Author's note: the prompt is from this Tumblr post: radarsteddybear dot tumblr dot com /post/183411161000/la-vie-en-whump-october-approaches-in (remove spaces and replace "dot" with ".")

Prompt: Friendly Fire

Carter sat in the forest, hidden amongst the trees, waiting for any sign of German patrols. The sounds of footsteps, cracking twigs, and shouted German; the glint of a shining uniform button, the light from a flashlight. Carter had had plenty of experience tracking and hunting animals back home (and even more experience applying those skills to his siblings and cousins during games of olly olly oxen free); keeping an eye out for Krauts would be a cinch.

There was a rustle in the trees. Carter squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet into the shadowy darkness and filling the air with that all-too-familiar sound that made every fiber of Carter's being shout, 'get down!' Something yelped in response.

"Watch it, Carter! It's only me!" hissed a voice from somewhere nearby.

"Oh," Carter whispered back. "Sorry." Then he frowned. "Me who?"

"Me Newkirk! Who else?"

"Oh. Sorry, Newkirk," Carter whispered. That would explain why the voice had sounded so familiar.

Carter sat in silence, watching and listening and waiting.

He heard the crunching sound of a footstep.

Blam! he shot off another round.

"Carter!" Newkirk's voice raised above a whisper.

"Sorry!" Carter whispered.

A dark, familiar shape emerged from the trees and bushes a few yards away from where Carter was positioned. It walked over as quietly as it could manage amid the fallen leaves.

"Bloody near blew my fingers off," Newkirk said, sitting himself down next to Carter.

"Jeez, Newkirk. I was just trying to be careful, is all. After last week-"

"Yeah, yeah." Newkirk waved him off. "We're all a little jumpy after last week."

They sat in silence.

"Are your fingers ok?" Carter asked after a few moments.

"They're fine." Newkirk inspected them. "Lucky for both of us, you missed."

"Oh. Good."

They resumed their silence.

And then there was another crack of a breaking twig.

Carter fumbled for his gun.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

"Hey, watch it!"

"Kinch, is that you?" Carter whispered.

"No, it's Adolf Hitler. Of course it's me!"

"Oh. Good. We thought you were a Kraut," Carter said.

"What are you two doing over here? The Colonel said to split up!"

"If this one over 'ere would stop shootin' at me-"

"Hey, I was just doing my job!"

"Men 'ave been court martialed for less!"

"Hey, hey, knock it off" Kinch hissed, and Newkirk and Carter both shut up. "You two have got to get a hold of yourselves. You'll get us all killed!"

Carter and Newkirk both murmured their apologies.

"'Ow's it goin' up at the bridge?" Newkirk asked.

"Fine. Everything's going to plan, though the Colonel's starting to get antsy. He doesn't like that it's taking so long."

"But we knew it was going to take a while," Carter said.

"Sure. But that doesn't mean he has to like it," Kinch said. "Of course, with you two having a cocktail party over here, who knows how many Krauts have gotten near the others."

Looks of guilty realization dawned on Carter and Newkirk's faces.

"I'll head out thataway," Carter said, pointing with his thumb.

"Good idea," Kinch said.

Carter scrambled off to find a new outpost.

"So…" Newkirk said. "Just how worried is the Colonel?"

Kinch glared at him through the darkness.

"I'll just be off, then," Newkirk said. He took a few steps backwards in the opposite direction Carter had gone and disappeared into the trees.

Kinch shook his head and sighed. Despite last week's incident, they were all getting a little lax. Their little rag-tag group of POWs was a well-oiled machine, one that so rarely ever broke down, that it was easy to get too comfortable with the dangerous work they were doing, especially when almost everything so far had managed to work out in the end. But Kinch was used to living a life where he could never let his guard down. Back home, he could never be sure if each person he met on the street was going to want spit on him, or shove him, or punch his lights out. Since most German officials would want to do the same if given the chance, it was easy for Kinch to maintain the same level of careful caution that he did back home.

For the other guys...not so much.

Blam!

Kinch froze, his brain frantically trying to figure out if they had been discovered by a German patrol or if it was just more of Carter's friendly fire. But ultimately, it didn't matter. If the former, whoever had been discovered would need backup; if the latter, Carter would need a stern talking to and a possible benching.

Kinch took off towards the source of the sound, ignoring the branches and brambles that tore and snagged at his skin.

Kinch stopped short as he came across a small clearing. Carter was standing in front of him, staring in shock at his own blood-covered hand. Newkirk stood a few yards away, a stricken look on his face, looking between Carter and his gun as if the latter had just killed his puppy and he was having trouble believing it.

"What's going on here?" Kinch demanded.

"I…" Newkirk began helplessly.

A sound escaped from Carter's throat as he pitched forward. Kinch caught him and gently lowered him to the ground.

"I've killed him," Newkirk whispered, his gun falling through shaking fingers. "I've bloody killed him."

"It's all right. He's just fainted," Kinch said, holding his fingers to Carter's wrist. "We've got to get him back to camp." Kinch grabbed the walkie-talkie he had slung over his shoulder. "Goldilocks to Papa Bear. Goldilocks to Papa Bear."

A few seconds later, the walkie-talkie crackled to life. "This is Papa Bear."

"Carter's down. Shot."

"How bad?"

"He's still alive." Kinch gave him a quick once-over and quickly found the wound-a growing spot of blood in his shoulder. "I don't think it's too serious, but he's unconscious."

"Krauts?"

Kinch looked at Newkirk. "Friendly fire, Colonel. No threat."

"Get Carter back to camp. We'll meet you there."

"Roger." Kinch put the walkie-talkie away and turned to Newkirk. "Help me get him back to the tunnel." He picked up Newkirk's gun and handed it back to him. "I'll carry him. You cover me," Kinch said.

Newkirk was silent as he helped Kinch gather him up, and together they made their way back to Stalag 13.