Newkirk was leaning on the edge of his seat talking to a young woman with a low-cut dress. The contact was taking longer than expected to get here, so the Brit thought he might as well chat up a pretty dame in the meantime.

The pair were laughing when suddenly Newkirk's chair was shoved, and his drink spilled over the woman. She gasped and tried to dry herself with a napkin while Newkirk turned around to see what had happened. James was on the floor with some large man towering over him. Before the Brit could say anything, the man kicked James in the stomach.

Newkirk's fist clenched at his sides and he saw red. What kind of inbreed muck kicked a blind person? Not to mention someone as small as James. The soldier held his hand in front of the larger man to stop him from attacking James any further and said, "What's your problem?"

The man knocked Newkirk's hand away. He honestly didn't look like someone who would be in such a nice hotel bar. "This pansy was touchin' my thigh like I was some fräulein," the other replied. A small crowd had grown around the three of them now. The girl Newkirk had been chatting with was nowhere in sight.

A quick glance at James showed he was still doubled over from the pain of being kicked in the stomach. Though Newkirk knew that was not what the kid was trying to do. "You see that he's blind, don't ya? He was probably trying to get my attention. I'm his escort," the Brit explained, searching his pockets for the forged papers. However, as he reached inside his pockets, he realized they were in his suitcase.

The man snorted. "Like I'm supposed to believe that," he said.

"I-It's true," James interjected. Every head turned to look down at the trembling mess that was supposed to pass for a soldier. "I-I lost my vision during the war. I have papers to prove it."

Newkirk and the other men backed up as James slowly rose to his feet. He leaned on the bar counter for support as he pulled out the forged medical and discharge papers. He extended them in the vague direction of the drunk who snatched at them, tearing the corner off one of them.

While the man read the papers, Newkirk wrapped his arm around James as a crutch. When the man finished reading the documents, he snorted before giving the papers back to the Brit. "Soldier my ass," the man stated. "Boy barely looks old enough to grow hair on his chest." With that the man lumbered off, parting the crowd like Moses.

The boy trembled in Newkirk's grip. The Brit knew they needed to leave before James melted into a puddle of anxiety. As the music started up again and murmurs weaved through the room, Newkirk ushered James out of the bar. Shallow puffs of air escaped the boy's lungs as they made their way to the elevator. The soldier placed a hand on the back of the other's head to press it against his chest. They needed to contact their Dutch friend tonight, but Newkirk was not about to let James have a panic attack in a room full of people.

A ding signaled their stop. Newkirk helped the other out of the elevator and to their room. He walked with the boy to the couch before sitting on it with him. James latched onto him like a leach. The minute they settled onto the couch; the flood gates broke loose.

Big, gasping sobs mixed with shallow breathes of air. Newkirk worked away at the bandages around James' eyes. No way could that be good for the other. The gauze fell in a damp heap in the boy's lap. All the Brit could do now was hold the kid and hope it was enough. Maybe in officer training they taught you how to handle cases like this, but nothing in basic training taught him how to deal with wailing fruitcakes.

In younger years, his mother would give him and his sister a spoonful of brandy to quiet them down. While Newkirk was itching to just silence the boy, something deep inside him told him that wasn't the right thing to do. Instead he stayed on the couch with the boy, his arms wrapped around him like a security blanket.

It wasn't possible to tell if the boy had calmed down or his body just gave out. Newkirk swore it felt like one moment the kid was sobbing and the next he was limp as a noodle. In any case, James' face turned an ugly red color and his eyes had swollen to the size of grapefruits.

At least he's quiet. Newkirk's shirt was stained with snot and tears, so he unbuttoned it and opened his suitcase to grab another one. He shouldered it on and started to button it when a knock came to the door. Bloody hell, what now?

"What?" Newkirk asked, fiddling with the buttons on the sleeve.

"Gestapo. Open up."

No three words could chill Newkirk's bones as fast as those.

"Uh, little busy," the Brit replied, looking around the room for something to cover James. If they found him, they were busted for sure.

"Open up before we break down the door!"

Newkirk cursed under his breath. Whatever had sent them couldn't be reversed now. The Brit would have to figure a way out now.

"Coming," he called, going to the door and opening it. What greeted him on the other side were four Gestapo officers clad in black. They mimicked a form of the grim reaper.

Three of the men pushed past Newkirk while the one that had been yelling through the door explained their purpose, "We received a call that someone calling themselves Lutz may be impersonating a soldier."

Fantastic. Newkirk could only watch in horror as the three men found James passed out on the couch. They grabbed the boy violently and began searching his pockets for the forged documents. The papers would fool the average border guard or inspector, but the Gestapo was another matter. Not to mention the fact that James' medical papers say he lost not only his sight but his actual eyes as well.

One officer looked at the papers while the others roused the poor boy. He woke slowly and his eyes widened when he saw the three men standing around him. Crystal blue eyes stared back at beady little green ones that yelled something in German.

"Arrest him!" shouted the officer still at the door with Newkirk. Newkirk tried to interject, but the other slapped a pair of handcuffs on him as well. "You're also under arrest for conspiracy." The officer tightened the cuffs before pushing Newkirk out of the room. Over his shoulder he saw James being cuffed and yelled at in German. His was white as a sheet.