*Author's note: I pulled the story to make some changes as per some reviews. Elements that I planned to introduce later are now in place to add to the action quotient of the story. However, there are some points that I want to address. In World War II, even in Germany, condoms were issued to service members, and unfortunately, women had to resort to desperate measures to survive-some even turned to prostitution.

Also, Newkirk, in the episode that this story idea is based, "Stickey Wicket, Newkirk," meets a barmaid, and that same day, goes with her to her apartment. After they have one drink, she is in a robe, cuddled next to him on the sofa, toasting to "The Moment. Also admit nothing and talk to no more strange women." Newkirk, says, "One at a time is enough, luv. With ya all the way, luv. Before we get down to more personal things, which really can't be too soon for me..." shows that indeed, our Newkirk, is a randy, young man who would take up an offer when presented to him. I did not change how he responded to Gretchen's offer.

One final note. Thanks to Marleen23 her most excellent idea presented in a wonderful story called In Search of Nimrod. Her author's note at the end of the story was the other kernel of idea for the basis of this story. Again, thanks for the reviews: especially from whirlyite, Abracadebra, AllTrekkedUp, Fear-Of-The-Cold, mmwaveprincess, and HeroesLover77. I appreciate your reviews, suggestions, and observations, which is why I pulled this to rework it. Stick with me with patience and I can only say that I'll do my best not to disappoint.

C0f2eVaMpire

Newkirk was chafing at the bit to have a forty-eight hour leave in Hammelburg. It had been nearly six months since "The Incident" involving Gretel and Major Hochstetter. That had been a close 'un, he thought ruefully. He had things to do and people to meet. He'd had to lay low for a while, so the six months started out slowly with him having to earn back the trust of every one of his mates and especially with Colonel Hogan. It took some time, some biting his tongue, and doing everything asked of him with a positive attitude, but now he was back where he should be in the thick of the action. This proved a nice change because he had been bored out of his skull. And, once again he found himself longing for the action of his double life and, of course, for some female company.

He lit his third cigarette of the day while sitting at the table in the common room, a solitaire game laid out in perfect order waiting to be played. He replaced the bite of the tobacco at the back of his throat with some of the brew that passed for coffee at Stalag 13, the taste of chicory lingering longer than the tobacco. The solitaire game sat in front of him as he tried to think of the most recent of his contact activity. The last one he remembered with a smile was the bird from Hammelberg who gave him information to pass onto London, which he'd done. Before they could become better acquainted, she'd been moved to Berlin. He wondered who had taken her place. He'd have to risk the use of the radio to find out. Then as his thoughts turned to the fairer sex, he tried to remember the last letter from one of his many birds back in England. It had been a long time since he received even a note from even one of them; the only mail he seemed to get lately were letters from Mum, his sisters-mainly from Mavis, and a couple of short notes from his two younger brothers because not all of the nine siblings liked to write letters. It was nice to get mail from the family, but it didn't help him with his current situation. He found himself wishing he had kept more than a couple of notes from Rita; currently, those and some of the other letters were lining the inside of his combat boots and uniform blouse. Dismissing thoughts of his fan dancer, he looked up and around the barracks to see what the others were doing and whether he should give up the game. He knew that Kinch was manning the radio, so sending that important message right then was out of the question, so he calmly assessed what his other two best mates were doing.

LeBeau was at the stove messing around with a foul-smelling concoction which Newkirk was sure was their noonday meal. He was muttering to himself in French about the lack of a certain seasoning or other. It had taken awhile, but Newkirk, over the period of the two and half years, so far had managed to learn a bit of the his li'l mate's lingo. Newkirk turned his attention to his other best mate only to find Carter lying on his bunk reading The Last of the Mohicans for the second time that month. Newkirk smirked as he thought at least Carter's lips weren't moving this time. He shook his head slightly at the thought. He really shouldn't be so mean to Carter, but it was just too much fun to pick and tease him. His only decision now was who the latest victim would be.

Just as Newkirk decided to pick on LeBeau and French cuisine, the bottom bed that served as the entrance to the tunnels opened and quick as you could say "Bob's your uncle," Kinch climbed up and out. Swiftly he passed the others, headed straight for Col. Hogan's office, where the officer had retreated this morning after roll call. Immediately, the other three members of the core team came together in anticipation, trying to guess what the cause for Kinch's abrupt behavior.

"Well, maybe the war is over," Carter murmured hopefully.

The other two gave him a look. "Yeah, and I'm the ruddy Queen of England, mate," Newkirk muttered.

"Well, I can always hope, can't I?" Carter responded defensively.

"Oui, vous pouvez, mon ami, mais aussi garder à l'esprit la réalité," LeBeau replied. "Maybe le Colonel is being sent home again..."

All three remembered the near disaster this order created...the three shuddered in unison. No one wanted Col. Crittendon returning any time soon! Silently, they agreed to prevent this by any means necessary if that was in the message.

Meanwhile, in the Colonel's private quarters, Kinch barely knocked before he entered the room. "Col. Hogan, message from London, sir," he said as he passed his commanding officer the note. He waited as he watched the colonel read the message for the second time. He wasn't disappointed.

"They have got to be kidding!" The colonel growled. "Who do they think we are?"

"Apparently, they think we're saboteurs, sir, ones with a very long reach," Kinch muttered.

"It can't be done! There is just no way we can travel to Berlin. We are still prisoners, ya know," he muttered at Kinch.

"I know that, sir, but with some of the things we've accomplished in the past, they must think this is doable. Just a guess," he finished when he caught the look Col. Hogan threw at him.

The Colonel sat in his chair and wrapped his arms around himself the way he always did when he tried to think of something. Kinch stood by the door, ready to take the answer back to London.

"So what do ya think is going on in there?" Carter asked for about the third time since Kinch rushed past them. He was sitting at the table kibitzing the game of solitaire that Newkirk decided play. "No, the king goes there..."

"Andrew!" Newkirk growled in his throat, "cut it out! It's called solitaire for a reason."

"Geez, you're sure grumpy all of the sudden." He got up from the table, walked back to his bunk, sat down, and then was up again in five minutes. Carter got this way whenever they got orders from London, especially if it involved his favorite thing: demolition. He loved the way earth shook when his explosives did the job. He may have been a klutz at some things, like walking, but boy, he sure could work magic with chemicals. In his head, he was already going over what he had in stock and if he needed more dynamite, line, or whether he had to mix up something special. His eyes were gleaming just thinking about it.

Newkirk sat back from his game, shook his head, and smiled as he recognized that look in his friend's eyes. He sucked on the end of his cigarette before stubbing it out. LeBeau hadn't said anything during the time Kinch was in the colonel's office. He just stood at the stove working on lunch, content to wait for the colonel's entrance. Newkirk sighed and was again bored. He didn't like waiting. It seemed that he was just as antsy as Andrew. "Louis, don't 'ou even wonder 'at's going on in there? 'at all?" He asked, moving over to the stove deciding to go with his first choice and annoy the Frenchman about his cuisine. Loping an arm about the diminutive French's shoulders, he sniffed the potent brew. "Cor' what is that?"

"Not today, Pierre. You are not going to annoy me about my cooking today, mon ami. I am trying a new recipe and have seasoned everything to perfection-well as close to perfection as the war allows," he grumbled as he stirred the contents of the pot slowly clockwise and then counter clockwise.

"Long as it's not eels or snails, mate, I'll give it a try. Just wish once in awhile you'd make some bangers and mash, shepherd's pie...me mouth's watering at the thought, li'l mate. I'd e'en quit nattering at ya about your cooking for at least a coupla months if ya did."

"Hummmph," LeBeau growled, "Allez-vous. Go away. Go bother Andre."