The rattling platform announced the arrival of the train seconds before the whistle bellowed its high-pitched tune. Newkirk looked at his watch and then at their tickets. This was their train. The soldier hooked his elbow with James', leading him up to where they could enter. The kid shuffled his feet despite the even ground.

The kid had acting strange that all morning. He'd barely touched his breakfast and stumbled down the road despite it being smooth. That, on top of the wanted papers Newkirk saw of the boy at the inn, made the Brit antsy to get out of Germany. Either the Gestapo or those two officers found a good artist to make up some rendition of the kid. If James hadn't of gained weight, then even the bandages wouldn't be enough to hide the kid's identity. Of course, Newkirk didn't mention the papers to the boy. No need stressing him out when he already had a bad night.

The train came in with a loud roar of the whistle before the brakes slowed it to a crawl. A whooshing of air being released marked the train for coming to a full stop. Newkirk hurried along with James to enter, wanting to get a seat in the back immediately.

The Brit was not polite about pushing through people. Most turned around to say something foul back but stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the bandages over James' eyes. Brilliant. It made getting to the back easy enough.

Two plush, red seats waited there for them. Newkirk guided James to the window seat, so the Brit could deal with anyone walking the aisle. "Got everything?" Newkirk asked, placing his suitcase between his legs. He didn't trust the overhead compartment. He'd lost one too many parcels that way.

"Yeah," James responded, hugging the trench coat bag to his chest.

Newkirk shifted his weight a little in the seat and looked at the other. It was odd not seeing him practically cower inside the trench coat at the mere mention of Germans. Now he was on a train full of them. Maybe they had made some progress.

The train whistle bellowed once more before the sound of air being released signaled the train starting. Newkirk settled back against the seat, ready to enjoy an uneventful train ride.

About ten minutes into their journey, a man wearing a pinstripe vest came down the aisles asking to see everyone's tickets. Newkirk shifted in his seat to reach into his coat pocket and pulled out two crumpled tickets. When the man came up to the pair, he punched the tickets with his hole puncher but didn't move on. "Do you have a problem?" Newkirk asked, folding his arms.

"Damn cripple," the man muttered before moving onto the next car.

Newkirk set his jaw while James gripped his trench coat package tighter. Newkirk noticed this and knocked the kid with his elbow. "Eh, mate, what's wrong? These Krauts starting to get to you?" he asked.

The boy shook his head and sniffled. "Last night," he started, gripping the package even tighter. "I-I couldn't…I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes…someone shot me. And Stalag 13 was burning and you and LeBeau were being attacked…" He put his face down in the parcel. His shoulders jumped and hitched. Going through the motions of crying without actually crying.

Newkirk looked around to see if anyone was watching before putting his arm around the other. Crying inside Hogan's private office was one thing. It was an entirely new situation to cry on a public train. "Come off it now, it's alright. It was only a wee dream. Those Krauts would have to get through me before they touched you," Newkirk tried, hoping the kid would calm down. "Come on. You'll ruin the gauze if you cry too much. We only have two spare rolls."

James sniffled some more before wiping his nose and sitting up. The dampness showed in little grey puddles on the gauze. Newkirk dabbed at them with a hanky in his breast pocket.

Before Newkirk could say anything else, the door at the front of the car slammed open. Everyone snapped their heads to the direction of the noise and saw two Gestapo officers. Their black suits cut a striking image against the eggshell white of the wall. Both wore that horrible red ban with a swastika in the middle.

The car became dead silent as they stood there. Newkirk crossed one leg over the other. The foot resting on his knee held his "pencil sharpener" in the boot. One man held up a wanted poster. The same wanted poster Newkirk had seen at the inn. Bloody hell.

"Has anyone seen this man?" one of the officers asked. The car stayed as silent as the night. The officer holding the picture put it down and muttered something to his partner. They then turned to the first passenger on the left and started asking the person questions. They were going to go down one by one.

A soft murmur picked up in the car. Eyes shifted to and fro across the train car. Women held their purses closes and men straightened their ties. Newkirk kept his eyes on the Gestapo officers. Hopefully James was disguised enough so that the posters would be worthless.

"What's going on?" James whispered.

"Gestapo," Newkirk answered. "They're looking for someone."

"Who?"

The Brit glanced at the kid before replying. His gauze was still damp from the crying, and he had a death grip on his trench coat. No way could he tell him the truth. "Looks like some ruddy criminal. Unwashed with a scraggly beard," Newkirk replied, trying to relax back into the seat. He put his foot down so they wouldn't see his knife.

The men slowly made their way down the aisle, stopping at every seat to show the passengers the poster. When the men stopped by Newkirk and James, the Brit greeted them.

"Have you seen this man?" the officer holding the picture asked.

Newkirk twisted in his seat to get a better look at the poster. It looked strikingly like James when Newkirk and Carter pulled him from outside those few nights ago. "No, sir," the man replied, settling back into his seat.

"What is wrong with him?" asked the other officer, pointing to James. "Is he a cripple?"

The Brit gave a nervous laugh and shook his head. "Nein, nein. He's going home from the war. He lost his sight, and I'm now his escort," he explained. "Show the men your papers, Lutz." James reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope with all his papers. Newkirk opened it and pulled out the fake discharge and medical papers.

The officers glanced at them before pushing the other's hand back. They turned to ask the final passenger if they recognized the picture and left to interrogate the next car.

The minute the train car door shut, everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. That was one way to get the blood pumping this early in the morning. Newkirk handed James back the envelope of papers which the kid stuffed in his coat pocket. His hand trembled.

A/N:

Added some edits to clear up story confusion.