May 1944

Stalag 13

The end was coming. They could all feel it. The guards were restless…wondering what would become of them. Things had never gotten completely back to the way they had been before the earthquake. Many of the guards and prisoners had worked together during the aftermath and the time they had rebuilt the camp. Therefore, they now looked upon each other with new eyes. They were, if not friends, at least comrades.

In addition, certain realities involving the prisoners had been discovered immediately after the disaster. The extensive tunnel system was one example. A meeting had taken place between Col. Hogan and Col. Klink regarding that issue. No one knew exactly what was said, but apparently, whatever excuse Hogan came up with for the tunnels was accepted by the commandant, because nothing more was said about them, but most of them were filled in and abandoned without further comment, and the Gestapo was never notified of their presence.

The tunnels that had been dug shortly after the prisoners moved into the new barracks were much less extensive, but still allowed the men to move about the camp with ease. One major difference with the new tunnels was that Col. Hogan insisted that the tunnels be shored up securely. He had nearly lost two of his core team to those tunnels, and he would not have it happen again.

Carter's lab was again in full swing. It was reinforced and built with several new safety features…all aimed at keeping the young sergeant, and the rest of the men somewhat less at risk. He had been able to replace most of his equipment, thanks to a couple of drops from London, and a few trips to the black market, which had been going strong ever since the whole disaster the year before.

The dark room was back in operation, as well as an area for their new stock of uniforms and diguises. They did not have as many as they did before, but Newkirk and LeBeau were spending as much time as they could tailoring outfits and gathering props. Newkirk had been a bit irritable lately, as he was worried about his wife, back in London. She was pregnant, and he longed to be with her. Hogan had offered him the chance to go home, but he had refused, knowing she wouldn't want him there while he still had a job to do, and knowing too, that he could never leave his mates before they were liberated. They had started this operation together, and he was determined that they would finish it together.

He was also concerned, as he was to receive a prosthetic leg soon. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. On one hand, it would be good, as, once he got used to it, he would be able to participate more freely in missions outside the fence. On the other hand, he had grown used to using his crutches, and he could move about quite well. In fact, there were times he, as well as the others, nearly forgot he had only one leg. There had been some static when the Gestapo had moved back into the area, but Hogan had smoothed it over. Apparently, he had convinced the officers who came to the Stalag, that Newkirk was simply not worth bothering with at this point…that with only one leg he posed even less of an escape risk than he did before…that he was no threat to Hitler at all. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth…but the Germans had no clue.

He had written to Leticia about it, as much as he could, considering the censors. Her take had been simply that he needed to do what was best for him. She loved him no matter what he decided. However, she did point out that if he decided not to accept the prosthesis, the RAF might change their minds. She said no more…but Peter got what she meant. It was this point that made up his mind. He had no doubt the military might just go back on their deal, and he would find himself back in prison. * He still had never heard what Col. Hogan had said or done to ensure his continued operational status within the RAF, even after the loss of his leg. Hogan had never said a word about it to him, nor had the subject ever been brought up by London. Newkirk had simply continued doing what he always did…and he would not destroy it now.

~HH~

It was about this point that the camp was hit with a flu epidemic. Fortunately, it did not seem to be a killer version, such as had been seen in 1918, but it was bad enough. Most of the remaining men in camp had gone down for at least a few days with it, and some went down for more than two weeks. Sgt. Richard Baker, their back-up radio man, and Carter were the last two to take ill, and were two of the hardest hit. This may have been because they had helped Sgt. Wilson with nursing duties after Foster had become ill. For some reason, Carter, though severely ill, got over it in about a week, but Baker was not so lucky. He was still in the infirmary and battling the illness after two weeks. Wilson was concerned, but felt that the young sergeant would get over it, given rest, time, and LeBeau's chicken soup. Carter had been released from the infirmary, but was confined to the barracks for at least two to three weeks, which irritated the young man to no end. He hated being sidelined for any reason, and he knew that with things coming to a head with the war, he had no time for illness right now. He also knew that, given his penchant for relapse, he had no choice in the matter.

~TBC~

A/N: *See "Earthquake."