"Nigel?" Turner asked in alarm.

"It is a bomb," LeBeau muttered.

"Not, not exactly." Wellston sat down,, looking old. "Far worse. I only know part of the story."

"So what is it?" Carter asked, handing Wellston a mug of coffee,

Wellston looked at Turner. "They shouldn't hear this."

"Hey, we're the ones ruddy putting our lives on the line. We deserve to know what's going on," Newkirk snapped.

"He's right," Turner agreed and Newkirk lifted an eyebrow.

"What is it?" Carter asked, staring at Wellston.

"Exactly what it says," Wellston said. "Final. Solution." He sipped his coffee slowly.

"Just spit it out," Turner said.

"Death for the Jewish race. Actually for all undesirables but especially Jews. The Reich will be Jew free."

"There are millions of Jews in Europe," Turner said.

Wellston looked at all the men. "The Nazis are very efficient." He spoke lightly yet his face was stone. The men all looked at each other then back at him.

"Are you saying the Nazis are murdering civilians?" Turner demanded in a tight voice.

"Yes."

"Why?" Kinch asked.

"They're unwanted," Wellston explained. "Jews. Gypsies. Political prisoners. Homosexuals. Anyone the Reich does not approve of. They're identified, marked, sent to labor camps and usually die there."

"But these are just rumors, right?" Carter asked.

Wellston slowly shook his head. "They started years ago," he said quietly, fingers tight around his cup. "The mentally ill, the deformed, the invalid--they killed them first. The Reich has no need of useless mouths to feed."

"How many?" Kinch asked.

"I don't know exact numbers," Wellston said.

"Guess," Turner demanded.

Wellston appeared be calculating numbers. "Three, four million by now. Maybe more." He rubbed his head. "I've heard of other numbers, other plans, where people go into camps and are killed outright."

"Three million civilians," Kinch repeated numbly.

"Can we liberate the camp?" Turner asked.

"Camp?" Wellston repeated. He gave a short, bitter laugh. "There is no camp, Jack. It's camps. Plural. I know of ten at least and I'm sure there's more. They're all over German controlled Europe. Mainly in the East."

"Does London know?" LeBeau asked softly.

"They know. I've sent what I could but realize I have no photos, no exact details. I know the rough locations. As for the plans, no, I don't know that. I know the name. Like Newkirk does. Gestapo Muller mentioned it once where I could hear and I've put together fragments."

"So what do we do?" Carter demanded.

"Nothing," Wellston said harshly. "The invasion will take place any day now. We can do nothing more for these people than what we're doing. We'll free the camps when we can."

Carter looked at Turner with pleading in his eyes. "We can try to help," Turner said. "Help the people escape."

"To where?"

"Into the countryside. Some of the Germans will help!" LeBeau suggested.

"That's an idea," Turner said thoughtfully. "We could hide a few here."

"Some with Oskar," Carter suggested.

"The other Germans are the ones who put them there! Do you honestly think the German people don't know? Come on, men, don't be bloody blind. How do you think we Gestapo work? It's not us who are everywhere--the Jerries turn each other in! They know what's happening. These camps are not hidden. I'm sure the average German doesn't know exactly what's going on but they're not asking either. People disappear daily and no one cares. Just forget about the damn camps and be done with it, all right? These are people who, quote 'belong to the Reich'. Or 'deserve to die.""

"People don't belong to other people," Kinch argued. "Or to Hitler or his men." Wellston snorted.

"They do here. Germany comes first."

"And what about us?" Newkirk asked. "A lot of us aren't up to Aryan standards."

"I don't think they'll turn on the POW camps," Wellston said thoughtfully, calming himself. "If they do, they'll certainly go for the Jewish POWs. Also, any they've identified previously."

Carter shot Newkirk a terrified look. "Like Newkirk?"

"Shut up, Carter!"

"What do you mean?" Turner asked.

"They said you belonged to the Reich and they branded you," Carter snapped at Newkirk.

"Branded?" Turner repeated.

"Nothing important, sir." Newkirk glared at Carter.

"Just explain," Turner said.

"I was in Gestapo hands for a bit," Newkirk quickly said.

"And they branded you," Turner said. His face hardened.

"Carter's right. If the Krauts turn on the POWs, they will pick out Newkirk immediately because of those brands. Jewish POWs, anyone who is crippled or ill at the time," Wellston said. He gulped his coffee quickly, as if distracting himself.

"Not a chance." Turner straightened up. "I'll be damned if I let the Jerries go through my men and cull them like sheep for the slaughter! We'll need all the information you can get us. Perhaps the Underground can help some of those poor souls even if we can't."

"I'll try," Wellston said. He stood up. "I have to go. I have an anniversary dinner to attend. Have the Underground get Otto to London."

"Who's anniversary?" Carter asked.

"Schuberg's. My wife is making a special dinner." Wellston straightened his shirt. "I'll get you what I can."

"Who runs these camps?" LeBeau asked.

"Waffen SS troops-the TotenkopfverbÀnde." Wellston pulled his gloves back on. "Good luck. I'll talk to you soon." He left quickly.

Alone for the first time with his new command crew, Wing Commander Turner felt their gazes. "Now we know what we're fighting for," he said softly.

"What are we going to do?" Carter asked.

"Continue doing what we can. And win this war."

"And Newkirk?" LeBeau cast a worried look at his friend.

"I'm fine," Newkirk snapped. "And if they ruddy come, I 'll go and you all scarper home."

"You're not my idea of a martyr, Corporal," Turner said, a laugh in his voice. "Besides, I already said none of my men are going to be handed over."

"If they come, sir," Newkirk started.

"Then we'll deal with it. It'll be lights out soon. Let's get moving. We head upstairs and go out tonight. LeBeau, Kinch, you travel with Tiger taking our guest. Newkirk, Carter, and I will look for any downed flyers. Kinch, can you have Baker man the radio?"

"Yes, sir."

"I hope you have blacks to fit me."

"No problem," Newkirk said.

"Then let's go play some cards." Turner gave Carter a friendly nudge. "We're going to win, Carter."

"I guess I was just hoping for a happy ending, sir," Carter said.

"Don't be daft, mate," Newkirk said. "There are no happy endings in real life."

"Newkirk," Kinch groaned.

"Of course there's not, " Turner agreed. "Because nothing ever really ends." He pulled on his cap and grinned. Then he headed up.

"What the heck does that mean?" Carter asked.

"It means he's ruddy balmy too," Newkirk muttered and the men headed topside.