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Chapter Two

Reunion

Before he even opened the door, Hogan knew that Peter Newkirk would be inside Barracks 9. The Cockney voice of the Englishman carried above and beyond the rest of the ruckus emanating from within. "That's all, gentlemen, I think we've had enough for one afternoon. The rule is: it's all bets made before the first card hits the table." Hogan shook his head. Some things never changed, whether behind or outside of barbed wire... and Newkirk was one of those things.

Hogan entered the room and was immediately hit in the face by a wall of heavy smoke that almost made it impossible for him to see who was in the hut. He blinked quickly and waved a hand in front of his eyes, and decided to observe for a moment before interrupting; sometimes Newkirk was a sight to behold, and when he was running a poker game—especially one where gambling was forbidden, like in a POW camp—he was almost a pleasure to watch.

Peter didn't look up as the door opened; the man on watch would have warned them if trouble was approaching, and in any case he was busy gathering up the cards and returning the bets from the spoiled hand. "Williams, pick up your money and take a hike. This was a friendly game until you tried your tricks." The Englishman's voice had enough of an edge on it to bring silence to the room.

The rattle and snap of cards being shuffled was the only sound as the American tried to stare the Englishman down, but after a few moments, Jack Williams stood, kicking back his stool as he stuffed his money into his pocket. "I've had enough anyway. It's funny how nobody else can win when you're in the game." He glared at Newkirk, then headed for the door, only to find it partially blocked by Hogan, who had been silently watching the proceedings. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I'd like to go get some fresh air."

Hogan arched an eyebrow but said nothing as he sidestepped to leave the doorway free. Then he watched silently as Williams stalked across the compound before turning back to the room. He took a couple of steps in as Newkirk started calling for bets again. "Uh, Newkirk—can I see you for a minute?"

Peter glanced up as Hogan spoke, caught the serious look on the Colonel's face, and put the deck onto the table. "Righto, gov'nor. Be just a tick while I gather me winnings." He turned to the other players and grinned. "Sorry, gents. I'd love to stay, but you know how officers are; whatever it is, it has to be done now." Picking up the tidy sum of cash at his place, Peter quickly tucked it into his pockets and moved away from the table to join Hogan.

"Officers always seem to get the blame for everything," Hogan said in mock lamentation. "Good thing I have broad shoulders." His eyes trailed down to Newkirk's now-bulging pocket. "You did well for yourself, I see."

"I didn't do too badly, if I do say so myself, at least until..." Letting his voice trail off, Peter pulled his side cap out from under the shoulder strap of his jacket and settled it on his head. "So what's up that you need me for, sir?"

Squinting for a second up into the sun, Hogan said, "We got a new prisoner today. Interesting character. Thought you might want to check him out for yourself."

"No sooner said than done, sir. Something about this particular bloke making you nervous then?" Peter gave Hogan a sidelong look. All new prisoners got the once-over, but for the Colonel to not only ask for him to do it personally, and to actually come and pull him out of a poker game, was enough to raise the Englishman's suspicions. "What's London had to say on him?"

"Nothing," Hogan said shortly. "I haven't talked to them yet. And no, nothing's making me nervous."

Peter shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and walked in silence for a few steps. The Colonel claimed that nothing was making him nervous, but he had yet to look directly at the Corporal while speaking. Something was definitely up here, but as usual, Hogan was keeping it to himself. "All right, gov'nor. Point him out to me and I'll go to work."

"He's in my office." Hogan stopped and thought, then turned to Newkirk. "Peter, I want you to check this fella out—but I need you to stay objective about it, and I think it's going to be pretty near impossible for you to do that."

Caught off-guard by Hogan's comment, Peter actually took an extra step before wheeling around to face him. "In your office? Must be an officer then. A friend of yours, perhaps?" The Englishman paused, and shook his head. "Colonel, I can do my job, no matter what. Officer or not, friend of yours or not... I'll check him out and do it right."

Hogan exhaled loudly. "He is an officer, but he's not my friend, Newkirk. I've never seen him before today. But you grew up with him, and your preconceived knowledge of him can't allow us to let down our guard, no matter how certain you want to be of his innocence."

The blood drained from Peter's face as he put two and two together. Most of the lads he'd grown up with had joined the service after Hitler's attack on their homeland, but there was only one from his old neighborhood that had ever become an officer. He stared at Hogan, not wanting to believe what he was thinking. "Tristan?" he whispered. "Please, Colonel...is it my brother?"

Hogan nodded, Newkirk's reaction making him ashamed that he could not tell the Corporal before now. "Yeah," he answered. "It's Tristan." A pause. "I brought him to my quarters so you two could have some time without anyone else... you know." Hogan looked toward the Kommandant's office and, uncomfortable about intruding on what would clearly be a deeply personal moment, he concocted a viable reason to disappear. "I've gotta go see Klink about a... about your brother's internment interview and then... go break up the game in Barracks Nine before one of the more rigid guards notices. Why don't you come get me when you're done?"

Peter nodded, though he really couldn't hear Hogan's words through the fog that had taken over his thoughts. Turning away from the American, his first few steps were slow and stumbling until he suddenly broke into a run for Barracks Two. Reaching the hut, he braced himself against the outer wall, taking several deep, shuddering breaths before roughly scrubbing his sleeve over his eyes. The Englishman didn't move for the longest moment, then he straightened up, tugged down the hem of his jacket and went into the barracks.

After a quick glance around the empty barracks, Peter went to Hogan's room and knocked softly. Hearing a muffled "Come in," he eased the door open and stepped inside. The sight of the slender, dark-haired man leaning against the wall near the window made Peter stop dead in his tracks. "Tristan," he breathed. "It... it really is you."

The elder of the Newkirk brothers turned from the window and looked Peter in the eye. He had originally planned to sound bold and confident. But now, facing him, Tristan's voice caught in his throat. "Yes," he whispered back. "Never expected to be seeing you in a place like this."

"Wasn't supposed to happen like this, was it?" Peter shook his head slightly. "I thought we'd agreed that you'd be waiting on the tarmac for me when I got back to England after this whole rotten mess was done with."

Tristan swallowed hard. He was still finding it hard to believe that his little brother was standing before him. Yes, he had known that Peter was in a POW camp, but he hadn't known where he himself had ended up until he met Hogan; he could never have dared to hope to end up in the same Stalag. And yet here was Peter: a bit worse for wear, a bit thinner than he remembered, but undeniably the same tagalong whom he had gotten so used to having around. And the same seemingly unemotional, unaffected boy who always tried to hide his feelings. It was something Tristan had probably taught Peter himself, out of necessity, when they were growing up. But now, for some reason, Tristan was finding it almost too difficult to manage on his part. "I always thought so," he shrugged. He drew in a breath and tried to calm his fast-beating heart. "How are you, Peter?"

"All right. But you look a bit knocked about, brother." Peter's eyes traveled over his brother's body, taking note of the changes since the last time they'd seen each other. Always the thinner of the two, Tristan was positively lean now, and his face seemed to carry permanent fatigue lines in addition to the touches of gray coming into his hair. No surprise, really, when Peter considered the incredible stress of nearly four years of constant night flying combined with Tristan's role as a squadron commander. "Has Sergeant Wilson had a go at you yet?"

Tristan stiffened a little bit as he tried to stretch muscles still sore from overuse in the last week. "He has," he answered. "And your Colonel Hogan, I think he was planning to send me back there again, too, but I'm fine enough as I am for the moment." He paused. "You're looking a little thinner than I remember. The food no good here for you, huh?" he asked softly.

"The Colonel's a fine china, he is. Makes sure Wilson gets a crack at everyone, even if he goes on the dodge himself when it's his turn." Peter smiled a bit, thinking of how they all took their turn at avoiding Wilson's attentions whenever possible. "As for the food," he shrugged, "it's rather on the plain side, and you'll soon develop a taste for sawdust, but at least we're not shorted on it very often, unlike a lot of other camps. Then there are the Red Cross packages, and I get some of the things you and the girls have sent from home, and that's all helped out a lot." Peter sighed. "We all share whatever we have, and we're lucky enough to have a real French chef in the barracks, but don't tell him I said that, right?"

One side of Tristan's lips curled up in a smile. "Sure," he said. "I never give a Frenchie a break anyway." His smile lingered absentmindedly for a moment as he continued to stare at his brother. Finally, he said softly, "It's good to see you, Peter."

"Tris..." The younger of the two men couldn't hold back any longer, and he started across the tiny room. Peter's move drew Tristan from his place against the wall, and meeting each other halfway, the brothers fell into a tight embrace, neither of them trying to restrain their joy at seeing each other alive and well.

Tristan breathed deeply as he gripped tightly to his brother's worn uniform, feeling the warmth of the younger man's slimmer frame, seeing in his mind's eye all the things the pair of them used to do when they were younger, lighter of heart, less burdened with the cares of the world. He had expected to be overwhelmed. But he had not expected the level of joy that he now felt just knowing that Peter was safe and unharmed. Finally he let go of the moment and drew Peter away from him. "You haven't changed—still can't do justice to the uniform," he said, almost roughly, trying to hide any emotion he had let slip onto his face. "Straighten that jacket, Corporal."

Peter stepped back and shook his head. "Haven't changed either, have you? Always trying to tell me how to dress." Despite himself, he tugged his jacket into place and swept the cap off his head before his brother could comment on it as well. After tucking the cap into its usual place under the shoulder strap of his jacket, the Corporal drew himself to such a perfect "attention" pose and said, "Ready for inspection, sir!" Though his words were correct, his tone made a subtle mockery of the whole affair, and the grin that was trying to come out put paid to the idea that he was at all serious about any of it.

Tristan shook his head, grateful for Peter's mocking sense of humor that firmly put his own emotions back where they belonged—inside. "Forget it," he said. "I don't think there'd be any hope of reforming you anyway." He finally took a good look around him and surveyed Hogan's office. The time he had been in here earlier was all spent thinking about seeing his brother. He saw the spartan furnishings, the cut-outs of women tacked up on the walls, the worn Bible sitting on the desk. "You're taking orders from a Yank now," he mused. "How are you handling it?"

"Well enough, actually." Peter hooked a nearby chair with his foot, pulling it out and waving Tristan to a seat on the lower bunk. He turned the chair around and settled onto it, crossing his arms over the back as he continued. "The gov'nor goes out of his way to take care of us the best he can, and not once has he ever tried to lord it over the other ranks. He eats the same food as the rest of us, and other than this room to himself, he lives under the same conditions as everyone else." Peter went silent as he thought about life at the camp before Hogan had arrived. "We went a long time here without anyone to speak up for us, Tris, and the officer we had before him wasn't worth spitting on. But the Colonel... he's the real thing in every way, and there's not one of us that wouldn't follow him straight into Hell."

"Sounds too good to be true. You sure he's not a Kraut in disguise?"

Peter's eyes narrowed for just a moment, giving his brother a long look. "I'm gonna forgive you that remark, Tristan, seeing as you're new here. But don't ever make a remark like that about Colonel Hogan again." Suddenly getting to his feet, Peter went to the window and stared out across the compound as he fought down the surge of anger raised by Tristan's comment. Finally, he let out a long sigh, though he didn't turn to face his brother as he quietly spoke. "Look, Tris... I'm sorry about coming on so hard like that, but the gov'nor is the last man anyone could ever accuse of being a Kraut. He's paid far too much in blood and pain to ever go over to their side."

Tristan raised an eyebrow and frowned thoughtfully as he looked at his brother intently. He had only been kidding about Hogan, but the way the comment got a rise out of Peter gave him pause. Somehow, Hogan must have proved his worth to the Corporal—Tristan knew it would take a lot more than rank to gain his brother's respect, and the loyalty he was showing to the American Colonel now would not have been easily given. It raised his respect for both men. "No offense intended, Peter," he said quietly, not mockingly. "If you say he's for real, then he's for real. He seems pleasant enough, anyway, despite whatever he's been through… the gov'nor," Tristan added, noting the significant way his brother had referred to Hogan. No one had been called the gov'nor by Peter for years. Because no one had ever, in his estimation, earned the title. "The Jerries give him a hard time, did they?"

"They did," Peter said quietly. "And they still do." He turned to face his brother, leaning against the wall in the narrow space between the window and the bunks, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jacket. "This is a Stalag Luft, an enlisted men's camp. You'll get the non-commissioned ranks here, but never a senior officer like Hogan. They've marked him down for special treatment ever since he got here as well, and every so often the Gestapo drops by and invites him for a chat, and it's not exactly high tea they take him to." Peter shook his head. "Though what they think the Colonel would know that'd be of any military importance by now is beyond anyone's guess."

The youngest Newkirk sighed and fixed his gaze on one of the pin-up cards stuck on the wall near the office door. He wanted so badly to be able to tell his brother the truth about what was really going on at Stalag 13, but he knew he had to keep silent until Hogan gave the go-ahead. He was keeping his silence on another truth as well; the fact that Tristan was a Squadron Leader meant that his days at this particular camp were numbered. Once Berlin had been notified that a British officer was being kept at this particular POW camp, orders would be sent that would transfer Tristan to one of the Oflags. When that happened, the brothers would have no hope of seeing each other until the end of the war. As far as Peter was concerned, his brother wasn't going to sit the war out in a prison camp. And given the nature of the secret operation that he was part of, there was quite a lot that he could do to keep that from happening.

"Who knows why Jerry does what he does. If Hogan was a threat to them in the air, it could simply be punitive, you know. I wouldn't put it past them." Tristan paused. "An enlisted man's camp, you say." He let the words hang between him and his brother. "So what you're saying is, Hogan aside, the chance of an officer staying here is very slim."

"We do get the odd Leftenant in here, but even they seldom stay more than a week before they're sent on. With you being a Squadron Leader, Tris," Peter shook his head sadly, "they'll have you out of here the day the divisional messenger gets your file to Berlin. Sooner, if Klink shoots his ruddy mouth of to one of the visiting brass, or they spot you in the compound."

Tristan thought it odd that his brother would know so much about the workings of the German administration, but then figured Peter was speaking from experience and let the matter drop. "What about an escape, then?" he asked quietly. Peter had been in this camp a long time, and Tristan knew his brother would have tried to break free numerous times, as it wasn't in his nature to be cooped up for long in any one place.

"Not possible, Tris. There've been well over two hundred attempts, and not one successful escape from Stalag 13." Peter was disgusted with himself that he had to string his brother along like this, but there wasn't any choice. "In any case, the Escape Committee isn't in favor of making a try just now."

"Escape Committee? Since when does that worry you? I'm not worried about whether they're in favor of it or not." Tristan lowered his voice out of habit. "I have to get some very important information back to Bomber Command. And I can't do it while I'm stuck in a POW camp."

"It ruddy well worries me when I'm on the bleedin' Escape Committee!" Peter fired back. Right then, it's not exactly the average Escape Committee, and we're set up more to help the fellows from the other Stalags get back to England rather than getting clear of this one ourselves. But I can't tell him that. There's so much I want to tell him right now. Tristan's my brother, and I trust him with my life... but I can't, not until the gov'nor gives the word. "And the Colonel's behind the 'no escape' policy one hundred percent."

Tristan raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "So maybe this Hogan isn't quite the man I thought he was. Too bad, brother, because I might have to just do things my own way. I'll leave you all out of it—wouldn't want your precious Yank Colonel to muss up his hair—but staying in this place—or any other camp—just isn't an option."

"Now see here, Tristan, just you climb down from that high horse you're on and listen close!" Peter couldn't stand still any longer, and stalked across the tiny room, only to find himself up against the door. He wheeled around to glare at his brother, hands shaking as he fought to keep control of both his temper and his voice. The temper he managed, but his voice rose as he continued. "You can't just waltz in here and run things your way, Squadron Leader. There's a damned good reason for the 'no escape' rule around here, and you'd be doing a lot more harm than good if you actually made it."

Peter took a breath, trying to get himself under control, but his brother's careless remarks had combined with his underlying anger at having to keep Tristan in the dark about the secret operation that was threatened by those very words. "Cor, Tris! There's nothing I'd like better than to see you scarper back to England straight away so you can go back to giving Jerry hell from the air, but it's just not possible. The 'no escape' rule was put in place by Colonel Hogan himself, and every man here has gone along with it. That means you'll have to as well, no matter what."

"So, your Colonel Hogan had such a hard time with the Jerries that he's not content to stay here and play house with them on his own; he wants everyone else to, as well!"

Staring at his brother in shock, it took Peter a few moments to find his voice, and when he did, he was neither quiet nor subtle about what he had to say. "The last thing any of us are doing here is playing house with the bloody Krauts! In fact, the first man that should be gettin' out of here is Colonel Hogan himself! But he chose to stay, and I've chosen to stay, too, no matter what—"

Tristan was about to explode in response to his brother's revelation that he was choosing to stay when the door to the office flew open, forcing Peter further into the room and throwing both men into temporary confusion. "Hey, hey, hey!" called Hogan over the heated voices. The Colonel raised an arm defensively as it appeared that at least one of the Newkirk brothers was ready to strike at the unexpected intrusion. He lowered his arm when they seemed to register his presence. "What's going on in here?" he demanded, irritated. "Isn't fighting the Krauts enough for you guys? You have to kill each other?"

Peter got himself together enough to face Hogan, though his entire body was shaking with barely-controlled anger. "It's nothing, Colonel. Just a bit of a disagreement between brothers is all."

Hogan could see the all too-familiar temper flaring in the Corporal's eyes, and it was disconcerting to see the expression repeated in the Squadron Leader's as well, even as the elder brother quickly got himself under control. "My apologies, sir. It won't happen again." Though the man's words were correct, the Colonel got a feeling of disdain in Tristan's words. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I'd like some air."

Hogan nodded and watched the elder Newkirk left the room stiffly. Then he turned to Peter, who was finding it impossible to stand still. "Newkirk, what the hell is going on? That wasn't a disagreement—that was going to turn into a bloodbath!"

Peter's eyes grew distant as he straightened, though not quite to standing at attention, and stared at a point just beyond Hogan's left shoulder. "It was nothing, sir."

Hogan caught himself before he snorted his disbelief. "Hardly," he said. "But it's not my place to force brothers to get along." He paused. "I'm sorry I had to ask you to check him out, but you more than anyone else would know if he's putting on airs. What did you find out?"

"He wants to escape, Colonel. Rather insistent on it, I might add, and he didn't take too well to hearing the 'no escape' rule, either." Peter paused, then continued quietly. "That's what we were on about when you came in. Well, that and..." He shook his head. "Despite what just went on in here, sir, I've got no reason to believe that Tristan's a security risk."

"He wants to escape," Hogan repeated. "That's just great. Well, if he's not able to be stopped, we'll have to arrange for his escape from... somewhere else. He's not likely to be kept here for long anyway. After all, he's an officer, and he..." Hogan's voice softened as the circumstances reminded him that he was being kept here for reasons that the Nazis had made quite clear—to isolate him. Little do they know, he tried to console himself; "... he belongs in an Oflag with other officers." He let out a breath. "Well, at least he's not a security risk. And if you think you can get along with him long enough to keep your hands from around his neck, then we're going to have to tell him what's going on or he'll expect you to go with him. That's what this was about, wasn't it? He'd never understand you agreeing with the no-escape clause?"

Peter nodded slowly. "He's no more able to take being locked up than I am, gov'nor. It's been that way for both of us since..." The Englishman took a couple of steps away from Hogan as he fell silent. The silence grew as he stared out the window, and it was a long moment before Peter took a deep breath and turned back to face his commanding officer. "Right. I'll go get him, then, if you're ready to give him the grand tour."

Hogan caught the Corporal's arm as he passed him to leave. "Wait a minute." Newkirk stopped and just looked at Hogan questioningly. "You're sure you can handle this? I can do it on my own if you don't think you can."

"I... take it you heard what was said, Colonel?" Peter sighed, then met Hogan's gaze with his own. "I'd like to apologize for my brother, sir. He doesn't know the score yet, but he'll come round once he's found out what's at stake. Tristan's a good man, gov'nor, I promise you that."

Hogan nodded. He had indeed heard Tristan's words, and even though he knew they were spoken in ignorance, they stung nonetheless. But any doubts he had about making the camp escape-free had to be put aside for the moment while he dealt with what could turn out to be a crucial moment for one of his men. Now that Peter had seen his brother, and knew that they had to get him out, how interested in staying behind would the Corporal be? "You don't have to apologize for him. He's from the same stock as you—hot-headed, and loyal to king and country." Hogan paused, considering his next statement. It was almost impossible to voice, and yet he knew it was something he had to say. "Newkirk—when we help him to escape, if you want to go with him..." Hogan swallowed. "...I'll arrange it."

"Blimey, gov'nor," Peter whispered, stunned by the generous offer Hogan was making. "I don't know what to say, sir. I... I'll have to think about it." The Englishman swallowed hard, then visibly pulled himself together before moving past the Colonel and into the common room of the barracks.

Hogan felt his heart splash into his stomach. Though he knew there was a good possibility that Newkirk would take him up on his offer, a small part of him had to admit he was still hoping that the Englishman would simply have nixed the whole idea in the blink of an eye. That clearly hadn't happened, and Tristan's appearance obviously had Peter thinking of home, and the chances that other, ordinary prisoners of war had to escape and try to get back home to fight another day. Hogan watched as Newkirk picked up the kettle, but followed only from a distance. He glanced around the common room; still empty. "Don't think too long," he said in a voice that didn't sound nearly as strong as he'd intended. "We're going to have to act fast if we want you two to be able to get out together. Otherwise it's two separate operations, and I'd rather you be in each other's company than on your own. I'm sure you could look out for each other better than anyone else could."

"Two separate operations put too many people at risk, Colonel. I can't ask anyone to do that for me, not just so that I can go home." Peter shook the tea kettle experimentally, frowned, then set it back on the small table near the stove. He then pulled his cap free of the shoulder strap and put it on. "Why don't I go find my errant brother and get this whole thing sorted." The comment clearly wasn't a question, and the Corporal turned and left the barracks before Hogan had time to reply.

Hogan brought his hands up to his face and closed his eyes to think. Just a simple yes or no, Peter... just put me out of my misery sooner rather than later. With a sigh, he turned back to his office, and shut the door behind him.