Hogan looked at the envelope in his hand, then at Newkirk, who was wearing his blandest expression. "I do have one other question," he said.

"Fire when ready, Colonel," said Newkirk.

"This list of replacements… you've been here a long time. Is this your way of asking to go home? Do you want to escape?"

"No, sir. Well, yes, of course I'd like to get out of this rathole, but no, I'm not asking for any favors. I'll freely admit there's not much I wouldn't do to get back home," Newkirk said. "In fact, there's only one thing I can think of that I'd stick at, and that's skiving off and leaving the job half done. No; I'm here for the duration."

"You're sure? This is a lot of work for a contingency plan you didn't want anyone to know about. Unless you've got ideas about putting it into effect."

"Not like that, I don't. I told you a long time ago, sir; I've never expected to walk out of here. I didn't expect it before I signed on with you, and I don't expect it now, but we'll win this war if I've anything to say about it. One way or the other, I'll see the job through."

"I've met a few pessimists in my time, but you take the cake," said Kinch. "How do you get up every morning with an attitude like that?"

"Same way you do, mate; Schultz does his celebrated impression of the devil's alarm clock and I curse in four languages while I'm putting on my boots. What would you rather I do? Give up?"

"It sounds like you already have," Kinch said. "I don't get it. I really don't. You're making it sound like you don't even care what happens to you."

"Oh, I care," said Newkirk. "Coward that I am? Believe you me—I don't want to die. But it's simple. If you expect the worst, then it can't hurt you when it happens. And if by some ruddy miracle it doesn't, then you get a very pleasant surprise indeed."

"That's some philosophy," said Hogan. "You're one of a kind, that's all I can say."

Newkirk half-smiled, and shook his head. "You'd better bloody well hope not, sir."

Hogan, the envelope still in his hands, didn't quite grimace. "Come on," he said. "I'm going to put this back in the file drawer, and then Carter was trying to scrape up a few more players for the baseball game this afternoon. Kinch, you want to play? We could use your pitching arm."

"No, Colonel; I'll finish my shift down here," said Kinch. "Thanks anyway."

"Fair enough. See you in a couple of hours, then," said Hogan, and turned to go. Kinch, he could tell, needed a bit of space, and his accustomed post in the quiet radio shack was probably the closest thing to sanctuary he was going to find.

Newkirk followed Hogan, pausing only long enough to clap Kinch on the shoulder with a quicksilver grin that said, more clearly than words, that, so far as he was concerned, everything was all right between them and he hoped Kinch felt the same.

Kinch sat down at the silent radio. Usually, he spent the long, monotonous hours reading, or repairing whatever bit of equipment had decided to be recalcitrant that particular day. Today… well, he'd brought a book that he already knew he wasn't going to open, and there was a walkie-talkie with fried wiring that was going to have to wait its turn.

The radio was silent. The guys back in London didn't seem to have anything more to share; they'd gotten on the horn, given Newkirk his updated list of people who could replace him before his body was cold, and taken a tea break, apparently done for the day. Icy-hearted bastards.

There was a war on; he understood that. And even if there hadn't been, no one was really irreplaceable, and no one's safety was ever guaranteed. That was just life. One bit of bad luck, one wrong step, one Kraut with halfway decent aim, and any night could turn tragic in the blink of an eye.

Even if their luck held, and their missions continued to go comparatively smoothly, there were other dangers. The tunnels could, and occasionally did, collapse. An air raid could come a bit too close. There could be another bout of cholera, or typhus, or goddamned bubonic plague. They could forget to look both ways before crossing the compound, and get creamed by a truck. It could happen. Anything could happen.

He'd thought he'd come to terms with that uncertainty a long time ago.

There were no grimly careful, painstakingly thorough lists of radio operators or electronics repairmen in his handwriting, and for the first time it struck him that there probably should have been.

He wanted to survive. He intended to survive. He never let himself believe for a moment that he wouldn't survive. And yet.

And yet.

He sighed, and got up from his chair. Maybe the broken walkie-talkie was his best bet, after all. He needed a distraction, and it was going to take some hard work to return it to something resembling working condition. Just what he needed to return himself to something resembling working condition. He thought he'd left it in the metal shop, and his toolbox, too.

He went down the corridor at top speed, ducked automatically under the low door to the metal shop, and stepped inside. Baker was already sitting inside, bent over a table strewn with radio innards, and the younger man looked up with a smile.

"Hi, Kinch," he said. "I think I've just about got this thing back in one piece. What a mess. I'm not sure I even want to know how the guys managed to do this much damage. What did they use on the poor thing—a blowtorch or a sledgehammer? My money's on both, actually."

"You fixed the walkie-talkie?"

"Well, not quite, but it's getting there," said Baker. "I'm getting pretty good at repairing these things. I keep telling myself that I'm learning a trade for after the war. If all else fails, I've got a future as a repairman all lined up. Assuming civilians routinely throw their electronics down cliffs, after dunking them into rivers and setting them on fire."

Kinch chuckled. "In that order?"

Baker kept a straight face. "I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. But after this little repair job, I don't put anything past you guys in the core team."

"Well, it keeps us out of mischief," said Kinch, with a wry shrug.

"Mischief! I'd say that this thing looked like it had been through a war, but that wouldn't cover the half of it. If this is what you call keeping out of mischief, I don't think I'd like to see your idea of trouble."

"To be honest, I don't think I would, either," said Kinch, no longer amused, and thinking, once again, of a handwritten dossier. "Thanks for fixing the radio, anyway."

"Any time," said Baker. "Not that much else on my calendar, you know?"

"Well, if you put it like that," said Kinch, then trailed off as a thought struck him. "Say, Baker?"

"Yeah? What is it?"

Kinch took a deep breath. "Would you like to learn a little more about our radio setup? Not just these little portable numbers; the big one. If you'd like… I could give you a crash course."

"Really? That would be fantastic, Kinch," said Baker, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Great. Let's get started, then," said Kinch. "It couldn't hurt to have a few more guys on staff who know how to get this baby working. You know…" He swallowed. "Just in case."

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Author's note: There are a few continuity questions that everyone asks, sooner or later—was Carter ever really a lieutenant? What happened to Klink's first secretary? And, of course, why did Kinch vanish in the last season?

I figure there are three possible answers. Either he went home, he was killed, or else he actually was there in camp, just not onscreen for the particular missions that season showcased. Number one is possible but a bit iffy; he obviously didn't break Klink's vaunted no-escapes record. I reject number two entirely, solely because I don't want that to be how it happened, and there's no canonical evidence otherwise, so there. Leaving us with number three, where Baker was already a member of the 'second string' core group that included Olsen, and just happened to take a more active role in those particular episodes. So here's one possible way he might have become part of the radio crew. And one possible reason Kinch might have wanted him there.