~November 1944~

Stalag 13

Wilson motioned for the others to stand back as he dropped the sheet. He remembered something he had seen demonstrated in medical school. "It may be too late," he muttered. He brought his fists together and down sharply on the middle of Carter's chest and began pushing rhythmically with both hands. Both Hogan and Newkirk stared in confusion but said nothing.

Several minutes went by, with no sound but the tense efforts of the medic. Suddenly, Carter's body seemed to heave, and he gasped for air. He began to breathe raggedly, though he remained unconscious. Wilson turned to Newkirk. "Hand me that oxygen mask, quick!"

Newkirk did, retrieving the mask that Wilson had removed from Carter only a short time before. Wilson placed it carefully around his face and adjusted the flow. Hogan and Newkirk turned anxious eyes on the medic. Hogan spoke first. "Well, Doc?"

Wilson, who was sweating profusely, grabbed a towel off the end of his commander's bunk, and wiping his face, smiled tiredly. "If he wakes up in the next few hours, I think he'll be alright. He lost a lot of blood, but we have enough donors, we should be able to keep him going. I think it was just too much for his body."

Hogan looked at him. "What was that you did to him?"

"External heart massage. It's been around since just after the turn of the century. * Sometimes with someone whose heart has stopped, you can start it again." He saw the accusatory looks that flitted across both Hogan and Newkirk's faces. He held up his hand to stave off the protests he knew were coming. "You're gonna ask why I didn't try it with Kinch. Look. I was right here when Carter's heart stopped. That was not the case with Kinch. I wasn't even sure what was happening when I got there. Too much time had gone by. For external heart massage to work, it has to be applied within just a few minutes at the longest. I wish I could've…you know I would've, fellas."

To Joe's relief, he could see both men's expressions clear immediately. They understood. And they trusted him. Joe may not have his medical degree…but he was the best damned doctor they knew.

~HH~

Newkirk pushed through the door into the main room. The others were startled by his jubilant expression. "'e's gonna be alright! Carter's gonna be okay!"

There were grins and cheers all around, even as Wilson came out the door behind Newkirk. The men quieted down as the medic held up his hand. "Look, he's still in pretty rough shape. Yes, he should be alright. That is, providing he wakes up sometime within the next six hours or so. He lost a lot of blood, but we can work with that. As long as the wound doesn't get infected, things will be okay. He's tough. We all know that. What he really needs is good food, and penicillin, both of which are in very short supply. I'll do my best." He turned to Taffy, who was standing off to the side. "I think this is where we could really use some of your expertise."

Taffy nodded solemnly. And he walked to the center of the barracks and bowed his head and closed his eyes. One by one, all the men, Newkirk, Hogan and Wilson included, joined them.

~HH~

Hogan sat at the table with the others. They were quiet. The problem was that they were nearly three hours past the time frame Wilson had given them, and Carter, though his breathing was even and his heartbeat strong and steady, had not awakened. Wilson could not explain it. He came out once and tried. "It sometimes happens this way. There is simply no way to predict it."

Newkirk frowned. "So what are you sayin?"

Joe sighed. He really had hoped it wouldn't come to this. "He could stay this way indefinitely."

A shocked silence filled the room as the men considered his words.

And then Newkirk stood and shook his head. "No. Not bloody likely."

He walked across the room and straight into Colonel Hogan's quarters. And the men were all startled when Newkirk roared, "Alright Carter, that's enough! Get outta that bed! You're not leavin' me, you hear me? You die, and I will kill you!"

One of the newer transfers, who happened to be sharing a bunk with LeBeau snickered. Saunders had not proved to be terribly popular anyway, since most of the men were fed up with his bigotry and nastiness. In fact, he and Baker had gone a couple of rounds in recent weeks. There was no possibility of getting him transferred out with the overcrowding of all the camps in the area. Newkirk had already promised to take care of the problem if he gave anyone much more grief.

LeBeau stared at Saunders for a moment. "There is something funny to you?"

Saunders glared back and then switched his gaze to the half-open door. "Just watching those two makes you think they must have a thing going on the side."

It was exactly the wrong thing to say, and he never saw the right cross that knocked him out of the bunk and onto the floor. It was probably a good thing it was LeBeau that hit him, and that Newkirk had not heard him. Hogan's reaction was swift and decisive. He smacked the tunnel bunk and dumped the unconscious man down into the tunnel. His eyes were blazing. He looked at Baker and Olsen. "Get him out of here. Put him in one of the other barracks. I don't care how you do it…just do it." The two men nodded and disappeared into the tunnel.

~HH~

They were back in less than an hour, sans Saunders. Baker looked at Hogan. "We unloaded him on Barracks 12." Hogan nodded brusquely. "Good. Tennyson will know what to do with him." The Barracks Chief in 12 was tough and would brook no nonsense. He was a rather large Australian whose mother was Samoan…and Tennyson despised bigots.

Baker grinned at the look on Hogan's face. "Yeah. What we figured."

Newkirk was still in with Carter, who was still out. Hogan had devised a plan, of sorts, to hide the Nazi whose body they had retrieved from the woods, and they needed to bury Fitz. Both had been brought down into the tunnel during the night, but they could not leave them there… at least…they would not leave Fitz there. As much as he hated the thought, they would bury him tonight in an unmarked grave in the POW cemetery. As for the Nazi…well. He would also be buried, but it would be with a good deal less ceremony, and there was a chance that someday, someone would find the body, and wonder…but they would just have to hope that no one discovered him before the war was over and they were all safely home.

He peeked in on Newkirk and Carter. Newkirk was sitting disconsolately on the bottom bunk staring at his friend. Hogan hated to pull him away, but he needed every hand he could get on this. "Newkirk, look, Wilson will keep an eye on him. I need you and the guys for a little while."

Newkirk nodded, though Hogan could tell he wanted to protest. They made their way to the table, and Hogan filled them in on his idea. It was telling that Newkirk never even lodged a protest at the sheer audacity of the plan. He never even said a word, simply nodding at appropriate moments. It was LeBeau who questioned the sanity of the idea. "Do you think it's safe, trying to tunnel over to Carter's old lab?"

Hogan considered the question. "Maybe not, but it's a risk we have to take. It's one of the tunnels the Germans already know about. They have no reason to search there. We tunnel in, put the body in there, fill it in, and get out."

Baker nodded. "Yes, sir. But tunneling in there is gonna take days. Maybe a week. And filling it in again? Another week."

"Not if you use small directional charges. I could make some up for you. Easy as pie." Andrew stood shakily leaning on the doorframe. For a moment they were all frozen in shock. In the next instant, Peter had gathered Carter into his arms, cussing him up one wall and down the other.

~TBC~

A/N: * External heart massage was performed successfully clear back in the mid-1800's but documented techniques such as the one used by Wilson were being used routinely as early as 1904.