These are most of the major deleted scenes and segments from the reedit of "Master Manipulator". For the most part they just stepped through episodes in the series without really adding anything to the MM story, and is some cases going off in a wrong direction (as did the "Klink's Rocket" section).

If anyone would like to use any of these scenes to use in a new story of your own, please help yourself! No need to ask permission (but it would be nice if you mentioned where the segment/idea came from). Copy and paste a chunk from below and make a full story of it, or spin off and use the idea from any scene here at will.

These scenes have not been properly proofread, nor has the German used been properly checked.

Deleted scenes:

Episode 46, "Klink's Rocket" - -Klink badgers the prisoners with news of London being blitzed. Hogan decides to set up a fake target in England, a rocket assembly plant, to divert the German bombers from London to Leadingham, where an ambush awaits. The lines of dialog used are transcribed from the episode. (This Klink's Rocket section is almost a complete story on its own, but needs more background, setup, and follow-through on the resolution.)

Kinch shifted to his other foot, wanting details but understanding he couldn't ask for them. "Sir," he said carefully, "Klink may be a fool in a lot of areas, but he's got a real big wish to survive this war and you know he's already been willing to overlook a lot of strange things if it means he stays alive and safe. He doesn't want the Gestapo poking around here any more than we do."

Hogan grinned. "As long as there are no escapes. Yeah, he told me once he'd rather be a live failure. Just as long as he sticks to that and doesn't go getting ambitious again."

-HH-

Ambition was, in fact, the very thing on Klink's mind at that moment. Ambition and success. But not in the way Hogan feared. Sitting at the chess board, Klink turned the white knight over and over in his hands, staring at it, studying it.

Though he'd tried to distance himself from it, the debate-argument-between Hogan and Ritter tonight kept replaying itself in his head. Ritter's points he could have made for himself. The man had quoted the Party-line often. Any loyal German officer could spout those lines in his sleep. It was Hogan's arguments that frightened Klink. It frightened him because he didn't disagree. Hogan had used Hitler's own words against Ritter; argued the same points but from a different perspective.

What I don't understand is how otherwise decent people can go along with the sort of evil Hitler and his gang represent. Are they evil? Or a necessary evil? Or a necessity to return his nation and his people to their rightful place. At what cost? Another phrase slipped unbidden through Klink's mind: What does it profit a man if he gains the world but loses his own soul?

Klink's eyes strayed over to his violin, resting in its case. Once he'd committed an impulsive act that could be-would be-considered treason and, once trapped in it, found he couldn't back out. Not that he really wanted to back out. The price of the trap was high. The price to escape it was infinitely higher.

Standing to pace, Klink tried to see himself honestly; tried to see himself as Hogan must see him. No delusions. Klink played the patsy to an American spy. There. That was the blunt truth of it. He wasn't willing to face the repercussions to himself of revealing what he suspected of Hogan. But what did he really know? Hogan had the ability to contact and pass information to the Underground. That was really all Klink knew, all he could prove. Well, no… he couldn't actually prove even that.

But he also knew Hogan could make people disappear. Blown up. Dead. Discredited. Transferred to Russia. Defected to England…

Hogan could do things. His endless schemes… the strange events…

Could Klink accomplish such a thing? Could he do a thing to fight the evil Hogan spoke of? Could he dip a toe into the well of treason and emerge unscathed?

Maybe he was drunk. He must be to even consider such a thing. Face it, Wilhelm, you're not a hero. Leave that to men like Hogan. Yet there was a clear evil staring him in the face, one he knew about, would like to see ended both personally and for the good of countless others.

General Von Lintzer… When Hogan spoke of hating the SS and Gestapo and their like, 'their like' would include that Luftwaffe General Von Lintzer. Once regarded as a friend, Klink now loathed him with every fiber of his soul. Von Lintzer bragged about his bombing raids to London in a way that turned Klink's stomach. Surely Hogan must have taken pride in, and gained satisfaction from, his bombing raids in Germany, but Klink could not imagine Hogan ever took joy, as Von Lintzer did, in the death and destruction those raids caused. The regretful necessities of war versus the pleasure of the killing. Klink shuddered. It was the measure of difference. It was difference between a soldier like Hogan doing his duty even though it required doing deadly things, and evil sadists doing things such as he'd heard horrifying rumors of the SS doing in their camps. If Von Lintzer hadn't already been in the Luftwaffe, Klink didn't doubt he'd enjoy being in the SS.

Glancing out the window toward Barracks Two, Klink could see the glimmer of forbidden, after-hours light from the locked shutters covering Hogan's window. If Hogan could end a Wehrmacht general and a Gestapo colonel from within a prison camp (honesty here, Klink-you know Hogan blew them up)… If Hogan could entice a Luftwaffe general to defect (more honesty, Wilhelm-who was at the controls of Biedenbender's plane that night?)… If Hogan could travel to Paris and manipulate the Gestapo there (you know you heard his voice and saw him in Gestapo headquarters, don't you?)6… If Hogan could do all those things, and more, could Wilhelm Klink manage to rid the world of one evil general?

Klink couldn't change the world. He wasn't drunk enough to delude himself into thinking that. He couldn't stop the SS. He couldn't end the war. But maybe, just maybe, he could make one small change… For the sake of decency. For the sake of his soul?

-HH-

He pondered it for weeks before he finally concluded he simply could not come up with a Hogan-esque scheme that would accomplish the goal and leave him alive at the end. Then, during one of their chess matches, as he slowly wove his way through one of Hogan's elaborate ploy-within-ploys-within-bluffs-and-diversions, the light flashed on for Klink.

The answer wasn't in chess. It was in baseball. Tinker to Evers to Chance is the play... Evers throws the ball to Chance to complete the play.

Klink didn't need to work out every detail of the scheme. He only needed to point Hogan at it, step back, and try not to get in the way.

"Checkmate," Klink announced with a bit more triumph in his voice that usual.

"Got me again," Hogan admitted with admiration.

"Yes," Klink smiled at him sincerely. "Yes, I did."

Now… how to put the plan into play. How to manipulate Hogan into doing what Klink wanted, instead of their usual reverse…

-HH-

Von Lintzer had been bragging about his latest raid on London at the Officer's Club that day. How much was truth and how much vanity? Klink snapped on the radio in his office. The 'official' news from Berlin confirmed that London was being badly blitzed. Putting on a record of a symphony, Klink put the volume high, then turned the radio low, sat close and tuned it to the BBC broadcast. Impatiently he listened through the scarcely veiled coded messages being broadcast (Was Hogan listening in his barracks? Were any of the messages meant for him?) until the news came on. Somewhere between the news from Berlin and London would lie the truth. Klink sighed as he listened. It seemed Von Lintzer wasn't exaggerating much. London was being pounded.

Flicking off the radio, Klink realized he had it. He had the play.

A snap roll call in the middle of the night should set tempers in a receptive mood, Klink thought, making the men prisoners stand outside far longer than normal while he rehearsed again in his head. Yes... it should do. If he knew Hogan at all, it should work perfectly.

Striding down the steps from his office, Klink listened to Sergeant Schultz's report impatiently. Then, instead of dismissing the prisoners, he straightened to address them.

"Prisoners, from time to time I bring you news of the war of which you are no longer a part," Klink announced loudly. "Things continue to go well for our victorious Fatherland. Our illustrious Luftwaffe not only controls the skies of Europe but, at this moment is introducing London to our famous Blitzkrieg. We were forced to take these extreme measures in order to crush all Allied resistance and bring this war to a successful conclusion for our glorious Third Reich."

Even in the dark, he could read Hogan's reaction in his taut stance. Klink repressed a smile. He could hear the grumbling and the catcalls as he turned and strode rapidly away. He'd thrown the ball. Now, would 'Chance' make the play?

"Some day? Why not now?" did he hear Hogan say?

-HH-

Natürlich... the very next day the 'strange things' started anew. A paratrooper conveniently captured just outside the camp. A hint of Big Information 'accidentally' revealed in the interrogation. Fascinated, for once, to be aware of the scheme as it was taking place, not just stumbling along blindly in it wake, Klink found himself enjoying his role. Who said he couldn't act?

A secret rocket gun factory? And the new prisoner had passed the information on to Carter. They were so bluntly unsubtle, dropping the 'rocket gun' part at his feet, it was hard to pretend they were.

"Hogan, I'm on to your little game," Klink said with a satisfaction that for the first time he really was. Over-elaborate planning, was how Biedenbender had described the Hogan touch. He didn't need to understand every detail of the plot, Klink reminded himself. Just play along.

Then came the piece of the game Hogan didn't know about, Klink thought as he called General Von Lintzer about the information. Hogan would be annoyed, but surely he must realize this sort of information couldn't come through Klink. No, to be credible it had to come from the highest source in authority possible. And for Klink's purposes, that was Von Lintzer.

Poor Carter... Maybe Hogan wasn't the master at schemes Klink thought he was to send Carter into such a position. The poor boy was bumbling his lines, had obviously forgotten the name of the town hiding the secret rocket gun factory. Then the door opened and Hogan hurried in, as though on cue, to rescue the situation.

Von Lintzer, the fool, believed the story. What was the expression? Hook, line, and sinker. Yes, the general believed Klink's thoroughly cowed prisoner would surrender vital information that quickly and easily. Enjoy your flight, General, Klink thought as he retired for the night.

That night Klink slept better than he had in ages.

-HH-

"Do you know what happened in that air raid last night?" Klink demanded of Hogan.

"Now where would I get any information from?" Hogan protested innocently. Hmph! Where, indeed, Klink thought. And did you know before I did?

"Sixty-two German bombers shot down," Klink said indignantly. "Sixty-two, Hogan."

"No." Hogan applied a tone of shock.

"Including General Von Lintzer's," Klink added, struggling to keep the satisfaction out of his voice.

"Your friend." Hogan's tone said clearly he knew Klink didn't really care for Von Lintzer.

"Yes," Klink said a touch ruefully. But just barely a touch. He wasn't that good of an actor.

"Must have been those rocket guns," Hogan said. "I told you how deadly they were." They were playing this routine almost as well as their 'thoroughly cowed prisoner' act. Maybe they could team up as the next Abbott and Costello after the war, Klink thought, suddenly understanding that puzzling "who's on first" routine he'd once heard. More baseball. Strange American obsession.

Let's see if Hogan realized Klink knew about his rocket gun scheme from the first moment, Klink thought. "And do you know what I think," Klink said challengingly, "I don't think there are any rocket guns. I don't think there ever were any rocket guns. I think the whole thing was a trap."

"Ssshh… If I were you I wouldn't let that kind of talk get around. People might think you were responsible. You know what I mean?"

"Me responsible?" Damn that Hogan! Had he seen through it?

"After all you were the one that asked Von Lintzer to come here, so if it was a trap…" Hogan let the accusation trail off, the overt threat softened by his obvious teasing amusement. He had seen through it. Damn him.

Or had he? "Well, I, I…. who said it was trap?" Klink fumbled with his lines. "It was just a possibility of a trap. Oh, there never was any trap."

How could Hogan always manage to fluster him so?

Episode 53, "The Swing Shift" – Hogan & co. work at a local cannon factory which Schultz is supposed to be guarding.

Episode 54, "Heil Klink" – Schultz masquerades as a defector, Wolfgang Brauner, in turn masquerading as Hitler. Tiger and Hogan meet again in this episode. At their greeting, Tiger kisses him on the cheek while he focuses on the defector.

"Hey. Schultz." Hogan beckoned the guard as he waddled down the steps of Klink's office toward Barrack's Two.

Groaning, Schultz reluctantly approached. "Please, Colonel Hogan. Please… no more. You ask too much. I cannot do any more. I look the other way on too many of your shenanigans. You want to work in one of our factories. Fine. I look the other way. And then it blows up. You want me to pretend to be someone else. I'm someone else. I don't know what happened. I don't want to know what happened. But please. No more.

Hogan scowled. Schultz sounded genuinely pathetic. He did push the poor goon pretty hard, but it was necessary. A cold, cruel necessity… Like resisting the almost overwhelming urge to steal time with Tiger, to take her in his arms, hold her close, take her completely, body and soul... instead of settling for a chaste peck on the cheek while focusing his attention on that slimy sod Herr Wolfgang Brauner…Hogan shook off the thought. No time for that. Cruel necessities, indeed.

"No, Schultz," Hogan said in a more gentle tone. "No shenanigans. But, uh…" He drew Schultz further away from view of the Kommandant's office. Listen, you said your wife works in a munitions' factory in Hamburg, right?"

Nodding suspiciously, Schultz admitted, "Ja." Then more rapidly, trying to backpedal away from Hogan, he said, "But, Colonel, no. You cannot use my wife to… We have five kinder to think about." His voice rose in a panicked whine.

Holding up a hand to stop him, Hogan said soothingly, "Nothing like that, Schultz. It's just… You think she could take a little vacation? Hmm? A few days not at that factory? A week would be better. Somewhere out of town. Maybe visit some relatives out in the country? Could you get in touch with her to arrange that?"

Schultz started to speak, then froze, blanching. He groaned again. "Oh, no… Hamburg? You're saying that Hamburg is going to be…"

"I'm not saying anything," Hogan said firmly, significantly. "Just that it would be a good idea for your wife and kids to take a little trip out of the city sooner, rather than later."

His face dead serious, Schultz scarcely resembled the bumbling know-nothing guard they knew, loved, and used. "How soon?" he whispered.

"Better call her tonight," was all Hogan said.

-HH-

The late-July sun baked down on the camp. Most, prisoners and guards, sought whatever scanty shade could be found in the treeless compound, but Hogan, shirtsleeves rolled up, didn't shun the heat, instead standing alone in the full sunlight. Kinch watched him for several minutes from the corner of one of the barracks before approaching.

"Hot enough for you, sir?" Kinch asked as he ambled up.

Quirking a faint smile, Hogan said, "Yeah. Funny, though. I think when I remember this place I'm always going to remember it as being winter."

"I know what you mean," Kinch agreed, "Seems like the winters never end. Even in the summer it seem like I can still see the frost on the windows and snow on the ground." But Hogan didn't seem to be hearing Kinch any more.

"Whatcha thinking about, Colonel?" Kinch asked quietly. Hogan stood near the northern perimeter of the camp, staring out toward the horizon. Kinch knew what lay in that direction, give or take three hundred miles. Hamburg was getting pounded for the second time that week.

"Hamburg?" he added, when the colonel didn't react.

Nodding, Hogan said distantly, "Uh huh. It's a nice city. Pretty. Was." He glanced over at Kinch. "You ever seen a firestorm?"

Kinch shook his head slowly. "Schultz said his wife and kids got out in time. The factory she worked at took a direct hit. But they're in Heidelberg. Safe."

Almost as though to himself rather than to Kinch, Hogan said, "Yeah. Safe." He sighed heavily. "The fliers aren't. They're getting picked out of the sky right this very minute. Artillery. Flak. Fighters. Shot up. Burned. Crashing. Most who can't make it back will die. Some will bail out. We won't be rescuing any of them. Too far away." He was silent a long moment. Kinch watched him stare northwards. "I was shot down over Hamburg, you know," Hogan said. "Lost four of my crew."

Kinch held his breath. He knew, but didn't want to interrupt, to break the mood, if the colonel wanted, or needed, to talk.

Shaking his head, Hogan's voice dropped to a low monotone. "Last year, this time, I was in a Gestapo cell." He dropped his head and closed his eyes. Kinch saw him swallow hard, obviously reaching for control. "It looked so hopeless then. We were so far behind. Barely holding them back. I almost believed the Nazis might win. That we wouldn't be able to stop them." He shook his head and looked back up to the horizon. This was a side of their commanding officer he didn't let the others see, and only rarely let Kinch have a glimpse of.

"They're going to lose," Kinch said quietly. Resolutely. Italy was teetering. Mussolini had been arrested just yesterday; his Fascist government falling. The Italians had started negotiating with the Allies. Russia, Italy, North Africa… Promising everywhere, but all still a long, long ways from Stalag 13 here in the heart of the German Reich. "They're going to lose," Kinch repeated.

Hogan nodded. "I know. It's just a matter of time now. And lives."

Pondering a minute in silence, Kinch finally ventured, "You're thinking about something else too, aren't you, sir? Someone else?" He noted Hogan's slightly abashed reaction; the glance at the ground, the faint flush. In the time he'd known Colonel Hogan, Kinch had seen him pursue every female that came into target range. And, he more than suspected, take down more than any POW in as close to a monastery setting as existed had any right to. A "ladies' man" was the polite description. Kinch's oma had a different term for it. Kinch had to glance down and away to hide his twitch of a grin at the thought. Why exactly had the Kommandant so abruptly replaced Fräulein Helga? While the new secretary, Hilda, also enjoyed Hogan's attentions and attempted seduction (or at least Kinch thought it still fell in the attempted category), she was older, wiser, more cynical, and not as quick to succumb as the more romantic Helga had been. "How about a cocktail ring," Hogan had told Kinch he'd offered as a bribe on one occasion when the backlog of owed silk stockings and chocolate had grown too large. "I don't drink," Hilda had promptly countered. "How about an engagement ring?"

Still, for all the women he pursued, and probably conquered, Kinch had seen only one who caused Colonel Hogan to react this way.

"Tiger?" Kinch asked, not keeping the smile out of his voice.

Hogan flicked him a quick grin that just as quickly faded. "She's really not my type," he said with a hint of defiance. "I always liked 'em... softer." His hands made the universal curved woman shape in the air in front of him. "Rounder. Less stubborn. More... compliant."

Kinch choked back a laugh, earning an irritated scowl from Colonel Hogan. "If I may say, sir, Tiger's exactly your type. I've watched you, Colonel. The ones you really like are the ones who stand up to you, irritate you and challenge you. The ones who are just as smart as you and just as tough, and know it. Like Tiger. And it's more than a little obvious you think that... well, that she might be 'The One'."

With a groan, Hogan shifted around, grimacing. "Don't say that. Don't even think it. I was damned careful not to leave anyone 'sitting under the apple tree' waiting for me... And Tiger... I mean... The situation is impossible... Still..." A somewhat dopey grin spread across the colonel's face. "I could see us sitting under that apple tree. A little place in the States. A small town, maybe. In Connecticut. Or Ohio. Maybe on the lake in Wisconsin. Quiet. Peaceful. No war." His lips twitched with amusement. "Going in and out through the front door, instead of through the floor. The basement just being a... basement. Winter nights cuddled up with Tiger. Maybe a family..." He trailed off, lost in his daydream.

"Sir..." Kinch hesitated, then decided it really was best to throw a cold bucket of reality on his commander. It seemed cruel, maybe it was, but letting himself get overly attached to someone, especially a woman, a woman who was a leader in the Underground, could cause the colonel to do things, or take chances that could cost him and them all their lives and the mission. No apple trees for any of them for the duration. So Kinch broke into the daydream. "What's Tiger's name?"

"It's..." Hogan stopped, cocking his head and staring into the blank, blue sky. "Um... It's..." Hogan swore enthusiastically, then glared at Kinch, who dropped his eyes, feeling like a heel. "Damn you, Kinch. It's just a harmless fantasy." Hogan cleared his throat and straightened, squinting upwards toward the blazing sun. "And odds are neither one of us is gonna survive this firestorm anyhow."

"Let's get out of this heat," he added as he turned and strode rapidly away, leaving Kinch to stare after him with a gnawing sense of unease growing in his gut.

Episode 57, "Reverend Kommandant Klink" - To keep captured French officer, Lieutenant Boucher, from revealing the location of his base to Major Hochstetter, Hogan arranges for him to marry his girlfriend, Suzanne Martine. Klink performs the wedding. This is Hochstetter's second encounter with Col. Hogan.

"I suspect your 'thoroughly cowed' Colonel Hogan," that nasty little Gestapo major hissed at Klink as he sniffed the French pilot's water glass.

Klink cringed. It wasn't like Hogan to make such an obvious move in front of the Gestapo. He obviously believed Lieutenant Boucher really was going to talk and, as ever right on cue, decided he had to step in to manipulate the situation. Even if it meant tipping his hand, so to speak, in front of Major Hochstetter.

"Nonsense," Klink blustered, even as he knew the denial was futile. "I took a sleeping powder myself last night. That must be the glass I used." He had to turn quickly to the door so Hochstetter couldn't see his face. Acting was far more fun when a Gestapo officer wasn't growling (the vicious beerhall thug actually growled) and staring daggers into his back. Curse Hogan for forcing this role onto him.

"Schultz!" Klink bellowed into the outer office. "Take Lieutenant Boucher back to the cooler." Freezing, hand on the knob, Klink hoped Hochstetter didn't see the shiver that ran through him. Right on cue… again. Hogan knew exactly when to appear. Again.

His 'baw!" still echoing in the office as Hochstetter slammed out, Klink sank into the chair behind his desk glancing furtively around. A creepy sensation of being watched… no, listened to… crawled over him. Hogan knew. He always knew. But how?

You know how... Klink tossed his monocle on his desk and buried his face in his hands. When General Burkhalter had shown up with a radio detector, didn't you send Schultz running to tell Hogan to get rid of his transmitter? Everyone expected prisoners to manage to build or get radios, but a transmitter was something else entirely. A transmitter meant espionage. Yet you didn't doubt for a second Hogan had one when that signal was detected, did you?

The French pilot as an actor... Donnerwetter! Whatever Hogan's scheme really was, apparently Major Hochstetter wasn't seeing through it. Or thought he could outfox Hogan. Hmph! Good luck with that Major. If Klink, with the finest military training in Germany behind him, couldn't wend his way through one of Hogan's convoluted schemes until it was over - and usually not even then - Major Hochstetter, who was really nothing more than a common gangster given an absurd amount of power, had no chance.

Klink didn't need to worry. No. He needed to worry quite a bit, actually. He needed to worry about the Gestapo and Hogan and General Burkhalter and...

...and how Hogan always knew what was taking place in Klink's office.

Where was the bug?

Glancing around his office, Klink abruptly dropped his eyes back to his desk, striving not to look.

He should search. If he couldn't find it himself he should bring in experts and have them search. Experts like the Gestapo. Like Major Hochstetter.

Hmph, again. Hochstetter was a dangerous man. So was Hogan. But Hochstetter was the enemy.

What are you thinking, Wilhelm? Mein Gott... Hogan was the enemy. Hochstetter was his comrade, his countryman, his colleague fighting side-by-side with Klink for the glorious Third...

If Hogan had Klink's office bugged and Hochstetter found it, then he'd arrest Hogan and probably have Klink shot. Undoubtedly have Klink shot. Or sent to the Russian Front. It would be quicker and easier to be shot here where at least it was warm. Hochstetter would do nothing to save Klink. Hogan, on the other hand, had helped save Klink time and again.

With a groan, Klink wondered what had become of his Fatherland when an enemy made a better ally than one of his own countrymen.

He had to get out of his office, at least for a while. Slipping his cap down on his head, Klink clenched his riding crop tightly and strode out. On the steps he almost tripped and fell flat on his face as he missed a step. He had surreptitiously glanced, as he frequently did, at the flagpole over the office, making certain the correct flag still flew. Sometimes it was at half-mast, usually not. This time, however, it was being lowered from half-mast. Only it wasn't the flag that was lowering.

It was the flagpole.

Episode 64, "Some of Their Planes Are Missing" - A team of Luftwaffe fliers headed by Maj. Richard Leman "Daredevil Dick", plan to use captured Allied fighters to attack England. Burkhalter encourages Hogan to drink and enjoy his time with the Luftwaffe pilots, hoping he'll spill some information to them.

Why did General Burkhalter keep doing this to him?

Now it was a crew of Luftwaffe pilots training for a top secret mission dropped into Klink's care.

Dropped right into Colonel Hogan's targeting sights.

Why did General Burkhalter keeping doing this?

Even Schultz was quicker on the uptake than Burkhalter was, Klink had bemoaned silently, as he had nodded rapidly and agreeably as the General informed him of this next disaster-waiting-to-happen. Being Kommandant of a Luftstalag was supposed to be a quiet, uneventful, dull job, Klink thought as he blurted an occasional "brilliant, magnificent plan, Herr General." Klink only wished it would be a little dull once in a while.

When General Burkhalter left a famous French painting with him for safe-keeping, Klink had been panicked, but not even a trace surprised when, natürlich, it disappeared. He hadn't even argued with Hogan when it turned out to make things right and save Klink, Hogan and the French corporal (Klink right that moment started to think of him as "the Cockroach") needed to go to Paris. Paris! Indeed. Again. Again? Sometimes Klink was certain and sometimes not about the strange goings-on. Sometimes he managed to convince himself he was imagining it all. On the good days. The quiet days. Surely the Senior POW officers at other camps took the occasional outing to France, didn't they?

And there was that slightly hysterical bubble rising in his throat again. Or was it the ulcer?

On the other hand, maybe the General knew exactly what he was doing when he dropped his obnoxious brother-in-law, Captain Kurtz, in front of Hogan. Certainly the general hadn't seemed particularly surprised when Kurtz ended up dead only a matter of days later (Dead? Another one dead with, conveniently, no trace of a body left?). Hogan's tale of the Underground and trains blowing up should have had General Burkhalter handing Hogan right over to the Gestapo. Instead he'd barely shrugged and let it pass. Hmm...

Now this.

Daredevil Dick, indeed!

Hogan came in for ping pong balls and flattered that preening fool, Major Richard Leman, with talk about how feared and admired he'd been by the enemy pilots. Made up the tale on the spot, obviously. Of course Leman promptly invited Hogan to a party with his team of Luftwaffe pilots. Stukas in Norway. Dangerous, handle with care. Indeed!

It stung, Klink realized, in a way he hadn't expected, when Hogan shut him out of the conversation, playing up to Leman. A little pilot talk. While Hogan wasn't exactly a friend, from the very first, Klink had held their relationship as professional colleagues in careful regard. Despite being in an air force camp, Klink and Hogan, as officers amongst enlisted men, were the only genuine pilots. The only two of the elite fraternity of aviators. So, Klink thought glumly, looking at the biplane photo on his office wall, he wasn't exactly up to date in flying the new planes, and he'd never actually flown in combat. Still...

It stung.

Let the pieces fly where they may, Klink decided recklessly. Let Hogan do as he wanted. Klink wouldn't try to hinder. Nor help.

-HH-

When his teacup rattled against the saucer, Klink reached out to steady it without looking up. Buried in his camp account books (both sets), his lips moved silently as he strove to find somewhere, anywhere, he could dredge a few more Marks from the camp funds. More money... They always wanted more money... Maybe it was legitimate, Klink tried to allow judiciously. Or maybe they just knew they had a high-ranking, well, reasonably high-ranking, Luftwaffe officer on the hook and had decided to milk him for all they could, he thought, shamelessly mixing his metaphors.

Clattering louder, the cup and saucer danced across the desk surface. Klink's head jerked up. Everything in the office vibrated from the low rumble outside which grew louder by the second.

As Klink rushed to the office window, the cup and saucer crashed, unheeded, to the floor behind him. Flinging open the panes, a shadow suddenly eclipsed the sun. He gasped involuntarily and drew back. The air raid sirens began to wail. Looking out at the compound, Klink saw Schultz urging the prisoners toward the barracks, but none of them moved. Everyone had frozen where they were, staring upwards like statues scattered across the compound. Colonel Hogan stood in the midst of a loose grouping of prisoners, interrupted in the some sports game or another. He stood still, arms folded over his chest, watching the sky with a fixed expression.

Yanking open the office door, Klink hurried down the steps. "Air raid!" he shouted unnecessarily over the din. "Get those prisoners inside," Klink shouted to Sergeant Schultz threw his hands in the air as he vainly trying to herd the prisoners into their barracks. None of the prisoners moved. Half the guards in the compound stood still amongst them, staring at the seemingly endless formations of planes passing overhead.

"Hogan," Klink called, striding across the compound a bit more rapidly than proper dignity allowed. Donnerwetter, but there were a lot of planes. "Get your men inside at once!" The rumble and the black shadows crossing the camp made him want to cringe away and hide. Yet Hogan stood unmoving, eyes fixed on the sky, ignoring Klink. Hogan wore a curious expression, Klink thought, strangely distant, as though he wasn't really seeing the waves of bombers passing overhead. More, maybe, as though he was seeing the view from the cockpit of one of those bombers.

"Air raid," Klink repeated as he reached Hogan's side. "Get your men inside at once."

Hogan finally stirred, casting a quick glance at Klink. Without raising his voice over the noise, he said flatly, "They're not hitting here. You can cut off the sirens."

Someone else apparently realized no bombs were falling in the vicinity either, for the wail of the air raid sirens stopped. The thunder of the bombers continued, shaking the very ground beneath their feet.

"Where are they heading?" Klink demanded of Hogan.

"Schweinfurt," Hogan said.

Klink looked at him sharply. He hadn't really expected an answer. Was Hogan revealing military information? Or could he just tell where the bombers were headed from their bearing and altitude? Setting up for their bombing run. Schweinfurt… the industrial city only thirty-two kilometers, less than twenty miles, south-east of Hammelburg. The ball bearing plants! They were the targets. Destroy those and the Reich's military industrial production would be hopelessly crippled. "I should telephone ahead and warn them," he said, though he stood as rooted in place as the others, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of hundreds of planes passing overhead.

Hogan shook his head. "They already know," he said, and Klink realized he could hear the distant wail of the Schweinfurt air raid sirens sounding beneath the rumble of the bombers. But it was the dullness in Hogan's tone that caused Klink to shoot another glance at him. Hogan's expression wasn't one of victorious pride, such as Klink would expect to see from him with the sky blackened by so many American bombers reaching this deep into Germany in broad daylight. No, Hogan's expression, Klink decided, was more of a man watching a funeral procession pass by. Curious. Curious, indeed. Then Klink realized…

"Where are your fighter escorts?" he asked.

Shaking his head slowly, Hogan said, "Not enough range to come this far into Germany."

"Then whose are…?" Klink trailed off as the buzz of fighters overrode the low rumble of the bombers. The anti-aircraft guns fell silent as Luftwaffe fighters by the hundreds swarmed over the slower-moving formations of bombers.

"They're yours." Hogan sounded bleak. He gestured skyward with a tilt of his chin. "The B-17s are counting on the box formation to protect them."

It was then Klink remembered Hogan, himself, had been taken down from the sky by Biedenbender's fighters, probably flying in just such a formation. How hard it must be to stand here on the ground, with an enemy officer, his jailer, beside him, watching helplessly as his comrades were being picked out of the sky. Klink's empathy for Hogan swelled, diminishing the sting of exclusion he'd felt over the 'Daredevil Dick' incident.

He should be cheering for the victorious Luftwaffe, Klink thought, as he stared silently at the trail of black smoke pouring from one of the American planes. A parachute appeared. Then another. Klink held his breath. The B-17 tilted over and nosed downwards. No more parachutes appeared. The impact and explosion rocked the camp.

"How many?" Klink whispered.

"Eight," Hogan said dully.

Klink didn't move for a moment, then stirred. "Get your men in the barracks," he ordered firmly. "There will be debris falling." Without waiting to see if his order was obeyed, Klink spun and marched rapidly back toward his office.

Episode 67, "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London" - Hogan's friend, British Group Captain Roberts is replaced by look-alike Lieutenant Baumann, who plans to assassinate Churchill.

The decision came after the Gestapo tried to replace Hogan's friend, the British Group Captain Roberts, with an imposter to attempt to assassinate Prime Minister Churchill. Had not Hogan, obviously, managed to switch the two men, Roberts would undoubtedly have been murdered by the Gestapo, just as Baumann tried to kill Hogan with that insidious sleeve gun. Had the plan succeeded, Hochstetter would have probably pulled the trigger to kill Roberts himself, and slept well afterwards.

It didn't used to be this way, Klink thought, not for the first time, pondering long and hard the state of his nation. Hitler had given back the military pride, then set gangsters and thugs up above them. Honor replaced by terror. Fear isn't respect. Then there were the rumors starting to emerge about what the SS were doing in their camps...

What I don't understand is how otherwise decent people can go along with the sort of evil Hitler and his gang represent.

Gulping a schnapps to try to steady the nerves shattered by having his cap shot off his head (again), Klink paced his quarters, pausing now and then to peer out the window toward Barracks Two. It was easier for Hogan. The choice was clearer. Simpler. It didn't mean turning on comrades, colleagues, family, years of tradition, oaths of fealty. It didn't mean turning against friends, people who'd been his fellow soldiers for decades.

Like Hansie Kronman. He'd made his choice, hadn't he? And been shot by the Gestapo for it. And Klink had denied him, denied his friend. But what else could he do? What else, indeed.

Klink's eyes strayed to his violin case, the gentle face of its craftsman clear in his mind even after all these years.

…a black shadow of evil swallowing everything in its path, leading Germany down a road to ruin that will make the last war-the last defeat-look like a picnic.

Maybe it was Hochstetter. Meeting Hochstetter. Seeing Hochstetter for what he was. A vicious little thug. Having to defer to Hochstetter.

And more...

Realizing Hochstetter wasn't the worst.

But you believe the Party line? Support and advocate the scheiße the Nazis spew? Serve them and their interests? Tell me how that makes you different.

Hochstetter was his comrade. His colleague. Hogan was his enemy. His adversary.

What makes you different?

Klink swallowed hard and, though still trembling and uncertain, made his choice.

Episode 75, "An Evening of Generals" - Hogan plans to blow up a meeting of German Generals.

"It is an important and highly secret meeting," General Burkhalter said in his endearingly smug, officious way Klink so cherished.

"I understand, General Burkhalter," Klink agreed without understanding. Always agree with them, no matter what. Generals... Hmph.

"Shut up and listen," Burkhalter snapped.

"Yes, sir. Shut up and listen," Klink agreed, then caught what he'd agreed to a fraction of a second too late.

Burkhalter said, "The conference will begin on the 15th. The night before on the 14th you will arrange a dinner party, a banquet, just to start things off on a friendly basis with plenty of gemütlichkeit."

"Exactly as I would have done it," Klink said agreeably. Did you catch all that, Hogan? he thought. Are you listening? Of course you are. This one's all yours. You want a room full of German generals handed to you on a silver platter. Well, here they are. Oh... yes! We'll need silver platters for the hors d'oeuvres.

"Really? We'll go ahead with it anyway." Burkhalter added an extra measure of sarcasm. Klink ignored it as though he was oblivious to the slur.

"I shall make all the arrangements. The banquet. Security. Everything," Klink said. Everything. Including an American colonel fond of strange schemes.

"I will be in Berchtesgaden so the entire affair is your responsibility. I need the cooperation of everybody. Here are the names of the officers who will attend this meeting. For your eyes only. Memorize it and destroy it." Burkhalter said to Klink, handing him the list. Nodding rapidly, Klink laid it on his desk. Secret information laying in the open on his desk… Why hadn't Hogan appeared yet?

"Can I talk to you a minute?" Hogan asked only moments later as Klink and the General stepped out onto the office porch. Natürlich, Klink thought, quelling his twitch of amusement. It was easy to quell as the implication of what he was about to do gave him a matching twitch of fear.

"Can't you see I'm busy with the General?" Klink demanded in a surly tone.

"Sorry sir, it's personal." Hogan insisted. That's the best you can come up with, Klink thought. Are you slipping, Hogan?

"Wait in my office" Klink said. He'd left the secret list on his desk. Burkhalter knew that, had seen that, too, but either forgot or was distracted, as Hogan intended, by the prisoners swarming over his car.

"No, no, let them finish. It's a small matter," Burkhalter said expansively when Klink tried to stop the prisoners cleaning the General's car.

A small matter, Klink thought. A room full of generals handed over to Colonel Hogan. A small matter, indeed. It wasn't quite treason, was it? Klink wondered as he paced his quarters that night. He was still a loyal German officer, loyal to his country... Loyal. But the leaders who were leading his nation down the 'road to ruin', as Hogan had called it... Klink straightened resolutely. Let Hogan have his way with them. Blow up the whole room full of generals, if that was his plan when he worked the Cockroach and his other men into the banquet. All gemütlichkeit. Klink hadn't even offered token resistance to Hogan's scheme. He'd be doing Germany a favor if he blew up the whole verdammt room.

Turning to the picture of the Führer on the wall, Klink raised a toast with his fifth glass of schnapps. It was a silent toast, for the words he thought were ones no German dare say out loud.

Episode 116, "The Big Dish"—British traitor, Lady Valerie Stanford, tests a radar system at Stalag 13. Hogan goes to town, meets with her, then goes soft because she's a woman, and doesn't kill her. She tells Hochstetter about Hogan being in town. (scene never was in the original version of MM):

"Lies, sir, all lies!" Colonel Hogan proclaimed as Hochstetter escorted him—under arrest—into Klink's office. Natürlich, Klink thought. Just like all Hochstetter's other 'lies' about Hogan. Of course he hadn't been in town, in civilian clothing, talking to the British radar expert, Lady whatever-her-name-was. Klink took another gulp of champagne. It was really the only logical course of action—get drunk and pretend nothing was amiss. He'd back Hogan's claims of innocence as necessary. No one escaped Stalag 13. That fact was undeniably true. "Oooh… movies," Hogan added childishly, moving to peer at the radar screen.

But he got a long, serious glance from Hogan when he calmly offered him champagne. Um… well, so maybe everything wasn't thoroughly in hand. Hochstetter still needed more to take Hogan out of here and he knew it, Klink assured himself. If he didn't he'd have Hogan in chains, and likely Klink too, taking them both out of here. Everything was fine. Hogan would manage to pull out of this dive before he crashed.

Klink scowled and took another gulp of champagne. That woman, though… Hogan tangling with women always had that extra edge of danger and doubt. They were definitely his weakness. Well, Klink added judiciously, whose weakness weren't they?

From the chapter where Hogan is injured and Klink is tending him (never was in the original version of MM):

"You think General Burkhalter is who?" Klink managed a combination of shock, horror, and an edge of hysterical humor. Ultimately, the humor won out. It had a vaguely panicked sound to it, however.

"It's not meant to be funny," Hogan grumbled. He was really in far too much pain, and far too miserable, to tolerate anyone's sense of humor, particularly Klink's. "Burkhalter is Nimrod."

"You're delirious," Klink pronounced. "And insane. The general a British secret agent? Absurd."

"Hey, we had you as a candidate for a while."

"Bite your tongue! That's beyond insane," Klink retorted. "You sound like that nut Hochstetter."

"Him we eliminated immediately. Too naturally psychopathic and homicidal." Hogan said. "Eliminated you about three seconds later."

"But I'm not psychopathic and homicidal," Klink protested, then caught himself. "Nor am I Nimrod," he added hastily.

"So, of all the possibilities, that leaves Burkhalter," Hogan concluded.

Klink shook his head thoughtfully as he sponged off Hogan's feverish face. "No, Hogan," he said. "You're not thinking clearly. I've known the general since… I don't know, 1917 at least. He's as German as I am. He's certainly not British, nor even particularly fond of the British." He hastened to add, "Not that any of us are. Now, that is. No, they're the enemy now." He sounded like he was giving himself his own propaganda lesson. "No… I could no more consider General Burkhalter as a British agent than your people could take you to be a German agent."

Hogan laughed, which led to a spasm of gut-wrenching pain. He coughed, then tried not to. "Bad example," he choked out after a moment. "The British did think I was a German spy once."

"Donnerwetter. How on earth could that happen?"

Hogan paused to get control of the pain again. "Remember that Hurricane I said I crashed in '40?" [I mentioned this several times—it was part of the set-up for the Coventry-Dresden parallel events which caused Hogan to have a personal 'price' to the war from both sides; no simple 'win' without a serious cost.]

Klink nodded. "Yes. Let's see, you said there were three, no four, Heinkels…" As Klink recounted what he remembered of the tale, he dipped the cloth in the water and twisted it to ring it out. Hogan fixated on the action. Klink could twist them just like that rag, if he chose, Hogan thought, suddenly, oddly, fearful. Control them. Manipulate them. Maybe he was. Turning his head away, Hogan squeezed his eyes closed. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe Klink wasn't comforting him through an injury, maybe he was torturing him to get information. As he considered it, the thought became more real. Hogan shifted and the searing pokers stabbed him again. Had Klink done it?

The cool cloth touched his burning face again, dampening the flames. "Concentrate, Hogan," Klink ordered quietly.

He was feverish, Hogan told himself. Imagining things. Klink was harmless. He could trust him. At least just a little.

"Keep your mind off it," Klink continued in a soothing murmur. "Tell me what happened when your airplane was shot down. Why did the British think you were a spy?"

Because I was a spy. Am. Hogan managed to keep that unsaid. Or so he thought. Hoped. "Just a pilot then. They needed pilots," he whispered, then shook his head, trying to regain some clarity. "Not many…" He cleared his throat, taking care not to cough. "Not many Americans flying with the British, then. We were unusual. Foreign." The spiking heat of the fever diminished a touch. He could feel it. He paused to breathe and consider his words more carefully. Klink waited patiently through the long gaps in the conversation. He probably wasn't listening anyhow, Hogan told himself. Hogan could have talked on about plans to plant flowers along runways for all Klink noticed or cared.

"Go on," Klink nudged after a minute. "Your plane crashed and…"

What was he talking about? Oh, yes. Burkhalter. Nimrod. And being mistaken for a spy. How easy it was to blur the lines. Jump to the wrong conclusions. Maybe Burkhalter wasn't Nimrod. Maybe he was just a… a… a nimrod who kept dropping opportunities in Hogan's lap out of blind, arrogant stupidity.

"Okay," Hogan said, trying to get his story back on track. He ran the events quickly through his head—okay, no classified information in it. "I don't remember any of this," he told Klink. "It was all told to me later. The farmer whose field I messed up when I bellylanded in it, pulled me out of the plane before it burned. Got me out near the road and flagged down the ambulance. Turned out my wingman got the Heinkel that got me and one of its crew had bailed out and came down not far away…"

Klink pulled the cloth away and refreshed it in the pan of water. Hogan stared. The simple movements didn't seem threatening now. Odd.

"So, the English patrol and ambulance crew found both you and the German flier at once," Klink filled in the story in a prompting way.

Where was he? "Right," Hogan murmured, trying to pick up the tale again. It did help; helped to talk about other things, think about other times, rather than to dwell on this ongoing misery. "They got us both in the ambulance. And… uh, I guess the German said something to me. And I answered him."

With a sudden delighted chortle, Klink inserted, "In German?"

"Yeah. So all of a sudden, instead of being an honored, wounded RAF pilot, I was a German POW." Hogan managed a faint chuckle without ratcheting up the pain in his middle too much.

Klink frowned. "But couldn't they tell from the uniforms? Or the airplane you were pulled from?"

Shaking his head, Hogan said, "The plane was burning. And my flight suit was covered with blood and oil."

"Huh." Klink settled back a moment, pondering. "So how did that lead to them thinking you were a spy?"

"Well, I'd smacked my head pretty hard against the canopy when the tree stopped me," Hogan said. "I guess I was in and out of consciousness for a while—and thinking none too clearly when I was conscious, it seems. Like I said, I don't remember any of this. But as I heard it later, the next time I came to I heard English voices. So I answered them…"

"In English?" Klink asked.

Hogan smiled. "No. In American." His smile broadened a touch at Klink's puzzled frown. "Even speaking English, I very much do not sound British. First they heard me speak German. Then they heard me speak what was to them very foreign-sounding English. So before they even got me to the hospital I'd been promoted from POW to German spy."

With a chuckle, Klink asked, "Surely it was all straightened out at the hospital, though."

"Not right away," Hogan said. "I do vaguely recall people questioning me. They tried both English and some really bad German. And I answered them all the same way." He paused, cocking a questioning look at Klink to see if he'd figure it out.

After a moment, Klink laughed. "Name, rank, and serial number," Klink said. "I can do those from memory myself—Hogan, Robert E., Colonel, 0876707."

With a grin, Hogan said. "Exactly. Same answer every time. The problem was, that's my U.S. Army rank and serial number. They were looking at RAF dogtags where only the name was the same. So…"

"Spy." Klink laughed again. "How did they eventually untangle it?"

"Robbie," Hogan answered. In response to Klink's questioning look, he added, "Group Captain James Roberts—you remember him?" Klink nodded. Hogan noticed Klink's expression suddenly went tight and serious. "When I didn't return to the base, and he heard about this captured spy, he put two and two together. Robbie thought it was hilarious."

"He did not seem to be a humorous sort when he was here," Klink commented.

"Extenuating circumstances," Hogan said. "The Gestapo—Hochstetter—had been working on him for quite a while."

"Mmm…" Klink looked thoughtful. "Yes. Even you were a bit restrained and serious at first. Hmph… for about a day."

"Yeah," Hogan murmured and had to look away. Thinking about Hochstetter and the Gestapo, even in passing, brought renewed jabs with the hot pokers to his gut.

"Hochstetter would have murdered him," Hogan thought he heard Klink whisper.

"Robbie?" Hogan asked.

Klink nodded faintly, then cleared his throat and straightened. Briskly, he said, "So, I also recall you mentioning a certain red-headed nurse. Tell me about here. Spare no details…"

Episode 168, "Rockets or Romance"—Hogan meets with Lily Frankel to transmit coordinates on mobile rocket launchers for an air strike. This is the last episode of the series, taken slightly out of order. Near the date mentioned—Sept. 8, 1944—the V-2s from these mobile launchers started to hit England.

September 13, 1944

"…they can backtrack those mobile rocket launchers to a general location, but not specifically."

Hogan stood in the dimly lit tunnel, pondering London's latest message. It was the first time he'd managed to climb down the ladders since returning to the camp. He felt better—twinges jabbing him at each movement, but nothing worse. The V-2s had started hitting England several days ago. The V-1s were all but history, with the launch facilities in France now destroyed, so the Krauts moved on to the V-2s sent from mobile launchers.

"…woods are crawling with Gestapo…"

"…radio detectors…"

When he announced he would be the one to make the rendezvous with Frankel and run the wireless, Hogan saw the dark look Kinch gave him.

Between he and Tiger there was no commitment, only a desperate passion, so taking advantage of the time with the lovely Lily Frankel wasn't cheating on Tiger, Hogan told himself. It was reminding himself he was still alive and there were reasons to remain so. Then why did he feel a little guilty about it later?

Late October 1944

When Hogan arrived to Klink's quarters he found the Kommandant trying to pace a hole in the carpeting. Pausing in the doorway, Hogan cast a question glance at Schultz who shrugged convincingly as he closed the door behind him. As it was Sergeant Schultz sent to escort him to the Kommandant's quarters, Hogan hadn't been concerned anything was wrong—there had developed a non-verbal shorthand with choice of guards indicating the direness of the situation. Schultz definitely indicated 'condition green'.

Klink, on the other hand looked like he was on a full 'red alert'.

"What's wrong?" Hogan demanded without greeting or preamble.

Snatching up a paper, Klink handed it to him without explanation. Hogan's eyes widened at the 'top secret's splashed across the page.

"A messenger just delivered that," Klink said, then grew impatient as Hogan read and reread. "What's the matter," Klink snapped after a moment, "can't you read unless it's upside down on my desk?"

"Relax, Kommandant," Hogan grated back. He scowled as he reread the order again, then set it down on the table. Crossing the room, he poured a shot of brandy. Instead of drinking it himself he handed it to Klink, who gulped it. Hogan poured him another, then one for himself. He sat back down at the table and studied the order again.

"Relax, sir," Hogan ordered Klink again, "and sit down." He barely noticed that Klink obeyed. "This isn't a crisis tonight." But it could be a crisis soon, he allowed to himself. The order—top secret for the Kommandant's eyes only—was to evacuate the camp, and move the prisoners deeper into German should the Allied forces draw near. Hogan frowned. He hadn't counted on this. Surely by now the High Command—heck, even that nut job Hitler—must see the writing on the wall and know defeat was inevitable.

Sure, they did. That's what this order was really about. The Allied prisoners would no longer be Prisoners of War—they'd be hostages.

"What are you gonna do about this?" Hogan asked quietly after a minute of contemplation.

Klink shook his head. "I don't know." He looked at Hogan steadily. "You understand this is not something I would willingly do."

Hogan nodded. "Then don't."

Standing in a burst of nervous tension, Klink paced the room again. With a humorless laugh, he said, "I may have no choice."

"There's always a choice," Hogan said harshly. "And eventually you're going to have to make one and stick to it. You can't play both sides of the fence forever."

Klink stopped pacing and stared at Hogan with equal harshness on his face. "You think that's what I'm doing?"

"Yes," Hogan said without hesitation. "One of these days you're going to have pick your stand, pick your side, make the decision and stick with it." He stood and moved to stand face to face with Klink, meeting his eyes with unblinking hardness. "Hans Kronman did."

Klink held the look only a moment before he broke away. With a pained laugh, he said, "Hansie Kronman is dead. And what did he accomplish?"

Picking up the top secret order, Hogan waved it at Klink. "This could be a death sentence for every man in this camp. Would you allow that to happen to save yourself?" With a contained sigh and an effort, Hogan pulled back, trying to see this from Klink's perspective. "Listen, Klink," he said more gently, "if it comes to it, just fill in the date on that bar napkin and let me worry about it."

Klink spun toward him, his own expression harder. "Yes. That would solve everything," he said sarcastically. "You go ahead and wave that napkin at the company of SS who's likely to show up to enforce this order." He gave a snort. "If you seriously think you can take on the SS in a stand-up battle, you're mad."

"We'll take them on however we have to," Hogan answered.

Episode 167, "All the Pretty Snowflakes" –Second to last episode in the series. Hogan & Co. try to stop a Panzer company by triggering an avalanche. They fail but the avalanche happens anyhow. If you take it apart, this is an interesting episode in that Hogan accomplishes nothing and, in fact, fails—is defeated—in every attempt. Another interesting point that's glossed over in the show is that the Heroes apparently blow up the first truck that was to take them to the snowed-in roads, rather cold-bloodedly killing the driver, a camp guard. A Stalag 13 truck that was supposed to be hauling the prisoners blows up and, what? Just requisition another one and continue on like nothing happened?

Early December 1944

Hogan hadn't expected to take them on with snow shovels, however.

Nor to be handed defeat after defeat.

He so wanted to wipe the smug arrogance off the face of that SS Panzer General Stromberger, yet was thwarted each and every step of the way. Ultimately nature succeeded where Hogan failed, sending down the avalanche to block the tanks' advance toward the Front.

Instead of fighting them, Hogan and his men were hauled back to Stalag 13 in chains, cold and miserable, defeated even though in a way they'd won. Hogan was wretched. His men were wretched. Schultz was wretched. As the shackles were unlocked, Hogan saw Klink emerge from his car, sniffling and also wretched. This whole mission had just lived out the definition of 'snafu'.

"Hogan." Klink motioned him to the side, then sneezed. He tried to look fierce, which was difficult for him at best, harder still with a sniffling cold. "I should leave you in those chains and throw you in the cooler," Klink told him sharply, "until you can be taken for a court martial and then shot."

"What did I do?" Hogan protested. "We didn't cause the avalanche."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Klink snapped. "The first truck, the one that 'accidentally' blew up killing one of my men—" He tapped his chest. "—one of my guards…" He paused to glare at Hogan. "The gasoline tank was intact. It hadn't ruptured. The explosion wasn't from a malfunction." He lowered his voice, though no one was near. "You murdered that guard."

Hogan played a dark look over him. "You're using the wrong word there, Kommandant. This is war."

"I warned you, Hogan," Klink said, still hard. "I warned you time and again I'd stop you if I had to."

Stepping nearer, Hogan said, "That 'guard' was one of Hochstetter's plants. I won't be mourning him." He stepped back a touch, regarding Klink coolly. "And I suggest your report make it very clear the gas tank blew up accidentally. Sir," he added sharply.

As Hogan strode away toward the barracks, it occurred to him for the first time that when Klink did have to make his ultimate choice, choose once and for all where to stand, it might not be on Hogan's side.