"Hey, Newkirk, that's not funny!" Sergeant Carter shouted as he woke from a sound sleep.

On the bunk above him, Corporal Newkirk startled awake. "Huh? What? Carter, what are you on about?"

Carter rose up and faced Newkirk, wiping something wet from his mid-section. "Nice prank, Newkirk," he said.

Newkirk suddenly noticed a warm, wet sensation spreading beneath his belly on his thin mattress. He blushed and Carter quickly knew what had happened.

"Gosh, again, Peter?" Carter said softly. "OK, don't worry, buddy. I'll get the Colonel. We'll handle it."

Newkirk nodded, eyes shot wide with fear. "Hurry, Carter," he whispered. "Please?" He added in a small voice. Newkirk sank back on his belly and adjusted the blanket, hoping the wet spot wasn't obvious. He hated for Colonel Hogan to see him this weak, but he didn't have a choice. The Colonel would know what to do.

Carter rapped at the office door. "Come in," the Colonel said, and Carter edged in quietly. "What's up, Carter?"

"It's Newkirk, sir," Carter said. "He wet the bed."

"Not again", Hogan moaned. "And he won't get up, right? Ah, jeez. He must be mortified."

"He's still in bed. Really sleepy, and yeah, he's real embarrassed," Carter said as Hogan hurried to button his shirt and pull on his jacket. "I woke up to a shower, and I yelled at him, thinking it was one of his pranks. That woke him up and boy, did he turn red."

"Red, huh? That's a good idea. That'll work," Hogan mused, gears churning in his mind. He opened the door to the main room, pushing Carter ahead of him as Sergeant Schultz entered Barracks 2. "Raus, Raus," the rotund sergeant bellowed. Schultz pointed at Newkirk, the only man still in his bunk, and added, "Aufstehen, Newkirk." Newkirk stayed silent, curled on his side, avoiding everyone's eyes and praying that any dripping had stopped.

Hogan was there in a flash, laying a hand across Newkirk's forehead. "He's burning up, Schultz. We're keeping him in bed today. Carter, you stay with him. He can't be alone in this condition," he added, stroking Newkirk's head in a bid to reassure him, then resting his hand on his back to block anyone else's view. "

Schultz shrugged. "I'll tell the big shot. Rest, Englander." Out he went.

Newkirk shot a grateful look at Hogan as he herded the other men outside. As soon as they were gone, Newkirk hopped down from his bunk and started peeling off his sopping nightshirt and undershorts. "Sorry, m-m-mate," he told Carter. "I d-don't know what happened."

"It's OK, buddy, really," Carter replied. "You were probably out cold. Used to happen to my kid brother all the time when he was little." Oh, boy, that probably isn't helping, Carter chided himself. Joe's just 14, and Peter knows it. "Anyway, we'll get things cleaned up in a jiffy and no one will notice a thing."

No man could have been more understanding toward his friends than Carter, and Newkirk knew he didn't deserve him. Newkirk was often irritable and impatient, and could be relentless in sniping at the man who was nevertheless one of his best friends.

Carter might be a goofball, but right now he was a portrait of total competence, and Newkirk was grateful. "Tell you what, Newkirk," he said as he hauled the wet mattress down from the top bunk. "I'll take this one into the Colonel's office and swap it for the mattress on his bottom bunk. Then we can figure out how to clean that wet one in private."

Newkirk sighed. He was stark naked, washing pee off his belly and legs with a cloth at the sink, and wincing at how cold the water was, but it couldn't be helped. He toweled off, pulled on dry undershorts and got dressed. Then he went to help Carter carry the dry mattress to the common room, and together they mopped up a trail of drips between Newkirk's bunk and Hogan's office.

"What about your blanket", Newkirk asked. "How wet did I get it?" He paused. "I'm really sorry for all of this, mmmate." Newkirk didn't oftgen stumble over the word "mate," but he was nervous about what Carter might think of him now. Bloody hell, this was three times in as many months.

"Ahhh. Not so bad," Carter said. "We'll wash it with our laundry. Now hop back up."

"Wait a mmmminute, why?" Newkirk said. "I'm already d-dressed."

"The Colonel told Schultz you had a raging fever. You can't recover that fast!" Carter replied.

"Right," Newkirk said pensively. "Well, I could go lie down in the Colonel's office…"

"On your wet mattress," Carter replied. "Smart."

Sarcasm from Carter, Newkirk thought. Unusual. "All right, Mmmmister Clever, what do you suggest?" Newkirk asked exasperated

"You're right, get back in bed," Carter said.

"Righto," Newkirk said. Then he realized his nightshirt was soaked. "No, wait. Nothing to wear."

"OK, Newkirk," Carter said. "Sit at the table and hold this to your head." He handed Newkirk a cold, wet towel. "I'll say I made you get up to uh, improve your blood flow. And look! The flushing from your fever is already gone!"

"All right," Newkirk agreed. He sat at the table and tried to look miserable. It wasn't hard. The angry letter he had received from his brother yesterday had turned his world upside down. Anytime he heard from or thought about Jamie, it was a bad day, but this time the threats of violence had given him nightmares.

Hogan poked his head back in the barracks and looked around to see if everything was in order. Carter gave him a nod and Hogan smiled back. He took a seat at the table next to Newkirk.

"I told Kinch and LeBeau to keep everyone out for 15 minutes." He looked at Newkirk's beseeching eyes. "Yes, they know. I had to tell them. Now before everyone gets back, what the heck happened, Newkirk?" Hogan asked.

"Governor, if I knew, do you think I would let it happen?" Newkirk said, his eyes wide. "It's bloody em-em-embarrassing."

"It's no picnic for the rest of us either. I swear if this keeps up I'm ordering a supply of diapers in our next shipment from London," Hogan muttered. Newkirk looked half hurt, half puzzled until Hogan snapped, "nappies", then gasped and blushed again. "Noooo," he moaned.

"Sorry, old bean, that was in poor taste," Hogan said, knowing he shouldn't have let his irritation show. "But we do have to get this under control. You understand that, right?"

"There's no one who wants to 'get this under control' mmm-," Peter started. "-mmm -mmmore than me." He looked forlorn, and Hogan jumped into action the best way he knew how: By improvising a plan and issuing orders.

"OK, Newkirk, no drinks before bedtime," Hogan started, slapping Newkirk on the back. "Ease up on the coffee; it's clearly irritating your bladder. Hit the latrine before lights out, you hear me? I'll get Kinch to start waking you up at 4 am to pee. That might help." Hogan didn't notice, but Newkirk was blushing again. He didn't want to be told what to do like a child, but he knew the Colonel was probably right and was just trying to help.

Hogan's expression softened as he noticed his glum corporal nodding, his shoulders slumped and his head hanging. He'd seen several bed-wetting cases before: A couple in basic training and one particularly rough one involving a young RAF Lieutenant in England during combat missions. Shame and ridicule were the hardest parts to deal with. Bed-wetting was awkward and embarrassing, but Hogan knew it was also a manifestation of stress. And his team had plenty of stress here, sneaking around Nazi Germany at night. He knew Newkirk that, at his orders, consistently took more risks than most, since his dicey talents put him in the front line of some of their most dangerous missions, and his strong command of German and his acting abilities made him a natural to take the lead.

Hogan blamed himself. Newkirk deserved understanding and support, not humiliation. He looked like his puppy had died. He'd have to keep an eye on him, maybe give him a break for a bit. He was regretting that diapers wisecrack, too, but coping with awkwardness was not Hogan's strong suit. Joking was easier, and Newkirk usually dished it back as well as anyone, his stutter vanishing whenever he was "on." Ugh. Why wasn't any of this in the officer's manual?

"I know you can't help it, and it's been a month since last time," Hogan whispered. He put an arm around Newkirk, hoping to jolly him out of it. "But we're running out of mattresses," he added give him a little chuck to the chin.

Newkirk gave a small laugh, so Hogan plowed ahead.

"But you know, Newkirk, there's something I've wanted to tell you for ages," he said in a confiding tone.

"What's that sir?" Newkirk asked as Hogan rose and walked to the stove to pour himself some coffee.

"Piss off," Hogan said to Newkirk in his best British accent. Newkirk just groaned and dropped his head to the table. He knew the Colonel was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn't helping. He was still stung by the nappies comment.

"Sorry, Newkirk," the Colonel said quickly, looking sheepish. "Poor taste again. I could never control the wisecracks."

"I don't mind the Joke, Gov. I deserve that," Newkirk answered. "It's just that your British accent is atrocious " he added cheekily.

Hogan and Carter laughed, and Newkirk joined in. But Carter still patted his back sympathetically. "Come on, buddy," he said. "Help me start the laundry. You know there's a lot you can do with peroxide and baking soda," he was nattering as they gathered up the wash.

XXX

Just a note about Newkirk's stutter in this story. It's not canon in the U.S. TV series - but it is on the German-dubbed version. I was intrigued to learn about how Newkirk was portrayed in the German version, and wanted to explore how a speech impediment would impact him as a member of Hogan's team. So this is a feature you will see in most of my stories. The upshot is he is still tough and moody.