A/N: Hello Peoples! I'm so excited to publish my first fanfic! I've been reading Hogan's Heroes Fanfiction for a while, but I've never had the courage to write anything myself. I am clueless on how this'll turn out, but here goes! I haven't done this before, so I hope the boys aren't too OOC!

Disclaimer: I have no idea why these are even included. I doubt anyone would actually think that the writers of fan fiction actually came up with the fandom. I mean, they're fans, hence FANFICTION! But anyway, these are not my characters, show, or Newkirk (although I wish he was :)) Now, let's get to beating up our poor little Phantom.

P.S. If you haven't already guessed, I'm a huge whump fan. Don't judge, I know you are too!

"He's you, that's who 'e is. I'm you too."

"Hmm … But … Aren't I … me?"

The fake Newkirk just stared.

Newkirk (the real one; at least, he thought so), looked at himself, looked at his other self, and then his other other self. "How are there three of me?" He mused. "Wait, where am I? What 'appened … "

"Ooohhh, blimey," he moaned as intense pain suddenly shot through his head.

Fake Newkirk #2 glared at him. "Don't move yer 'ead, you bleedin' idiot."

Newkirk stilled. As the pain receded, his thoughts cleared, and a memory flew through his mind.

Carter smiled boyishly down at Kinch. "Boy Kinch, have I got something to tell you!"

Kinch looked up from the radio. He saw the excited expression on Carter's face and sighed indulgently. Putting his headset aside, he asked, "What Carter?"

"I learned some French!"

Kinch blinked. That was not where he had imagined the conversation going, but with Carter, you never knew."Oh kay, what did you learn?"

"LeBeau said Newkirk was 'Parler comme une vache espagnole'*, which means a Spanish Cow! I guess that's an insult, but cows are pretty slow although they have nice brown eyes, and Newkirk has green eyes and he's really fast, at least, he can think fast, except for that time when …"

"I'm blushing, Carter." Newkirk stepped out from behind the corner, taking a long drag from his cigarette, then glared playfully at his friend. "You bloody twit."

Carter's retort was cut off by Hogan's voice drifting towards them. "All right you two, cut it out." Colonel Hogan sauntered into the room. He squinted in the dim light. "Carter, get some more lamps, it's hard to see. Actually ..." Carter paused. "Yeah boy, uh, I mean, sir?"

Hogan snorted, then turned to the other men. "I've felt some tremors in tunnel 4 recently. I think it's unsafe. I want Newkirk and Kinch to close it off until we can work on it. But after that, I don't want anybody going down there. I'm not going have any of you killed by a tunnel collapse."

"Righto Colonel," replied Newkirk. "Kinch?"

Kinch stood, stretching and popping his back. "All right, Pete, let's go."

Newkirk moaned again. Sharp pain rolled through his head, violently growing. He could barely keep his eyes open and he felt that the world was spinning, even though he was prone on the ground. "How did I get 'ere?" He suddenly panicked as he remembered something. "Where's me mate? Where is Kinch?!"

His mouth moved, but no sound came. Newkirk tried again, wetting his lips. "K-Kinch? Chum?" He rasped. No one answered. An overwhelming darkness filled what ever place he was in. A room? Tunnel? That's right, he was in tunnel 4. He had forgotten.

Newkirk stirred feebly, then gingerly attempted to turn onto his side. He must not have been careful enough, as his side exploded in agony. He gasped while a familiar voice said, "Don't move! Did ya listen to a word I said?"

Fake Newkirk #2 bent over. He placed a hand on Newkirk's torso, but Newkirk couldn't feel a thing. "Who are ya? Me guardian angels or somthin'?" Newkirk gasped.

Fake Newkirk #1 was leaning against something, a fallen pillar maybe? He laughed derisively, saying, "You're goin' crackers, you are. We're just hallucinations that your cracked head is makin' up."

His vision was blurred, but Newkirk could make out his fake selves fairly well. "Blimey. I must have 'it me 'ead pretty 'ard. So, are you two china plates supposed to be me good and bad side?"

Raising an eyebrow, Fake Newkirk #2 smirked. "If I'm your good side, I don't wanna know what your bad side is like."

"Ha ha," Newkirk responded.

As his eyes adjusted to the blackness, he could start to view his surroundings. Through the double vision and incredible headache, Newkirk noticed that his right wrist was trapped under some rubble. He regretted it when he tried to free the arm. Groaning, he looked at his two selves. "Not a word. Just go away."

The specters stared, but eventually dissipated. Newkirk felt his thoughts begin to float along with them. Fighting hard against the advancing darkness, he pinched himself with his free arm. He knew somewhere in his unbalanced and dizzy mind, that sleeping was a bad thing when you had a concussion, which he probably did. But unconsciousness began to submerge him in a peaceful slumber.

As Newkirk's eyes began to drift closed, he repeated the name of the person who was the focus of his confused thoughts. "Kinch … Kinch."

Kinch lifted his aching head, staring into the eyes of a startled and worried LeBeau. "Oh mon Dieu! Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé Kinch? Tu vas bien? Ce qui fait mal? Est-ce que quelque chose est cassé? J'ai entendu le grondement et ..."*

"LeBeau, stop. I'm fine. Just got hit by falling debris. Nothing's broken; I think. As Newkirk would say, stop your bloody natterin'." Kinch paused, then started and gasped, looking up at LeBeau. The Frenchman began rambling again in his native tongue. "Je le savais! Qu'Est-ce que c'est? Ta tête? Avez-vous le vertige?"*

"No! LeBeau! Where's Newkirk?!"

LeBeau gaped. The men then scrambled to the pile of dirt that was still settling. As the friends proceded to dig at the hill, they yelled to their English comrade.

"Newkirk!" LeBeau called. "You better answer me Newkirk, or you'll regret it. I'll make bouillabaisse every day for the rest of your life! Si vous êtes mort, je vais vous retrouver et vous tuer à nouveau!"*

"Hey, Newkirk? You in there? Don't worry, we're coming."

The men worked as fast as they could. As they dug, the tips of fingers became visible, and the rest of a hand followed. "Newkirk!" Kinch gasped. They gently pulled the rubble off that trapped Newkirk's arm, freeing him.

The unconscious corporal lay still. While Kinch cradled Newkirk's head in his lap, LeBeau tapped his cheeks. Newkirk's eyelids fluttered open. He gasped. "K-K-Kinch."

"I'm here Newkirk. Are you alright?" Kinch asked softly. Newkirk groaned again, "No, Kinch m-me mate. 'e's trapped. 'elp-p 'im."

Kinch and LeBeau looked at one another. "Peter, it's alright. I'm right here. I'm okay." Kinch replied. Newkirk furrowed his brow in confusion."Kinch? You're … all right, then? I thought ..."

Kinch smoothed Newkirk's hair as he answered. "No, buddy. I'm fine." The injured man sighed in relief. "Kinch, I thought you were 'urt." Kinch smiled. "I'm great, just a small bump."

Newkirk's grin was infectious. "I was so worried."

LeBeau snorted. "What about us, mon ami? We were worried too!" Kinch motioned to LeBeau, and they slowly lifted Newkirk up. Even though the motions were causing him obvious pain, Newkirk was still smiling. When asked why, he simply responded, "Kinch, 'e's safe."

Awww! *goofy smile* I wanted to have a Kinch/Newkirk friendship fic. And I couldn't keep out LeBeau, he insisted on coming!

*Speaking as a Spanish cow

*Oh my gosh! What happened Kinch? You're okay? What hurts? Is something broken? I heard the rumble and ...

*I knew it! What is it? Your head? Are you dizzy?

*If you're dead, I'll find you and kill you again!