AUTHOR: Meercat

RATING: Strong PG-13

WARNINGS: Violence, some torture, drama, angst

AUTHOR'S THANKS: To Patti and Marg for their wonderful beta of this story. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Chapter 19

Six days. Hogan stepped through the door of Barracks Two, into the early morning sunshine, and stared across the snow-studded, muddy-earthed prison yard, seeing nothing but his own inner visions of worry and unease. It's been six days. There should be some sign of improvement. Hell, there should be some sign of ANY change by now, uphill or down. Carter, why won't your fever break? Why won't you wake up?

A slamming door brought Hogan's attention to the building on the other side of the compound. Wolfgang Hochstetter stepped around a waiting staff car, ignoring the door being held open for him by a lowly Gestapo aide. Unmindful of the mud that sullied the otherwise pristine polish of his black leather boots, he strode across the bare yard that separated Kommandant Klink's office from Barracks Two. Anger and resentment poured from him in visible pulses.

Hochstetter. Aw hell, here we go again.

Thanks to Olsen's fast thinking and even faster feet, their latest mission was a success and all suspicion diverted. Refusing to give up his suspicions against Hogan, Major Hochstetter remained in camp, performing dozens of bed checks and inspections, prowling the grounds both inside and outside the fence, searching for anything that he could warp to support his theory. Hogan and his men made certain he came up empty every time. Zealous to the point of irrationality, he made everyone's life a living hell, both prisoners and camp personnel alike.

"Good morning, Colonel Hogan. I trust you slept well?"

"Well enough, thank you for asking," Hogan said. "You?"

With a bare-toothed sneer, the Gestapo Major stepped well into Hogan's personal space until their jacket buttons clicked against each other. This close, the smell of last night's sauerkraut and schnapps on Hochstetter's breath stung the American's eyes and tickled his nose. Hogan, being Hogan, made no effort to hide his disgust, fanning the air in front of his face.

Before Hogan could make his planned comment regarding the benefits of breath mints, Hochstetter growled, "You may think that you have won this little war of ours, Hogan, but you are wrong. I have been ordered away from this investigation ... for the moment. Klink's doing, no doubt. I will remember that. And I will remember what you and your operation has done to my family and me. What was once a matter only of pride and defense of my country is now something quite personal. You will be hearing from me again. This I promise you."

"I look forward to any letter you'd like to send me," Hogan answered with overplayed delight. "A phone call or three would be nice, too. We get so little contact here with the outside world. We're prisoners, you know."

Hochstetter's trembling hand hovered over his holstered Luger. A gutteral noise, like the snarl of an enraged wolverine, rose from the black-uniformed German. The urge to respond to Hogan's cheek with deadly force crackled the air between them. For the briefest instant, Hogan saw black insanity in the depth of the Major's eyes.

Hochstetter reined in his temper and widened the distance between them with visible effort.

"You would like for me to respond to your taunts, wouldn't you? No, Hogan. There will be another time and place, both of my choosing. A time of long talks and informative answers. And no small amount of pain ... for you."

Hogan held down a shiver of premonition by sheer effort of will. He'd ignored similar threats many times in the past, sometimes given by enemies far more intimidating that Wolfgang Hochstetter. This warning held a different flavor, a bitter taste of things to come.

This threat, this promise, Hochstetter would keep.

"We'll see, Major," Hogan replied, challenge given and accepted. "We'll see."

After a final, long staring contest, Hochstetter wheeled on one foot and stomped over to the waiting staff car. He vanished into the interior of the back seat, yelling at his unfortunate aide to hurry up and drive.

"Mon Colonél, are you alright?"

Hogan glanced back over his shoulder, not surprised to see Ivan Kinchloe and Louis LeBeau standing close enough to come to his aid had things with the Gestapo gone sour. The two men looked haggard and worn from worry and long hours spent at their unconscious friend's bedside. Hogan could only imagine how bad he, himself, looked. Hochstetter's actions around the camp over the previous six days had only increased the tension and worsened their fatigue.

"I'm fine, LeBeau."

"Hochstetter--Brrrrr!" LeBeau gave an inflated shiver that had nothing whatsoever to do with the wintry weather. "I have never seen him so angry before."

"For minute there," Hogan admitted, "I wondered if I'd pushed him a little too far."

"He won't forget this, Colonel," Kinch said. "Something in his eyes..."

"No doubt about it," Hogan sighed. "Before this war is over, we'll see Wolfgang Hochstetter again."

"Look over there." LeBeau waggled an eyebrow toward the Kommandant's office. "The Bald Eagle is coming this way."

Kommandant Wilhelm Klink met Colonel Hogan at the mid-point in the yard between their separate quarters. They offered one another a brief exchange of lazy salutes then turned as one and watched the car roll toward the gates.

"I understand we have you to thank for getting rid of the Black Menace. The prisoners and I thank you, Kommandant," Hogan said; around the yard, a dozen prisoners paused in their work carrying wood or gathering trash to wave and shout raucous goodbyes after the departing staff car, "from the bottom of our hearts."

"I didn't do it for you, Hogan, or your men. I did it for me." Klink jabbed at his own chest with a stiff-fingered hand. "Major Hochstetter's prowlings disrupted the efficiency and security of this camp. I had no choice but to ask General Burkhalter to request intervention by the Major's superiors."

"However it came about, sir, we still thank you."

The senior POW snapped his heels together, stiffened his stance, and offered Klink a regulation perfect salute. The Kommandant of Stalag 13 blinked in surprise--very rarely did Colonel Robert Hogan offer him true respect.

Thrown off-balance by the unexpected display, he returned the salute and stammered, "Well ... Hogan, I ... you're welcome."

"Colonel 'ogan!"

Corporal Peter Newkirk trotted over from the direction of the infirmary building. The Englishman had the current bedside vigil.

"Wilson's over in the infirmary," Newkirk jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the building in question, "asks to see you straightaway."

Hogan tensed. Beside him, LeBeau and Kinch stiffened, as well. Thoughts of all the things that might be wrong crowded Hochstetter's threats from his mind.

"Carter?"

"Dunno, sir." Newkirk, hands stuffed into pants pockets, shrugged. "He looks the same to me, but what do I know?"

Hogan hurried over to the infirmary and threw open the door. He spared Klink no further attention, and was unaware when the camp Kommandant, already aware of the news, failed to follow them, returning instead to his office.

"I talked with the doctor just before he left," Sergeant Wilson reported the instant Hogan charged into the building, with Newkirk, Kinch, and LeBeau hard on his heels. "With the antibiotics from London's last drop added to the camp's supply and barring any more unforeseen complications, I think he'll be okay."

Around the six-bed infirmary with its single filled cot, the heroes voiced prayers of thanksgiving. Haggard, unkept, and hollow-eyed with fatigue, Hogan sat down on the only chair, let his chin fall to his chest, and whispered his own heartfelt, "Thank God."

Hogan straightened the blanket around his soldier once more and settled into the creaky chair to watch over his sleep.

"His fever broke last night," Wilson continued. "The doc's guardedly hopeful that we've beaten back the infections. It'll take at least a month for his back to heal enough for him to feel comfortable lying on it, and those broken ribs will make any movement painful for quite some time. Best I can tell, there's no permanent damage to either his eyesight or his hearing. I'll have to wait until he's awake and coherent to know for certain. With the reduction of the swelling, the doctor says his facial bones are intact, though he may lose a tooth or two, and there are no broken bones other than the ribs and one finger."

Wilson gathered his coat, offered them all a positive smile, and left. No sooner had LeBeau closed the door behind him than a small sound from the infirmary cot caught everyone's attention.

Hogan stared long and hard until he was rewarded by the sight of Carter's still-swollen eyes slowly opening.

"Easy does it, Sergeant. You're safe now."

Andrew Carter tried several times to speak, but no sound emerged. Hogan reached over his shoulder and accepted the glass of water Kinch held ready. With great care, the camp's senior officer raised Carter's head just enough to tip the glass against his lips and allow a trickle of liquid to pass through.

It took a good fifteen minutes and several rest breaks to empty the glass. By the end of it, Carter was soothed but visibly exhausted.

"There." Hogan handed the glass back to Kinchloe. "Better?"

"Nnngh." The noise sounded positive enough, so Hogan smiled and straightened the covers around his injured soldier. "Go to sleep, Sergeant. You did good."

Carter blinked blurrily, as though he hadn't the strength to keep his eyes open. "G'd?"

"Yes, Carter. Very good. Now sleep. You've earned your rest, soldier."

"Mmm. Sl'p. 'kay."

With no trail for Hochstetter to follow, the Allied operation buried beneath Stalag 13 was safe. Tomorrow would require another mission, another risk, but for now, his men were in camp and as safe as they could be given the circumstances.

For Hogan, that was enough.

END