CHAPTER 24: COMPROMISE

The morning had been cold, but the afternoon was brighter. Newkirk strolled out of the barracks, stretching, yawning, and lighting a cigarette. LeBeau was a few paces behind him, and they were chatting and joking.

LeBeau and Newkirk sidled up to Langenscheidt and Spitz, the two guards on duty, and easily started chatting them up. Newkirk offered a cigarette; LeBeau provided a light. In two minutes flat, they extracted details about the evening's guard rotation and strolled off nonchalantly to lounge against the side of the barracks. Soon Hogan came out to join them.

"They're on until 2300, and then Pfaff and Baumgartner will replace them," Newkirk said quietly.

"Pfaff's the one who's blind in one eye from the last war," LeBeau said. "Baumgartner's the one with the limp—same war."

"And Baumgartner was carrying this," Newkirk added. He extracted a small card from his breast pocket. It was the timetable for the Hammelburg to Dusseldorf trains. Rail schedules changed frequently and having the latest one helped with their precision targeting of any trains that had military value.

"Dated today. Nice work," Hogan said quietly, with a wink at Newkirk. "I'm heading below. Signal Kinch if you need us."

Hogan arrived at Kinch's communications table and flipped the timetable to him. "Civilian train schedule, courtesy of Peter's sticky fingers," he said. "I don't know whether to thank him or spank him. I opted for thanks."

Kinch inspected it. "It's useful. Filching things is something he can do without having to leave camp, Sir. Why not just let him?"

"I don't need him getting in trouble right now, not while the brass is trying to decide his fate," Hogan replied. "On the other hand… dammit. We need him for this little stuff just as much as we need him for the big stuff."

"We might get an answer tonight, Colonel. General Butler asked to speak with you at 2330 hours."

"Hmm. That means I'll have to send someone else out to pick up those power station plans. LeBeau and Carter can do it," Hogan said.

"I wouldn't send those two, Sir. They're really on each other's nerves. Maybe try LeBeau and Olsen."

XXX

Soon after evening rollcall at 2130 hours, Newkirk was in the tunnel to outfit and dispatch LeBeau and Olsen for their mission. Colonel Hogan was nearby, pacing. Carter and Kinch were above, watching the compound while Garlotti and Foster minded the door.

Hogan slowed his walk to watch Newkirk at work.

"Not that j-j-jacket," Newkirk told Olsen as he pulled a favorite outfit off the rack. "It's br-bright out tonight, and that thing's got br-br-brass buttons. They'll catch the mmmoonlight." He reached back to pull out a dark tweed overcoat. "This one's better. Leather buttons. Nnnno reflection and no noise either. And it'll fffffit you like a glove."

He turned to LeBeau. "Now, Louis, if he's going to wear that, you can't wwwwear your duffel coat. You need ssssomething smarter. I've a nice ch-ch-charcoal grey suit in your size."

He knows his stuff, Hogan thought. And God, we need him.

Then, just as quickly, guilt ravaged him. I'm being selfish, he thought. And look at him. I can see it now. He's so damned young. Newkirk was watching as LeBeau buttoned up. He had his fist under his nose, and he was rubbing his thumb at the corner of his mouth the way he so often did when he was anxious.

"I should be going with you," Newkirk told LeBeau.

"Another time," LeBeau said, patting his arm.

"Sorry, pal," Olsen replied. "I know you wish it was you. Me too. I'd rather stay here in my nice cozy bunk, counting my lice," he deadpanned.

That helped. Newkirk and LeBeau both laughed. But as they climbed up the ladder, Newkirk's fist was back in place—at least for a moment, until Hogan caught his eye, and the Corporal self-consciously withdrew it.

While Hogan continued pacing, Newkirk hung up clothes and then ambled over to the Colonel. "Waiting for the General's call, Sir? May I wait with you?"

Hogan stopped in his path and studied Newkirk's expression. Anxious, yes. But also trusting and earnest. "Sure," he said. "Stay here with me."

While Hogan paced, Newkirk pulled a small shiny object out of the seam of his jacket and turned it over and over in his hand. For luck, he thought as he rubbed it. Make them say I can stay.

Hogan paced a little longer and then sat down at Kinch's table. "Sit down. Level with me, Peter," he said gently. "How bad would it be if you were home?"

Newkirk looked down at his hands, clutched his lucky piece in fist, and suddenly seemed miles away.

The boy ran down the street from the American Embassy, and kept running to avoid his crowd. They would manage to collect a day's wages without him. He ran clear to Oxford Street, then squirmed onto a crowded bus by holding the arm of a little boy who was clutching his mother's hand. As long as he was quiet and kept his face down and the conductor didn't notice his torn-up shoes, he'd get on for free.

He could escape for only so long, though. When his father came through the door that night, drunk and rowdy, he muscled past his wife and daughters in search of his oldest son. He dragged him out of kitchen by his ear, taking him into the sitting room and closing the door behind him. "Think you're so clever, running off, do you?" he asked the 10-year-old. He lit a cigarette, hauled the boy across his knee, and made him wait while he smoked. Then he yanked his shorts down, took the fag and pressed it into the pink flesh of his bottom, again and again and again.

"Peter?" Hogan asked, shaking Newkirk's shoulder. "Hey, hey, come back. What are you thinking about?"

Newkirk shook himself to clear the cobwebs. "Sorry, Sir, my mind drifted a bit. My old man… well, he gets drunk and then he d-does things."

"What kind of things?"

"Lessons," Newkirk replied. "J-j-just believe me, Sir, please. Bad things. My mum threw him out, but he'll be b-back if he catches wind that I'm there. He'll have j-j-j-j-jobs for me to do but I'll be in trouble no matter what I do." He paused and then added in a whisper, "I don't th-th-think he's got to my brothers yet. I'll kill him if he tries."

Hogan was trying desperately to read between the lines; the intense stuttering told him he'd struck a nerve. "Does he beat you?" he blurted out.

Newkirk looked stunned. "Yes, of course," he said, as if that went without saying. "He's my father."

"Fathers aren't supposed to beat their children, Peter," Hogan said, his voice suddenly shrill.

Newkirk looked down and he struggled to find the words. "I, I, I, I know that, Sir. But they do anyway."

"Not all do!" Hogan protested.

"No, I hope not," Newkirk replied. He could feel his emotions starting to slip like mud down a hill in the rain. "It's alright, Sir, I can take a beating." He looked up. "It's been good practice for this place, really," he added.

Now Hogan was stunned. Was he really suggesting Gestapo interrogations were a breeze because his father had beat him? He was out of words. He stood up and wrapped his arms around Newkirk.

"I could hit b-back, but my mum doesn't want me to," Newkirk said into Hogan's shoulder. "And she's right—that makes everything w-w-worse." He was quiet for a long while as Hogan held on to him. Then he piped up, "It's getting hard to breathe, Sir."

Hogan laughed and let him go just as the creak and groan of a rising bunkbed sounded. Kinch was on his way down.

"Fifteen minutes," he told Colonel Hogan. "Oh, hey, Pete," he added. "Everything OK?"

"Yeah, it's alright," Newkirk smiled. He started fidgeting again with his lucky piece. Hogan saw it glint.

"What's that?" Hogan asked.

Newkirk opened his hand. "It's silly, I know. Just something I keep for luck."

"Captain's bars. Huh. Where'd you get them?" Kinch asked.

"I found it a long time ago," Newkirk replied.

"They're American," Hogan said, taking them out of Newkirk's hand to examine them. He placed it back and looked at the Corporal quizzically. "You didn't knock off one of our Captains, did you?" he asked with a grin.

Newkirk smiled back. "No Sir. True story, I came across it in London when I was a lad. The shape caught my eye so I kept it for luck. There was a pin on back, but I ground that off years ago. I keep it in here." He poked a finger inside the hem of his jacket and tucked the bars back inside.

Hogan was giving Newkirk an intense look and another question was forming on his lips when the call from London rang through.

"General Butler for you, Sir," Kinch announced. He held an earpiece closer to his ear. "And Air Marshal Woodhouse," he added. He handed a headset to Hogan and turned up the receiver so he and Newkirk could both hear.

"Papa Bear, Jaguar here. We've had a long discussion. Given the difficulties of explaining the removal Rupert Bear from your location, we're going to try keeping him in place for now."

Newkirk's jaw fell, and his eyes shone with excitement. Kinch pulled him in for a hug. Hogan sighed with relief. He had been afraid to hope that the General Butler was on his side, and he had to believe he'd worked hard to convince Air Marshal Woodhouse.

"But there are some significant provisos," Butler continued. "Panther will explain them."

Woodhouse wasted no time. "You are to keep this cub safe at all costs, Papa Bear," he said. "He is not to be placed at any risk until he is of age, do you hear me? This means no active role in any mission. Find something else for him to do. We are British, Sir, and we are not putting a 17 year old into a dangerous situation, no matter how resilient he is."

"Roger. Define 'active role,' Sir," Hogan responded.

"Don't play at semantics with me, Papa Bear," Woodhouse said severely. "You know what risk is. You know what danger is. If he is hurt, you will be responsible, and I promise you, Papa Bear, I will personally see to it that you are held to account. We are making a big concession to your professionalism by leaving him in your custody."

"My custody," Hogan repeated.

"Yes. We have been in touch with the family, and as of this moment, you are Rupert's legal guardian. You are responsible for all decisions related to this boy, and I do mean boy. You will get him to his 18th birthday unharmed."

"Yes, Sir," Hogan replied. "Thank you, Panther and Jaguar, Sirs. I accept the responsibility and I appreciate your candor."

"And one more thing, Papa Bear. We've already lost too many very young men in this conflict. I cannot and will not accept losing one who is still legally a child." He paused. "Tell Rupert we're proud of him," Woodhouse said with a hitch in his voice. "His record speaks for itself and we await the day we can restore him to an active role. Make sure he understands that we respect what he has done. "

Hogan looked at Newkirk, who was now blushing. "He knows, Panther. Papa Bear out."

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