Wilhelm Klink was nervous. Corporal Newkirk had requested a meeting. And Klink was sure he knew what Newkirk wanted. The young man was a born conman who was constantly on the lookout for angles… for anything that would benefit him and his barracks-mates. And this time, he had enough ammunition to destroy Klink. As he crossed the compound, Klink felt as if he were treading a path to his own execution.

He stepped into the cooler and frowned. Newkirk's cell was empty. "Where is he?"

Langenscheidt came forward, sporting a rather impressive black eye. He was frowning and obviously angry. "He is in the cellar. I went in to bring him his lunch about twenty minutes ago, and he suddenly attacked me for no reason! He would not calm down. I didn't know what else to do, since I was alone."

The "cellar" was an underground cell. It was soundproof and had no windows or outside light. It was used for strict solitary confinement or for interrogations. Peter had spent an unfortunate amount of time in the cellar before Klink had arrived at the Stalag. Now, it was rarely used at all.
Klink dismissed Langenscheidt and turned to Schultz. "Take me to him immediately!"

As they traversed the length of the cooler, one thing was crystal-clear to Klink. Peter Newkirk had never done anything in his life "for no reason." He wanted to talk to Klink in complete privacy. This did not bode well at all.

When they reached the door, Klink turned to Schultz. "Unlock the door and then leave me. Come back in thirty minutes. That should be enough time. If it is not, I will tell you at that time."

"But…" Schultz's gaze dropped to the case in Klink's hands.

Pointedly, Klink looked at him. "You see nothing. Do you understand?"

Mutely, Schultz nodded. He unlocked the door, then turned and marched up the stairs.
~HH~

When Klink stepped through the door, Peter was seated on the metal bunk. The single bare bulb threw his gaunt features into harsh relief. The concrete walls were filthy and smelled of stale sweat, ancient urine, and fear. Klink shuddered. He had always hated this room. He could not fathom spending a night here, let alone months at a time, as he knew Newkirk had on more than one occasion.

Peter stood and gestured grandly to the bunk. "'ave a seat m'lord?" His accent was thick with sarcasm. "Sorry, we're 'avin' the cushions redone just now, you understand."

Klink's patience finally snapped. "Stop with the games, Corporal. What do you want?" He did sit finally, on the edge of the bunk.

Newkirk chose a relatively clean spot on the floor and squatted there. He lit a cigarette. "Well, that's the thing, y'see." He reached into his greatcoat pocket. "It's like this." He pulled out the diary. Klink blanched and instinctively reached for the book. Newkirk held it back. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Kommandant. You'll get it. Just… not yet."

He took the cigarette from his mouth and studied the burning end. "See, I want you to understand I read the whole thing. I know a lot of things I didn't know before." He looked into Klink's pale eyes. "I know what you did. And I know why." Back the cigarette went to its customary spot in the corner of his mouth. He stretched a bit. "An' I won't say I'm not grateful. I got to thinkin' about it. That day you came here? I spent that Christmas right here in this room. I was here the day you took over."

Grimly, Klink replied, "I remember." He had ordered him released immediately, and Newkirk had spent the next month in the infirmary.

Peter shook away the memories and looked at the case Klink carried. "I see Schultz gave you me message."

"Yes, but I have no idea why in the world you wanted me to bring it."

Newkirk grinned. "Ah, you know me, Kommandant. I never give anything without exactin' a price. "Seein' as Christmas is only a couple months away, you can make it me Christmas present." Klink stared at Newkirk in confusion.

"I will give you the diary. And I will never reveal anythin' to anyone. But I want somethin' from you first."

"What's that?"

And Peter pointed to the case. There was no sign of his former cheekiness. "You played for me father when he crossed that field in France. I want you to play for me. The same way. The way we both know you can. But don't worry, I'll keep that secret, too." He smiled.
Klink shook his head, beginning to panic. "No. Please, please don't ask me to do that! I can't!"

"Yes, Kommandant, you can. You've been hidin' your talent, blamin' yourself. You've been punishin' yourself, just like me da punished me for all those years. Me da can't help it. You can. You just have to forgive yourself and realize it was an accident. I'm a grown man, Kommandant. You saved me life. Now, save yer own."

And Peter Newkirk slowly stood and leaned against the wall, arms crossed, waiting.

And Klink remembered the songs he meant. And he played. The sweet silvery notes of "Stille Nacht" floated around the small room. He followed it with "O Holy Night," the song he had sung as he'd trudged across No-Man's Land that night. He closed his eyes as he played and was transported far away from the fetid prison. For a few moments, Wilhelm Klink was onstage at the finest conservatory in Europe. And Peter Newkirk? Well, he found himself in tears for the second time in less than 24 hours.

When Schultz and Langenscheidt returned ten minutes later, Klink ordered Newkirk released from the cooler. No explanations were given or expected, although Peter did apologize to Langenscheidt. On the way upstairs, Peter had told Klink he intended to write to his father and suggested that maybe it was time they both began to put that long-ago Christmas behind them. Klink was beginning to agree with him.

~HH~

The first thing Peter did when he got back to Barracks 2 was drink an entire pot of tea. The second thing he did was take a shower. His barracks-mates would have appreciated his reversal of the two, but he flatly ignored their protests. The third thing he did was to swipe a half a box of biscuits out of the communal pantry and go to the infirmary to visit his best mate.

Newkirk kept his emotions under wraps remarkably well as he surveyed Carter's battered face and various other injuries. But, as usual, Andrew saw right through him. "Don't worry, Peter, I'm gonna be fine. You look like hell, though. You haven't been eating, have you?"

"Oh, leave off, you're worse than LeBeau. He's already pickin' at me! Don't need you on me, too!"

Carter just grinned. "I'm bored. Wanna play some checkers?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "How about poker? At least that, I've got 'alf a chance at beatin' you!"

Andrew chuckled wickedly as Newkirk left to round up the game.

They had played a couple of games, and Andrew had had enough. "Okay, pal. What's eatin' you?"

Peter splayed his hand over his chest. "Me?"

"Yeah, I usually have to at least try to beat you, but this is pathetic." He captured the last of Newkirk's checkers.

Peter sighed. "I need to write a letter to me Da, and I don't know what to say."

"Well, why are you writing to him?"

"Because, well, because…." He stumbled to a stop and looked helplessly at his friend.

'There's your problem right there. You can't write a letter to somebody until you know why you're writing to them. Figure that out first. Maybe you oughta go take a walk. Might help you think."

Newkirk smiled at his friend. "Thanks, Carter. Think I will." He lit a cigarette, and Andrew snagged it from him, inhaling gratefully. Newkirk grinned as they heard an indignant shout out of Wilson, "Knock it off you two! No smoking in the infirmary!"

Peter dropped the pack and matches quickly into Andrew's lap, who promptly hid them under his mattress. "Thanks, pal. See ya!"

~HH~

A walk around the camp did indeed clear his head, and when he got back to the barracks he borrowed a sheet of writing paper and an envelope from Olsen. He hopped onto his bunk and began to write.

27 Oct 42
Da:

I'm not really sure how much of this letter you will understand. And I don't know whether I am writing it more for you or for me. I suppose it really doesn't matter much.
I bet you never thought you'd be hearing from me. I cannot say I can forget all the years between us. That's too much to ask of any man. I never understood what really happened to you, and you would never talk about it. Now, I wish you had. I would have listened, no matter what you thought of me.

I know you never forgave the Germans for the injuries that nearly killed you. But you had no right to take it out on Mum. You had no right to take it out on me or Mavis or the kids. I won't tell you how I found out what happened that day at the field, but I know. It wasn't his fault. He never asked you to risk your life for him. You blamed him for an accident and wrecked a lot of lives in the process.
You had no right to fulfill your promise to him by giving me his name and then punishing me for it.

I always thought you was just mean and angry. I knew you wasn't right in the head, but I thought that was just from the drink. Now I know better. And I am sorry for what happened to you. But I see what bitterness has done to you. I don't want to be you in twenty years. And so I forgive you. What you do with it is up to you.
That's all I have to say.

Your son,
Peter

~HH~

Back in his office, Klink sat behind his desk but his mind was on the young English prisoner in Barracks 2. He was a good man, no matter how hard he tried to convince everyone otherwise. Klink was not anywhere near as stupid as his superiors liked to think he was. He knew Stalag 13 was no ordinary prison camp. He was not entirely sure what was going on, and he was sure he didn't want to know. He knew he was being protected in his position by Hogan and his men. This suited his purpose well. As long as Benjamin Newkirk's son left the camp alive and relatively healthy, he would have no complaints. It had broken his heart to hear just how broken Benji really was.

Klink decided to follow Newkirk's advice. He wrote a letter to Benjamin. There were things he needed to say to him, and not just about what had happened in France. The emotions of the past few days were raw, and putting his feelings into words, as he had not done for the past several years was difficult, so he concentrated on what he really needed for Benjamin to understand.

He knew that he could not send the letter himself. It would arouse suspicions he could not afford. He placed it inside an envelope, and wrote Benjamin's name on the outside. He called Hilda into his office. "I have a favor to ask of you. I know you have contacts outside of Germany."

He watched as her eyebrow raised slightly. "I need this letter posted to someone in London. I will never ask any questions, but I would consider it a great favor if you could see to its disposition." He handed her the letter.

Hilda took the letter and read the name. She looked up at him when he spoke once again. "You must promise me that you will never speak of this to anyone—especially not Hogan or any of his men." The slight emphasis he placed on "any" spoke volumes.

Hilda nodded and impulsively kissed him on the cheek, startling him. "You are a good man, Wilhelm Klink." She quickly left the office and Klink stood silently for a moment, his hand cradling the spot where she had kissed him.

~Epilogue~

20 Nov 42
Stepney, London

Francis knocked on the door of Mavis Newkirk's small flat. It had been a few months since his last visit, and he worried about her. Benji was very ill now and barely able to get out of bed.

Mavis answered, her pretty face drawn and tired. The privations of the war combined with the stress of dealing with her father and worry for her brother were taking a toll on her. A smile lit her face when she saw who her visitor was, and she let him in eagerly.

"Uncle Frank, you shouldn't be out in weather like this! You'll catch your death for sure!"

He chuckled. "Don't worry about me, little one. I'm fine. How's your da?"

Her face clouded. "Sleeps a lot. Which is good. Makes it easier for Mrs. Brooks next door to keep her eye on 'im when I'm at work. Made it harder when he wandered about. He can't see to do that so much now. He mostly stays in bed, even when I'm home."

Francis looked around the room. Peter's letters were gathered into a scrapbook on the coffee table and his boot-camp graduation photo now held pride of place at the center of the mantel. He also realized the trinkets and souvenirs Peter had bought for Mavis and his mother during his years away now decorated the room. It was painfully obvious Benji no longer spent time in this room. He sighed. "Has the doctor been to see him?"

"Yeah. He came 'round. Said the same old thing. 'is liver's shot. And so's his vision. Likely as not he won't make it through the winter. He may hate Peter, but his health has been getting worse ever since we found out he was captured. You know he won't listen to even one of Peter's letters; he never has, no matter how hard I try to get him to listen to reason." She showed him the most recent, which, unlike the others, was addressed to Benjamin himself. Even more unusual, Benjamin had received a second letter, which had just come in that morning's post.

Francis studied the two letters and came to a decision. He looked at Mavis. "I'm going to read both of these letters to Benji. That way, he will have the chance to listen. Whether he does or not is up to him."

He sat in the rocker in the small bedroom. First, he read Peter's letter. Although Benji said nothing, he at least did not stop Francis from reading. Francis figured he would take whatever he could get. He waited for a few minutes to try to gauge Benji's reaction to his son's words, but after five minutes of silence, he realized there would be none. He moved on to the next letter… the one Mavis had received that morning.

When he opened the envelope, Francis was surprised that a second, slightly smaller envelope fell out of the first. Where the outer envelope was typewritten and had an English postal mark, the inner envelope was hand-written and simply read "Benjamin Newkirk." Francis was amazed to discover the letter was from Wilhelm Klink. He watched Benji's face as he read for any sign of recognition, but as usual, Benji was unreadable.

27 Oct 42
Benjamin:

I had to write to you to ask you to forgive me for what happened that day at the pond. I never meant for you to get hurt. I did not even know I was sitting anywhere near soft ice. And my reaction trying to save my violin was just reflex. It was the only thing I had left that meant anything to me. But I also want to say thank you for saving my life.

I never knew you had been hurt so badly. I am very sorry for that. I have something else to thank you for, and though you may think me odd, or even hate me, it is still the truth.

I doubt you know this, but I am the Kommandant, the commander of the POW camp where your son is imprisoned. I got myself placed there to make sure that he would survive and that I could send him home to you. I did not know how bad things were for you.

Because of what happened to you, I have gotten to know your son. Benji, he is a good man. He has told me some of what his life has been like, and I cannot help but feel that most of that is my fault. I have asked his forgiveness, and even though it made little sense to him, he gave it. You must listen to me… make amends with your son before it is too late! I will do my best to send him home to you. The rest is up to you.

Respectfully,

Wilhelm Klink

Francis was surprised when Benji grabbed his arm. His grip was still firm, despite his weakness. He had to bend close to hear the man in the bed. "Tell him, Franny. Tell him to send my boy back to me."

And Francis patted his arm gently. "I will, mate."

Francis looked up at Mavis as she stood across the room, her arms folded protectively around herself. She hurried from the room, barely able to control her tears. He followed her into the sitting room. He shut the door as she threw herself into his arms. "Why now, Uncle Frank? Why does he have to want to see Peter now? He's dying! Why did he waste all those years? All the years Peter was here and all he could do was beat 'im and scream at 'im until Peter had to run away! Why now?"

Francis's heart broke as he held Mavis close. "I don't know, love." He tipped her chin up and looked into her beautiful green eyes. "But I do know this war won't last forever. Peter will come home. And when he does, he'll need you. And I hope I can be here for both of you." He hugged her after she had blotted her tears with his handkerchief. She helped him with his coat and he reached for his hat and cane. "You're a good girl, Mavis Newkirk. It's a lucky man who'll have your hand one day." She rolled her eyes at him as she always did whenever he said this to her.

Once out on the sidewalk, Francis buttoned his coat against the frosty London air. He turned back and stared at the upstairs window where she stood gazing back down at him, much as she and Peter had done as children so many years ago. He waved at her and turned back toward the street. He ran his hand through his still-thick silver hair and remembered watching two young enemy soldiers meeting in a moonlit field deep in France so many years ago.

He pulled his coat tighter as he walked. He shook his head. He too had much to ask forgiveness for. But that would have to wait. He had promised Benji he would never tell Peter about the war and he never did. But he was busy during the years after the war and Benji had pushed him away, so he hadn't come around much. He hadn't realized how bad it had gotten until it was too late and Peter had run away. He knew his own day of reckoning was coming… when Peter came home. He sighed as he flagged down his bus. Oh, Mavis, girl, I hope he'll let me be there for you…
As he sat looking out the pitted window of the bus, a couple of lines from a poem ran through his mind…

"For the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame;
And on each end of the rifle we're the same…" ***

~The End~

A/N: * O Heilige Nacht—O Holy Night ** See my fanfic novel "Earthquake!" on FFN for this story. *** "Christmas in the Trenches," by John McCutcheon (The lyric was written in 1984, but, as this is the song that inspired this story, I claim creative license!) Thank you to my awesome beta reader xavionite and my research assistant wolfchild8168. I could not have done it without you!