Newkirk eventually passed out again after talking to Fritz, waking some hours later and simply lying in a motionless heap. His entire body ached from top to bottom, and he felt as if he were starving to death. He wished that Fritz had been able to give him some more water before he'd gone, but nothing could be done about that now.
He wondered where Fritz was at that very moment, and whether he'd come across Colonel Hogan and the others.
With a sigh, Newkirk tried to shift his position, wincing from the pain and quickly giving up. Closing his eyes again, he tried to go to sleep, hoping that the next time he woke up; it would be to the face of one of his friends. If only I could 'ave that kinda luck, he thought.
But just as he suspected, it was not meant to be.
The door suddenly opened and Hans walked in, with an evil smirk on his face. He walked over to Newkirk and crouched down in front of him. "I sent Fritz to town. He'll be gone for a while." He said it with a sinister smile.
Well, at least I know the lad is out lookin' for the Colonel, Newkirk thought. "An' ya decided ta spend some quality time with me? How nice," he replied, sarcastically.
Hans shook his head, looking amused. "So, why did you do it?" he asked.
Newkirk frowned. "Do what?"
The amused expression vanished. "Kill my father."
Newkirk would've rolled his eyes if he had the strength. "I didn't."
"Yes you did."
"Oh for goodness sake…when an' where did it 'appen?"
"In Himmelstadt, three months ago."
"Ah, well, see? I've never been to Himmelstadt. Sorry, mate."
For that, Newkirk got punched in the eye…again. Before his head stopped spinning enough to open his eyes, he heard a gun cock and felt its barrel press against his forehead.
"Look at me!" Hans exclaimed.
Reluctantly, Newkirk reopened his eyes, trying not to notice the gun in his face. The vision in his left eye was blurred now, which didn't surprise him, but he stared straight at Hans, trying not to look away from the utter insanity radiating from the German's eyes.
Hans gave a maniacal laugh, and abruptly pulled the trigger.
*click*
Despite himself, Newkirk startled violently, giving an audible gasp. The jolt sent a stab of pain through most of his body and his head started spinning again. It took a few seconds for his brain to comprehend that he wasn't dead.
"That was interesting, wasn't it?" said Hans. "It's a little game I heard of that the Russians enjoy. It's called, appropriately, 'Russian Roulette'." With that, he jammed the gun into Newkirk's chest, and fired again.
*click*
Newkirk closed his eyes, his body shaking. Oh Blimey, he thought. I'm gonna die tonight!
Hans smiled. "I see that you've heard of it." He removed the gun and held it up, spinning the chamber. "I wonder which one of these has the bullet in it?"
With that, he pointed it in Newkirk's face, and fired again.
*click*
"Tsk tsk," said Hans. "It wasn't that one either!"
Newkirk's heart was beating like a racehorse, and his lungs felt constricted. Neither his nerves nor his body could take much more abuse. "Don't ya realize what ya doin'?" he asked, breathlessly. "Ya 'ave a younger brother that looks up ta ya…do ya want 'im ta become like you?"
Stars erupted in his vision and he was knocked to the floor when Hans brutally whacked him in the face with his gun. He couldn't stop himself from moaning.
"I'm not making Fritz like anything!" Hans shouted. "You Englanders made me this way!"
Newkirk couldn't answer even if he tried. His consciousness was swimming in and out.
"Say something!" Hans exclaimed. "Answer for yourself!"
Suddenly, Newkirk was grabbed and sat up against the wall again. He opened his eyes reflexively.
"If you're not going to talk," said Hans. "I'll make sure you can't!" With that, he wrapped his hands around Newkirk's throat.
Newkirk gasped, having not expected that. He tried to raise his still-tied hands, despite the pain in his shoulder, and something bumped them. In shock, he realized that it was Hans' gun.
Newkirk grabbed it, shoved it between them, and fired.
*click*
Nothing happened, and Newkirk remembered that there was only one bullet in the gun. Desperately, he pulled the trigger again and again, but all the gun did was click.
Hans laughed and let go of Newkirk's throat with one hand, grabbing the gun and tossing it away. "It wasn't loaded at all!" he shouted. "I made the game better!" He replaced his hand, and squeezed harder.
Newkirk's lungs felt like they were about to explode. He could hear his frantic pulse pounding through his head, and as his vision began to cloud over, he knew that he was about to die.
"HANS!" Fritz's voice exclaimed out of nowhere. "LET HIM GO!"
Hans heard the sound of running feet, but didn't let go of Newkirk. It was too late…his anger and lunacy had taken over.
Hogan and the others ran into the room, stunned to see the German choking the life out of their friend. Fritz ran over to Hans and pulled at his arms, trying to make him let go. None of the others could shoot at Hans with Fritz in the way, so Hogan ran over and smashed Hans on the head with his gun. He and Carter then pulled his hands away from their friend's throat.
Newkirk was unconscious, and bonelessly slumped into Carter's arms.
"Newkirk!" the American sergeant exclaimed, terrified. "Newkirk! Open your eyes!"
Hogan quickly felt his neck for a pulse, barely finding it. He saw, to his shock, that Newkirk's lips were blue, and he wasn't breathing. "Carter, MOVE!" he shouted.
Carter nervously let go as Hogan grabbed Newkirk and quickly laid him on the floor. In desperation, he pressed hard on Newkirk's stomach, hoping it would force him to take a breath. To everyone's relief, it worked. Newkirk suddenly started gasping and coughing, and Carter gently raised his shoulders and leaned him up against himself.
Everyone sat and stared, in complete shock that they'd arrived to save Newkirk's life with literally no time to spare.
Hogan took a knife out of his pocket and reached over to cut the rope binding Newkirk's wrists, exposing the bloody mess beneath.
LeBeau started ranting in French. He stood and went over to the unconscious Hans, and kicked him. Watching, the others suddenly realized that Fritz was gone.
"Where'd the kid go?" said Kinch.
As in on cue, Fritz ran back into the room holding a glass. He dropped to his knees beside Carter and the still gasping Newkirk, holding the glass to the Englishman's lips.
Newkirk was too out-of-it to even realize that his friends had found him. As blood circulated back into his hands, he moaned from the pain.
Carter took the glass from Fritz. "Newkirk?" he said, having to clear his throat when his voice cracked. "Newkirk, have some water."
Newkirk didn't realize whose voice he was hearing. He finally noticed the glass touching his lips, and took a sip, wincing from the pain in his throat.
Carter patiently fed him the water, handing the glass back to Fritz when it was empty. "Newkirk? We're here, buddy. Open your eyes," he pleaded.
Revived thanks to the water, Newkirk finally recognized Carter's voice, and his eyes partly opened. "Andrew?" he said, still breathing fast, his voice a scratchy whisper. "Am I glad…ta see ya, mate…"
Carter shakily smiled.
"How badly are you hurt?" Hogan asked him, eyeing the bloody bandages on Newkirk's leg and shoulder. "I don't suppose you can walk?"
Newkirk closed his eyes, as dizzy from relief as he was from his injuries. He couldn't talk for a minute.
Everyone waited nervously, shooting glances at Hans to make sure he wasn't regaining consciousness.
Carter felt Newkirk shift slightly in his arms, as if trying to see how much mobility he had.
Newkirk felt as weak as a newborn, and his brain was spinning in circles on top of all the pain. He decided that right now, his pride didn't matter. "Bad enough, guv," he admitted, answering Hogan's questions in order. "I don't think so." His voice was hardly more than a scratchy whisper.
Hogan looked at Fritz. "Does your father's car run?"
Fritz nodded.
"Great. Kinch?"
The tall radioman knew what Hogan was asking. He went over to Carter and carefully got his hands under Newkirk's body, gently picking him up.
Newkirk tried not to groan, but couldn't stop himself. Everyone quickly left the room, with Fritz remaining behind.
Hogan looked at him. "Coming?"
Fritz nodded.
Hogan could see that he needed a moment alone with his brother, unconscious or not. He followed the others and got into the driver's seat of the car, starting it up and waiting.
Fritz came out a few minutes later, with a couple of suitcases. He threw them into the truck, and quickly got into the car.
Newkirk sat between Carter and LeBeau, head lying on Carter's shoulder. He appeared passed-out, and Fritz sighed.
The trip back to the stalag was much shorter thanks to the car, and they soon reached their tree stump. Newkirk regained some semblance of consciousness, which made it easier to get him down into the tunnel, where they laid him on a cot.
Fritz was in shock and awe to see that these men were all prisoners of the stalag, with the ability to come and go as they please. He hung back quietly as the others hovered over Newkirk, assessing his injuries.
Hogan unwrapped the bandage from Newkirk's shoulder, wincing at the bloody stab wound. He saw that Newkirk's entire shoulder was swollen and bruised, and he frowned at the sight. "Newkirk?" he said. "What else happened to your shoulder?"
The Englishman was conscious enough to understand the question. "Dislocated it."
"How'd you do that?"
"Hans tied me arms behind meself…I tried ta do LeBeau's little trick ta get them in front." He looked at the Frenchmen. "It wasn't as easy for me as it is for you, mate, as ya can see…but at least I did succeed!" He closed his eyes and swallowed with a wince, his injured throat aching from talking.
Everyone looked at each other in shock, that Newkirk had been forced to do something so extreme.
Fritz suddenly realized something. "Hans didn't feed him," he blurted.
Everyone looked at him, and LeBeau ranted something in French again, rushing over to a ladder and disappearing up it.
Kinch and Carter finished retrieving the medical supplies that they kept nearby, and then Carter went over to Fritz.
"Newkirk is my best friend," Carter told him, holding out his hand. "Thanks for saving him."
Fritz had been afraid that they might be angry at him for what Hans had done. Relieved, he reached out and shook Carter's hand.
TBC
