Hochstetter reclined in the back seat of his staff car, completely at ease with the way with which it zipped around the icy corners. He had to catch Papa Bear if it was the last thing he did! There was no way Colonel Hogan would know that his days of trickery were at last almost to an end. Hochstetter congratulated himself on his brilliant idea of not calling ahead to the stalag. If he knew Papa Bear at all, then he knew that the best thing to have on his side (short of an impromptu firing squad) was the element of surprise. Yes, he mused, and I can exploit his weakness. He's soft for his men. . .

~\*/~

"Ar-are we almost there?" Carter's violent shivers were so intense that they almost caused LeBeau to lose his balance. After all, acting as a human crutch meant having enough balance for both the one assisting and the one being assisted. Carter was only vaguely aware of this, however. Instead, his vision was set solely on his blue-clad friend. "I don't know if I'll be able to help him get down the ladder. . ."

LeBeau muttered bitterly, "You won't be helping anyone get down the ladder with your ankle in that kind of shape."

Carter turned to him, a wounded expression on his face. "But I could at least try to catch him if he fell! He deserves that much. And, since I'm closer to his size, I'd be able to hold him up!" He realized belatedly that his innocent words had hit a nerve when LeBeau's face began to take on a red tint. The Frenchman was notorious for having a volatile temper and seemed moments from exploding. But I just meant that I'd have a better chance of catching him than you would, and since we want him to get down safely. . . Carter bit his lip. He couldn't let LeBeau think he was intentionally calling him short. He had to remedy that.

Before either one of them could add on to the conversation, though, Colonel Hogan raised his voice, startling the semi-conscious Newkirk who was leaning on him. "All right, all right. Calm down. We'll be there soon." He shifted his burden and began trekking through the snow once more.

Carter hung his head. "Yes, sir." He looked at LeBeau and sighed, "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to make you mad."

LeBeau, who had also slumped his shoulders at the reprimand, grumbled, "I am sorry as well."

"Good! Now that you two have made up—" The colonel chuckled at that— "I think I see the lights of the stalag. We're almost home!"

Carter's eyes lit up. "Really?! Boy, it feels like it's been months since we left! I bet Kinch is waiting for us by the ladder!" He paused just then as a thought occurred to him. "Colonel, we never did decide how to get Newkirk down the ladder. I mean, Kinch can't carry him down. It's too small. And he can't get down on his own."

Carter's words were quite true. While Newkirk had started the journey back to camp practically marching—Well, as much as an injured man could, anyway—he had begun to flag within minutes. Most of his energy had been sapped by the cold and his injuries. Even with the car ride, he was too exhausted to trudge through the snow for long. The sparkle Carter had previously seen in his friend's eyes had dimmed, though whether it was from pain, confusion, or fatigue (or a mixture of both), the American wasn't sure. Either way, Newkirk had sagged against his commanding officer about three minutes ago. He appeared to be only faintly aware of this, though, if his dazed look was anything to go by.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. It's not the only way into the stalag, you know." The colonel's tone was light, joking even, but Carter could tell there was an undercurrent of worry tainting the words.

Knowing that it was best to leave Hogan to plan and scheme, Carter turned his attention to LeBeau. Still a bit wary that the man would be holding resentment toward him, Carter debated what to say. His mouth twisted into a half-grin. "And to think we told the colonel we'd be able to handle a simple mission like this—joked about it, even. . ."

LeBeau scoffed, "It's all because you didn't have me on your mission! I'd certainly not have fouled things up!" While his words in and of themselves were harsh, his very timbre revealed his amusement. "Leaving it to an Englishman—and an American, no less!—Is it any wonder the mission was a bust?" He shook his head.

Carter smiled then, relief evident. Seems like LeBeau's forgiven me. He could feel some of the tension from the mission draining out of him with the action. "Well, if you'd tagged along, I'm not sure we'd have gotten into this mess." Nodding in a serious fashion, he added, "I mean, you could've been our chauffeur! Just think, being able to have a chauffeur! You know, I bet not even Hochstetter has a real chauffeur. He probably just has someone drive him around so he can look important. Y'know, to Klink and everybody else. . . Oh, wait. Isn't that what a real chauffeur does? I guess that means he probably is important enough to have one . . ."

It should be noted that Carter was by nature a talkative person. However, he didn't always talk just because he wanted to say something. He had learned from experience that some of the men on the team (Newkirk and LeBeau, especially) needed something to take their minds off of things bothering them. Because of that, there were times he would talk for their sake. In response, Newkirk would usually berate him or smack him with his hat. LeBeau would either laugh his questions off or passionately defend his opinion. Whatever their reaction, his goal of distracting them usually worked pretty well. And if there was ever a need for them to take their minds off of something, it would be this mission. It was for this reason that Carter continued to ponder vocally the idea that Hochstetter just might be high enough in rank to have gained a chauffeur of his very own. If LeBeau's exclamation of "Sacre chats! You think I'm only good enough to be a chauffeur?!" was any indication, all the talk seemed to be doing the trick.

We'll all feel better once we're in the stalag again, Carter mused, mind imagined what would happen upon their return. By the time he caught up with the conversation again, he heard himself say, ". . . But I'm not sure I'd want to actually be one. I mean, what if I have to drive for hours and end up missing my niece's birthday party?"

LeBeau snickered, "Your niece? You don't even have one!"

Despite the fact that he had no idea how the conversation had turned to nonexistent family members, Carter defended his statement. "But that doesn't mean I wouldn't have one then! I know my cousin Rita was really hoping for a baby soon. What with her husband Leroy off fighting, though, it probably won't happen for a while."

LeBeau rolled his eyes. "Sure."

~\*/~

Colonel Hogan scanned the woods. Newkirk wouldn't be able to go underneath the fence in his condition. With a bum ankle, even Carter would struggle with it. An act like that required full use of one's legs in the event that he had to run. They could wait for the patrols to spot them, but that would sink any story Kinch would have had to concoct. The ladder was so narrow that it would only fit one man at once. There were a great many other ways into the camp, but not one of them would suit their purposes.

With a frown distorting his features, Colonel Hogan grunted. The only option would have to be the ladder. Newkirk had walked this far. He would just have to make it down the ladder on his own. Still, there was nothing that said people couldn't stand at the bottom just in case the half-alert corporal lost his footing.

That decided, he lifted his head and ordered, "LeBeau, go down the tunnel and wait with Kinch. We'll send Carter down the ladder first and then Newkirk."

"D'accord!" LeBeau scampered down the ladder, shutting the stump-lid behind him.

Hogan waited exactly 2.53 seconds before turning to Carter and instructing him to follow.

Newkirk watched curiously as the blond obeyed. "Colonel," he murmured slowly, "why's Andrew going down a ruddy hole in the ground? Last I checked, he's not a gopher."

Hogan stifled a chuckle at Newkirk's innocuous words. "That's the way to our secret underground tunnel."

The younger man blinked slowly. When he did speak, his words were slow and ponderous. "Oh. Is it far down below us? I bet it'd take a long while to dig one what's actually worth its salt." Newkirk sighed then, growing weary from the conversation. "I don't suppose we could sit down, could we?"

The colonel shook his head. "Not until we make it inside. You first. Down the tunnel." He lifted the covering to the ladder, ushering the Englishman into the depths of the passageway.

~\*/~

Peter took a few steps down the ladder, hissing in pain whenever he had to move his wounded leg. Thankfully, he only almost fell down the ladder three times. Each time, however, someone steadied him. Truth be told, he wasn't quite sure how the person had known his foot would slip. Well, no matter. At least we're . . . Where are we? The moment his foot hit the ground, Peter turned to see what all the ruckus was about this "tunnel" of theirs. He gazed about the room in wonder. In that instance, the fogginess that had clouded his mind began to clear, likely as a result of his awe. He blinked, trying to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Instead of seeing a narrow tunnel through which one would have to crawl, he found himself in a gigantic cavern carved into the earth. "Blimey! This ain't no bleeding bunny burrow you got here, mate!"

"I told you, didn't I? Only the best for Stalag XIII!" a familiar voice chimed in from Peter's right. He whipped around to see Andrew standing there. The American was sporting a grin so wide that his eyes crinkled. "Peter, we made it back!"

Before Peter could process what was happening, he found himself enveloped in a firm hug. He opened his mouth to protest—which, for some inexplicable reason, seemed to him to be the correct response—but yawned instead. The weariness he had felt before hit him all at once. He found he was unable to keep his eyes open much longer. With a sigh, he melted into the sweet embrace of sleep.

~\*/~

Carter gasped, "Colonel! Colonel, something's happened to Newkirk!" In his arms was slumped a limp Newkirk. "He was just standing, and then he wasn't!"

"Kinch!" Colonel Hogan barked, "get Wilson!"

The sergeant dashed off to do his commanding officer's bidding.

After they had gotten Newkirk settled on the spare cot, Carter turned to face Hogan. "Will he be okay, Colonel? He lost a lot of blood. . ." Carter fidgeted with the hem of his Gestapo uniform. "He just sort of . . . well, dropped, almost."

Hogan nodded. "I'm sure he'll be fine. LeBeau, go make up the bottom bunk in my room for Newkirk. We'll need someplace to put him until he recovers." In truth, he'd been thinking of a good excuse for Newkirk's bullet wound and concussion. He still hadn't figured out what to do about the amnesia, but Wilson would probably be able to help with that. Either way, having Wilson come would not only ensure his men's injuries would be treated, but it would provide a nice alibi should it come down to that.

Carter sat down on the edge of the cot to give his ankle a rest. Although the colonel was focusing on how to disguise Newkirk's wound as something else entirely, he tuned in to catch the tail end of Carter's rambling. "—ee whillickers, if I'd known we were going to get into this kind of trouble, I'd have at least brought a flashlight, or a crutch, or . . . a blanket." Carter shivered, which reminded Hogan that he'd forgotten about how long Carter had been in the cold. He was just about to have Carter go upstairs to change into warm clothes when he heard the sounds of footsteps behind him.

"Y-you—" Wilson gasped, out of breath— "You called?" Kinch stood behind him, stoic face revealing very little.

Hogan nodded. "Newkirk and Carter need a check-up."

"Yes, sir." A frown graced Wilson's features when he saw the pair. He knelt and began his examination of Newkirk, all the while keeping up idle chit chat. "How long has it been since they've been looked at? I've told you before that kids need check-ups frequently. . ."

"Well, that's why you're here, 'doctor.'" Colonel Hogan couldn't help but smile. He quipped, "Now, tell me. Do they get a sticker and a lollipop after this visit?"

Wilson chuckled, "It depends on if they're both good bo—" He paused, face blank. "This man's been shot!"

So, this took longer than I'd hoped to post it. Honestly, last week was pretty busy. But you probably don't want to know about that. I did think it might interest you to read a deleted scene from before Newkirk makes it down the ladder. I cut it for many reasons (including but not limited to the following: these types of nightmares aren't typically my style of thing to write, Kinch would've gone to great lengths to stay awake, I wasn't happy with how it turned out, and it would've meant Kinch being wary of Carter for a bit). Still, I put it in here in case you do want to read it. Had it been included, it would've been shined, buffed, and polished to fit the story better.

Kinch had cleaned and organized the room more times than ever before. Now, sitting by the radio, he had to force his leg not to bounce. When the adrenaline wore off, he knew, he'd be hard-pressed to stay awake. But he wouldn't abandon his post there by the radio. Who knew but that they'd try to contact him soon?

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of the trapdoor to the ladder opening and closing. Immediately, he was on his feet, prepared for whomever might have stumbled upon the secret entrance into the intricate tunnel system underneath Stalag XIII. "Who is it?" he called.

"Oh, Kinch! Boy, am I glad to see you!" Carter limped toward him. "Don't worry. It's all fine."

Kinch nodded, dazed. "Uh, good. Good! That's good! Where are the others?" He peered behind his friend, hoping to catch a glimpse of the three.

Carter shrugged. "Somewhere behind me. I mean, after Newkirk got shot, there wasn't much reason to stay with him. Since the Germans were searching for us, I had to split. I mean, always better not to get caught, right?"

Kinch paused. The calm demeanor with which those words had been spoken sent chills down his spine. "Carter?"

The blond smiled then, and it was such a demented expression of the usually cheerful face that Kinch froze. "The colonel and LeBeau were out to rescue us, but they never showed. Patrols and all. Probably never made it halfway there. Too bad. I was looking forward to eating some of that bouillabaisse Louis always goes on about," he cackled flippanty, not one ounce of sadness in his face. "Guess it's just you and me, Kinch, right?" His eyes glinted with an almost predatory light.

Kinch looked on in horror. Who was this creature and what had become of Carter?

"Kinch? Kinch?" The feel of a hand at his shoulder jerked him back into consciousness. He sat up over the pile of bandages he'd been folding for what had seemed like the millionth time.

Startled, Kinch swatted away the hand. The innocent face of Carter stared back at him. "Kinch! Kinch! Oh, good! You're awake! I figured you'd be here. We're back, but Newkirk's wounded, and we can't get him down the ladder, so the colonel said you might be abl—"

Kinch blinked away the sleepiness. How had he fallen asleep? He had drunk at least a whole pot of coffee alone. What had Carter said? Wait. Carter? Carter?! He scanned Carter's face warily and sighed when he saw no sign of the heartless shell of a human he had talked to before. "What did you say?"

"Come on! Newkirk got shot in the leg! We can't get him down the tunnel."

Without another hesitation, Kinch made for the ladder. It took much effort, but he was eventually able to get Newkirk into the tunnel. Once there, the Englishman wearily plopped down onto a nearby cot, thoroughly exhausted.

I'm, like, really eager to post this. While I did read through it more than once this morning, all the editing I did to it got deleted. :/ I think I fixed all the mistakes, but I'll go back through it after school and check again. My kids are about to arrive, so I've got to go. Enjoy! :D

Edit: I posted this on Wednesday morning of November the 4th. It wouldn't show up, however, and wouldn't even reflect the addition to the summary. I'm deeply sorry for how confused you may have been upon receiving the email detailing the newest chapter.

Soli Deo gloria!

~LHDD