Usual disclaimers apply: I don't own 'Hogan's Heroes' and am only borrowing them for fun, not profit.

Nightingale Sang In Berkley Square

Newkirk was one step away from climbing into his bunk, when he sighed and slipped behind the line of laundry that screened the open tunnel entrance from view. It was shaping up to be a long night, as Colonel Hogan and his men were waiting on a very important message from General Butler in London, which meant that someone had to man the radio at all times. Newkirk had just come off shift, and had his mind on getting some sack time when he realized he'd left his coffee cup in the radio room. Blimey, I'll be needin' that first thing tomorrow, an' with ol'Schultzie in here hollerin' "Rause, Rause", there'll be no chance to get it until –after- roll call.

Though he suspected that none of the other guys already in their bunks were really sleeping, Newkirk made his way down the ladder as quietly as possible. Everyone's nerves were a bit keyed up in anticipation of the message, but that was no excuse to go clattering around at four in the morning. Not unless you wanted a pillow or two chucked at you, that is. He shook his head as he stepped onto the tunnel floor, smiling at the mental image that came to mind with that thought.

The tunnel was quiet, and in the flickering light of the oil lamp, Newkirk could see Carter sitting next to the radio. The young sergeant had a somewhat melancholy look on his face as he studied the blank piece of paper on the desk in front of him. There was something about the way Carter looked that made Newkirk reluctant to disturb him, and for a moment, he thought about just going back up the ladder and leaving him to his silence.

The decision was taken from him when Carter glanced over and nodded. Newkirk made his way over to the desk, pausing to lean against one of the roof supports. "Hello, Carter." He spoke quietly, his voice echoing slightly in the tunnel.

"Hi, Newkirk," was the equally quiet reply, sounding very much out of place coming from the normally cheerful demolitions expert.

"What's the matter?"

Carter's hand brushed over the blank piece of paper before he responded. "Oh... I'm trying to write a letter to my girl in London, but I just can't think of anything to say."

Well, 'ow about that? Carter's got a bird in London and hasn't mentioned her to anyone? Newkirk's first reaction was to make a wisecrack along the lines of Carter never knowing what to say period, but quickly changed his mind as he took a closer look at his comrade. This really has him in a twist, don't it? I'll lay off him though, as I really 'aven't got it in me to take the mickey out of him just now anyway.

Newkirk pulled a chair over, and took a seat next to Carter. "Don't be silly. I mean, why don't you just write to her 'n' tell her how you remember all the nice little things that happened to th'both of you?"

Carter picked up his pencil and held it poised over the paper for a moment before letting it slide from his hand. "Well... I'm not any good with words."

The sadness in Carter's eyes nearly broke Newkirk's heart. "Look, Carter. I'll tell you what I'll do." He'd never seen the American like this before, and it stirred a memory he never thought he'd share with anyone. "I'll tell you what to say and you just write it down, right?"

"Ok."

Newkirk took a deep breath, and began.