I'm back! This is a whole new thing for me- posting a story one chapter at a time, over a span of several days. So, have fun reading this major milestone in my writing career, lol!

NEWKIRK

Carter looked long and hard at the word he had scribbled down in all caps. Days of having nothing to do had either given him a stroke of genius, or a streak of craziness. Either way, the result would be the same. His mom used to do this all the time. She'd take the letters in someone's name and use them to come up with kind words that really spoke of who that person was.

This should be easy. And, it was guaranteed to kill a few minutes of time. So, he tapped his pencil against his cheek thoughtfully, watching as Newkirk beat Kinch at gin for the seventh time that day.

Let's see, what describes Newkirk and starts with an N? Neat? No, that's more of Kinch's thing…He found his thoughts drifting to several days before...

"I 'ave three uniforms to sew before two days are up, and you 'ave the nerve to ask me to darn your bleedin' socks?"

"Aw, come on, Newkirk. I would think you'd be happy to take a break from all those big things! Socks are the easy stuff. Plus, you know what they say: 'a stitch in time saves nine.'" Carter grinned, holding out two socks that looked practically beyond repair.

"And just 'ow many stitches did you lose time for already?" Newkirk stared at the socks in disbelief. If Carter thought he was a miracle worker, he'd come to the wrong tailor.

Carter just grinned. "By the looks of them, I'd say about five."

"I'd say forty-five!" Newkirk looked them over with a scrutinizing eye. "Mate, those are done in! Even I can't save their poor soles."

At that remark, Carter looked like his puppy had just been plowed over by a freight train. "Why not?"

"Andrew, I simply don't 'ave the talent to turn a ruddy fishing net back into socks."

"Can't you at least try?"

Turning his eyes to heaven, Newkirk forced himself to stay calm. "What's so bloody special about those socks? You 'ave ten other pair, for crying out loud!"

"Yeah, but these are different."

Newkirk cocked an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"I've had these since I came over here. I've worn them on so many missions. I had them on when my plane was going down in flames! I'm hoping to keep them until the end of the war. I mean, if this is what my socks look like after a few years, can you imagine what some kid's feet might look like if he's been over here even longer then I have?"

Newkirk's expression was unreadable... perhaps because this was the strangest war memorial he had ever laid eyes on. Finally, he cleared his throat and set the uniform he had been working on aside. "Blimey, Andrew, you win. I'm not promising anything, but I'll see what I can do for those ruddy socks of yours."

"Gee, thanks, buddy! You're the best."

~()~

A few hours later, Carter quietly stepped into the sewing room. Newkirk was bent over a uniform, adding some finishing touches. He looked up and his face brightened, "Andrew, come see if this suits you."

Carter came over and Newkirk handed him the socks. They were still terrible, but the effort was there. And that's when he noticed that each hole had a different patch. *Some were grey, some black, others were light brown or olive drab.

Newkirk saw him fingering the patches and softly explained, "I was thinking, Andrew, about what you said. You know, the poor bloke whose feet must be all torn up?"

Carter nodded, never looking up from the tattered cloth.

"Well, all those patches are from different socks. People pass through 'ere all the time and we give them new uniforms to wear. Who knows where all those socks 'ave been? But, they 'ave been on the feet of true 'eroes and soldiers, I can bloody well guarantee that."

"Wow," Carter said at last. He smiled, "That's really kind of you, buddy. I didn't know you'd take this so seriously."

"It's not every day I get to sew together a piece of 'istory, now is it?" Newkirk replied. He went back to the uniform and jabbed his needle down into the thick cloth. For a while, they both just thought of the heroes who had once worn those socks.

But, after a few seconds, Newkirk held his hands out in front of him, "tell me, Andrew, is there anything these nifty fingers can't do?"

How many times had Newkirk's 'Nifty Fingers' saved the whole operation, not to mention made sure that they didn't go around dressed in rags? Carter smiled and touched the pencil to the paper, fondly writing out the first word.

NEWKIRK

Nifty

Author's Note:

The colors of the socks are real colors used by several Armies: Americans, British, and German. If Newkirk used a grey sock (German) he would have used one from a defector who had wanted to come over to the other side.