DISCLAIMER: I don't own this show, but I wish I did. Though I can't imagine I'd do a much better job than the folks that do own it.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I wrote this in about 45 minutes. Another postwar introspection fic. I seem rather fond of those.
NOT THE MAN I WAS
Dear Newkirk,
My gosh, I feel like everything's happening in a whirlwind. It seems like Angie just delivered Benny yesterday and she told me today we're going to have another. Unbelievable. I think all we've done since we got married is wait for the next baby to arrive.
Lauren just turned-listen to this-seven. Paul's going to be six next week, Sally is four, and Sean is making a big deal about being two and a half. Don't forget that half! Benny is too little to get picky about his age. But it's coming, I know it is.
The colonel and I were talking yesterday. You know, I still can't stop calling him "Colonel." He's quit trying to get me to call him by his first name. I just can't bring myself to do it. Sometimes Kinch still calls him "Sir."
Anyway, we were recounting for Beth and Angie the time you were "Maj. Schadenfreude." Remember that? You just about had Hochstetter quivering. He was so nervous he didn't even realize "Schadenfreude" isn't a real name! Boy, you sure saved us that time.
Hope the RAF life is treating you well. Up for any more promotions? Hope to hear from you again soon. I miss you.
Sincerely yours,
Andrew Carter
RAF Flight Lieutenant Peter Newkirk read the letter, then reread it, and then stared at it without reading.
"All I need is me." Newkirk gave a rueful smile as he thought about his mantra as a young man. Life on the streets had taught him not to trust, not to rely on anyone but himself.
Then he'd been drafted into the RAF and resisted it all the way. He'd tried to fail his physical, tried to get kicked out of basic training, even tried to get drummed out once or twice.
How did that young man ever even make it to corporal? Newkirk shook his head.
Then he'd been thrown into Stalag 13. Ever the camp rebel, he had resisted any kind of social situation. But after awhile, it had become impossible to stay away from the men he was cooped up with until the end of the war.
After a few years, Operation Papa Bear had started. Col. Hogan had found a way to use even the most criminal of Newkirk's talents-safecracking, pickpocketing, and forging-to get dozens of Allied prisoners to freedom. It was the first time in his life Newkirk had ever truly felt like part of a family, part of something where he was useful and not just excess baggage.
When the war ended, Newkirk had been all set to leave the RAF far, far behind and go back to….well, whatever he could do. Something that didn't involve the military.
Of course, all that had changed when he discovered the higher-ups in the RAF had known about their operation all along and promoted him to sergeant without letting him know. To resign after receiving a promotion would be gauche, even as Newkirk regarded such things.
And now, here I am. The only one to make a career of the service. Who'd have thought? He folded the letter.
Sometimes Newkirk missed his old war buddies so much it hurt. So much for "All I need is me." Those three years spent working with the Heroes had stripped away the walls Newkirk had so carefully constructed around himself. Did I really cry when I said goodbye to them? No, not when they'd actually said goodbye. He hadn't truly cried until he was alone.
Newkirk missed Col. Hogan's smiles and wisecracks. He missed LeBeau's cooking and fierce loyalty. He missed Kinch's patient smiles and down-to-earth attitude. And he even missed Carter's boisterous nature-even though it had driven him crazy sometimes.
I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for them, Newkirk thought. People talk all the time about how war changes a man. But they always say that like it's a bad thing. They never talk about how war can change a man for the better.
"Hear me, spirit! I'm not the man I was!" The line from Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol drifted through Newkirk's head. I'm not the man I was. And I wouldn't want to be either. I owe everything to those five years I spent in that camp.
The RAF officer took a piece of paper and a pen and sat down to write.
Dear Andrew,
He stopped. He didn't want to write a letter. He wanted to talk to Carter. To get an immediate response. Newkirk wanted to hear his friend's voice and hear that childlike laugh of his. Once it had made Newkirk want to grab the young American and throw him into the Kiel Canal, now it made the Brit's heart swell.
Newkirk looked over his shoulder at the telephone across the room. Without stopping to reconsider, he picked up the receiver and dialed the operator.
"'Ello, operator? I need to make a call to Indianapolis, Indiana…"
