No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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Newkirk grinned as he stacked wood onto Le Beau's arms. "You got that there, mate? If I pile any more on, you'll be carrying a load that weighs more than you do."

Le Beau repeated Newkirk's sentence mockingly. "Very funny, Newkirk. You just make sure you carry your share of the load as well."

"Wouldn't dream of shirking, little mate, wouldn't dream of it." Newkirk accepted his load from Hogan. "It's the only thing keeping me warm at the moment."

The first storm of the season had struck with a vengeance, dumping over two feet of snow on Stalag 13 overnight. Hogan had forced his way across the compound to Klink's office, and the two made a hurried deal so the necessary work of clearing paths between the various buildings could proceed. As soon as the woodshed had been dug out, some of the men traded off their shovels for carts to begin delivering extra wood to the barracks to ensure a good supply in case the storm got worse.

Hogan was putting a final piece of wood onto Newkirk's load when a loud groan sounded from the barracks. Both men wheeled around to look at the building in time to see the roof collapse from the weight of the snow. Newkirk stared in shock for a moment, then tossed his stack of wood aside as he lunged toward the barracks. "Louis! Louis! Hang on, mate! I'm comin' for ya!"

Hogan sprinted after him as everyone raced for the hut. He grabbed Newkirk by the back of his collar, nearly pulling him to the ground in an effort to stop him. "No, Newkirk, not yet!" He pulled the Englishman up against himself from behind and held fast against his struggling.

"Leave off, Colonel! I've gotta get him out of there!" Newkirk strained against the hold the American had on his coat to no avail. Unable to move forward, he twisted around and pushed at Hogan with both hands as he tried to get free.

Hogan held all the tighter, looking desperately toward the damaged building. "We'll get him out of there—in due time, now hold off; we've got to do it right! I don't want you creating more of a crisis than we already have!" He looked around to start organizing the rescue, all the while parrying with Newkirk's struggling hands.

Boards broke as more of the roof gave way, and the sound spurred Newkirk into an even greater frenzy. He managed to get one arm free, and drew back, his hand balling into a fist that he sent driving straight at Hogan's face.

Hogan saw the punch coming and pulled his head back in time to avoid much more than a stinging blow on his right ear. Physically dazed and clearly stunned by the action, he took hold of Newkirk's arm as it came down and yanked it, hard. "Newkirk, cut it out! We don't have time for time for this!"

"Louis doesn't have time for you to play God while he lies in there bleeding, either!" Newkirk shouted back.

Hogan staggered as if he'd been struck square in the face, barely noticing when Kinch and Carter closed in on them. He once again got Newkirk's arms pinned to his sides and pulled in close to the man's face. The Colonel's dark eyes bored into the Englishman with an anger and a coldness that his men had rarely seen, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, then abruptly shook himself and shoved Newkirk back and out of his reach. "Stay out of my way," he hissed scathingly. Kinch put a strong hand on Newkirk's arm as if to stop him from taking another swing at Hogan.

Hogan looked around and saw Carter standing, wide-eyed and motionless. "Carter—go get some brooms and start pushing the snow off the rest of the roof. Sheffield, get some men together and get the part of the roof that's still standing propped up—we need support beams so the rest of it doesn't come crashing down on us. Barnes, get Wilson out here; we might need medical help in a hurry. Olsen, make sure the guards know what's happening here and get their help. We've got to get in there, and I mean now. But no one goes in until I say—otherwise more of you could get trapped in there, and we'd have an even bigger disaster."

Hogan moved in very close to what used to be the front door of the barracks and leaned forward, straining to hear. "Louis!" he called. "Louis, can you hear me? If anyone can hear me, make some noise!" As if confirming his concerns, the remaining part of the roof shuddered and large chunks of debris came crashing down. Hogan stepped back quickly, raising an arm in front of his face in self-defense, then went to the doorway and called again.

Newkirk shook himself free of Kinch's hand and stood glaring at Hogan for a long moment until the shifting debris got his attention once again. He turned and made his way through the deep snow, circling around the collapsed building, seeking another way in. Once he got to the back of the barracks, Newkirk looked in through a window and could just see Le Beau's red beret lying on the floor next to the stove. The Englishman started to climb inside when a large clump of snow slid down, knocking him back and soaking him to the skin.

It was Schultz who restrained him as he started to try again. "No, Newkirk. Colonel Hogan is right. It is not safe yet."

Newkirk turned around to see the burly guard and pulled fruitlessly against his grip. "Let go, Schultz." Newkirk spoke quietly, and suddenly became perfectly still. "That's my little mate in there, and he needs my help."

"There are many friends in there, Newkirk," Schultz said. "Do not add another. We will all help, and we will be in soon. Come," he said, gently pulling Newkirk toward the other side of the building. "We need you to help clear the snow off the roof so we can go in. Langenscheidt and some of the prisoners are already putting in supporting beams. The Cockroach is fine; we will get him soon."

Newkirk allowed Schultz to bring him around to the front of the building again. As soon as the guard relaxed his grip, the Englishman pulled himself free and moved in to join the other men who were clearing what was left of the roof. He picked up a large board, not noticing it was once the sign that designated the building as "Barracke 3", and used it to attack the snow that was keeping him from rescuing his friend.

Hogan was doing his part to prop up the building, and soon he surveyed the work and started calling out to the people inside the barracks again. Newkirk barreled in behind him, pushing Hogan out of the way and heading to where he had seen the beret. He grabbed the cap off the floor, absently stuffing it into his pocket as he crawled into the wreckage. Shoving some boards aside as he went, he kept going until he spotted the Frenchman's still form. "I've found him! He's right beside the table!"

Hogan was there in seconds. He searched Le Beau's face and watched his chest for signs that he was breathing, but he did not touch him. "I'll get the medic," Hogan said in a rough voice, and he turned and disappeared from sight.

Meanwhile, a few other men who had had the misfortune to be in the building at the time were picking their way out, some with help, some without, all dazed and covered with dust and debris, some bleeding, but none with an injury more serious than a broken arm. Newkirk carefully removed a small plank from on top of Le Beau's chest and cradled him gently as he half-carried and half-dragged him out of the rubble.

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The damned snow nearly cost us men today. We've been paying so much attention to making paths between the barracks so the men could get warm that I waited too long with the roofs. Last night we had over two feet of snow, and thanks to German building standards, the roof to Barracks Three caved in. Le Beau was inside delivering firewood for the stove. I saw the thing going down, and I nearly vomited. Newkirk, of course, hotheaded type that he is, started charging toward the building, and I had to stop him before the rest of the roof fell in on top of him. My thanks for that bit of bright thinking was a punch in the face. Thankfully he couldn't line the shot up properly or he'd have flattened me, but I can still feel my ear pulsing. I was lucky.

When we got inside and I saw Louis on the floor, I wanted to pick him and run out of there with him. But I knew it wasn't a smart thing to do, in case he was badly injured, and besides, I think Newkirk would have used it as another opportunity to try and slug me, he was so upset with me. But it's my job to make sure all my men are safe, even if they don't want to be, and that includes Newkirk, in spite of himself. I'm sure he's lost all faith in me. I'm sure he thinks I just don't care about Le Beau as much as he does, or him, or any of the others for that matter. He accused me of playing God with Louis's life. I know he said it in anger and I should just forget about it, but God, that hurt a lot. A lot more than I thought it would. A lot more than it should have. It's just… well, I thought my men would know by now how important they are to me.

Damn being the senior ranking officer! DAMN having to do all the right things! Didn't Newkirk have any idea that I wanted to go racing into that building, too? But I don't have the luxury of letting my heart run away with my head, and getting more men hurt wouldn't help Le Beau. In the end, Louis was fine, thank God. Just a couple of cuts and bruises, got knocked around a little bit, If he hadn't been, I don't think I could have lived with the guilt.

Hogan straightened up for a moment and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked at the long passage he had written, and added:

Slow off the mark, I've ordered the rest of the barracks roofs to be wiped down every four hours if this snow continues. I can't take a chance on another accident like this because of my own negligence. It's not my job to be liked. It's a good thing, too, after today. So why do I feel like I've been punched in the gut?

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Newkirk sat on a stool next the Frenchman's bunk, hunched over the journal balanced on his knees, pencil flying across the pages. The Englishman had taken his seat right after Sergeant Wilson had finished examining Le Beau and wasn't showing any sign of moving any time soon. Occasionally, Newkirk would pause and take a long look at the sleeping man before turning back to his writing, and each time, his pencil would start its rapid, jerking motions all over again.

Bloody fine German craftsmanship nearly cost us some more lives today.

After listening to the wind howl all night, we got up to find everything buried under about two and a half feet of snow. Good thing the barracks doors open inwards, else we might not have been able to get out. Once we did, the whole camp got involved in digging paths between the buildings just so nobody would wind up trapped somewhere.

Well, it didn't work, did it?

Some of us managed to dig across the compound to the woodshed, and just about that time, good old Colonel Hogan "volunteered" us to start hauling wood around the camp. The idea there was to stock extra wood in the barracks in case it started snowing again.

Fine. I could get behind that idea all right, as I helped cut a lot of it and I ruddy well don't want to freeze in my bunk for lack of wood in the hut.

That'll be the last idea of his I'll get behind for a while. Louis had just carried a load into Barracks 3 when the roof caved in from all the snow lying on it. I'll never forget that awful moaning sound the hut made just before the spine of the roof broke and sent everything crashing down on top of my little mate.

I'm all set to go get him out, and I'll be damned if Hogan doesn't grab me from behind and start going on about how it's not "safe" to go in yet. Too right it's not "safe" in there! It's not safe for Louis to be lying in there, hurt and maybe dying, and Hogan wants me to stand around and wait!

I still can't believe it! Hogan's got to be out of his mind if he thought for one second that was going to happen! I saw too damn many people die in London who could have been saved had someone gotten to them in time.

I don't know what happened to me after that. I just saw red and I took a ruddy good swing at him. I'd have knocked him flat, only I couldn't get a good enough angle to work with and I was dying to. I'd have tried again, too, only Kinch bloody well thought he had to play bodyguard and tried to hold my arm down. Then Hogan goes off and starts ordering people around—Carter, get the broom; Sheffield, get the beams; someone get the medic—like no one else would have thought of all that. Man thinks he's a prince among thieves. Well I'm not having it. I wasn't going to let Louis lie in there bleeding to death while he played Officer of the Day.

I would have strangled Hogan right there if I could have, but I couldn't so I went around to the back of the hut to find another way in, and sure enough, I could just see Louis's cap there on the floor. I was all set to go in when Schultz of all people grabs me. He may be big, and sometimes not too ruddy bright, but when he's got hold of you, you're not moving and that's that. He hauled me around to the front of the hut again, and soon as I could get loose, I started digging into the snow and the mess, figuring I'd make my own way in if I had to.

Then finally! Finally His Highness decides it's okay to go inside. I was right on it and had to move him the hell out of the way to get in, and it didn't take long to find Louis. Thank God he'd been close enough to the big table that it kept most of the debris off him. I must have called out or something because don't you know it, Hogan shows up and tries to take charge again! If he'd have come one inch closer, I swear I'd have finished what I'd started before and laid the man out right there. He wants to bloody well be in charge of something, let him go back to what he was doing and leave taking care of my little mate to me.

If Louis had died today... I'd have gone for Hogan and… Damn him for making me feel like this!

Every time I even start to think about how close I came to losing my friend, I get sick to my stomach and my hands start shaking all over again.

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Kinch retreated into a corner, taking one final, fast look at Newkirk sitting next to Le Beau, who was resting on a lower bunk, and picked up his pencil and YMCA journal.

Things are really bad here at the moment. I knew the weather and the close quarters were getting to everyone, but today just topped it. We had two and a half feet of snow between last night and this morning—beautiful stuff if it weren't for the fact that we're in a prison camp and stuck looking at the woods from behind barbed wire—and it caused big trouble today.

A bunch of us were outside delivering some of that firewood Colonel Hogan had us cutting for the last month and a half so that no one got caught out if the storm continued. We'd all been so busy clearing paths that none of us thought about the roofs, and the roof to Barracks Three came crashing down. Louis and a few of the other fellas were in there. Newkirk wanted to go charging in right away, and the Colonel stopped him in case the roof hadn't finished falling—and it hadn't. I couldn't believe it when Newkirk turned around and took a swing at him so he could go in anyway. Hogan hung on, but it was tough, and Newkirk said a few nasty things to him that I could tell just threw the Colonel for a loop—something about playing God from what I could hear. I haven't seen the Colonel that mad for a long time, but he didn't say anything. They were both scared, no matter what kind of bravado they put up.

Anyway, we got Louis out, and he's okay. Just a little knock on the head and a couple of minor cuts that because he's got this thing about blood, will seem a lot worse than they are. Newkirk is fuming in the corner, and there's no talking to him. Colonel Hogan is keeping everything inside, and since he came back to the barracks he hasn't talked to or looked at anyone. It can't be easy making the tough decisions, and people like Newkirk don't help. What was the Colonel supposed to do—let Newkirk get caught under the roof when it fell in again? When I see that pained look in his eyes, I just want to throttle Newkirk. He's got to be kidding if he thinks Hogan did the wrong thing. I've tried to draw the Colonel out a bit—I still think that's the only way to avoid a major stomach ulcer—but he's not having any part of it. And I don't think he will until he's convinced himself that what he did was right—or until Newkirk forgives him. Like he should need that mule-headed Englishman's forgiveness. Newkirk was wrong, just plain wrong, and now we're all paying the price. The Colonel most of all.

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The men of Barracks Two came back from the mess hall and went quietly to their bunks. The collapse of Barracks Three and the fight between Colonel Hogan and Corporal Newkirk had left everyone in a somber mood. Kinch put a few pieces of wood into the stove as Carter took a covered plate over to Newkirk. He watched as the young Sergeant spoke quietly to the Englishman, who apparently had not moved from his place by Le Beau's side.

Newkirk's muttered response could only be heard by Carter, who shrugged a bit then sat down to clear the plate, despite having just eaten his own dinner less than ten minutes earlier. Even the sight of Carter's obvious enjoyment of the meal didn't bring a smile to the Englishman's face as he went back to writing in his journal.

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It's been an hour or so since Louis last woke up for a few minutes, and it's pretty quiet in the barracks right now. Reckon everyone's worried about Le Beau, as well they should be. Joe Wilson, our camp medic, said to let him rest, and the little guy should wake up on his own again, like he has been on and off through the afternoon. If that doesn't happen soon, I'm bringing Joe in here and keeping him here until Louis does come around.

The other guys just got back from the mess hall. Carter was kind enough to bring me something to eat, bless him, but I just don't have what it takes to force what the Krauts call dinner down my throat right now. When I told him he could have it instead, his face lit up with that innocent little-kid look that just gets right to me. I often wonder if that's part of what it's like to be the "big brother" for a change, instead of always being the youngest. Anyway, I'm glad Andrew's able to eat that slop the Germans hand out, since he's such a thin fellow that a little extra on his plate won't hurt him a bit.

Hold on, Hogan's just coming out of his room.

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The eyes of thirteen men watched as the door to Hogan's quarters opened with a creak. Looking worn and downhearted, he glanced only fleetingly around the room before making his way over to Carter's bunk, which the Sergeant had relinquished so Le Beau could rest easily there and be looked after. It had not been a terribly bad experience, physically, for the Frenchman: a few cuts and bruises and a bump on the head. But the emotional impact the incident had had on the prisoners was still quite clear. They were quiet, almost withdrawn, leaving a heavy atmosphere in the barracks that sat like a physical presence in the room.

Hogan hesitated only slightly when he saw Newkirk sitting stiff-backed, staring at him, from Le Beau's bedside. But he moved in quietly, steadily, and stood near the sleeping man, his eyes only on Le Beau, watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically in slumber. He studied the small cut on Louis's cheek, looked for any undetected injuries, and started to lean forward, slowly extending his hand toward Le Beau's arm.

"Leave off. He's asleep." Newkirk's voice was quiet, but his tone was hard. The Englishman closed the journal he'd been writing in, carefully laying it aside before he even looked up at the American officer. "He's already had Wilson pokin' at him; he doesn't need anyone else doing it, too."

Hogan drew his hand back like he'd been burnt. For a moment his eyes registered an intense sadness, but when they met Newkirk's they grew dull again, and Hogan took a step back from the bunk, then turned away. "Let me know when…" he started. But he let his voice trail off and made a beeline back toward his office. "Make sure you call Wilson if he needs anything," he said. Then he disappeared behind the door.

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Carter looked from Newkirk, to Le Beau, to Kinch, and finally to the closed office door behind which Hogan had disappeared over twenty minutes ago and had not come out. Worriedly, he dug his diary out from under his pillow.

Boy, things sure are tense around here. Newkirk is really mad at the Colonel, and everyone is walking on egg shells.

Today the roof to Barracks 3 caved in because of all the snow, and Louis was inside at the time. The Colonel didn't want anyone to go in after him until it was supported by beams in case it fell again, but Newkirk wasn't listening and he tried to go in anyway. Well, that was it, boy. The Colonel stopped him, and Newkirk punched him in the head! He was aiming for the Colonel's face, I think, but Colonel Hogan moved enough so it just caught him on the ear. Newkirk screamed something at Colonel Hogan, and Colonel Hogan just pushed Newkirk out of the way and got us moving on rescue detail.

I was so scared I couldn't move, but the Colonel knew just what to do, and when we finally got inside, it wasn't too bad. Louis was knocked out but it was just a minor concussion, and we got Joe Wilson to clean up a couple of cuts and things. The other guys in there weren't too bad off, either.

I wish it was as easy to fix up Newkirk and the Colonel. Newkirk is sitting next to Louis like a magpie protecting its baby, and the Colonel seems too wary to even come out of his office. He came out once but what happened wasn't really nice so he disappeared again. If I know him, and I'm pretty sure I'm right about this, he's real mad at himself. And I know what Newkirk said and did hurt him. I mean, I understand Newkirk wanting to get into the building, but right after the Colonel stopped him, more of the roof fell in, and so he would have been hurt, too. Why can't he see that?

I wish I could talk to both of them. But one is too mad, and the other too sad. I hate to see everyone so angry at each other. Louis is okay, and that should be enough. Maybe we'll get some good news soon and everyone will forget about this. I know I'd like to.

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Okay, he's gone now. Hogan came over wanting to poke and prod at Louis, as if he hasn't had enough of that for one day already. Forget that. I told him to leave off, and he had the nerve to tell me to call for Wilson if Louis needed anything. As if I couldn't ruddy well figure that out for myself!

Hogan went back into his room, and things have been even quieter ever since. Far too quiet for there being fourteen blokes in the room, with thirteen of them being wide-awake.

I just sat up a bit to get a kink out of my neck, and I caught sight of everyone carefully not looking in my direction, except when they do, they're giving me some pretty hard stares for some reason. It's enough to make me think that they're thinking I was too hard on Hogan or something just because I told him to let Louis get his rest.

Are they right?

I still can't think clearly about what happened today. I try, and I find myself getting all wound up again.

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Kinch watched as the door to the office opened and Hogan came out, his jacket open, his cap pressed hard on his head. With only the briefest glance toward the men, the Colonel grabbed a broom that was propped up against the sink and headed outside.

"Hey, Colonel, isn't it too late to be going out to clear the—?" Carter began, but Hogan was gone before he got to finish. He shook his head. "It's too dark now. And it's cold. He'll freeze out there."

"Let him be, Carter. He's clearing his head." Kinch turned back to his coffee and took a sip, then he breathed angrily through his nose and said evenly, "You got it wrong, Newkirk."

"What do you mean, I got it wrong?"

"I mean you got it wrong about Colonel Hogan. Man, you got it all wrong." Kinch shook his head. "Do you really believe that he cares more about being in charge than about Louis? Than about any of us?"

"He should have let me go in there right away and—"

"And watch the rest of the roof fall on you so we lose you, too? No, Peter, this time you pushed all the wrong buttons. You've hurt him bad, real bad."

"He'll get over it," Newkirk answered stubbornly. He looked at Le Beau resting quietly on the bunk nearby. "Just like Louis will get over being left in there while the Colonel took his time organizing his little rescue plans."

"Took his time?" Kinch exploded. "Who else was going to make sure things got done safely? You?"

Newkirk was adamant. "How would you feel, Kinch? How would you feel if it was you stuck under that rubble and you knew your commanding officer was busy playing King of the Mountain?"

Kinch stood up abruptly, slamming his cup on the table. "You just don't get it, do you?" he asked angrily. "Who's the one who waits up pacing when one of us is late coming back from a mission? Who's the one who cops the flak from London if everything doesn't go perfectly to plan? Who's the one who takes on all the hard stuff so we don't take any more risks than necessary? If Hogan had let you go in when you wanted to, the roof would have fallen on you, too, and then it would have been Louis and you in there, along with everyone else who was trapped already! He was thinking of all of us—including you!"

"He is right, Pierre." Newkirk turned at the unexpected quiet voice of the Frenchman behind him. "The Colonel did the right thing."

Newkirk came up beside Le Beau, who was sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "How are you, Louis?" he asked gently.

"I am fine, Pierre. But Kinch is right. If Colonel Hogan had let you run into the building, you might have been hurt, too. It would not have been right for him to let that happen."

"Do you know what you're saying, Louis?" Newkirk asked in astonishment. "You were stuck in there!"

"That's right," Le Beau replied. "And I am fine. And if I had not been, you getting hurt would not have helped me."

The fight finally went out of the Englishman, and he sat down next to Le Beau, shaking his head. "So what you're all saying is…" He looked toward the front door and trailed off. "Louis, I was really scared when that roof fell and you were in there."

Le Beau patted his friend's arm. "I know, mon ami," he answered. "Do not make it worse than it was, eh?"

"Thanks, little mate." Newkirk propped his elbows on his knees and sat with his face in his hands for several minutes. Finally he stood and looked at the others. "Kinch, you're right. I was way out of line out there today, and I'm sorry for that, and for what I said to you just now."

Kinch sighed heavily and sat down. "I know, Peter. You know, you're not the only one who worries about people around here. You just let your heart get the better of your head sometimes. And your mouth." He shook his head and laughed softly. "But I guess you wouldn't be you if you didn't."

Newkirk pulled his overcoat on, nodding as he did up the buttons. "I always have run my mouth more than I should, and I don't always think before I speak. I've got someone else to apologize to now." He put on his cap and continued quietly, "If he'll have it, that is."

Newkirk looked around when he got outside the door but saw no one. He heard a gentle sweeping sound, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that Hogan had mounted a ladder in the snow and was brushing off the roof with the broom. In the pale light of the moon he could see Hogan's breath streaming out in front of him, disappearing into the night as quickly as it appeared.

For a moment Newkirk just watched the repetitive movements, listening to the swoosh of the snow and Hogan's grunts of exertion as he tried to reach the very peak of the roof. Eventually he moved closer to the ladder, and his head reached to just above Hogan's knee. Hogan didn't stop working, nor did he appear to notice he was being watched. Newkirk stuck his hands in his pockets and looked up. "You're working late up there, Colonel."

Hogan kept sweeping and did not acknowledge Newkirk's presence.

Newkirk waited uncomfortably, then tried again. "You know, if you make a nuisance of yourself after lights-out, the Krauts might try to shoot you."

Hogan grunted as he made a wide arc with the broom. "That might make some people very happy," he said matter-of-factly, still not looking away from his work.

Newkirk looked down. "I deserved that," he said quietly. "That and anything else you'd like to throw at me."

Hogan continued concentrating on his task. "If you get hit with something, you'll end up in the infirmary, and Joe has enough work on his hands right now." There was no humor in his voice.

"I'll save you the trouble of filing charges against me, sir, and just plead guilty to insubordination and striking a superior officer."

Hogan paused for a second. "There aren't going to be any charges," he said. "You don't crucify a man for caring about his friends." Then he resumed his work with vigor.

Newkirk bowed his head, letting his shoulders slump. "Like I did to you, sir. You don't deserve any of the things I said out there today. You were only doing what had to be done... only I couldn't see it. I don't think I wanted to at the time, either."

Hogan stopped again. He took in and let out a heavy breath. "Maybe," is all he said.

"No, Colonel Hogan. Not 'maybe.' The truth is, all I could think about was that Louis might be hurt, and there was no way I was gonna let him die all alone in some stupid bloody roof collapse. Not after everything he's done for me."

"You're a good friend, Newkirk," Hogan said, refusing to be drawn into a conversation that was clearly already causing him pain. He started sweeping again. "Louis would have known he could count on you." A clump of snow fell gracelessly to the ground at the urging of Hogan's broom.

Newkirk shook his head. "It's more than that, sir. I've... never talked about this with anyone, but something happened back before you, or even Kinch arrived here. I'd tried to escape, and I didn't make it very far before I got caught." He paused to take a deep breath before continuing. "I probably would have died from the beating I got if not for the help I got from a new man in the barracks. Even though it made him sick to the point of passing out, that man took care of me, and for that, I'll always be grateful."

Hogan took a minute before responding. "That sounds like Louis. He's a good man, Newkirk. Always has been." Hogan finally stopped and looked down at the Englishman. "Look, you don't have to go on apologizing. You did what you thought you had to do. Now go on back inside before you catch pneumonia; Louis's not recovered enough to spoon-feed you back to health." The lightness of Hogan's words was not matched by his tone of voice.

The Englishman turned and glanced up at the roof. "Looks like there's more work to be done out here, Colonel. How about you come down off that ladder and give me a turn, then we'll both go in?"

Hogan shook his head and turned back to the roof. "No, no. You go on in. Your friends will miss you. They need your unique bedtime stories to tuck them in."

"And what about you? What is it that you need?"

Hogan didn't answer. Newkirk could tell that he was running a hundred answers through his head, but none were coming out of his mouth. Newkirk looked up, his grey-green eyes trying to meet Hogan's brown ones as he waited.

Finally, Hogan let out a long, weary breath. "I could use a ten-day pass." He leaned on the roof for a moment, looking tired beyond his years. "You know," he said at last, barely audibly, "just because I have to consider all the prisoners when there's a crisis, doesn't mean that I'm not thinking about that one man in trouble every second." He paused and closed his eyes. "If Louis had been badly hurt in there, it would have been even harder to live with myself than it is now." He opened his eyes and shook his head slowly, staring hard as though he were seeing the events of the day in the snow before him. "But I couldn't let it happen to anyone else, too." A long silence, then Hogan abruptly blinked himself back to the present and resumed brushing the roof with short, sharp strokes. "A man who has friends willing to throw caution to the wind to save him is a very lucky man, indeed."

Newkirk didn't say anything for a few minutes, and when he finally did speak, his voice was almost too soft to be heard. "That's what they call 'the price of command,' isn't it, sir? That you've got to put the good of everyone else ahead of your own needs and never mind what it does to your heart. I don't suppose you've ever given a tough order without it cutting into you in some way, but you manage it somehow and go on afterward anyway. It's what makes you a fine officer, Colonel, and an even better human being."

Newkirk sighed and stared into the darkness. "I've never had to walk in your shoes," he continued. "For me it's always been follow my heart—act first, suffer the consequences later. But that's because it's only ever been me who'd pay the price if I got it wrong. It's different for you. You have the whole lot of us to think about, all the prisoners to look after. And it can't be easy. I shouldn't have said you were playing God. I was scared, and I wanted Louis out of that building, right or wrong. But you were looking after him by making it safe first—and after me. I shouldn't have doubted you. I'm sorry I did."

"You're not the only one with doubts, Newkirk. Every night I go to bed questioning everything I've said or done at least five times." Hogan shook his head. "But I don't think I'll have any answers until well after the war is over." Hogan stepped down from the ladder and let the broom fall softly at his feet. "I want to go home, Peter," he said almost wistfully, letting his eyes scan the compound, silent and white. "I don't want to be here any more."

"We'll get there, gov'nor," Newkirk answered, coming up to put an arm around Hogan's shoulders. Hogan offered a minute smile and stared at the fence. "Just don't give up being our Papa Bear till the word comes through. I'll do my best to obey your orders without laying you out—you have my word on it."

Hogan looked at Newkirk in mild surprise, then bent over to pick up the broom. "Just do your best," he said with just a touch of good-natured sarcasm. "Meanwhile, I'll have Kinch give me a few lessons on how to duck and weave, just in case."

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

Hogan slid his diary carefully out from its hiding spot as the lights went out around the camp. He picked up a pencil and considered for a moment, emotions making it difficult to focus. Finally, he began:

It's sorted out. Newkirk was always a good man.

Then, finding himself strangely unable to continue, he put the book away.