Author's Note: This was a quick thing that came to me, please tell me what you think. I'd really appreciate any advice!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes or its characters, though it'd be cool if I did.

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BULLFROG, NORTH DAKOTA, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

I can't exactly refuse them, I thought, as my mother handed me the old clothes. She was beaming, looking very proud of herself for finding the WW2-era bomber's jacket and crush cap.

"Can you believe it? They were just going to throw them away! So when I suggested taking them back home, they gave them to me for free! And you make fun of me for going to thrift stores." My mom said, tapping me on the nose playfully and walking into her room. "Now, I promised to take a picture of you wearing them, so put them on! I just need to find my camera…"

I groaned. Who knew how old these were? They were probably full of dust, and would smell like mothballs when I put them on.

I put the brown crush cap on the chair next to me and gingerly started to put on the jacket. It was made out of dark brown leather, with a small rectangle near the left shoulder that read COL R. E. HOGAN. I finished shrugging the jacket on and started to zip it up, but the zipper stuck halfway up. Cursing, I messed with it some more, but it wouldn't budge. Defeated, I turned to the cap. It was around the same color as the jacket, with a leather band around the rim and a gold eagle above it. I prayed that there were no dead bugs in it as I lightly put it on, so that it was pushed up a bit on my head.

My mom bustled back in, playing with the camera in her hands. She looked up at me, and her smile got even bigger.

"You look wonderful!" She said, still fidgeting with the camera. I stood there waiting for what seemed like ages, until finally she looked up and pointed the camera at me. "Alright, pose! 1…2…3…"

The camera clicked and I relaxed. I put one of my feet up on the chair next to me and rested my arms on my knee, staring at my mom.

"Are we done here?" I asked, causing her to look at me again.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, a twinkle in her eye, "Hold it right there! That's perfect!" She took another picture, and then went into her room with the camera.

I stayed where I was; knowing my mom she probably messed up on one or both of the pictures and would need to take more. Sadly, my mom wasn't very good with anything that needed batteries. As I stood there, the front door opened.

"Hi Grandpa," I said, not even looking at him, "Mom's in her room." I straightened and was about to try and fix the zipper again, when I realized there had been no response. Confused, I turned to look at my grandfather, who stood in the entryway.

My grandfather just stared at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. It almost looked like he was shaking, and I quickly went to stand beside him and take his elbow; his eyes following me the entire way.

"Are you okay Grandpa?" I asked, guiding him to the chair I had just been using. His eyes looked at some distant memory, and they reminded me of how they looked whenever someone brought up the war. Generally, my grandfather would sit there for a minute, and then leave quietly. I had never before had to deal with this weird phantom-like state before.

I shook him gently, "Grandpa? Grandpa, are you okay?" I asked quietly, "Grandpa?"

"You look just like him," came the hoarse whisper, "Just like how he used to be... He always wore his hat like that, and he never zipped up his jacket all of the way unless it was winter. He'd always pose like that when he was deep in thought right before a mission; you'd see him there with his foot on the bench and you'd know that the next one was going to be rough."

I stood there for a bit, confused. Realization slowly dawned on me; the outfit I was wearing must have reminded Grandpa of the war. I stayed quiet, hoping he'd say more. Grandpa never talked about the war, ever, and my mother said he'd always been like that. She only knew that he had served most of the war in a POW camp near Hammelburg, Germany.

When he didn't say anymore, I decided to prompt him slightly. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, I wasn't letting it get away.

"Who used to look like this Grandpa?" I asked. Then, looking at the name on the jacket, I asked, "Was it Colonel Hogan?"

My grandfather started at that, "Colonel Hogan was the best commanding officer anyone could ask for; he always listened to the men, no matter who they were. He did his best to protect us, especially when rations were cut and things grew scarce near the end of the war. That was when the Allies were getting closer and the Krauts had too few supplies to care for their own men, let alone take care of some foreign prisoners. I remember he used to pretend to be stuffed and would give his meal to someone else to eat. We all knew he wasn't full, there wasn't enough food to fill a mouse, but Colonel Hogan would've rather starved than let one of his men go hungry. By the time the camp was liberated, he was skin and bones. A good gust of wind could've sent him flying like tumbleweed, but the rest of us never once got close to starving, all because of him."

Then my grandfather turned to me, "I'd always wondered what happened to him after the war," he said, "When we got back to the States we lost contact and try as I might, I couldn't seem to find him."

"Oh, Grandpa Carter! I didn't realize you were visiting today!" My mother came into the room and walked over to us, "Doesn't Peter look a picture in that outfit?"

My Grandpa turned to me, as if just realizing I was there, and smiled. "Yeah, yeah he does." He said, and then turned to my mother. "Say, where'd you get it?"