"What's that?" Kinch asked appalled, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Don't tell me." Newkirk flicked the ash off his cigarette. "That's where you keep your collection of pet lice?"

"No, silly." Carter's grin stretched from one ear to the other. "But you're close. It's..."

"Pet flees then?" LeBeau suggested.

"No. It's a little invention of mine. Kind of a by-product to making magnesium pencils. I thought it might come in handy one day, so I decided to save it."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Very well, Carter. But what is it?"

Carter simply beamed. "It's itching powder! You guys want to try some? It's really powerful!"

Kinch held out his hands, and even physically backed away. "No, thanks, buddy. I think I'll pass."

"How about you, Louis? It's really good stuff; if you get it on your skin, even a tiny little bit, you'll be itchy for hours! Just can't stop scratching!"

"Carter, you don't have to bloody sell it to us!" But then the vastness of its possibilities hit him: "Blimey, Carter, you're a genius!"

Even Kinch was chuckling now. "Oh boy, that ought to be good! Imagine strewing some of that stuff down the neck of her overalls!"

"Or in their cots at night!" LeBeau had picked up on the mischievous spirit, too.

"And it's humorous, and totally harmless, so the Colonel can't have anything against it!" Newkirk declared.

"I wonder," Kinch mused. "Couldn't we use that stuff on the Germans as well?"

They were all startled by a strangled cough coming from the office. Carter was the first to realize what it meant: "The Colonel! He's back! He's alive again!"

No one listened to Wilson's hurried admonitions to take it easy on the Colonel; everybody just rushed into the office to see for themselves that their CO was safely back to life again.

"Welcome back, sir!" Newkirk beamed at a still somewhat hazy Hogan.

"Glad to see you alive, sir."

"Boy, they had us scared again..."

"Welcome home, sir. We missed you already."

"Same dream again, Colonel?"

"Good to have you back, sir!"

And finally Wilson managed to get in a word: "Colonel Hogan?" He pushed his way past the utterly relieved men from barracks 2, and knelt down by the lower bunk. "How are you feeling, sir?"

"Trainwrecked." Hogan groaned with annoyance. "How am I supposed to feel when I've just woken up from the dead?!"

"Just doing my job." Wilson took Hogan's pulse, and gave him a quick once over. "Headache?"

"Like a sledge-hammer."

"Probably the cyanide; it'll have to wear off. I can give you some aspirin if you like, but I can't guarantee it will do you any good."

"Don't bother then." Hogan pushed himself up into a half sitting position. "And what are you guys all doing here? What is this: a funeral parlour?"

Kinch smiled. "We're leaving, Colonel, we're leaving." He pushed everyone out the door, and then turned back to Hogan who was still struggling to sit up properly.

"Glad to have you back with us, sir."

xxx

Half an hour later Hogan strode into the common room as if nothing had ever happened. "Any coffee left?"

Newkirk jumped up. "Let me get you a cup, sir. It's quite fresh; Kinch made it only ten minutes ago."

"Good." Hogan sat down at the table, and soon he was nipping steaming hot coffee. "So what's happened while I was out?"

"Nothing much, sir." Kinch spoke calmly. "We've continued with the story. We all agreed that we should avenge your death, and though the ideas of how to do so varied enormously, in the end everyone settled for the responsible author having a serious talk with you."

Hogan raised his eyebrows. "With me?! Was it one of the four ladies we have in our custody then?"

"Indeed, sir. It was Mrs. Snooky who killed you off again."

"Hm. A thick-skulled lady that is. So what did we talk about?"

"You better read it yourself, sir." Newkirk passed the notebook across the table to Hogan, and for a few minutes the Colonel read in silence.

"Not bad," he complimented at last. "Not bad at all. Perhaps with these tactics we'll finally get through to them. Let's hope so. Only – did you have to put those near-death experiences in?"

"We thought it would give them an idea of how hard it is to come back to a place like this every time," LeBeau explained.

"And it's true, isn't it?" Carter pointed out. "We've all had those dreams at one time or another: whenever they had us killed. I mean, it's not like we're making it all up to make them feel bad!"

"Allright, allright." Then Hogan let out a chuckle. "But that itching powder is a mighty good idea!"

Carter beamed with embarrassment. "It is?"

"Absolutely. Still, first we'll have to deal with the interrogation about the Manhattan project. Your itching powder can wait a while."

"Do you think she's going to reveal to us what the Manhattan project is, Colonel?" a curious Kinch inquired.

"No." Hogan seemed totally unconcerned.

"What?! But she's from the future! She's bound to know what it is!" the men protested.

Hogan had a chuckle. "Oh, I'm sure she knows allright. But she's not going to tell us."

"Perhaps I should drop some of that itching powder down her neck right now," Carter suggested. "I'm sure it'll work great as a harmless torturing device as well. To get people to talk."

"Maybe. But I assure you, Carter: this time it won't work. Not even a large dose of truth serum will get Mrs. Snooky to spill the secret. Here, let me show you."

"Susan, what can you tell me about the Manhattan project?"

"Um..." Sue blushed. She did know what the Manhattan project was, but...

"Have you heard of it?" Hogan tried.

"Yes. Yes, of course I've heard of it."

"Well then, what is it?"

Susan opened her mouth. And closed it again. What could she tell him? Better: what should she tell him: a man from the past? "Um... are you sure you are entitled to know this?" After all, stalling might help her to figure this one out.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why not? You know about it, don't you?"

"Yes, but..."

"So why shouldn't I be allowed to know about it?"

"Because..." A deep breath. "Because you're still living in history. And I learned about this in history class. That's a huge difference."

"Well, it's not like I'm going to tell anyone."

Sue regarded him with private amusement. "Sure. That's what you tell Klink, too, whenever he spills some secret to you."

Hogan chuckled. "Touché. But really," he turned on his charm together with his considerable persuasive powers. "Would it make such a difference to history if you just told me what it's about? I mean, I'm not asking for dates or details; I'd just like to know what we're risking our lives for here. And what the heck it was you had me commit suicide for. Is that too much to ask?"

Susan remained silent as all the science fiction stories she'd ever read flashed through her mind. Would her giving him such intelligence – such a tiny little fact – really alter the course of history? If there was anyone whose secrecy she relied on – next to Mr. Darcy's of course – it was Colonel Hogan's. So would it really matter if she told him?

'No,' she decided, and took a deep breath. "You're right. I do think you have a right to know. At least something; the basic facts."

He watched her with barely concealed anticipation.

"But you must vow never to reveal this information to anyone until after the project is completed. Not even to your men."

"You have my word." He even forgot the obligatory 'as an officer and a gentleman'.

"Allright." Sue took another deep breath, and quenched her last considerations on whether she was about to become guilty of irrevocably altering the course of history or not. "The Manhattan project is..." She closed her mouth and tried again: "It is..."

"Yes, what?" Hogan demanded eagerly.

Susan opened her mouth. And closed it again. She reminded him much of a goldfish out of its bowl: open, close, open, close...

"Well?" Hogan urged.

She shook her head. Sadly. "I can't. I can't tell you. I'm sorry, Colonel."

"What do you mean, you can't tell me?! You said you know what it is!"

"I do. But I still can't tell you."

Hogan was getting a little frustrated here. "Why on earth not? You said yourself you thought we have a right to know! So what made you change your mind again?"

"I didn't. I haven't changed my mind; I really think you deserve to know. But there's something stronger than me that prevents me from saying it."

He looked at her incredulously.

"It's true! I can't help it, it's not my fault!" Susan pleaded close to tears. "I so wish I could tell you, but somehow I can't utter the words! Something – some force – is stopping me!"

No matter how corky it sounded, Hogan realized that she was speaking the truth. For some reason she really couldn't say it. "Perhaps you can write it down," he suggested, and pulled out a pencil and a sheet of paper.

Sue took the pencil, and bent down over the paper. And Hogan watched her again, in tense anticipation. But the pencil rested on the paper, not making a single move, while Susan's face clearly showed the desperate determination of jotting something down. Something. Anything.

But finally she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan. I really am. But I can't. That strong something won't let me transport the words from my brain onto the paper. It's like they get stuck as soon as they reach my elbow."

"Perhaps drawing could do the trick?" he caught at a last straw.

She tried with all her might, but the pencil refused to move. So she dropped it. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I really would have told you if I could. But I'm afraid... Apparently it's impossible."

"Boy, that was creepy, Colonel!" Carter breathed with excitement.

"I didn't know you had it in you, sir," Kinch remarked with a twinkle in his eye.

Hogan grimaced, and Carter insisted: "Where do you think that force comes from that won't allow her to tell us what she knows?"

"That's easy, Carter." Hogan put down the pencil and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That force derives from us. We are the ones writing the story. So we are the ones giving Susan her lines. Then how can we let her tell us something that we don't know ourselves?"