Corporal's side, who was standing next to him. They both smiled, but quickly turned serious when Hogan glanced in their direction.

"We may just have another one to blow up," Hogan said, "Depending on what we find out." His brow furrowed as he thought for a moment. "All right, I need two of you to go out tonight after roll call and scout out this new factory." He glanced around the room. "Any volunteers?"

All eyes except the colonel's suddenly looked at the floor.

Hogan inwardly sighed. "Oh c'mon fellas, none of us have been outside the wire in days. I'm sure some of you would like to get out of camp for a while…"

Carter glanced up just as Hogan's eyes met his.

"Carter!" Hogan smiled at him, "Thanks for volunteering."

Carter's eyes went wide. "Colonel, I wasn't –"

"Sir, maybe you should send –"

"And Newkirk!" Hogan cut him off, "Glad to have you on board." He reached over and clapped the Englander on his shoulder.

Newkirk's face fell. "Yes, sir," he replied meekly, inwardly kicking himself for speaking up. He didn't even get to finish suggesting to the colonel to send LeBeau!

"All right, you and Carter go down into the tunnel and study the map," Hogan told his English 'volunteer', "Here are the coordinates." He handed the message over to Newkirk. "Make sure you're back up here for roll call."

"But, Colonel, what about volleyball?" Carter asked plaintively.

Hogan shook his head. "Sorry, not today, Carter." Noticing the sergeant's crestfallen expression, he added, "Tomorrow, I promise."

Carter's face perked up a little. "Yes, sir," he said; then, seeing Newkirk heading for the door, he turned and followed him out into the main barracks, through the false bottom bunk, and down into the tunnel below.

Later that night, after emerging briefly for evening roll call, Newkirk and Carter climbed back down into the tunnel to prepare for their mission.

Hogan and Kinch had followed them down, and while Kinch stepped over to man the radio, the colonel turned to face his two men.

"You two know where you're going, right?" Hogan asked them as they picked up a couple of flashlights and stuffed them into their pockets.

"Sure, Colonel," Carter answered, "We've got it memorized." He walked over and grabbed one of the handguns from their stash and shoved it into his other pocket.

"Yes, sir," Newkirk added, getting a gun for himself, "The factory's west of town, about six kilometers. I'd say we can be there in an hour, have a look see, and come straight back. Take us, oh, three hours, tops."

"All right," Hogan said, "Just be careful."

"Don't worry, Colonel, it'll be a piece of pie!"

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Cake, Andrew."

"Oh, yeah, cake," Carter replied self-consciously.

Newkirk let out a sigh. "Let's go," he said, heading for the exit tunnel while gesturing for Carter to follow.

The two men walked to the end of the tunnel, climbed up through the hollow tree stump and, after evading the lights from the search tower, slipped away from camp. They moved through the forest as quickly and quietly as possible, their ears attuned to pick up any sign of a German patrol. They knew where they were going, but they weren't very familiar with the area itself, having had few missions that took them to that location before.

As they entered the part of the forest that wasn't as well known to them, they found a path to follow that made their trek a bit easier. When they got close to the factory, they stopped short and dropped to the ground, inching up a small rise until they could just see over the top. There, sprawled out before them in the forest, was a large complex, its buildings spread across a dozen or so acres of land. Many of the trees had not been cleared; they'd been left to intermingle with the buildings, acting as camouflage. The entire facility was surrounded by a high fence topped with barbed wire, and there were guards patrolling along the inside.

"Geez, Newkirk, look at the size of that place!" Carter whispered to the Englishman.

"I see it, Carter," Newkirk whispered back, his brow furrowed in thought. "We need to get a better look at it, but it'll take us too long to go all the way 'round..." Suddenly his eyebrows shot up. "I know, you go that way," he pointed to the left, "And I'll go that way," now he pointed to the right, "And we'll meet back here in," he glanced at his watch, "Thirty minutes."

Carter looked uncertain. "I don't know, Newkirk, do you really think we should split up?"

"We'll be fine, Andrew, just keep to the trees and be quiet. We've got to find out what they're plannin' to use this ruddy place for."

Carter nodded. "Yeah, you're right, Newkirk. Boy, it sure looks creepy if you ask me, I mean, why would they put it out here, right in the middle of the woods like this? It doesn't make any sense. I bet the colonel's gonna be surprised when we tell him about – "

"Andrew!"

Carter stopped mid-sentence and looked sheepishly at Newkirk, who was glaring at him. "Sorry."

"Just go!" Newkirk hissed, pointing in the direction he'd told Carter to take.

Carter got up and moved stealthily to the left, circling around the perimeter while staying out of sight. He crept along the tree line, stopping every few yards or so to look towards the complex, trying to make out the buildings in the darkness. He checked his watch periodically, and after fifteen minutes, he turned around and made his way back to the rendezvous point. When he got there, he didn't see Newkirk, so he crouched down next to a large bush to wait for him.

Several minutes went by, and Carter checked his watch. Where is he? He should be here by now!

He peered out into the darkness, straining to catch a glimpse of movement through the trees, wondering what was taking Newkirk so long. He checked his watch again, and had just about decided to get up and go look for him, when he heard a noise through the trees, a sound like footsteps. The sound got closer, and he could tell there were more than one set of footsteps headed in his direction.

A German patrol!

Carter jumped up and took off running, following the path back the way he and Newkirk had come. He was being as careful as he could with his footfalls, trying not to make too much noise, while his ears were straining to pick up any sounds of pursuit. He kept going until he felt himself running out of breath. Then he stopped and listened for a few moments and, when he didn't hear anyone following him, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He thought about going back to find Newkirk, but now he wasn't sure if he should; what if his friend was picked up by the patrol? But if Newkirk was in trouble, it didn't feel right to just leave him. But if he went back to camp, he could tell Colonel Hogan what happened, and he'd figure out a way to help Newkirk.

Of course, Newkirk might have missed the patrol, and when he showed up at the rendezvous spot and didn't see him, he would have headed back to camp on his own.

Carter sighed. What should I do?

His indecision didn't last long. He started to move back up the path, determined to check for Newkirk at the rendezvous point. If the Englander wasn't there, then he'd head back to camp.

Carter had barely gone a few yards when he noticed another path intersecting the one he was following, and realized he must have missed that when he was running from the patrol. When he reached the point where they crossed he stopped, unsure of which way to go. I know one of these is the path we took to the factory, but which one?

Carter deliberated a moment longer, then, he picked what he thought was the right one and started walking. He hadn't gone far when he noticed he was entering a small clearing. I don't remember this,he thought, starting to become alarmed now as he took another step.

In the darkness, he couldn't see the gaping hole in front of him; it blended in perfectly with the shadows. As he brought his foot down, there was nothing there for it to make contact with; he lost his balance and began to fall. Instinctively he threw his arms out to catch himself, grabbing the edge of the hole briefly before his hands slipped off and he plummeted through the opening.

As he descended, he clutched at the vertical wall of dirt in an attempt to break his fall, but his gloved fingers could find no purchase. Instead, he dropped like a stone, landing hard on the bottom below. There was a flash of white-hot pain, and then nothing…