"Newkirk!" Carter cried. If only he had been able to take the sudden weight of his friend, if only his traitorous ankle hadn't given way when Newkirk had suddenly fallen on top of him, if only. . . Well, there was no use in wishing to change things that had already happened.

Still, after Newkirk had leaned on him with all his weight, Carter's ankle had been unable to take it. It had folded painfully, causing the two to fall into the snow. Carter had popped back up immediately while Newkirk had lain there, seemingly dazed. As he watched the Englishman lose consciousness, the blond felt a pit of despair well up in his stomach. What if they couldn't make it back? What if they could, but Newkirk didn't get better? What if he never got his memories back? Carter tried to dismiss these thoughts by remembering that the dream had never said that they'd die, and that they could still try to make it back to the stalag.

A sound to his right made him jump. Well, it was really more of a an awkward, arm-flapping flop into the snow. Either way, he sat up and peered into the darkness, holding his hands up in a sort of defensive position. Oh, if only his gun hadn't been lost in the tumble down the hill! He breathed heavily, determined to protect Newkirk from whoever or whatever was approaching them.

The ones who emerged from the trees were the two people Carter had never expected. He couldn't have been more grateful if it had been the American Army out to liberate Germany. "Colonel! LeBeau" he cried.

A smile overtook Colonel Hogan's face. "Carter, what did I tell you about staying out late after the mission? It's past your bedtime."

Carter sighed in sheer relief and proceeded to tell him everything that had happened.

~\*/~

LeBeau tuned them out. As much as he wanted to know what had happened, he preferred to wait until they were all safe and sound to hear the story. He crouched down to examine Newkirk and muttered in French. His attempts to wake up his friend were futile. He glanced up at the feel of a hand on his shoulder.

"LeBeau," Hogan ordered, "You walk with Carter. I'll take care of Newkirk."

"But, Colonel, I—"

Hogan shot him a look, effectively cutting off further protests. "I said I'll handle it. For now, though, we need to get going." LeBeau figured that the pitiful look of despondence on Carter's face was what prompted the colonel to amend his statement. "Look, if you promise to lean on LeBeau, you can help me carry his weight."

Carter brightened then, seemingly excited that he was able to assist his friend. "Boy, thank you!"

LeBeau sighed, once again bemoaning his height. If only he weren't as short, he could help, too. All he was fit for was to be a human crutch. He scowled.

Carter had the good fortune to look over right at that moment. Unfortunately, he didn't quite realize what had gotten the Frenchman so upset. "Don't worry, LeBeau. Newkirk didn't lose that much blood. He should be okay soon. Wilson'll be able to take care of him."

Blood?! LeBeau's eyes widened. Before he could even think to form a reaction, his world went black. The last word he heard before losing consciousness was that of Colonel Hogan cursing under his breath.

~\*/~

"Herr Oberleutnant, the car is waiting for you." Feldwebel Johann Schneider inclined his head at his superior's gaze. "Where is it you would like me to take you? As always, I am at your beck and call."

Ludwig von Hohenheim sneered at the man, disdain written all over his features. If only I hadn't agreed to take him on. Ja, mein frau would not be so happy, he conceded with a shrug. Still, I would not have to deal with this bootlicker all the time! With a wave of his gloved hand, he muttered, "I have a meeting with Kommandant Schettler of Stalag X. We must be there in forty minutes exactly." He lifted a finger and shook it in the man's face. "Should we be even a minute late, I will have you court-martialed and shot!" Anything to get rid of him, he added mentally.

As he had expected, the other man began to tremble. "J-jawohl, mein Herr. It will be as you say, of course. Forgive me for my insolence." With a shaking hand, Feldwebel Schneider opened the door to the car and ushered his superior officer into its warmth.

The Oberleutnant briefly considered scrutinizing the way his subordinate would climb into the driver's seat and start the car but ultimately decided against it. There was not a man alive who wouldn't be infuriated by the incessant apologies and groveling that came out of Schneider's mouth. If it's not one, it's the other, von Hohenheim contemplated with a scowl. He leaned back and made himself comfortable for what he hoped to be a quick ride.

~\*/~

Kinch sighed. Were it not for the concern constantly gnawing in his gut, he might have been bored. Here he was, all alone at the stalag. He had instructed the others to be on alert just in case Schultz decided to snoop again. Still, what was taking them so long? Why weren't they here? They had surely run into some kind of trouble. There was no accounting for their absence otherwise. What had gone wrong? What if Kinch had been there for them? Would it have changed things for the better?

A glance at the radio told him all he needed to know. It was silent. There were no new messages from London, no tips from the Underground, and not a word from the colonel. If only there were a way to find out if he could help.

But no. The colonel told me to stay put. But if—No. He trusts me to make sure the operation stays safe. He sighed. There must be something I can do to make sure everything's prepared for when they get back, though. . . With that somewhat depressing thought, he set about organizing the medical supplies they kept down in the tunnel for emergencies. If the men were injured, there would be bandages in that corner and the closest thing they had to disinfectant in the other. The bedding for the extra cot had just been washed, so he could replace the dirty ones with it. He hurriedly thought of a handful of other things he could do to busy himself until they came back.

A glance at his watch told him two hours and twenty-seven minutes had passed since Colonel Hogan and LeBeau had gone off on their little "adventure." Crossing his arms somewhat uncertainly, he decided that, if he hadn't heard anything from them in thirty-five—no, forty—more minutes, he would consider breaking the colonel's orders and going to rescue them. But surely they'll be back by then, right? Kinch tried in vain to reassure himself. They know what they're doing. . .

~\*/~

"Come on, Carter. Help me get them up." Hogan lifted LeBeau into a sitting position and leaned him against a tree.

Carter complied, his brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, he spoke up. "Colonel? What if we . . . borrowed a car? From the road, I mean. Surely no car would refuse to stop with you in your Gestapo uniform . . . and we really need to get Newkirk back quickly. I don't know how much longer he can be in the cold."

Hogan bit his lip, mulling it over. "You know what, Carter? That sounds like it might actually work."

Carter's eyes lit up. "Really? Well, I was just thinking about how important it is that we get him back to camp soon, and how it'd be really nice if we didn't have to walk the whole way while holding him and all. You think it could work, boy? Uh, I mean sir."

Hogan chuckled at Carter's obvious excitement. "Yeah, I think it could. Follow me. We're not far out from the road." The colonel slung an arm around Newkirk's shoulder and pulled an arm around his own. Once Carter had gotten LeBeau onto his back, the two set off. Hogan sneaked a peek at his limping sergeant. Carter's right, he mused. We can't let Newkirk be in this blizzard any longer than we have to.

When they reached the road, Carter and Colonel Hogan set down their charges. LeBeau stirred, beginning to return to consciousness. He moaned softly.

Hogan whipped his head around and motioned for Carter to quiet the Frenchman. Soon, the sounds of a car passing by could be heard. "Carter, come here."

They stood by the road, their black-and-red uniforms a startling contrast to the white powder falling from the sky. The car screeched to a halt at the sight of the two imposing Gestapo officers waving them down. A car door opened, and a man with the attire of a Feldwebel stepped out, snapping a salute at the two men. Trembling, he stated his name and asked, "How may I be of service to you gentlemen? I am on my way to bring Oberleutnant von Hohenheim to a meeting with the Kommandant of Stalag X."

Hogan nodded, privately wishing he and LeBeau had chosen higher-ranking uniforms to wear. No matter. He would just fake confidence until he got his way. That was usually how it worked, anyway. He opened his mouth to speak and froze when another voice came his way.

"We demand the use of your car, Feldwebel." When the German did not jump to obey his command, Carter barked, "Immediately, I say! Would you keep me, Oberst Carterhoff of the Gestapo, waiting?! General Burkhalter is awaiting my presence at a meeting of the highest importance in but a few minutes. The fate of the Third Reich rests upon your decision."

Hogan muttered, "No pressure. Come on. You wouldn't want to keep the General waiting, would you? My cousin did once, and . . . let's just say he got a vacation far sooner than he'd hoped for."

The Feldwebel gulped. "But . . . but what about Oberleutnant von Hohenheim? He needs to get to his meeting. If he does not get there on time, it would be worth my life!"

"You imbecilic buffoon! General Burkhalter will be accompanied by Reichsmarschall Goering! Your officer's little tea party can wait. My meeting will determine the outcome of the entire war!"

Carter's eyes seemed to light up at the speech, similar in an eerie way to his mannerisms when he had played the part of Hitler. Hogan groaned to himself. Just a bit too much over-the-top, Carter. You might want to tone it down. Resisting the urge to facepalm, he grunted, "As we have said, it would be better for you if you surrendered your car to us."

The German looked as if he would refuse once more. He was the dedicated sort, it seemed. Still, there had to be some way to pressure him.

Just as Hogan opened his mouth to somehow coerce him, a voice from inside the car shouted, "Schneider, what on earth is taking so long?! I told you—"

"Ah, would this be the good Oberleutnant you mentioned earlier?" Carter sneered. As the man emerged from his vehicle, Carter scoffed, "Herr Oberleutnant, you should train your men better! He refused to hand over the car to me. I have urgent matters to discuss with General Burkhalter and Reichsmarschall Goering! Would you like to be the reason for the failure of the war effort?" With every word, Carter's almost patronizing tone had become progressively shriller and more pointed.

The German gulped almost imperceptibly. He straightened his back and with difficulty declared, "As the Gestapo wishes. You shall have our car. However, I demand that you be the one to call Kommandant Schettler and explain why I will not be attending his meeting on time."

Frowning slightly, Carter seemed to weigh the statement. At length, he shrugged. "Very well. I will concede but only to show you that the Gestapo can be . . . generous." He smiled then, and it was such an unnerving expression that Colonel Hogan himself was disturbed.

I really am glad that he's on our side, the colonel thought privately. Out loud he said, "Now that that's settled, I'll get the car ready for you, sir." He gave Carter a look, hoping desperately that the blond would understand. While it was true that Hogan trusted his men implicitly, he couldn't shake the nervousness he'd been plagued with for the whole mission. He knew he wouldn't be able to truly rest until he and his men were safe at the stalag. The thought struck him as amusing, and he laughed to himself, Safe at a prisoner of war camp! Who would've thought it?

He smiled when Carter began to distract the men with a well-placed rant about something or other. It was obvious that the man had understood the silent order. Resisting the urge to shake his head, Hogan instead headed back to the safety of the trees, intent on helping to get LeBeau and Newkirk into the car. With any luck, they would escape quickly and be back to the stalag within the hour! Of course, luck hated them at the moment. Still, that was no reason to believe that it wouldn't be on their side once more, right? Colonel Hogan hated that he still entertained a smidgen of doubt.

Hey again! I'm posting this right before school starts today. :3 Enjoy! :D I'll try to get another one up soon. As nice as it would've been to be able to post it earlier, life got in the way. . .

(As a side note, I really like saying the word "feldwebel" . . .)

Edit: I'd like to thank DeathThouShaltDie for pointing out an inconsistency with the timing. :D I've gone through the story now to fix it. The times in the story should all match up now.

Soli Deo gloria!

~LHDD