A/N Thank you for your reviews, favs and follows. I appreciate all your support.

2020-05-05 Special thanks to 96 Hubbles for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own.

End of An Era

April 18, 1945

Kinch stepped up to Colonel Hogan, who looked over the camp from the hills. "We're ready, sir," he reported without waiting for Hogan to acknowledge his presence. After a few years with Hogan, Kinch had had a hard time remembering proper military protocol, making it difficult to survive at London headquarters. Hogan had preferred pragmatic solutions, sometimes without proper planning, and without a proper chain of written orders. It had been almost a culture shock to get back in an environment that only allowed working with written orders.

"The Germans?" Hogan asked, despite the fact that he had had an integral part in the planning.

"The last truck left an hour ago," Kinch reported. Schultz had been on the last one out, carrying them away to a collecting point of German POWs. Hogan had given Schultz a letter, far better than what they had written for him whenever they needed to sell him a story. This hadn't been full of emotions but facts, cold hard facts that would allow Schultz a safe return. Only Colonel Hogan would declare a toy manufacturing company relevant for a peaceful after-war Germany and actually sign it with his real name. Maybe making toys really was important. Either way, it was out of their hands now.

"Carter did it?" Hogan asked without turning around.

Kinch smiled, maybe only for himself, but it was a smile nonetheless. "Who else? I don't think he would have let anybody else do it even if it hadn't been necessary for security reasons." The decision had been made months ago - the camp had to be destroyed as fast as possible. If all traces of their mission were gone, nobody would be able to prove a thing, making it safer for all of them.

"Check finished?" Hogan looked above his shoulder, finally making eye contact.

"Yes. Everybody has left the ground and tunnels." Kinch had been the last one to walk through these tunnels. His feet remembered the ways and turns; he hadn't even needed a flashlight. For one last time, he had checked every niche and every compartment, every hiding space and every corner. "Nothing left," he could report with surety.

With a last farewell look across the compound, Hogan turned slowly around before he started to climb down. "Then let's do it." He clapped Kinch on the shoulder and together they walked down to where Carter, LeBeau and Baker were waiting. They all had the same look, a cross between relief and sadness.

"One last time, Carter," Hogan said and nodded to his bomb expert. "Show us what you can do." Carter knelt down and connected the detonator.

"Newkirk should be here," LeBeau murmured. "He deserved to see this happening."

"First time that I curse the British efficiency," Hogan said. They had evacuated all British prisoners in record time, making it impossible to keep Newkirk around. The order had come so fast, Newkirk had had barely time to grab his stuff and track everybody down that he had owed something to or wanted to say goodbye to in person Then he had jumped on the truck and was gone.

"All right, I'm ready," Carter said.

Kinch looked from the detonator to the camp, following the trails of wires. Every building and every tunnel had been rigged up with enough explosives to completely and utterly destroy every piece of evidence.

"Kinch?"

"It's yours," Kinch said and took a step back. Hogan looked around and Kinch followed his glance. LeBeau seemed to be better than he'd been the last two days, but still not entirely like himself. Or maybe they hadn't ever met the real LeBeau, the one who hadn't had to fight every moment to keep still, to stay calm, to remain alive and to withstand the temptation of the fence. Carter wrung his hands, nervous energy released in fast and useless shifting in place. Baker stood a few paces away, as if he didn't know whether he belonged with the team or was just additional staff. It wouldn't be fair to put the responsibility to destroy the camp on Baker's shoulders. Kinch himself knew that it wasn't his job anymore. He had moved on and had already closed the book and now just had to add an epilogue, the finishing touch to a part of his life.

"All right," Hogan said and nodded. Apparently, he had come to the same conclusion. Without waiting further, he stepped up to the detonator and grabbed the handle. Almost in unison, they looked up and took in a last glance of their camp. They had chosen their jail keeper, they had built the fence, and they had created the rules they had to play by. They had created and filled their own prison, a prison to fight for freedom because the only walls that were insurmountable were the walls in your head and heart.

Kinch tensed up as Hogan pushed down the handle of the detonator.

For a few seconds, nothing happened but then the whole camp blew up in one giant cloud of smoke and fire. It was the end of Stalag XIII and Operation Unsung Heroes. A fitting end.

"Make sure that the tanks drive a few times across the compound," Hogan repeated. The jeep he was a passenger in was already running and its driver, a young private, seemed eager to start.

After their last act together in this war, everybody had a new set of orders. Carter and Baker joined the other prisoners from Stalag XIII to be processed, getting new paperwork that would show them being prisoner of war but obfuscate the location. If necessary, they could even get a few escape attempts added or removed, whatever was necessary to create a believable file.

LeBeau was already back on his way to France. If Newkirk was lucky, he would be back in London, but more realistically, he'd likely be stuck in another camp until the British supreme command had figured out how to deal with the ramification that this mission had brought onto this single soldier. But at least they had been fast in evacuating their men from the front line, maybe even a little too fast.

"Yes, sir," Kinch repeated dutifully, realizing that Hogan wasn't micromanaging but acting from a case of nerves. "By the time we've moved south, nobody will find any traces of a camp or a tunnel."

"Good, good," Hogan nodded. The driver glanced at the colonel, trying to read between the lines as to whether he could start now. They had to reach the next military base before nightfall, as it would be too dangerous to drive in the dark this near to the front line.

"Good luck, sir," Kinch said and stepped away from the jeep. Stalag XIII may have been destroyed, but they were still attached to this piece of land. Kinch had already been through this; he knew what the colonel would have to get through in the next few days: the nightmares even worse than the ones in camp, the uncertainty, and the startling fear as nothing was as it was used to be. But the colonel would be all right. He had proved to be highly adaptable.

For one last time, and this time properly, Kinch saluted.

Without a word, Hogan returned the salute. No other words were necessary. It contained all of it: thank you for sticking it through, we were so lucky, so long and take care.

Hogan dropped his hand, and his driver used the opportunity and drove off. Slowly, Kinch lowered his hand and relaxed. Then he went back to the area where, once upon a time, there had been a POW camp called Stalag XIII. Shielding his eyes from the low sun, Kinch surveyed the land. He could only see dirt where American tank practiced some maneuvers. In a few months, grass will have grown and then it would be all water under the bridge, forgotten and done. Only in the memories of the men of Stalag XIII would the history would continue to live.

But for now, they had a few more camps to liberate. As the next jeep came around, Kinch jumped up and joined their convoy in the opposite direction of Hogan's travel - into the fight.

April 30, 1945

Hogan stood at the window and looked outside. He had seen prisoners lingering around a compound so many times he should be used to it. But he couldn't get used to see Germans out there as prisoners. He still searched for the French and British uniforms, the familiar faces of Carter and Baker. But he caught only sour and depressed German faces if they glanced up.

Behind him, the commandant of the POW camp fidgeted. "Sir," Major MacDonald started again, "are you sure that this is a good idea?" The man couldn't look more Scottish if he tried. The only thing missing was a kilt and a bagpipe.

"Major," Hogan said, while he turned around to face him, "I just need to talk for a few minutes to one of your prisoners. Nothing else." Unconsciously, he straightened to give his request the additional weight of being a colonel.

"Yes, sir, but," Major MacDonald hesitated before he pointed to the file on his desk, "Colonel Klink has been the commandant of a special Stalag. It doesn't list a name or location but," MacDonald licked his lips, "it also says that a Colonel Hogan had been the highest-ranking POW." He took a deep breath, his fingers trailing along the corner of the desk. "I am responsible for the security and safety of this camp. And your name -"

Hogan narrowed his eyes. Finally, he got what the major was hinting at - that he could be a danger to the safety of his camp and his prisoners. If it wasn't so sad, Hogan would have laughed. "I just need to talk to Klink for a few minutes. Nothing else," he assured the commandant. "You'll get your office back afterwards in prime condition." The joke about blood washing out, Hogan kept inside. No need to make the man even more nervous. If he had learned something from all the years in Stalag XIII, it was that, for a commandant, it wasn't too hard to get the next higher up to issue an order and he really needed to talk to Klink.

"About what -" MacDonald started but was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in."

"Colonel Klink is here," his sergeant of the guard, a sturdy man with straight shoulders and telling scars on his face, at least one from a knife fight, reported.

"Send him in," MacDonald ordered.

Hogan tensed up; his muscles tightened. He was free. The times had changed and now Klink was brought to him and not the other way around, and yet he couldn't help himself but to tense up.

Klink entered the room. Despite wearing the same uniform as always, the same boots and his monocle, Hogan almost didn't recognize him. He seemed older, wearier, and nothing like the arrogant Klink Hogan was used to. Hogan knew that the Allies had had trouble having to suddenly care for so many German prisoners, and that housing and food was an issue. That could explain the thin face and the dark circles beneath Klink's eyes, but it couldn't explain that look in his eyes.

"I'll wait outside," MacDonald said.

Hogan tuned in on the conversation just in time to nod and to catch the insecure glare. The major clearly didn't want to leave Hogan alone with Klink but lacked a good reason to refuse a senior officer this request. Who would have thought that he would become the General Burkhalter in this play.

The door was shut with an audible click, yet neither Klink nor Hogan moved.

For years, Hogan had thought about this moment; many nights he had spent dreaming about it and a lot of dark hours in the cooler he had used to make plans for exact this moment. And now the moment had come, and he had no idea where to start.

"Came here to gloat?" Klink sneered, and once again proved to be his greatest ally as this arrogant tone was all Hogan needed to unlock his tongue.

The words were already on his lips: the accusations, the mocking and yes, the gloating, but Hogan looked again and suddenly saw an unsure man, a bumbling idiot desperately seeking approval. Finally, the last layer had been peeled back and Hogan could see Klink for real. A fearful man afraid of his own shadow, seeking a little peace and a lot of approval of his work, of his being, of his existence as Wilhelm Klink. Too bad that he had looked for it in the wrong place.

"No," Hogan forced the word out. He sounded hoarse, as if he hadn't used his voice in a long time.

Klink looked up. His gaze changed. Deep inside, Hogan still saw the man he had shared a drink with, used as an easy and cheap entertainment, and had protected and been protected by him. For a fleeting moment, this man flashed across Klink's face before he settled back on the sneer. "Then why are you here, Hogan?"

"To tell you in person that Hitler is dead. Suicide. Your Fuehrer committed suicide. Admiral Doentiz is now Supreme Commander of the German Armed Forces." He threw the words out callously without regard to his audience.

Klink jerked as if he had been hit. "Dead," he repeated in a dull and lifeless voice. He sounded like the word he had spoken.

"Yes."

Only the voices from outside, the shouts of men and the sound of trucks interrupted the long silence. Like a blanket, stillness had settled on Hogan and Klink, forcing them to remain quiet.

"So, the war is over?" Finally, Klink had found a question he wanted to ask.

"Not yet," Hogan answered truthfully. "But it's only a matter of time."

"And then what?"

Hogan hadn't thought about it this far ahead. Suddenly, he had become one of the foremost experts in dealing with the Germans and his knowledge had been in high demand. He assumed that Klink would remain a POW in a POW camp for a few months and then be sent back home. Hogan knew what he would say at Klink's hearing and that his words, in combination with Klink's rank and age would ensure that the man would get home eventually. But until then ... Hogan couldn't help himself; whenever he was around Klink, he started to plan. "I have a proposal," Hogan found himself saying before he had thought this completely through, before he could stop himself.

"Hogan!" Klink had recognized the tone of Hogan's voice.

Without realizing it, they started to move. Klink stalked around the desk until he had reached the chair and Hogan stopped only as he had settled in position across him. It was their classic standoff position.

"Yes, I need an inside man in this camp."

"Hogan!" Klink seemed honestly indignant. "I won't turn traitor and -"

"Klink, who is the traitor - the one who turned Germany in a junk yard and built camps that -" Hogan swallowed hard. He still could smell and feel this place on his skin no matter how often he tried to wash it off. There was a downside to being considered an expert in everything German. Klink flinched. By now, not even Klink could hide from the truth anymore. "You were once proud of your country. Klink, tell me, are you still proud of it?"

The reflex to agree was on Klink's lips, and they were already parted as Klink stopped. He had always had the willpower of a spineless animal, but to deny the crimes of Germany you had to be either a fanatic Nazi, a sadist who enjoyed it or a proud German unable to give up the futile resistance, the unnerving clinging to the idea that this somehow had to be not what it seemed. Klink had not shown any of this behavior, except maybe the last one as he had defended what was indefensible. Unsurprisingly, he answered, "I am a colonel of the Luftwaffe."

Hogan snorted. Klink was still unable to do for once the right thing for the right reasons. "Then as a colonel of the Luftwaffe, I ask you to find out who in this camp was responsible or participated in war crimes. As commandant of Stalag XIII you looked the other way for a lot of things, but not war crimes." Hogan started to move again, and Klink mimicked him. "It's time to show what a colonel of the Luftwaffe stands for."

"I'm not made for this. Not like you, Hogan!" Klink shook his head. "I am not as stupid as I seemed. I knew you played us and you had a radio and you had a hand in a lot of things that happened around the camp." Klink nodded. "I know this because my camp never had an escape, but it also had never been run like this camp. Now I actually know what a POW camp has to be like."

Hogan smirked. "But you were the commandant of the toughest POW camp in all of Germany. I bet a lot of men will want to talk to you about it. Just remember their names, faces, voices and what stories they tell. I don't ask for anything else." His smirk turned to a grin. "I'm not asking for you to create a military base beneath the camp or run a sabotage ring or whatever Hochstetter had thought I was doing."

"Hogan!" Klink balled his fist.

"Colonel Klink," Hogan said,. "For one last time, trust me and let me play you. Just collect the names and stories as evidence." Klink would do it to help himself, and by helping himself he would also help Hogan and his new mission. Nobody would suspect Klink and Hogan would have access to a mine of information.

For thirty seconds, Hogan only heard his heart beating, the rushing of blood in his veins before Klink nodded in agreement. Neither enmity nor friendship had connected them, but circumstances and chances had, and somehow this base still held with roles reversed. War truly forged the strangest bonds.

Hogan held out his hand and Klink grabbed it and shook it.

They were still shaking hands as Major MacDonald carefully opened the door. Hogan would have a lot of talking to do, but in the end, Klink would once more help Hogan without realizing it because he wanted to help himself. As Hogan opened his mouth to talk this Major MacDonald into his plans, he realized that some things never changed.

The End.

A/N Thank you for sticking with this story. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading.