The staff car pulled into the compound, stopping just short of the Kommandant's office.

Corporal Louis LeBeau leaned against the barracks wall, watching as Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo jumped out of the driver's seat and ran around to the passenger's side, pulling the car door open with a flourish and ushering the woman who sat there outside.

LeBeau straightened up as he noticed that the woman was handcuffed. Hochstetter, he realized, seemed more than usually ebullient as he led the prisoner up the concrete steps and past Colonel Klink, who stood fawning in the doorway.

"I wonder who she is?" LeBeau asked his fellow barracks lounger.

"And what she's done," Corporal Newkirk replied. "Bit of an older bird, isn't she?"

"Not a jeune fille, certainly," LeBeau said. "We should go tell the Colonel, non?"

"He's in the barracks. Let's go."

Colonel Robert E. Hogan sat up on his bunk, reading. It was a rare moment of relaxation for him – he hadn't had a break from operations in at least three weeks. But in that time, the unit he commanded had blown up two bridges, derailed a special train with its payload of ammunition bound for the Eastern Front, relayed a critical message to the Underground, convinced a Nazi scientist to defect along with his blueprints of a chemical compound that could be used as a replacement for airplane fuel, and assisted an impressive number of POW escapees from the surrounding camps to return to England. As ranking officer at Stalag 13, several duties called for his attention, and he felt a little guilty ignoring them. But his nerves were stretched to near the breaking point – there had been more than the usual number of close calls lately – and he was choosing to relax by escaping into one of his favorite novels, The Scarlet Pimpernel.

So it was with reluctance that he looked up as LeBeau and Newkirk barged into his room. In the close confines of the camp, it often felt like his private room was the only privilege that his rank allowed him. Swallowing down his annoyance, he reminded himself that, unlike him, all of his men had to live atop one other, forced to grow used to each other's aggravating habits, the snores at night, the laundry dangling down over their bunks. Never one to stand on rank, he would let the small discourtesy go unremarked yet again.

"What's up, fellas?" he asked, putting a finger in the book.

"Dunno, Colonel," said Newkirk. "Hochstetter just arrived, bringing an older bird into camp. In handcuffs."

"Is she one of ours?" Hogan asked. "From the Resistance?"

LeBeau shook his head. "We don't know her, Colonel."

"Perhaps someone working as a rogue agent against the Nazis. I suppose we'd better listen in." Hogan neatly put a bookmark into his novel and placed it under his pillow, jumping down with a smooth motion. "Where's Kinch and Carter?"
"I'm here, Colonel." Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe stood in the doorway. "Do you want me to get Andrew? He's in the tunnel, testing some ordinance."

"And we haven't all been blown up yet?" Newkirk rejoined, grinning. "Blimey."

"I guess we don't need him," Hogan said. "Kinch, get out the coffee pot, would you?"

Kinch reached under the large table in the middle of the room and pulled out the battered coffee pot where he had hidden an amplifier, connected to a microphone concealed in a portrait of Hitler in Klink's office. He was about to connect it when they all heard the bang of the outer door and a loud voice calling.

"Colonel Hogan? Where is Colonel Hogan?"

"Schultz. What does he want?" Hogan asked. Gesturing to Kinch to stow the coffee pot, he called out, "Schultz? You need me?"

The obese German sergeant of the guards waddled into the room, his bulk pushing Kinch and Newkirk back. LeBeau laughed and patted the fat man's stomach.

"I'm going to have to cut back on your strudel allowance, Schultzie. You barely can make it through the door," he said.

"Jolly Joker," the guard grumbled. "Be nice, cockroach."

"What do you want, Schultz?" Hogan asked, grinning. "We were busy planning the assassination of the…" he let his voice drift off. "I mean – never mind."

"What…?!" Schultz looked around, horrified. "Who are you planning on assassinating?"

"You know, Schultzie," Newkirk said, putting a finger sideways over his upper lip and throwing his head back. "That bloke."

"That's not funny, even for you boys," Schultz whispered, looking around furtively.

"But just think, Schultz – if we got him, the war would be over," Kinch added in a soothing voice. "You could go back home to your toy factory."

"Nein! Treason! I won't listen!" Schultz said, putting his hands over his ears.

The men waited for the guard's usual refrain of "I hear nothing…" but Schultz suddenly seemed to remember what he came in for. "Colonel Hogan, the big man wants to see you in his office, right away," he said, putting his hands down. He paused for a moment, looked at the floor, then said, sounding completely sincere, "I'm sorry."

The men looked at one another, confused. "What are you sorry for, Schultz?" Hogan asked.

Schultz just shook his head. Newkirk persisted, "Does it have something to do with that Frau we saw Hochstetter drive into camp?"

"I cannot tell you," Schultz said, looking truly troubled. "They're waiting for you, Colonel. Come along, now."

Hogan shrugged, reaching for his cap. "I'm sorry to miss the coffee clatch," he said, looking at Kinch, who served as his second-in-command.

"We'll save a cup for you, Colonel." Kinch nodded.

"Let's go, then, Schultz," Hogan said, pulling his coat collar up around his ears.

As Hogan and Schultz made their way across the compound, another command car came barreling by, pulling up to Klink's door. Hogan was surprised to see General Burkhalter ease his hefty frame out from the back. Hogan stopped and threw the general an ironic salute.

"Ah, Hogan! I haven't missed it, then," Burkhalter said.

"Missed it, General?" Hogan was mystified.

Schultz heaved a heavy sigh.

Klink burst out of the door, clicking his heels together and saluting with a flourish. "General Burkhalter," he gushed. "Always a pleasure to have you visit our little Stalag. And on this occasion, especially…."

"Yes, yes, Klink. Let's go in – it's cold out here," Burkhalter replied.

The commandant threw open the door, standing to one side to let the sizable general by. Hogan followed him in, then Schultz, whose stomach caught Klink's midsection, nearly toppling him off the stairs.

"Clumsy oaf!" Klink hissed.

"Klink!" Burkhalter bellowed from within. "Get in here!"

Hogan stood in the antechamber before Klink's office. "You wanted to see me, Kommandant?"

"Go inside, Hogan," Klink told him. Hogan, a master at reading the German officer's moods, was surprised at how subdued he sounded. Behind him, Schultz sighed again.

Hogan entered the office, finding Hochstetter sitting behind Klink's desk. This was no shock, as Hochstetter took every opportunity he could to displace Klink. Hogan knew that the Gestapo was eager to take over the Luft stalags, where Army air corps prisoners of war were housed. Hogan was grateful to Burkhalter and the rest of the German air command for blocking every move the Gestapo made to try and seize control of the camps. If they'd succeeded, it would have rendered Hogan's operation virtually impossible.

"Ah! Colonel Hogan!" Hochsetter chirped in a tone that Hogan recognized as both gloating and dangerous. "Sit down, sit down! Can I offer you a drink? A cigar?" The major audaciously picked up the humidor that sat on Klink's desk and tilted it toward Hogan.

Hogan knew he had no choice but to play along. As he extracted a cigar from the box – listening to Klink's predictable mutter of annoyance – he glanced around the room. The expressions he saw on the other three Germans were unsettling. Burkhalter looked impassive, Klink uneasy, his hands fluttering the way they did whenever he was upset, and Schultz's fat face was drawn in oddly miserable lines.

Hochstetter took a cigar for himself and, using Klink's ornate lighter, lit it. Puffing contentedly, he offered the flame to Hogan. Hogan, realizing he needed to take control of a situation that seemed to be spinning in a direction he couldn't follow, pocketed the cigar instead. "Thanks, Major. I'll smoke it later."

Hochstetter grinned, putting the lighter down. "As you wish," he said, almost purring.

Burkhalter, who had wedged himself on one of Klink's visitor chairs, glared at him. "Let's get on with it, shall we, Major?"

"Certainly, General. I just wanted to make sure our – guest – was comfortable." Hochstetter put his cigar out and turned to Hogan, smiling his widest alligator smile. "We've had quite a few security incidents occur around the vicinity of Stalag 13 recently, haven't we?"

Hogan waited a beat before replying. "Oh, you're speaking to me, Major? I'm sorry – have you? I wouldn't know."

"How could you, after all?" blustered Klink. "Hogan is a prisoner of war, Major. He only knows what I tell him, and I…."

"I know exactly who and what Colonel Hogan is, Klink," Hochstetter said impatiently. "He may have fooled you, and may even have fooled the General, but he hasn't fooled me."

"Really?" Hogan drawled. He felt back on firmer footing – they had had this precise exchange dozens of times before. Hochstetter would claim that Hogan was "the most dangerous man in all of Germany," Klink would pooh-pooh the idea, usually arguing his perfect no-escape record as evidence, and Burkhalter would swat them both down. "Who am I, then, Major?"

"Bah!" Hochstetter growled, his good humor seemingly dissipated. But then he seemed to recall something and his face lit up. "As I was saying, we have had quite a few security incidents around here, Colonel Hogan. Bridges, trains, escaped prisoners…."

"No one from Stalag 13, though!" Klink was quick to interrupt. "We've never had…."

"Shut up, Klink – we know all about your perfect record," Burkhalter snapped.

Hogan could almost sympathize with the general. Klink was a broken record on the subject of his unbroken record.

"As I was saying," Hochstetter continued, glaring at Klink, "a lot of activity – and all of it close by Stalag 13."

"That's fascinating, Major," Hogan said. "Simply fascinating." He wondered if his men had grown as bored as he felt and had shut off the coffee pot. Part of him hoped so.

"Argh, this again?" LeBeau said. "Turn it off, Kinch. If this is all they're going to talk about…."

"Yes, but what about the woman you said they brought in? She doesn't seem to figure in this at all," Kinch replied. "And the colonel wanted us to listen in."

"What woman?" Sergeant Andrew Carter stood in the doorway. "What's going on?"

They quickly explained it to him, and he slouched into the room, rubbing his hands together. "Boy, its cold down there in the tunnel," he complained. "Too bad that coffee pot doesn't make real coffee. I could use a cup."

"I'll get you one," LeBeau volunteered, rising and moving swiftly into the larger outer room where the real coffee pot perpetually stood. He returned in a moment, handing a mug to Carter, who took a deep slug and grimaced.

"Burnt, as usual," he said. He looked sorrowfully into the cup, shrugged, and drank again.

"So you know," Hochstetter's voice picked up, "we thought we needed to do something about all of these security problems we're having."

"Really?" Hogan said, his voice jovial. "Sounds like a good idea, Major. Do let me know if I can help in any way."

There was an odd silence, then the major said, "Oh, I will, Colonel. I will. But first – I have to tell you a little story."

"Shoot, what's he up to?" Carter asked, sitting down at the table and finishing the coffee.

"Oh, I love a story," Hogan said. "A good bedtime story is one of my favorites."

"I'm sure your Mutter used to tell you a lot of them, didn't she?" Hochstetter asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, he added, "You're going to simply love this one."

As the men waited, the major took an audible breath of air. "Colonel Hogan, in fighting this war, the glorious Third Reich has discovered several alternative modes of warfare. Things that your Geneva Convention doesn't always approve of."

"Like torture, he means," LeBeau said, glumly.

The men looked at one another, uneasy.

"One of our methods is a simple one. We take the loved ones of reluctant allies – mainly the French, but even some of our own people – and we hold them as a guarantee of good, shall we say – behavior."

"As hostages," Hogan said. His voice didn't tremble – it would take more than obscure threats for the Colonel to break – but his men could tell he was perturbed.

"An ugly word, hostages," Hochstetter continued smoothly. "We prefer to think of them as guests of the Third Reich."

"Well, this is a fascinating story, but I'm pretty sure you're not going to put the Brothers Grimm out of business," Hogan said. The men hear the scraping of a chair. "If that's all you wanted to say to me, Major…."

"Sit back down, Hogan!" Hochstetter barked. "Schultz – bring in our…" a cold moment of silence was followed by a gloating, "…guest."

"Yes, Major," Schultz said, sounding morose.

"The woman?" Kinch asked.

The others waited, the tension in the room palpable.

"Colonel Hogan, I'm sure you know…." Hochstetter started, but then Hogan yelled, in a tone that the men had never heard him use before – a tone ominous in its deep, sincere, and furious quality of threat: "Hochstetter, you're a dead man! You hear me? A dead man!"