Kinch watched Carter stumble to his bunk and glanced quickly at LeBeau. LeBeau looked pleased with himself and Kinch propped himself up on one elbow. "What?" he mouthed, noting Carter was already sleeping. LeBeau poured fresh coffee into two mugs and gestured. They slipped outside the barracks, hiding from Schultz. Kinch drank coffee quickly. "What happened?" he whispered.

"Newkirk is awake." LeBeau almost bounced. Kinch smiled.

"Really? What happened?"

LeBeau glanced quickly around. "Andre did it," he murmured. "He pretended he was Colonel Hogan."

Kinch blinked. "You lost me, Louis."

"He put on Colonel Hogan's leather jacket, his aftershave, and acted as if he were the Colonel." LeBeau drank deeply.

"I'm sorry I missed that act," Kinch said. "And he woke Newkirk?"

"Like Sleeping Beauty."

Kinch bit back a quick rising of bile. "Actually, I'm glad I wasn't there." LeBeau scowled.

"It was quite touching, mon ami."

"Newkirk must be ill. Carter isn't anything like Colonel Hogan."

"He--it was odd, Kinch. He almost was. I mean, he did not speak like himself. I almost believed he was mon Colonel. He spoke differently, moved differently."

"Huh." Kinch finished his coffee. "Is Newkirk all right?"

"He's awake and talking. That is a good start."

Kinch felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders. "That's good," he said. "Come on, we better get inside before Schultz catches us."

After roll call and breakfast, Kinch hurried to the infirmary with LeBeau and Kinch. Newkirk looked at them with a quick smile. "Hey," he said. He awkwardly sat up.

"You look alive," Kinch said. Carter self consciously blushed then looked at Newkirk who rolled his eye.

"Relax, Carter, it's fine."

"I brought you some food. Eat," LeBeau ordered. Clumsily, Newkirk fed himself. He didn't eat much before giving it back to LeBeau. "Eat more."

"I'm fine, Louie." He squirmed. "I'd like to ruddy stand, walk a bit. Give me a hand, mates."

"Are you sure?" Carter asked.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Kinch grasped Newkirk's uninjured arm and helped Newkirk up. Newkirk tottered a moment then took a step. As he crumpled with a yowl of pain, Carter caught him from behind and Kinch grabbed him around the waist. "OK, no more strolls," Kinch said as he eased Newkirk back to bed.

"Bloody knee," Newkirk hissed as white-blue pain flashed behind his eyelids. He panted for a few moments, looked around at the silence. "What?"

"Your shoulder," Carter said in a low, shaking tone.

"Right one?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't hurt anymore. I mean, it's sore but it's not bad."

Kinch reached out and gently pulled away the loose bandage. A lurid red, scabby wound blazed on Newkirk's shoulder. "It's a swastika," Carter mumbled.

"It doesn't 'urt so much, like I said."

Kinch disbelievingly touched the raised lines. "They branded you?" he blurted. His hand didn't quite cover the whole of the brand. It was, indeed, a swastika. Kinch swallowed. He could almost smell flesh cooking.

"That's what happens when you belong to the Reich." Newkirk sounded tired. "Look, mates, it's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Kinch repeated in horror. "You're not some range cow, Newkirk! You don't belong to them!"

Newkirk shrugged. "It hurts less than me knee or ribs, James." He looked at Kinch wearily. "Or my face."

Kinch wheeled and left. Carter hurried after him. "Kinch!"

Kinch leaned on the infirmary wall, gulping air. "It's not right," he growled at Carter.

"I know."

"No, Carter, you don't. You're not...you're not..."

"Black?"

"From slave stock," Kinch said softly. "You can understand but you really can't understand."

"I know." Carter shuffled his feet. "It's kinda like my Indian cousins."

Kinch slowly nodded. "Yeah. Damn it, Carter, they branded him! Like he was their meat or a steer."

"Maybe they think he is."

"He's a person."

"I know."

Alone with Newkirk, LeBeau gingerly touched the mark. "Filthy bastards."

"It'll heal."

"What else, Pierre? What else did they do?"

"They bloody beat me to a pulp. That's enough." Newkirk winced. "Just so you're not horrified, there's another brand on my hip. Red hot iron was the Kraut's torture of choice that day."

"Mon Dieu."

"Louie, stop worrying." Newkirk inhaled. "When I was out, it was Carter who brought me back, right?"

"Oui. Don't be angry, mon ami. He was trying to reach you. He thought Colonel Hogan could succeed where no one else could."

Newkirk nodded quickly. "That's what I thought." He stared at the wall and LeBeau nervously shuffled his feet. "I'll be fine."

"We need you, mon ami."

Newkirk gave a twisted smile. "LeBeau, I'm not trying to die. I'm not afraid to, however."

"We need you!"

"This unit is more important than one man. If I fall, there are plenty more to take my place."

"But they're not you."

Newkirk smiled wider. "Good thing there, mate."

"This isn't funny! We need you!"

"We needed the Colonel. He's gone. People die and the world keeps going." Newkirk stared at the wall again. "Tell Carter he did good. He almost made me believe."

"Believe what?"

Newkirk shrugged, lips pressed into a thin line. Both men turned as Carter and Kinch returned. "Hochstetter," Kinch said. "And Burkhalter."

"Hell," Newkirk muttered. "Hochstetter isn't dead?"

"No, just got bitten by some prisoner." Carter eyed Newkirk. "It wasn't you, was it?"

"I didn't see Hochstetter, just his paid thugs."

The door opened and Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter stood defensively around Newkirk's bed. Hochstetter swept in. "Why are these men here, Klink?" he demanded.

"Colonel Schuberg has said they could be here with Corporal Newkirk. He thought they would be good for him. And as you can see, Newkirk is awake."

"Colonel Schuberg?" Hochstetter looked a bit nervous and Carter snickered. "So I see. To your feet, Corporal."

"I can't bloody stand," Newkirk growled.

Burkhalter came over. "You look terrible, Corporal."

"Thank you, sir."

"That was not a compliment."

"Looking terrible is a compliment when I should be dead, sir."

"True." Burkhalter shook his head. "So what did you learn, Hochstetter?'

"He is a spy!"

"Newkirk?" Klink exclaimed. "Ridiculous! How could one of my prisoners be a spy?"

"What did you learn, Major?" Burkhalter eyed Hochstetter with distaste.

"He learned nothing, Herr General." Wellston, in guise as Schuberg, came in with the doctor. "Good morning, Kommandant, General. Major Hochstetter."

"Schuberg," Hochstetter acknowledged. "You do like to interfere."

Wellston walked to Newkirk, looked down on him. "So the Englander is awake. He is tenacious. Interfere, Wolfgang? I 'interfered' only when I saw your interrogators getting nothing from a useless POW."

"You spent a lot of effort on useless," Hochstetter said.

"Just to embarrass you." Wellston grasped Newkirk's chin, turned his face slightly. Newkirk stared back at him. Wellston released Newkirk then wiped his gloved hands on a towel. "He's your patient, Doctor." He glanced at the men. "Leave."

Kinch nudged Carter and the men left. Wellston glanced at the General. "It has been a while, General."

"It has indeed. How is your wife?"

"She is well."

"Come, let us go to Klink's office," Burkhalter said. "Klink, have your Frenchman cook lunch."

"Of course, Herr General. It is an honor."

"Doctor, help the prisoner to the shower," Wellston said. "A bath could only help."

Major Cole met the men outside the barracks. "Is Newkirk all right?"

"Yes," Carter said. "And he's awake now."

Cole's eyebrows raised. "When did he wake?"

"This morning," LeBeau hastily said.

"And why wasn't I told?"

"Because the Krauts came in," Carter explained.

"I'll talk to Newkirk."