Colonel Potter sat on the edge of the cot next to Carter and let out a long, tired sigh. If Colonel Hogan really expected him to pull off this miracle, he needed to get some shut eye. An hour nap in the back of a fleeing German truck wasn't going to cut it.

Shaking his head to clear it, Potter cleared his throat and went back to examining Carter's back. A basin of alcohol sat beside him on his cot and Potter dabbed a handkerchief in it. It wasn't ideal, but then nothing about this situation was and he had to do something to help prevent infection. Right now, Wilson was scrounging around the tunnels for penicillin. The medic hadn't seemed too hopeful, but at the same time, seemed confident that, if he could not find any, Hogan would procure some. Potter had little doubt of that. Colonel Hogan seemed capable of anything.

As gently as he could, Potter dabbed the handkerchief on Carter's back. As a result, Carter cried out, nearly making Potter jump out of his skin.

"Sorry, son, I didn't realize you were still awake!"

Carter took a deep, shuddering breath and buried his head into his pillow. "Gee, I was about to say the same thing about you, sir," he said slowly, his voice muffled by the pillow. "You haven't said anything since Wilson left."

"Sorry. I guess I haven't had much of a bedside manner. Just got to thinking, I guess."

"About what?" Carter turned his head and looked up at Potter who gave him a small smile.

"Oh, well, I don't want to embarrass you, son, but I was thinking about your back."

"Aw shucks." The two men shared a quiet laugh, which was cut short when Carter suddenly tensed and squeezed his pillow so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Easy there. Take it easy, now," Potter chided.

It was a few minutes before Carter spoke again. "Is it bad?"

"You're going to be just fine," Potter assured him, wishing he could do the same for himself. Carter just nodded and gave Potter a tiny smile, catching Potter off guard. He hadn't even shown a hint of scepticism; he really believed him.

"Piece of pie," Carter said after a moment's silence.

"You can bank on it," Potter replied. He glanced around the tunnel and then looked back at Carter.

It might just turn out all right after all, Potter found himself thinking. There was only so much a doctor could do. The rest was up to God and the patient. He had seen a lot of things as a doctor and had worked on a lot of people. He had seen soldiers with otherwise superficial wounds just give up and die on him. Others could be walking junk yards and still pull through simply because they were too stubborn to let go of life. Carter didn't seem like the stubborn type, but he had the right attitude anyway. If he was going to pull through, he was going to be just as responsible as Potter was.

"I found some." Potter looked over his shoulder to see Wilson coming back into the room. The medic pulled out a vial of penicillin from the box he had tucked under his arm and handed it to Potter. "Not much but it should tide us over until the colonel can get some more."

Potter took the vial and looked it over. "Fine. What else do you got there?" he asked, eyeing the box Wilson had.

"Well, first thing, some morphine," Wilson said, pulling out another vial and a needle and handing it off to Potter.

"For me?" Carter asked.

"Well it sure isn't for me," Potter answered. "This'll dull the pain some but it won't do much for our conversation."

"You mean Carter's actually letting you speak?" Wilson asked sceptically.

"Well, it's not really what I would call a conversation, more like a consultation," Carter said slowly. Potter took the opportunity to jab the needle into Carter's rump while he wasn't paying attention. "You know, like a check-up almost. I mean, if I really wanted to have a conversation," he continued, his words becoming more and more slurred as he went on, "I would- I would ask him where- where…mmmmm, hum where… he…" Carter's unintelligible mumbling went on for a few more minutes before it quietly died off.

"The man's a bona fide chatterbox. I'd almost hate to see him when he's healthy," Potter said in amusement. Wilson just snorted. "What else you got in there?"

"Sedatives, bandages, thread, needles," Wilson answered. "The boys are working on your instruments. Should take a while. Here, let me finish cleaning his back, sir," he offered. "You look like a train wreck. Why don't you go to sleep for an hour."

Potter shook his head, nixing the idea right off. "No good. The sooner I operate, the better."

"One hour," Wilson said firmly. "That'll give me time to clean him up and set up an operating room." He gestured to the radio and the ladder on the other side of the room. "Too much traffic through this room. That ladder leads to the barracks up top. And who knows when we'll have to send information off to London."

"London?" Potter repeated, eyeing the radio. "Just how big is this operation?"

"Big enough, sir," Wilson answered. "Now, one hour. Deal?"

Potter sized Wilson up but finally nodded. He was right. An hour of sleep would do him a world of good. And he wouldn't be any use to Carter if he couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to finish the operation. "All right. Wake me up in an hour. The doctor is out." And with that, he got to his feet, let Wilson sit next to Carter, and moved one cot over. His head had barely touched the pillow before his eyes closed and Potter was asleep.

The radio room was empty when Colonel Hogan came in. Neither Carter nor Potter were anywhere to be seen. "Colonel Potter?" Hogan called, only to be met with silence. "Doctor?"

Nothing. Just where had the doctor taken Carter? Had he convinced his men to take Carter out of the tunnels and to a hospital? No, that couldn't have been it. But where was he then?

A faint glow from down the tunnel caught his attention and he quickly made his way towards it. On his way, he passed several racks of uniforms that had apparently been placed haphazardly in the hall along with rolls of fabric and a few unmarked crates.

The glow, it turned out, was coming from under a curtain that had been strung up in the entrance of Newkirk's sewing room. Hogan poked his head in to find the room had been emptied out and several lanterns and lamps had been placed all around, lighting the place up brilliantly. Carter was on a table in the middle of the room with Potter standing over him. A few other men sat off to the side, including LeBeau, who was keeping his eyes firmly on the ground. All of them were wearing masks and for some reason, it sent a chill up Hogan's spine.

"Operating room?" Hogan asked as he stepped in.

Potter didn't even look at him as he snorted contemptuously. "Had your men dig up every damn lantern they could find. There were more, but the air circulation in here isn't good enough." He took another look around and muttered under his breath, "I wouldn't operate on my horse in here."

"Looks bright enough to me," Hogan noted. The look Potter gave him made him change his mind. "I'm sure you've had worse," he finally said. At that, Potter sighed.

"It'll do."

Hogan crossed his arms and grabbed his elbows. "LeBeau?" he said after a moment of thought.

"Oui, mon colonel?!" LeBeau said eagerly, jumping to his feet. "What can I do?"

"LeBeau, go scrounge up some mirrors. Maybe we can bounce some light around and make it a bit brighter." LeBeau seemed to deflate, but quickly threw Hogan a salute and slipped past him out the door. "Got everything you need, doc?"

Potter grunted. "Your boys fixed me up with some instruments." He held up a scalpel and nodded. "Gotta admit, they're pretty clever."

"We aim to please," Hogan said, managing a crooked smile. "Anything else?"

Potter shook his head. "Not unless you have a sterile room hidden in these tunnels. Wilson found some penicillin, but it's not nearly enough."

"I'll work on that," Hogan promised. "He out, yet?" he asked, gesturing to Carter.

"Like the proverbial light," Potter answered with a nod.

Hogan nodded and was about to put his hand on Carter's shoulder when he thought better of it. "Hold tight. Piece of pie, Carter. Piece of pie." He could almost hear Carter reversing their roles and correcting him.

LeBeau came in then, carrying a mirror in each hand. "There is another in the barber shop, but I will need help to carry it in," he reported.

"Barber shop? Sweet jumping jellyfish, what is this place?!" Potter demanded.

"Well, we may be prisoners, but that doesn't mean we don't have to look respectable," Hogan said with a shrug. "Goldman." Goldman quickly stood. "Help LeBeau and set those up. It's not much, doctor, but it'll help a bit." Potter simply nodded. Neither spoke for a moment and Hogan twisted his cap in his hands. "All right. Well, if you don't need me…"

"You'll be pacing outside the door," Potter finished.

Hogan's lips twitched and he nodded. "Take care of him, Doctor." And with that, he slipped out of the room.

LeBeau and Goldman came back a few minutes later, carrying a mirror between them. As they pulled back the curtain to go in, Hogan caught a glimpse of Potter holding a scalpel up to the light and then moving it to Carter's back. He shuddered and turned away.

"Hold up, LeBeau!" Goldman suddenly cried, drawing Hogan's attention back to the room. LeBeau swayed dangerously on his feet.

Great. LeBeau was going to pass out and drop the mirror. Just lovely. "LeBeau, put the mirror down before you-"

"I am fine, mon colonel," LeBeau snapped. Setting his jaw, the little Frenchman helped Goldman set the mirror down in the corner before whirling on his heel and marching out the door. Hogan said nothing to him as he marched past.

"I'll be right outside if you need me, Doctor," Hogan reminded before he pulled the curtain closed and began his pacing.

He knew he had other things to do. He needed to find penicillin. He needed to check on Newkirk and Kinch. He needed to pop back into the cooler just in case one of the guards decided to check up on him ahead of schedule. But each time he went to go do one of those things, he got not more than five steps before he whirled back around and started pacing again.

It was awful quiet in the sewing/operating room, he noted with worry. Every once in a while, he heard Potter ask for another instrument, but that was it. Perhaps that was a good thing. Potter's voice, after all, was even and calm. That was far better than frantic yelling, Hogan supposed.

Time crawled by and Hogan had worn a lovely track into the floor before the curtain was finally pulled open. Cautiously, Hogan stepped into the room. "Well?"

Potter sighed as he pulled off his mask. "I was going in there blind, but I think I got everything," the doctor reported.

Hogan let out a long breath and nodded. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," Potter warned. "He still has a long way to go. And his final destination is going to hinge on you getting him some penicillin."

Hogan nodded. "Penicillin. Right." It wouldn't be too hard. All he had to do was come up with a way to get some without calling London.

No problem at all.