Chapter Twenty

Respect and Revelations

Newkirk stole a glance over his shoulder for what seemed like the hundredth time as he led Hogan through the woods. They'd both started the trip out well enough, but it was beginning to look like the Colonel's knee wasn't as well-healed as the Englishman had first believed. Bloody hell. I thought the gov'nor was up to it tonight, else I'd never have brought him out of camp like this. Of course, being the stubborn Yank that he is, he'll never ask to stop and rest, so I'd better do it for him. Back on stage you go, Peter me lad.

After a few more steps, Newkirk stumbled and had to grab a low-hanging tree branch to keep from falling. Right then, Colonel. Here's the act, let's hope you've bought a ticket to the show. Swearing softly under his breath, he ran his hand across his face to wipe the sweat away before moving on.

Hogan was immediately aware. "Hey-are you all right?" he asked. Cursing the renewed throbbing in his still-weak knee, he came up beside the Corporal, his eyes full of concern. "If this is too much, you can head back-I'll keep going and check this out myself."

"I'll be all right sir." Newkirk caught the undisguised worry in Hogan's eyes and had to look away, ashamed of the way he was putting on an act like this, but not exactly sure why he felt that way. Conning people to get his way was as natural to the Englishman as breathing; so why did it seem so wrong to do it now, especially when it really was for Hogan's benefit? "Maybe if we just sat down a minute or so before going on."

Hogan tried to study the Englishman's face, but gave up when the lack of light and Newkirk's movement made that impossible. "Why don't you just sit it out here?" Hogan moved toward a clump of trees with a natural hiding spot, biting his lip as a little too much pressure sent shooting pains through his leg. He shook his head, frustrated. He was sure he had given his twisted knee enough rest to recover fully, but this trek, now reaching the half-hour mark, was testing it, and it was failing miserably. Still, they were all the way out here; the only thing to do now was continue, and if Newkirk was still weak from his own injuries, Hogan would not-could not-ask him to continue. "I'll pick you up on the way back."

Newkirk shook his head as he took a seat on a large rock. "No, sir. I started this, and I'll finish it." To tell the truth, at least to himself, Newkirk was feeling the effects of his earlier trip through the woods, with the coolness of the early spring night making his shoulder ache. That wasn't helping his growing headache, but he smiled a little and gestured toward a tree stump. "Why don't you have a seat as well? We can both take a short break and then go on together."

Hogan didn't need to be asked twice. For once putting aside any attempt to hide his discomfort, he sat heavily on the stump and with a hiss stretched out his leg. "I must be getting old," he said through his teeth. Then, he said, "And I must have been an idiot to agree to this-you're in no shape to do this tonight, are you?"

The Englishman shrugged, instantly regretting it as a sharp pain reminded him not to move that way. "This war's going to make old men out of all of us before it's over. But in any case, I've got to get things cleared up so we can get on with winning it." Newkirk paused, then looked over at Hogan. "Speaking of clearing things up, gov'nor, can I ask you why you were so surprised when I walked into your office this evening?"

It was Hogan's turn to shrug. "I gave you a couple of hours-I thought for sure you'd use it all. You like to stroll around Germany in the dark, after all."

"I just like being out of the cage is all, sir," Newkirk replied quietly, not really aware that Hogan was able to hear what he was saying. "I think I'd go daft if I was locked up permanently."

Hogan nodded. "I understand," he said. He thought about Stalag 2 as he rubbed his knee to try and soothe it. "It nearly happened to us both, didn't it?"

Newkirk raised an eyebrow at Hogan's words, then realized he must have spoken out loud. "It did, Colonel, but if we hadn't made it out that time, we'd have kept trying until one of your plans succeeded." He smiled a little. "We make quite a team, don't we?"

Hogan smiled wearily and shook his head. "I guess we do," he said. Hogan sat quietly for a moment, trying to gather what were turning out to be confused thoughts. "Newkirk, why did you hang around after I told you to make tracks back to camp?" he asked finally, not angrily. He was genuinely trying to find out the Englishman's motivations. "We had trouble, all sorts of trouble, and I ordered you out. What made you linger?"

The Englishman remained silent as he considered the question. Finally getting his own jumbled thoughts into some kind of order, he turned to Hogan and tried to give an answer. "I... couldn't leave you out there all alone, Colonel. I saw Carter back safe because you asked me to, but once that was done, I had to go back for you." He paused, still struggling to find the right words. "I couldn't have faced the others if something had happened to you that I could have prevented if I'd been there."

Another long pause. "Back when I agreed to stay and work for you, I promised myself that I'd look after you, gov'nor. Because of that, I don't think I could have handled being safe back at camp not knowing what had happened to you."

Hogan considered Newkirk's words thoughtfully. For a moment he could not answer and sat rubbing his knee absentmindedly. Eventually, he said quietly, "I wanted you to go because no matter what happened to me, the operation had to survive. And I knew that you would be strong enough to handle that." Hogan stopped moving and stared at the ground before him. "I don't expect my men to look after me, Newkirk; it's my job to look after you; it's my… privilege. You can't do your job if you're busy trying to take care of your commanding officer. It isn't fair to you. All you should have to worry about is obeying orders… not making sure I don't get myself in hot water."

Hogan was about to stop, then realized his words made him sound ungrateful. "I want you to know that I'm thankful you were with me," he said softly. "For the sake of your own safety, I was angry you didn't follow orders. But for my sanity…" Hogan's voice trailed off. "Thank you," he whispered humbly.

There were a hundred things Newkirk wanted to say, but he was silent because he simply couldn't find the right words. The man who was ready to tell a joke at the drop of a hat found himself speechless in the face of the Colonel's sincerity. Newkirk looked at Hogan for a long moment, then slowly nodded. "You're welcome, mate," he replied softly, though the emphasis on the final word came through loud and clear.

Hogan accepted the simple but heartfelt meaning behind the words, and pulled himself to his feet with a shiver. "We'd better get moving," he said. "It's not going to get any warmer, and I don't want you out much longer tonight."

Newkirk stood and led the way to the clearing, once again stopping to survey the situation before going out into the open. He waited until Hogan's back was turned, then dropped to one knee to pull the bundle from its hiding place once again. The Englishman unrolled it and palmed a couple of small items before standing and turning to face the American. "Colonel Hogan? I've got it right here, sir."

"It?" Hogan turned toward the Englishman, unsure about what he had found. He had to swallow his heart twice before he could try to speak, so close to the surface were his feelings. Newkirk was holding out his bomber jacket. Hogan blinked hard, unprepared for the emotions seeing that piece of material evoked. He had come to wear the brown leather jacket like a second skin; it was a symbol of who he was, who he had been before Stalag 13, and he had almost accepted that it was long lost. And to see it held out to him in the bright moonlight was a gift he didn't know how to accept, and a sign of Newkirk's clear understanding. Hogan was moved. "I-I-" Hogan shook his head, unable to finish.

Newkirk smiled gently and walked toward Hogan. He'd known that the American pilots treasured their leather flying jackets; he'd certainly seen enough of them swanning around the aerodromes and in the local pubs to know that for them at least, the jackets were as much a way of showing off as they were part of the uniform. The Englishman didn't know much about the American's life before coming to Stalag 13, but it had become quite clear that for Hogan, the jacket was somehow a part of how he saw himself. Newkirk hadn't missed the way that Hogan always carried himself a bit straighter when he was wearing it, or how the jacket had blended itself into the man's gestures. It was getting so one could tell the mood the Colonel was in by watching what he did with it: thumbs hooked on the pockets meant he was working up a plan; and a sharp tug on the hem that settled the jacket into place always meant that he'd made a decision and was ready to act.

The Englishman carefully shook the leather out and, mindful of his injured shoulder, held the jacket so that the American could easily slip it on. "Here you go, gov'nor. It's a bit chilly to be out tonight in your shirt sleeves," he said quietly.

His eyes never leaving the jacket in Newkirk's outstretched hands, Hogan moved in hesitantly and let the Englishman help settle it on his shoulders. Then Hogan pulled away and shrugged inside it, running his hands slowly down the front of it, feeling the cold of the leather and the bulk of the material. His hand came to rest on the chest patch that announced his name and rank-the reason Newkirk had taken the jacket in the first place.

Hogan couldn't help but smile when he thought of how he had gotten the patch. Often flyers would wear a patch of their unit, or something that showed off their planes. But Hogan had been in many units, and in many planes, and the men of the 504th, with whom Hogan had forged a close bond, had presented him with this patch, partly as a playful way to tease him-they could argue that after all, they had given him his rank, and therefore they could take it away-but mostly because they wanted to show Hogan how proud they were, and how his change of rank and status would not change their loyalty to or respect for him. It had become a treasured symbol of his connection with the other flyers, and a memory that always made him smile.

Carefully, almost lovingly, Hogan zipped up the jacket and pulled on the collar. Then he said, probably a bit more roughly than he intended, "Well, no more borrowing your sweater; the sleeves on this are the right length for me." He cleared his throat, intending to say more, but nothing came.

The Englishman nodded and held out Hogan's crush cap that he had tucked under his arm. "I never minded giving you a loan of me jumper, sir. And I'm sorry I had to take your coat and cap that night, but there just wasn't time to cut that name patch away and get all your pins off before the Krauts caught up to us."

"I know." Hogan grew quiet, lost in his own thoughts. "Is there anything else around here that might give us away?" he asked, glancing around them and settling his cap on his head with an almost audible sigh. Then, without malice or anger he added, "Or was this just an excuse to get me out here?"

"That bit about a scuffle really was just an excuse, sir. I couldn't think of any other way to get you to come all the way out here with me, because you see..." Newkirk glanced away, again at a loss for words as he tried to explain his reasons for the things he'd done in this same clearing ten days ago, and why it was so important for them to be there once again. "The whole mess started here, sir, and I wanted to finish it here as well."

Hogan paused, considering Newkirk's statement, then simply nodded. "I understand," he said honestly. "We'd better get moving then. You never know when Klink's going to run a surprise bed check, and I wasn't planning on heading out tonight, so I didn't find out if he and his cocoa were having an early night." Hogan studied Newkirk for a few seconds, trying to gauge the Corporal's condition. It seemed well enough for him to head home; Hogan even considered sending the Englishman ahead, so he wouldn't be held up by the Colonel's slower, more painful pace. "Are you all right to get back without too much trouble?"

"In a minute. There's a bit more that needs doing first." Newkirk moved in front of Hogan before the American had a chance to respond. "I've got something else that belongs to you, sir." The Englishman reached into his jacket pocket, and the moonlight gleamed off the polished silver lying on his hand: the wreath and wings of Hogan's Command Pilot's insignia and the eagle that denoted the Colonel's rank.

Hogan's eyes drank in these concrete symbols of his place in the US Army Air Corps. Certainly, he was content with his status as Colonel and Command Pilot; he had worked hard, never asking for or receiving favors from anyone to achieve his career goals in the military. And in the day to day running of an operation, it was his ability to command more than the eagles on his shoulders that drew the respect of his men. But now, faced with these pins, and knowing how important it was to Newkirk to return them, Hogan felt prouder of his men than ever before. For not the first time this evening, he was unable to find something to say that would do justice to the respect Newkirk was showing him now, and his vision blurred with his overpowering emotion.

The look in Hogan's eyes on seeing the silver emblems gave the Englishman pause. "They should be pinned back on proper, sir," Newkirk said quietly.

His heart full, Hogan slowly unzipped his jacket and waited as Newkirk approached him. The Englishman stepped in close and carefully placed the silver wings on Hogan's shirt, fastening them over the left-hand pocket where they belonged. He started to do the same with the eagle, but stopped as the gleaming silver pin suddenly seemed to grow quite heavy in his hand. It wasn't the actual weight of the metal that had changed, of course; it was Newkirk's realization that this was the one that carried the entire burden of the Colonel's command rank. This is the one that sets you apart from the rest of us. As long as you wear it, you're the one that has to carry the responsibility for everything that happens, and that's a pretty heavy load for just one man to bear. It's also what makes you want to take all the risks yourself when we go on a mission. Thing is, gov'nor, when you're the one out in front, you've got to have someone watching your back, and that's my responsibility. He took a deep breath, but couldn't quite control the slight shaking of his hands as he settled the eagle back onto its proper home on Hogan's shirt collar.

Newkirk stepped back, taking a long look at his commanding officer before doing something Hogan had rarely seen him do: the Corporal stood at attention, and offered his Colonel a perfect salute.

Hogan accepted the salute and returned the gesture. "At ease, Corporal," he said hoarsely.

The Englishman settled into his usual casual stance with his hands shoved into the pockets of his greatcoat as he took a cautious look around the clearing. "I think we'd best be heading back now, gov'nor."

Hogan nodded and rubbed his eyes. He was suddenly very tired and very worn. "I couldn't agree more. Though I'll probably hold you up tonight," he said, taking a stiff step forward. "I hope you're not in a hurry to get back."

"No, sir. We came out here together; we'll go back the same way." Newkirk shook his head and moved closer to Hogan. "Though it looks like I might have to hold you up, the way that knee's acting."

"I think I need to trade it in for a newer model. It was supposed to have a lifetime guarantee, and I can't claim it on my GI insurance."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Newkirk followed Hogan's progress through the woods, worried about the slow pace the Colonel was setting, but glad at the same time as it enabled him to keep up. Things were going well until the Englishman stepped on a rock that slid out from under his foot, dumping him to the ground where he landed on his left side. A single cry of pain was the only sound he made as he clutched his injured shoulder and tried to stagger back to his feet.

Hogan whirled at the sound and came to his companion's side immediately. "Steady there, Newkirk." He gripped the Corporal around the waist as he looked around. There was a patch of fairly clear earth near a cluster of trees, and he gestured in its direction with his chin. "We're gonna sit down. Come on this way." Carefully, Hogan made sure Newkirk was holding up, and then helped ease him onto the ground. "You just stay there till you're ready to go," Hogan ordered softly, standing above the Englishman like a guardian.

Hogan looked around to make sure there was no one else in the area. Satisfied, he looked back at Newkirk, who looked a bit paler than Hogan preferred, but who seemed to be in control of his pain. "I'll keep watch," the Colonel said, and he took a couple of hobbling steps away, calculating the distance back to camp and comparing it against both Newkirk's and his own ability to make the trip with ease. The odds were clearly against them.

Hogan sighed. "There's never an auto club around when you need one."

"Sit down, gov'nor," Newkirk said quietly. "Give yourself a rest while you're waiting on me." He shook his head. "Or for that matter, why don't you head on back and I'll come along when I can."

Hogan shook his head. "Are you nuts? Do you think I went all the way back to Stalag 2 to get you, just to leave you a mile and a half outside of camp because you need a five minute break? Not a chance." Hogan continued scanning the area for patrols.

Newkirk leaned his head against the tree trunk that was serving as a back rest and closed his eyes. After a long silence, he opened them and looked up at his commanding officer. "There's something I'd like to ask you, Colonel." Hogan glanced at him, and Newkirk continued. "Why did you come after me when you were certain I was already dead? Don't get me wrong, sir; I'm bloody well grateful that you did, but..." His voice trailed off as he shook his head. "The deck was stacked against you all the way."

"You don't leave men behind," Hogan said shortly, his voice oddly strained. He took a couple more steps away from Newkirk, hoping to close the conversation.

"But if you were so sure I wasn't alive any more-"

"You don't leave men behind!" Hogan repeated strongly. He glanced at Newkirk, then, guilty that he had spoken so harshly, he looked away. "I had to do that once and I've never forgiven myself. I swore I'd never do it again. Dead or alive, I get them home." Hogan stared at the ground. "It's the least good men deserve."

Newkirk nodded very slowly, and after a few attempts to speak, he finally found his voice, though he couldn't manage more than a nearly-silent whisper. "So that's what you meant when you said you'd made a promise then."

Hogan nodded, his throat tight. His mind flew back to the night he fled from Stalag 2, certain that he had left one of his men behind and in the hands of the enemy. Dead or alive, it was wrong, it was unbearable, and he had consoled himself with the words he had repeated over and over again on the long, agonizing run back to Stalag 13: It's all right. I'm coming back. "Yeah. That's what I meant." Hogan felt the pain in his knee run straight through him, but he didn't want to sit and bring this conversation any closer; it was already piercing him in ways that he didn't understand. And so he moved toward the trees unsteadily, where Newkirk could no longer make out his face, and he hung his head low, expecting nothing.

The Englishman climbed back to his feet, being careful to not jostle his aching shoulder any more than necessary. Once he was up, Newkirk walked slowly over to Hogan, and put his hand on the Colonel's shoulder. "Thank you, mate," he whispered, once again softly emphasizing the word that, to him, meant so much more than "friend."

Hogan kept his face averted. "No thanks necessary," he said abruptly, not trusting himself to continue.

"It is for me, gov'nor." Newkirk kept his hand in place a little longer, then let it fall away. You saved my life, mate, and the only way I can see to repay you is to stand behind and watch your back while you're out in front making the big play. So you keep on coming up with the plans and schemes, Colonel, and when you glance over your shoulder, I'll be there.

A sudden rustling from overhead startled them both out of their deep inner thoughts, and they both instinctively moved into the dark shadows of the trees. As they drew their pistols, Hogan looked up to see large wings moving into the tree above their heads. He laughed lightly. "An owl," he said. He looked at Newkirk. "It's time we got moving anyway. You all right to start walking again?"

Newkirk looked at the pistols and grinned as he returned his to his coat pocket. "I am, gov'nor. Let's go home."

Hogan lowered his own gun, shaking his head. "I'd love to," he said. "But we'll have to settle for Stalag 13." He looked at Newkirk and grimaced. "Look, I hate to admit this, but this knee isn't going to hold out. I must have given it a workout too soon."

"Lean on me, mate. I'll see that you get back all right."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "Really? And who's going to get you back in one piece?" Hogan let out a long breath and smiled softly. "I'd order you to go ahead and let me trail behind, but I have a feeling you wouldn't listen to me anyway. You're funny like that."

Putting on his best innocent expression, Newkirk glanced at Hogan and smiled back. "Wouldn't know what you're on about, sir."

"You're not very good at acting, either," Hogan quipped. He let Newkirk wrap his arm around Hogan's waist, and leaned slightly away from the Englishman, wary of aggravating the man's injuries. Then the two of them started their slow, awkward journey back to camp. "You know, you really have to start obeying orders, Corporal," Hogan said through gritted teeth. "I think I lost count of the number of times you didn't quite follow my instructions in the last couple of weeks."

"If it makes you feel any better, Colonel, you're not the only officer that's had that to say about me. It's like all that business about standing at attention and saluting. It's not that I don't know how, it's that I just can't see the sense of doing it most of the time." Newkirk paused just long enough to give Hogan time to absorb his words. "That said, sir, I'd like to add that you're the first officer I've ever saluted because I wanted to, and not because some bloody regulation required it."

Hogan paused in his step. "I'm not sure it makes me feel any better about having my orders ignored," he began. Newkirk came to a halt beside him. "But it sounds like I should be satisfied with the status quo." Newkirk waited, unsure where Hogan was heading with this. "I suppose I am," the Colonel continued. "But do my eagles a favor, will you? The next time you want to disobey orders for my own good, would you at least let me keep some of my rank?"

"Righto, gov'nor. How about your basic Captain then?" Newkirk sighed as he grew serious once more. "I don't mean you any disrespect, sir, it's just that..." He shook his head, unsure how to continue.

Hogan understood. "I only give orders with good reason, Newkirk. Things don't always have a happy ending and I don't want my men to pay the price. If you don't follow orders, I might get the impression that you don't think I'm smart enough to command. And that clips my wings, so to speak." Hogan turned to look at Newkirk face to face. "I know you're only doing what you think is right-if I thought for a second you were acting out of disrespect you'd be off the team and shipped to Stalag 16 with Colonel Crittendon faster than you could say 'Tally ho.'" Hogan grinned to wipe away the slightly worried look that suddenly appeared on Newkirk's face. Then he grew serious again. "Look I'm not asking you to change your spots-'to thine own self be true,' and all that noble stuff. But let me do the thinking, okay? If I need rescuing, wait until you've got back up from the others before you come charging in."

"I'll do that, gov'nor." As long as there's time to get the others, that is. "As far as following orders goes, I'll admit that what you come up with makes sense most of the time. When it doesn't, I've come to realize that you actually do have a plan in mind; you're just not sharing it with the rest of us is all." Newkirk paused, not at all certain why he was opening up like this. But it felt right, and he felt that he owed this man an explanation. "What it comes down to, Colonel, is that I've never really seen anyone in a position of 'authority' that I had much respect for. Oh, there were a few here and there that I've come across since putting on this uniform that I thought were worth listening to, but not many."

A long pause as Newkirk organized his thoughts. "It goes back to what I said about saluting. Most of the time, I do it because I have to, and I take orders for the same reason. But you're different, sir. You asked me to follow you back when we started up this operation; you didn't presume I'd follow your orders just because you were a Colonel and I was only a Corporal. And you ask for my advice on certain things, and you do me the honor of hearing me out before you make a decision. Oh, you may not always go along with what I've said, but at least I know you've listened."

Newkirk fell silent for a moment, though it was clear he wasn't finished with what he had to say. The Englishman finally found the right words, and spoke softly as he continued. "You, Colonel Hogan, are the first officer I've found that I could respect enough to want to follow and obey orders from." He took a deep breath, and looked Hogan in the eyes. "You said it before, sir: 'This above all, to thine own self be true.' Then you likely know the rest of that line: 'And it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.' You go on with letting me do as I see fit with your orders, gov'nor, and I'll never play you false."

Hogan listened to this unburdening with some surprise and increasing respect. Of all the things that Newkirk did well, expressing his feelings was not one of them, and Hogan knew it would have taken a great deal of courage on the Englishman's part to tell him just what he thought of his commanding officer. The fact that he had just pledged his loyalty to the Colonel touched Hogan deeply. "I believe you," Hogan said softly now.

"As well you should, mate." Newkirk spoke quietly, then smiled. "Now look here, gov'nor, I think we'd best get moving, because at this rate, we're gonna miss roll call, and I don't know if Carter's up for yet another bit as a Kraut Major."

Hogan shook his head. "He's probably not," he agreed. "Look, you go on ahead. I've really gotta stop before I do some permanent damage to this knee." As Newkirk started to protest, Hogan said, "I'll be just fine here-there's plenty of shelter and we're not far from camp. I want you to get back and get some rest; I'll be along in awhile."

Newkirk didn't say anything at first, then he shook his head. "No sir. We can stay and rest awhile, but I'm not leaving you. And just for the record, if you try to make that an order... I'll have to disobey." There wasn't the least bit of disrespect in the Englishman's tone; he was simply stating the facts as he saw them.

Hogan sighed and eased himself onto the ground. "Fine," he said tiredly, resigned. He bit his lip as he tried to stretch out his sore leg. "Just give me five minutes, then. I don't want you to stay out very long in this damp weather. It can't be good for your shoulder." He braced his arms behind him on the ground and closed his eyes. "Damned Germans," he sighed.

"No more than sitting on the damp ground is good for your knee." Newkirk found a seat on an old tree stump and settled into place on it. "Have to agree with you about the bloody Krauts though, gov'nor. I wish they'd pack this whole rotten mess in so we can all go home for good."

Hogan stared up at the sky and mentally ticked off familiar constellations. "Do you have any idea how tempting it is to just lie here until a patrol picks me up and drops me into a camp where I don't have anything to do but wait till it's all over?"

"Not for me, Colonel." The Englishman stared at the ground as he spoke. "If I wasn't going back to camp, I'd head north and catch a ride back across the Channel. Then I'd probably go for retraining and join up with a squadron of Lancasters." Newkirk shook his head. "Ruddy Krauts won't set foot on English soil if I can help it," he said quietly.

Hogan nodded and dropped his gaze. "I hear you," he said. Then he lay flat on his back and closed his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. "But I sure could use the sleep… at least for a couple of weeks."

Newkirk nodded in agreement, but kept his silence as he took a cautious look around the clearing. He'd keep watch this time, and give Hogan a chance to get some rest.

The thought had barely formed in his mind when the Englishman heard the crackling sound of downed leaves and twigs being crushed underfoot. Heart pounding as he slid from his seat, Newkirk crouched halfway behind the stump as he pulled his pistol from his pocket. He stole a quick glance at Hogan, worried about the Colonel's ability to run if necessary. Despite the chill in the night air, the Englishman began to sweat as the footsteps drew closer. Bleedin' Krauts aren't taking us this time. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and waited.