So, it's been ages since I've shown my bright and shining face around here. Life has happened, that's all I can say. I really hope that my writing has matured as much as I have.


The Unknown...

If Newkirk had learned anything from the bloody war he was apart of it was this: once innocence was lost, there was no turning back.

Newkirk had actually seen this his whole life, but this war proved it. He himself had never truly been innocent, growing up with his old man had turned him hard very early in life. No one he'd grown up with had it any had never even known what innocence was till he'd joined the RAF of all things. But he saw it every day. A young bright shining face thrust into a squadron of hardened veterans, a few weeks, if not days later, they weren't the same. Some blokes lasted through their first few missions, until they had lost members of their squadron whom they'd grown close to. But Newkirk had never seen an innocent face last over a month.

Smiles faded, eyes dimmed, shoulders sagged, breathes started to wreak of tobacco and alcohol, and lively chatter ceased. Even if you did make it out of every mission alive and physically unharmed, you'd never be the same. Forget dying, the fate of the living was much worse than death. Being numb, alone, and FUBAR was no way to live.

After the operation at Stalag 13 had started, Newkirk was at a loss. His CO seemed more alive then anyone he'd ever meet. The dullness in his friend LeBeau's eyes had changed to sparks of fire and passion. The other men around him seemed to have a bit more bite in them, some bounce in their step, there operation was making a difference in this war and they knew it.

Then they got a new man, Carter. Carter blew Newkirk's theory out of the water. How Carter remained bright eyed, youthful, naive, innocent, peppy, and just plain Carterish was well beyond Newkirk.

Newkirk had been born the pessimist, and he was sure that's how he was going to die. He had too much weighing him down to ever change. But maybe, just maybe he could die knowing that he was wrong, knowing there was some innocence in the world.

They say that your life flash before your eyes when your dying, and Newkirk could vouch for the validity of that statement.

"Newkirk, you can't die on me buddy, you just can't Peter, don't die!" Carter patted the dying corporal's cheek as he held his best friend in his arms.

"Andrew." Newkirk gasped.

"What is it buddy?" Carter's eyes were wet with tears.

"Don't," Newkirk began, but couldn't continue without gasping for breath. "Cry." He finished trying to comfort Carter as Newkirk felt the life beginning to drain from himself.

"What are we going to tell Schultzie?" Carter tried to rationalize what was happening.

"The Guvna," he whispered hoarsely, trying hard to breath "'ll think," He stopped again for breath. "Of somethin'." He finished.

Carter tried to put more pressure on the chest wound."You can't die!" The American's eyes pleaded.

"Looks like," he began, but started coughing up blood. "I will." He barely mumbled, his eyes were growing heavy. He had begun to see an ominous light in the horizon. Was this the end? To Newkirk, it looked like it was. Was he ready? He asked and the answer was
no, he wasn't. "I'm sorry." He gasped with his last breath.

"ROLL CALL! RAUS, RAUS! EVERYONE ROLL CALL!" Shultz yelled as he barged into the barracks.

Newkirk startled awake. What? It was a dream? He breathed a sigh of relief. "I hear ya Shultzie, ya don't 'ave ya go blairin' in me ears!" Newkirk grumbled getting out of his bunk, he was just glad to be alive.