I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story.

Anzac Day is commemorated each year on 25th April, the anniversary of the first landing by the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps at Gallipoli in 1915.

Flowers had been laid at the base of the ancient granite milestone which stood, long forgotten, among the trees. On one side, a small group of men stood at attention: the New Zealanders, Foster, Davies and Lucas; MacDonald, the big Australian; Colonel Hogan's men, all four of them unusually silent and grave. Hogan, with Lieutenant Wentworth on his right, stood in front of the improvised memorial.

Wentworth looked at Lucas, and nodded in encouragement. The kid was just twenty-three; too young to have to bear the load of loss and grief which had been placed on him. He stepped forward, and began the recitation which was an essential element of this occasion.

They shall grow not old...

His voice, shaky to start with, failed completely, and the only sound was the dawn chorus of the forest birds. Everyone waited for him to regain his composure, but he seemed beyond it. Hogan could sense Wentworth was getting restless, but before the lieutenant could take over from Lucas, Carter broke rank, and came forward. Yet he didn't take up the verse. Probably he didn't know it, anyway.

"Come on, Jamie," he said quietly. "You can do it."

Carter had been the only one at hand, when the news of Lucas's brother had arrived, ten days earlier. Lucas was fairly new, one of only three New Zealanders currently at Stalag 13, and the only one allocated to Barracks 2. The Kommandant, Colonel Klink, preferred to keep his antipodean prisoners scattered, if he had to keep them at all. He still had nightmares over what had happened two years ago after the Anzac Day memorial service. So the New Zealanders, and the two Australians, were separated as widely as possible.

Although Colonel Hogan had not arrived at Stalag 13 until some time after that memorable April day, he had heard about it from those who had been present. Not that Newkirk's exposition had been particularly helpful; rather, it was a masterpiece in generalisation.

"The thing about your Australians, Colonel," he had explained, "is that they're nearly all descended from convicts. Now, I'm not saying we should hold that against them. We've all got a few bad apples hanging off the family tree. But the Aussies are so bleedin' proud of theirs. The Kiwis, on the other hand, aren't descended from convicts at all, so you'd think they'd be less trouble. But most of them seem to have a chip on their shoulder, mainly about the Australians as far as I can tell. So when the whole lot get a bit emotional, well, things happen, don't they?"

LeBeau had described the incident in more detail, but very succinctly. "They made their own alcohol, got drunk on it, the Australians started up that ridiculous two-up game of theirs, then got into a fight with the New Zealanders over the rules. Everyone else got dragged in, and the next thing we knew, there was a riot in the compound. We were lucky nobody was shot."

"My old man used to say, two Aussies and you've got an argument," Newkirk added. "Three, and you've got a two-up school. And an argument."

The following year, Klink had refused permission for any kind of Anzac Day observance. That had upset all of the men from both countries; there had been a dozen or so at that time, and they had made their own arrangements. It had ended badly. Hogan was determined this year would see no repeat performance, so early in April, when Lieutenant Wentworth approached him, requesting he speak to the Kommandant about it, he wasn't particularly encouraging.

"Look, Wentworth, as it happens, I know what the whole event is supposed to be about," he said, "and it's not meant to include the show we got last year. Or the year before. You know what the set-up is here. We don't need that kind of trouble, it upsets the Krauts, and that upsets our schedule."

"Perhaps we could just hold the service of remembrance, sir," Wentworth suggested. "It's usually the two-up game afterwards that leads to trouble."

Hogan regarded him cynically. Wentworth came from Melbourne, and seemed more cultured than some Australians Hogan had met; but it was Wentworth who had marked observance of the previous year's Anzac Day by breaking Sergeant Foster's jaw. That didn't inspire a lot of confidence in his ability to keep things civilised. "I'll think about it," said Hogan. Meaning, of course, the answer was "no".

That was where the matter rested, until they heard about Lucas's brother.

It was bad luck that the news had to arrive on a busy evening. Hogan and Newkirk had left straight after roll-call, to set up the first phase of the night's operation. LeBeau and Carter were to meet them at the target later, and they had just started getting ready when the warning came from the man watching at the door: "Schultz is coming."

LeBeau, already half-dressed for his outing, retired precipitantly behind a line of washing which was strung between two of the bunks. Carter had only got as far as removing his jacket, and stood with it in his hand.

"Evening, Schultz," he said, a little too brightly.

Schultz did not return the greeting. He looked preoccupied; troubled, in fact. "Where is Colonel Hogan?" he asked, coming right to the point.

"He's busy right now, Schultz," said Kinch. "Can't be disturbed."

"He will have to be disturbed," replied Schultz. "Kommandant Klink wishes to speak to Lucas in his office at once, and he said Colonel Hogan must come as well."

Lucas looked startled. He was a quiet, reserved young man from Dunedin, seemingly bent on rehabilitating the reputation of his fellow Kiwis by causing no trouble at all. It surprised everyone that he should be called to face the Kommandant.

"Well, I'm sorry, Schultz," said Kinch, inventing an excuse on the spot, "but the Colonel is with Newkirk, giving him a counselling session about his gambling problem. He said they were not under any circumstances to be interrupted. Can it wait?"

Schultz sighed, and looked at Lucas with a strangely melancholy expression. "No, it cannot wait. The next most senior officer in the barracks, after Colonel Hogan, must go in his place."

"That'd be Carter," said Kinch. "Go on," he added, in an undertone, as Carter began to protest. "It's okay. I'll go with LeBeau."

Carter was never quite comfortable with the responsibilities of rank, and he looked worried now, knowing if Lucas was in some kind of trouble, he'd need someone more quick-witted at his back. But with Hogan absent, he had no choice, so he put his jacket back on, and followed Schultz and Lucas out of the barracks and across the compound to the Kommandant's office. He expected trouble with Klink over Hogan's non-appearance, but the Kommandant seemed almost oblivious to the substitution.

"At ease, Carter, Lucas," he said. "Schultz - dismissed." Then he sat back, fidgeting. He moved some papers across his desk, straightened the ink-stand, then folded his hands on the blotter, and looked up. "Lucas, you have a brother, Flight Sergeant Christopher Lucas, a prisoner of war at Stalag 17." He stopped, and his gaze switched to Carter, who started to feel a sinking sensation in his stomach. As a rule, he wasn't particularly quick on the uptake, but something in Klink's manner made it clear to him what was coming.

Lucas, aware of the tension but not of the cause, glanced at Carter for reassurance before replying. "That's right, Kommandant," he said hesitantly.

Klink cleared his throat. "Corporal, I have to...I regret to inform you that your brother died yesterday of pneumonia." He fell silent again, and looked down at his hands. He was not by nature a compassionate man, but nor was he completely without feeling. It was obvious he hated having to do this.

Lucas stared at him, confused at first; then, as he absorbed what Klink had said, his eyes lost focus. He shook his head, and took a step back. "No," he said, more in surprise than grief. Carter, afraid he would fall, took his arm.

"Okay, Lucas," he said. "It's okay." He hated himself immediately for the choice of word; okay was the last thing it was. "I'm sorry, Jamie," he added, unaware he'd used Lucas's first name.

It never occurred to Carter to seek Klink's permission before guiding Lucas to a chair. The Kommandant was watching, apparently unsure of what to do. Carter eyed him with deep reproach. "He already lost one brother," he said, and Klink looked embarrassed, and got up to fetch a glass of brandy.

Lucas refused it at first. "You better have it, Jamie," said Carter. Then, as soon as the dose had gone down, he turned to Klink. "Kommandant, I think I should take him back to the barracks now."

"Yes, of course. Tell Colonel Hogan the lights-out rule will be waived for tonight, in case Lucas needs to talk, or...or anything," said Klink, miserably aware he was out of his depth.

Carter didn't even think to salute before taking Lucas, who was still dazed, out of the office and back across the compound. He felt almost as helpless as the Kommandant, and he hoped desperately that Kinch was still in the barracks. Kinch would know what to do. But when they got there, Kinch and LeBeau had already left. Carter hesitated, trying to work out the best way to deal with this. He could see, from the looks exchanged among the other men around the barracks, that they knew something was wrong, and he wasn't sure Lucas was ready just yet for any mass display of sympathy. Hoping he was doing right, he took Lucas into Hogan's private quarters, and closed the door.

The sabotage party did not return until the early hours of the morning. Hogan was first up the ladder into the barracks. The information Kinch had brought had made him uneasy. A first glance around seemed to indicate everything was normal, but then he realised that, although the barracks lay in darkness, there was light showing between the poorly-fitted planks of the door into his own quarters. He checked Lucas's bunk; it was empty.

"Carter's not here, sir," said Newkirk. Although he kept his voice down, some of the sleeping men stirred. Olsen turned over, and raised his head.

"Carter's in there, with Lucas," he said, nodding towards the colonel's quarters. "I think Lucas got bad news, Colonel. He looked pretty punchy when they got back from seeing Klink, and Carter took him straight in there."

There was a startled murmur from behind Hogan, but he couldn't tell who it was. Without turning his head, he said, "Okay, hit the sack, all of you." He didn't look to see if his order was obeyed, but went straight to the door of his office.

Inside he found Carter sitting on the edge of the lower bunk, where Lucas had fallen asleep. Carter greeted his arrival with relief, though very quietly.

"He's just gone off half an hour ago," he whispered. "I'm sorry for bringing him in here, sir. I didn't know what else to do. His brother died, Colonel."

"Didn't he already have one brother killed?"

"Yes, sir, at Monte Cassino, in February. And now the other one's died of pneumonia, at Stalag 17. Lucas didn't even know he was sick. I don't think he believes it yet. Boy, if I heard that something had happened to my brother...gee, Colonel, I can't even think about it. I couldn't take it."

Hogan nodded in agreement. They all knew what it was like to lose someone, but a double blow was hard to take, and Lucas was just a kid. "Okay, Carter. You did right. Go get some sleep."

Lucas made it to morning roll-call. He looked tired, and Hogan kept a close watch on him, but he was keeping his emotions under control; perhaps more than he should.

Word had got around, as it always did, and Sergeant Foster, who was the senior ranked officer among the New Zealanders, presented himself at Barracks 2 not long after assembly. He was a stocky little man with a tough manner and a coarse vocabulary; good in a fight, but ill equipped to comfort the bereaved, and it was a relief to everyone when he left. Lucas hadn't said much to him, or in fact to anyone. Most of the men, after saying a few awkward words, left him alone.

By the next day the matter was already slipping into the background, not intentionally, but because every man had his own concerns and preoccupations, and because Lucas seemed to avoid any demonstration of condolence. That wasn't unusual; many of them, under similar circumstances, preferred to keep their grief to themselves, and their comrades respected that. Even Colonel Hogan allowed his attention to be diverted; he had other responsibilities, things to do, secrets to steal, trains to derail.

And it was while returning from a train derailment, three nights later, that Newkirk and LeBeau met Lucas where he ought not to have been; in the woods, halfway to Hammelburg.

LeBeau spotted him first, but he didn't realise immediately that it was one of their own men. Although they had a regular procedure for processing through-travellers, stray escapees occasionally turned up without advance warning, and had to be dealt with on an ad hoc basis. LeBeau, having become aware of the fugitive, jabbed Newkirk in the ribs. "We've got an uninvited guest," he murmured.

Newkirk tutted crossly. "I wish they'd remember to call first," he said. "How do they expect us to have the sheets aired for them, if they don't book ahead?" He gave a low whistle. The man almost jumped out of his skin, and turned to look in their direction.

"Mais - c'est Lucas," whispered LeBeau.

Newkirk's eyes narrowed. "You're right." He emerged from cover. "What the hell are you doing out here?" he demanded, in a low, furious voice.

Lucas took a step back. He was always a little nervous of Newkirk, whose sardonic wit and cocky ebullience disconcerted even older and more confident men. "I'm trying to get home," he replied sullenly.

"What, now? Tonight? Well, I hope you weren't planning to go by train," Newkirk said, "because it might be running late." His tone was particularly cutting, and Lucas flushed.

"Lucas, are you crazy?" LeBeau put in. "We just wrecked the mail train. The whole area will be lousy with Krauts within half an hour. You want to get shot?"

"Blimey, you've got no idea, have you?" said Newkirk. "You can't just wander off whenever you feel like it. This isn't a holiday camp."

Lucas moved away a little. "If I want to escape, it's my business. Not yours."

"It's everyone's business. Stalag 13 isn't just any old prisoner of war camp, you know. One unplanned escape, and our whole operation's down the drain. It's not just you that ends up shot, it's the whole bloody lot of us."

The boy hesitated; clearly, he hadn't thought it through. "He's right, Lucas," said LeBeau. "If you must escape, we have a safe route."

"It won't get you home," Newkirk added. "Just back to London, and then to your squadron. But at least you'll get there in one piece, which is probably better than you deserve. Now, we're heading back, before some patrol starts shooting at us. And you're coming with us. No, not one word out of you, Lucas. Get moving."

In the face of his anger, Lucas gave in, and the three men made their way back via the emergency tunnel. They found Hogan and Kinch in the radio room. Newkirk, still close to boiling point, stalked straight past, but LeBeau jerked a thumb towards the New Zealander. "Found him in the woods," he said.

Hogan regarded Lucas with the air of a man who didn't like surprises. "Just out for a stroll, Lucas?" The kid hung his head, and didn't reply. "Corporal," Hogan went on, "I think we need to have a little chat."

Notes:

Anzac Day was observed in at least some POW camps during the Second World War. A description of Anzac Day 1944 at Stalag 383 (Hohenfels) is to be found at the Pegasus Archive.

The game of two-up, in which bets are laid on the results of a multiple coin toss, was very popular among Australian soldiers during the first World War; it's still traditionally played on Anzac Day.

The 2nd New Zealand Division was deployed at Monte Cassino, south of Rome, from early February, 1944.