A/N: I just wanted to thank you all so much for your reviews! I won't normally be able to update as quickly as I did with this chapter; but I will try not to make you wait too long; no more than a week, anyway! :D
"Hey, Schultz, where are you going?" Hogan called out as he exited the barracks, with what looked to be a bundle of clothes tucked under his arm.
Sergeant Schultz, who was heading toward the motor pool with Langenscheidt, stopped when he heard Hogan call out his name, and turned to look in his direction. "I'm going to pick up Newkirk," he said as Hogan caught up to him. "General Burkhalter found out where he is."
"That's great, Schultz!" Hogan exclaimed, his eyes radiating relief, "Can I come?"
Schultz shook his head. "No, Colonel Hogan, you can't come. Besides, you're supposed to be in the barracks."
"Not even for three candy bars?" Hogan pulled the tantalizing bait out of a corner of the bundle he was carrying, and waved the three bars of chocolate in front of the rotund Sergeant.
Schultz shook his head more vigorously. "Not even for four candy bars!"
"Well then, how about…six?" Hogan reached in and drew out three more.
Schultz eyed the bonanza of chocolate hungrily. "Six candy bars?" He repeated, as if trying to convince himself he wasn't seeing things.
Hogan knew he almost had him. "And LeBeau is making some strudel just for you, and you can have all you want when we get back. C'mon, what do you say, Schultz?"
Schultz looked at him, and then at the candy bars, and heaved a sigh. "All right, Colonel Hogan, but if we get caught…"
"We won't get caught, I promise. See? I even brought my own uniform." He reached up and patted the bundle underneath his arm, smiling confidently at Schultz.
"Colonel Hogan," Schultz whined, but he knew it was no use. Turning to the Corporal next to him, he said, "Langenscheidt, go back to your quarters and pretend you're not here. And don't tell anybody about this, understand?"
"Oh, absolutely, Sergeant!" Langenscheidt answered. He knew something of what went on in regards to Hogan and his men. But he, like Schultz, preferred to look the other way, as long as he didn't get into trouble.
"Good. Let's go, Schultz." Hogan grabbed the Sergeant's arm and started to pull him in the direction of the motor pool. When they got there, Schultz commandeered a truck, and after he and Hogan climbed in, they headed for the SS facility where Newkirk was being held.
* * * * * *
Once they got out of Stalag 13, Hogan quickly changed into the guard's uniform that LeBeau had found for him while sifting through their collection of assorted civilian outfits and uniforms that they kept in the tunnel below the barracks. He couldn't help noticing that the rank revealed him as a private, which elicited a snicker from Schultz.
The majority of their trip was made in silence. The closer they got, the more worried Hogan became at what condition he would find Newkirk in. When at last they pulled up to the building, Hogan's stomach was in knots.
They got out of the truck, and entered the building. Schultz went up to the guard just inside the entrance, and showed him the papers signed by General Burkhalter that they were to release Corporal Newkirk into his custody. The guard nodded, noting that everything was in order, and, after picking up a set of keys, led the Sergeant and the private that was with him down a long hall just off the entrance. He turned left and continued on, stopping at the last door at the end of the hall. He put his key in the lock and turned it; swinging the door open slowly. He then motioned to the two guards from Stalag 13 to go in and retrieve their prisoner.
Hogan entered first, letting his eyes become accustomed to the dark cell. The only light was what followed him in from the hallway. As he tried to make out his surroundings, the first thing he noticed was the smell; it was rancid, like decaying meat. Then, as his eyesight adjusted, he could see the floor. It was covered with dirt and straw, and some other things that he didn't think he wanted to know what they were. At last his gaze fell on a lone figure curled up in the corner, and his breath caught in his throat; was that Newkirk?
Hogan crept slowly up to the corporal, who was sitting with his back to the wall, and had his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around them. He was rocking, almost imperceptibly, and his eyes were wide, staring straight out into the cell, but they were empty; void of emotion. His uniform was filthy, and he looked like he hadn't eaten or slept in days. Hogan crouched down and reached out to touch Newkirk's arm.
"Newkirk?" He said softly as his hand made contact with the corporal.
Suddenly Newkirk's head snapped in Hogan's direction, and his eyes flew wide in terror. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. At last his jaw started working, and he began whimpering. "No, please…not again…no…please don't take me in there…no, no!" He shouted the last part, while shaking his head back and forth vigorously. He was pressing himself harder against the wall as if trying to literally attach himself to it; attempting to make it as difficult as possible for someone to remove him from the cell.
Hogan just stared at him for a moment, shocked at what he saw. He had no idea what Newkirk had been through, but he knew it must have been something truly horrifying to cause him to react like this. He also knew that he had to get him out of there, and the sooner they got back to camp, the sooner he could help him.
"Newkirk," Hogan began talking to him in a soothing voice. "It's all right. It's me, Hogan. You remember me, don't you? I'm here to take you home." As he spoke, he grabbed Newkirk's arm gently, and started to pull him forward slowly. Newkirk initially resisted, but as Hogan kept talking to him, his eyes began to focus on Hogan's face, and his brow suddenly furrowed in confusion.
"Colonel?" Newkirk whispered, recognizing Hogan at last. "Is that you?"
"Yes, Newkirk, it's me!" Hogan responded eagerly. "I'm here to take you back to Stalag 13. But you're going to have to help me, here. Do you think you can stand up?"
But Newkirk just stared at him, his eyes filling up with tears. "Colonel…" he whispered again, and then his hand flew up and landed on Hogan's arm, clamping down tightly, like a bird of prey latching on to its dinner.
Hogan felt his own eyes starting to water; he'd never seen Newkirk like this. His heart was breaking for him, wondering what horror he'd faced here. Aw, Newkirk, what the hell did they do to you? And then he felt his anger begin to surface, turning quickly to rage; rage at the kind of person who could inflict something so atrocious on another human being as to cause the look of terror and desperation that was emanating from Newkirk's eyes.
But Hogan didn't have time for his rage right now. He pushed it back down, concentrating on his primary concern; getting Newkirk to his feet, and getting him out of there as quickly as possible. He grabbed the corporal's arms and slowly rose up, pulling him to his feet. Once he was standing, Newkirk swayed a little, and Hogan held on to him to steady him. Hogan realized that Newkirk still had a death grip on his arm, and when he looked into his eyes, they had grown empty again. He began to talk to him as he guided him to the entrance of the cell. "It's all right, Newkirk. We're just gonna go for a ride now, and we'll have you back at camp in no time. It's okay, you're safe now. Just keep walking…there you go!"
When they got to the door of the cell, Hogan noticed Schultz standing there, watching with a horrified look on his face. Hogan looked at him and said quietly, "Let's get the hell out of here!" Schultz nodded, he couldn't have agreed more.
They followed the hall back to the main entrance, and exited the building, emerging into the cool, clear night. When they got to the truck, Hogan initially had trouble getting Newkirk in, because the corporal still had his right hand clamped tightly on Hogan's left arm, and wouldn't let go. Finally, with a little help from Schultz, they managed to get Newkirk in first, and Hogan followed, sitting next to the door. Schultz went around to the driver's side and climbed in, and they drove away from there as fast as they could.
On the trip back, Hogan suddenly realized that he was still dressed like a German guard, and thought briefly about changing back to his own uniform, but when he tried to pry Newkirk's hand off of his arm, the corporal looked at him, terrified, and started yelling, "No, no, no, no. no!" So Hogan decided to wait until they got back to the Stalag, hoping no one saw him before he could get back into the barracks.
As they got close to the camp, Schultz, who hadn't said anything since they'd liberated Newkirk from the SS facility, now spoke up. "Colonel Hogan, what do you think happened to Newkirk back there?"
"I don't know, Schultz." Hogan replied, looking over at the Sergeant, and then at Newkirk.
"Do you think he will be okay?" Schultz asked.
"I don't know that, either," Hogan was still staring at Newkirk. "I wish I did." And then suddenly it hit him; what if Newkirk never recovered, what if he never returned to normal, what if he was locked in some sort of private nightmare, and his own brain was holding him prisoner…and what if he was trapped there permanently?
Hogan felt something wet on his face, and reached up to wipe away the tear that was running down his cheek.
* * * * * *
When they got to camp, Schultz pulled the truck up to the barracks, partly to make it easier for Hogan to get Newkirk into the barracks, and partly to give the Colonel a better chance at not being discovered wearing a German uniform. He helped them out of the truck, and as soon as the two men entered the barracks, Schultz took the truck back to the motor pool.
Once Hogan and Newkirk were inside the barracks, the men started to greet them enthusiastically, but the excitement was cut off abruptly when they saw Newkirk's condition. As Hogan guided the English corporal to his quarters, he told Carter to go get Wilson, and asked LeBeau if he could whip up some broth and tea. He then took Newkirk into his quarters and sat him down on the bottom bunk, taking a seat next to him, since it now seemed apparent that the Englishman was never going to let go of his arm.
A few minutes later, Wilson appeared, and Hogan filled him in on everything that had happened from the moment they found Newkirk in the cell. Wilson sat down on the other side of Newkirk, and began checking him over. He couldn't find anything physically wrong with him, other than not getting enough to eat for a few days, mild dehydration, and chafe marks on both wrists, indicating he had been chained up at some point. What disturbed him; however, was the vacant look in Newkirk's eyes. "You say he did respond to you, Colonel?" Wilson asked.
"Only twice…the first time was when he recognized me, and the second was when I tried to remove his hand from my arm." Hogan glanced down at his arm, and then back up at Wilson. "He won't let go."
Wilson looked at Hogan, concern evident on his face. "I won't lie to you, Colonel. He's obviously suffered some severe psychological trauma. His mind is having trouble coping, so it's basically shut itself off for now. The fact that he did respond to you is a good thing. I think he sees you as some sort of lifeline; that's why he's holding on to you so tightly." Wilson reached up and briefly rubbed his temple. "I'm no psychiatrist, but I'd say at this point, all we can do is wait and see what happens. See if you can get some fluids in him, and then try to get him to lie down and go to sleep for awhile. Maybe after he falls asleep, you can get your arm back." Wilson flashed him a smile, but there was no amusement in his eyes.
"All right, Sergeant," Hogan tried to smile back, but it was a weak attempt, at best.
"In the meantime, I want you to get some rest as well, Colonel." Wilson told him, "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I'll rest when Newkirk's better."
Wilson shot him a look of annoyance, and was about to argue with him, when he got a good look at Hogan's determination, and realized it wouldn't do any good. He sighed loudly and said, "All right, Colonel. But if you can get Newkirk to go to sleep, you get some sleep yourself, okay?"
"Okay, doc." Hogan's smile was a little warmer this time.
"I'll be back first thing in the morning to see how Newkirk's doing." Wilson said. "If anything happens before then, just send someone to come and get me."
"You can count on it." Hogan responded, and then added, "And thanks, Wilson."
"That's what I'm here for, Colonel." Wilson grinned, and then stood up and left Hogan's quarters, heading back to his own barracks.
LeBeau entered a few minutes later, bringing a cup of tea and a small bowl of broth that he was able to scrounge up from his supplies. He set them on the desk and turned to look at Hogan; a worried expression on his face.
"Is he going to be okay, Colonel?" LeBeau asked.
For the second time that evening, all Hogan could answer was, "I don't know."
Hogan then told LeBeau that he could take care of Newkirk, and to go get some rest. LeBeau reluctantly obeyed, and left Hogan's quarters, shutting the door behind him.
Hogan was actually able to get Newkirk to take a few spoonfuls of the broth, but he had to feed it to him with his free hand, while talking reassuringly to him. When Newkirk wouldn't take any more, Hogan tried the tea, but by now Newkirk was beginning to look sleepy. Hogan gently pushed him back onto the bunk, grabbing the blanket by his feet and covering him up. Newkirk's eyes closed, and his face started to take on a more peaceful appearance. Hogan sat on the edge of the bunk, watching him, and as Newkirk drifted off to sleep, his hand finally relaxed its hold on Hogan's arm.
Hogan pulled his arm away gently, and then changed out of his German uniform and into his pajamas. Then he hopped up to his upper bunk and stretched out, and soon he was fast asleep.