"It happens Colonel Hogan. These radios are brought to us piece by piece, we assemble them as best we can but they don't hold up forever."

Hogan shook his head, trying to clear his mind and hear the logic in Gunter's words. No one was to blame for this; it was simply one more bad break on a mission that had already been full of them. Before he spoke however, he took a moment to calm down. He did not want to regret yet another decision he had made in anger.

Putting Newkirk from his mind, he turned to Gunter.

"I understand Gunter. But we need to leave now. I had thought it would save us time to radio Kinch, but we've now lost more than we gained. Come on Carter, let's get LeBeau."

Carter, who had barely been concentrating on the conversation, focussed when he heard his name and panicked slightly when he heard LeBeau's. What was he supposed to tell the Colonel now? He didn't know how far the little Frenchman had gotten; he still needed to buy him time. If only Newkirk were here, he was good at this kind of stuff. But he wasn't, and right now he was depending on Carter's lying skills.

"I'll go get him sir!" Carter nearly yelped in his eagerness, leaving the house without even waiting for Hogan's assent.

For a moment, Hogan's forehead creased, but he put it down to Carter's usual excitability.

"I wish we could help you more Colonel," Gunter still sounded apologetic.

"You've done more than enough," Hogan said, clasping the man's shoulder, "Think where we'd be if it hadn't been for you!"

Clapping the man on the back and nodding to Heinrich at the kitchen counter, Hogan left the house. When he stepped from the doorway, he was surprised to see Carter waiting for him alone, with no sign of LeBeau.

"Where is-"

"He said he was going to scout ahead, for patrols, and meet us back at the stump unless he saw something," Carter spoke quickly, but easily enough that his nerves did not betray the ruse.

"For a second, Hogan felt anger to the French corporal. LeBeau knew better than to run off alone, he was more likely to run straight into a patrol than report it back to them! After he thought about it though, perhaps LeBeau just wanted some time alone. He had been close with Newkirk after all. So were you, a voice in his head nagged, but he pushed it down. It wouldn't help anyone to think of that anymore now.

Of course, this didn't change the fact that LeBeau was going to get a stern talking to when he got his hands on him. But for now, perhaps, it was better to let LeBeau come to terms with what had happened. He was still trying to make sense of it himself.

"Alright Carter. Let's get back to camp."

88888888

Newkirk shut his eyes tight, hoping that maybe this time he would be able to sleep and forget where he was for a little while. But, just like it had every other time he had lain his head down on the hard cot, sleep eluded him. He had long since lost track of the time that had passed since the others left, but he knew he had been restlessly awake for all of it. It wasn't particularly surprising, considering the sheer magnitude of the conflicting emotions running through him.

How could the others give up on him so easily? What would make them believe he had betrayed them? Yes, he had feared it himself at one point, but he remembered what really happened now. That was really the thing that hurt the most. He had told them the truth, but they believed the Gestapo instead of him. Why? They were his best mates; they might as well have been family. Of course, he was no stranger to family betrayal. When his own father had left him and his sister with nothing after their mother died, he couldn't have imagined a worse betrayal. But this one was right up there with it.

You can't trust anyone, Newkirk thought ruefully. That may as well have been his life motto before Stalag 13. Sure, he had had a group of friends back at the airbase, but they were just men he flew with, drank with, things like that. Never anyone that he actually trusted enough to really confide in. Then he got to Stalag 13, and met LeBeau, Kinch, Carter and finally Colonel Hogan. Somehow they had managed to get under his skin, and he had finally felt like he had mates that not only could he trust them, but they trusted him. For the first time in his life, he felt comfortable with himself.

Now it was all out the window. He was alone in this cell and the others were gone, and they weren't coming back.

Suddenly Newkirk's solemn thoughts were interrupted by a voice at the door.

"Stand away from the door!" a nervous voice called out in a heavy German accent, "We are coming in."

The door swung wide open to reveal a very young SS guard. A few more men stood behind the boy, armed heavily. Newkirk raised his head slightly to see who was interrupting his solitude, then let it drop promptly back down to the cot. He was far beyond caring about what the Gestapo wanted. All he wanted right now was to be left alone.

Apparently the krauts had other ideas. The young boy stood in the doorway, mouth agape, staring at the nearly empty room which should have contained three more prisoners. For a moment he simply stared, and then he snapped out of his stupor.

"Where are the others? Tell me!"

The slight shake in his voice underneath the false bravado betrayed his nerves. As a more experienced actor, Newkirk managed to hide his bitterness at the question more successfully.

"Mate," he replied nonchalantly, barely even opening his eyes, "Even if I did know, I wouldn't be telling you now would I?"

"We'll see about that," scoffed the youngster, before turning on his heel and slamming the door shut.

Newkirk sighed loudly, and straightened up on the cot. No doubt he would soon be graced with the presence of the two perpetrators of this mess. And they weren't likely to be feeling very pleasant.

He didn't have to wait long at all, and he knew the latter assumption was also correct by the looks on their faces. As they walked into the cell, he felt a deep rage swell up inside of him. These were the men who had turned his friends against him. If they expected help from him, he would tell them the exact same thing he had last time. Perhaps with a few added expletives to prove his point.

"Lost something, 'ave we gents?" Newkirk sneered at them from the cot.

In only a moment, the red-haired man crossed the room, grabbed Newkirk by his shirt collar and sent him to the floor with a left hook to his face. Newkirk cried out involuntarily as the man's fist connected with his already injured eye.

"I have tired of your insolence Englander!" the Gestapo man, crazed with rage, shouted down at Newkirk, "Tell us where they are! Now!"

Bracing himself with his good arm, Newkirk raised himself up so he was leaning against the cot. He did not try to stem the blood he could feel flowing from his eye. Instead he looked straight back at the red-faced man and, despite knowing what the man was likely to do to him, let loose a string of curse words to emphasize his flat out refusal.

Immediately, the man's flailing fists and boots began attacking him from every angle. Every contact seemed to hit a bruise that was already there, and doubled the pain Newkirk already felt.

"Enough Niklas!" Franz had to yell to be heard above Niklas' grunts of exertion and the cries of pain that Newkirk could no longer hold back, "This is getting us nowhere! Enough!"

Finally the enraged man allowed himself to be pulled off of the helpless Englishman. He backed off to the far side of the cell, but continued to glower at Newkirk menacingly.

Newkirk barely noticed the murderous glares he was receiving. His eye was once again swollen shut, and his broken arm was so numb with pain he hardly knew it was there. And this was without mentioning the countless new bruises forming beneath the ones he already had, or the blood dripping from his cut lip. He opened his good eye however, when he sensed Franz kneeling beside him. Flinching back, he eyed the Gestapo captain warily.

"Now now," Franz tried to sound soothing, but there was an underlying menace in his tone, "No one is going to hurt you anymore. You will have to excuse Niklas, he has a nasty temper, and I'm afraid your missing friends have upset him a little. Won't you tell us where they've gone?"

In spite of his pain, Newkirk couldn't help but laugh.

"You think they told me?" he scoffed, "In case you 'aven't noticed, I'm not exactly in the circle of trust right now. You lot made sure of that."

Franz inhaled sharply through his gritted teeth, and for a moment Newkirk though that he too was going to strike him for his insolence. Showing more self-restraint than his partner, Franz calmed himself quickly, and focussed on what he needed.

"You may be right corporal," he conceded, "But surely you have some idea where they have gone?"

As a matter of fact, Newkirk did have an idea. Seeing as it was Gunter and Heinrich who rescued them, it only made sense that Hogan and the others would head back to their farm before going back to Stalag 13. But he sure as hell wasn't going to tell the Gestapo that. He hadn't betrayed his friends before, and he wasn't about to start now.

"Not a bleedin' clue."

At this statement, Franz stood up sharply and glared down condescendingly at Newkirk. This sudden change in his demeanour startled Newkirk a little, especially when Niklas moved to stand next to his partner.

"You must face the facts Corporal," stated Franz coldly, "Your friends have abandoned you. There is no hope for escape of rescue. The only help you can get is the help we can offer you. Tell us where they have gone, and you are a free man. Tell us, and you can avoid more pain and suffering."

"For the last bloody time," Newkirk clenched his teeth with his determination, "I'm not tellin' you twisters anythin'!"

Niklas' face broke into an eerie grin, and suddenly Newkirk wished he could take the words back. The man was positively terrifying as he crouched down to peer into the Englishman's eyes.

"Very well then," Niklas' jeer lit up the cruelty in his eyes, "If you refuse to help us, then I'm afraid we have no further use for you."

He leaned in further, till his face was directly in front of Newkirk's, so that the corporal had no choice but to stare into the hellish glow emanating from his eyes.

"I believe you just made yourself a date with the firing squad, Englander. Shall we say, at sunset?"

It felt to Newkirk like the temperature had just dropped fifteen degrees. He could scarcely think as the reality of these words sunk in. He was going to die, and the last time he ever saw his mates, they were turning their backs on him in hate. They would never know the truth, and he would forever be a traitor in their minds. The utter injustice of the situation threatened to crush him, but he held it back weakly.

"I'll 'ave to check my calendar," he spoke slowly, slightly dazed from this sudden pronouncement, "I'll 'ave my secretary get back to you."

The expressions on their faces did not change, if anything Niklas' leer grew wider and Franz's face grew stonier. Niklas stood, still grinning, and Newkirk swore he heard him chuckle as the two men left the cell.

The English corporal pushed himself stiffly off the ground. Gently, he lowered himself back onto the cot. Curling his good arm around his legs and holding his broken one tight against his chest, he took several quick, shallow breaths. He refused to let tears fall; he had succumbed to his emotions once already and would not do so again. Instead, he held himself tightly and found himself praying for help, help that he knew had turned its back on him. He was really and truly alone.

Note: If anyone has any concerns about how this is gonna end and whether or not they should keep reading, please PM me. =)