This chapter contains swearing.

Un-betaed

Chapter Six

Someone cleared their throat.

Instantly, the vulnerability vanished from Jack's expression and he pressed back into the pillows, withdrawing again. Schooling the disappointment from his face, Carter looked toward the door. Newkirk impatiently motioned him into the tunnel.

Carter rolled his head on his shoulders, stood up and stretched his arms out to the side. "I'll be right back." He took a couple of steps, turned back. "You can call me Andrew."

Jack raised his head, blindly looked in Carter's direction and after a moment's hesitation, nodded. It was a small gain in the battle to communicate with the officer, but it put a smile back on Carter's face. The smile died when he turned and noticed the splattered remains of Jack's breakfast near the door. Making a mental note to get more food, Carter stepped over the mess and into the tunnel.

"What is going through that head of yours telling Herr Kraut your name?!" Newkirk demanded once they had gone a short distance from Jack's room.

The anger took Carter by surprise. "It was only my first name."

Newkirk pointed in the general direction of Kinch's radio room. "Gestapo is swarming over Hammelburg like black bees after honey. Seems one of their officers has gone missing. Two guesses who that must be and the first two don't count!" Newkirk suddenly stopped. "What are you looking so smug about?"

"I already knew he was Gestapo," Carter said, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

Newkirk's face went slack with surprise. "How did you find out?"

Carter shrugged. "Jack told me."

"Oh, then --" Newkirk did a double-take. "Jack tol — Jack?!" He braced his hands on his hips. "Who in the name of Samuel P. Hill is Jack?"

Carter took one hand from his pocket and pointed over his shoulder, in the direction of the room. "He is. Is Samuel P. Hill that new guy transferred in from Stalag 9?"

Newkirk gave him a long look through half-lidded eyes. "He told you his name."

"The new guy?"

"Forget the new guy!" Newkirk ranted. "Did the ruddy Gestapo tell you his name!?"

"Well . . ." Carter waffled, wagging his head back and forth.

"Jack's his name, then?"

"Yes." Carter nodded. "And no."

Newkirk's eyes closed and he drew in a deep breath through gritted teeth. Carter scratched the bridge of his nose, shrugged again.

"Jack isn't his real name. Well, it could be his real name, but I don't think it is. He really didn't say."

That earned him another long look. "There's an answer in here somewhere," Newkirk muttered. "If I don't go 'round the twist, I may figure out what it is."

"He wouldn't tell me his name, so I gave him one," Carter explained, thinking he was stating the obvious.

"Why?" Newkirk asked with forced patience.

"Well, what was I supposed to call him?" Mild irritation put an edge to Carter's voice. "He needed a name so I gave him one because if he was me and I was him I'd want him to give me a name rather than calling me, 'American soldier with no-name.' "

"You take the cake, mate," Newkirk sighed, wearily shaking his head. "You really take the cake."

That reminded Carter that Jack had not eaten. "Hey, could you ask Louis to bring down some more food? I dropped the plate."

Newkirk blinked. "You dropped . . . you want me to . . ."

"Hey, guys . . ." Perkins calm, flat voice called in the distance. "Jack/not Jack is about to get himself loose."

HH HH HH HH

Jack threw off the last rope binding his legs to the cot just as Carter and Newkirk ran into the room. Holding his still-tied hands before him, Jack swung his feet to the floor, lurched upright, swayed, and fell face to the floor. Carter carefully rolled him over and grimaced. The fall had bloodied Jack's nose and the bandage over his cheek showed fresh spotting.

"Determined, I'll give him that." Newkirk helped Carter get their prisoner back to the cot. Unconscious, Jack offered no resistance while they tied him down again.

Newkirk gave each of the knots an experimental tug. Finding them secure, he turned a glare upon Carter. "We had the bugger tied up for a reason, you know."

Carter dabbed at the blood on Jack's face and said nothing. Newkirk's glare intensified.

"Have a care, mate! This isn't some rabbit to try and tame!"

Carter tossed the blood-stained cloth aside. "Look, New—Peter," he corrected himself, remembering not to use his friend's last name in Jack's presence, even though the German was unconscious.

"And you!" Newkirk sharply called to Perkins. The other man stuck his head into the room, gave Newkirk an arched look. "What's the idea of you just standing by while he's getting loose in the first place?"

Perkins bristled. "So what if he had? I mean . . . look at the guy. My little sister could take him down with one punch."

Suspicion sparked in Newkirk's eyes. "That it, then?" he pressed. "You just looking for an excuse to get in a punch or two?"

Olsen suddenly appeared in the doorway behind Perkins. "What's going on?" His gaze flashed past Newkirk and Carter to Jack and his face brightened with a grin. "Hey! So that's him?" Turning sideways, he slipped past Perkins' bulk and into the room. "Whoa! Pretty messed up, isn't he?"

Tivoli and Maddux from Barracks Four came in after him, strode up to the cot. Tivoli's beefy arms folded tight across his barrel chest and he glared down at Jack. "He doesn't look like much."

A look of unease passed between Carter and Newkirk. Tivoli was one of the camp's biggest troublemakers – a perpetual thorn in Hogan's side.

Jones from Barracks Three and Broughton from Barracks Nine – two of Tivoli's friends -- entered the room and elbowed Newkirk to one side. Carter tried to intercept them, only to get knocked to the other side by Pasternak. Muttered comments flew fast and thick, an ugly mood building with each one. Tivoli's voice rose above the others, inciting the other men further.

"You ask me, the only good Kraut is a dead Kraut."

"That's right. They're all bloodthirsty bastards!"

"Gestapo's the worst of them!"

"They should all die!"

Carter looked around in disbelief. Hate and rage had warped the faces of the men he knew and served with each day. Even happy-go-lucky Olsen seemed on the verge of getting caught up in the swelling tide of ugliness.

Carter peered through the shifting crowd and managed to make eye contact with Newkirk. The situation was teetering on the brink of being completely out of control. Swallowing, Carter prepared to go against the tide of hatred.

Newkirk launched himself into the midst of the crowd. "What's with you lot?!"

"What's with you?" Tivoli's black eyes raked him from head to toe in a scathing glare. "You protecting this damned Kraut now, too?"

"This is wrong," Newkirk rasped, not backing down even though Tivoli had him by three inches and fifty pounds. "He's down and defenseless. Bloody hell, he can't even see the hand in front of his face right now!"

Broughton surged forward, his face an angry mask. "We haven't laid a finger on him."

"Not yet," Carter pointed out in a shaky voice, feeling cold and hot at the same time. He took a stand beside Newkirk. Together, they formed a protective barrier between Jack and the angry mob.

"I'd believe this of you," snarled Maddux, brandishing a blunt finger in Carter's face. "You and your bleeding heart."

Jones' lips curled. "Gestapo put a bullet in Perry's head without a second thought! Have you forgotten that?"

Carter blanched at the reminder of their fallen friend. "No!"

"We've got a couple of Kraut lovers," Tivoli sneered, taking a menacing step toward Carter and Newkirk.

Olsen jammed a shoulder between Broughton and Maddux, forcing himself between them. His head swiveled back and forth as he tried to keep an eye on everyone's position. "Hey, everybody calm down!"

"Problem, fellas?"

A hush fell upon the room and everyone turned to face the door. Hogan's hipshot stance was as casual as his question, but his expression was guarded.

Newkirk smiled. "No problem here, guv'nor. The lads were just visiting, is all."

Hogan's wintery gaze lingered briefly upon each man's face. "That's nice." His tone was neutral. "Kind of crowded in here, though."

"Yeah." Head down, Tivoli broke from the group, moved toward the door. Hogan casually shifted position, partially blocking the doorway. Tivoli bumped into him, flinched, mumbled an apology and hurried out. Once he was gone, Hogan stepped aside, leaving the doorway free and clear. One by one, the other men marched from the room until only Hogan, Newkirk and Carter remained with Jack.

Hogan's eyes met Carter's. "You heard?" Hogan quietly asked him.

Carter slowly nodded. "Yes, sir."

"He goes out tomorrow night."

"Sir --"

"Tomorrow night," Hogan empasized. "The arrangements have already been made."

Carter persisted anyway, in rare show of rebellion. "Can't we wait until the bruising and swelling go down and he can see again?"

"It's better for us that he can't."

"But --" Carter sighed. "Yes, sir."

Hogan's expression softened. "It's the best we can make of the situation."

Carter only nodded again.

Concern suddenly sharpened Hogan's gaze. "If those bags under your eyes get any bigger, you'll need help carrying them around. Get some sleep in a regular bed." He put up a hand as Carter's mouth opened, obviously to voice another protest. "Don't push it."

"Shove off, mate." Newkirk rested a hand on Carter's shoulder. "I've got him. He so much as gives a sniffle, I'll come and get you."

"No, you won't," Hogan countered. "You're leaving, too." When they gave him puzzled looks, he reached around the doorframe and pulled Perkins into view. "See to our guest. He gets the same consideration any of us would. And the same protection. Is that clear?"

Perkins' closed his gaping mouth, gave a single, sharp nod. Hogan's eyes narrowed and he tilted his head forward, cupping a hand to his ear.

"Clear, sir!" Perkins answered crisply.

"He speaks English," Carter told Perkins. "So you might try talking to him."

After a second's hesitation, Perkins nodded again.

"His name is Jack," Carter added, then had to step lively as Newkirk shoved him out the door.

"Don't ask!" Newkirk warned as he passed out of sight. Perkins shuffled back to his post, leaving Hogan alone with Jack.

Hogan slowly turned to face the German. After studying the swollen face for several moments, he went to the cot, bent down and in low voice, said, "How does it feel to have someone you don't even know fight so hard for you?" Without waiting for an answer, Hogan walked out.

Several minutes passed. And then, Jack's head slowly turned toward the door.

To be continued. . . Almost done. Thank you for your reviews!