Before Colonel Hogan arrived to set up his so-called "Traveller's Aid Society", and Colonel Wilhelm Klink was assigned as its Kommandant, Stalag 13 was a very different place. It was run by another man, Colonel Heinrich Kurstein - and if anyone had in fact won the title "The Iron Colonel", he had.
With bonus points for dictatorship.
Having worked closely with the SS for many years, Kurstein was reputed a fiendish tyrant.
In 1940 he was re-assigned from duties in Berlin to Commanding Officer of Stalag 13, and although it was supposed to be only a temporary transfer, he was there for almost 18 months. Long enough for each and every one of the POWs to confirm his name as a vicious sadist.
There was no room for mercy in his camp, and he made sure everybody knew it.
". . .eter? Please wake up. Come on, it's oka. . ."
Newkirk heard a faint voice, echoing from somewhere far away, far from his consciousness. It faded in and out. The voice sounded familiar, but no matter how hard he listened, he couldn't make out the words.
Something brushed against his face, and he became aware of pain suddenly invading every inch of his body. He tried to pull away, but couldn't move. A moan escaped his lips and he felt a - it was a hand - on his face again, tapping it faster. The voice held more urgency now, and although the sound was making his head throb, the Englishman tried desperately understand it.
"Newkirk, please? Don't leave me here alone. . ."
Was that a sob? With a burst of determination, Newkirk struggled to open his eyes. He partially succeeded. Everything was fuzzy, but through the haze, he saw a face - a youth barely as old as himself, with brown eyes and corn-coloured hair. Without thinking he pulled back, before recognition came to him in a fierce jolt of pain. He unwittingly cried out in agony when he moved, and the boy reached forward and held his shoulders down gently.
"Peter! Stay still, you're hurt! It's gonna be alright, mate."
At any other time, Newkirk might have found such an obvious statement funny, but under these circumstances, it only reinforced his apprehension that everything was not going to be alright. He tried to reply, but he could barely form the words.
"I - Freddie? W-where - are we?" He blinked, his bright green eyes glazed with pain.
Freddie hesitated for a moment, then said softly.
"We're in a Prisoner of War camp."
xxxHHxxx
"Hey, Schultz!"
Schultz turned around and saw Hogan standing outside the Recreation Hall, watching the grey dust-clouds on the horizon with a curious expression.
"What is it, Colonel Hogan?"
Hogan pointed at the cloud, looking indignant. "What's the big idea?"
Schultz's eyes widened. "What do you mean? What did I do?"
"You didn't tell us that somebody would be doing blasting today! LeBeau nearly ruined the pancakes he was making! You know, the ones you requested!" Hogan said loudly.
"Please! Colonel Hogan!" Schultz looked around anxiously, hoping nobody had heard. "Do not speak so loud! If Kommandant Klink. . . " He leaned closer. "What is it you want to know?"
Hogan gave an annoyed sigh. "Well, considering we already know that it's started, when will they finish? And what are they doing?"
Schultz shrugged. "I don't know what they are doing, only they will be finished by this afternoon." He paused. "When will LeBeau's pancakes be ready?"
Hogan grinned and patted the guard's back. "In about half an hour. Thanks, Schultz." He sauntered off, leaving Schultz rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation.
xxxHHxxx
Carter reached the collapse in record time. He stood frozen in shock for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then he flung himself at the rubble and began digging frantically, not caring that he was grazing his hands on small sharp rocks.
"Newkirk! Are you okay? Can you hear me?" he pleaded as he shoved handfuls of dirt behind him. "Newkirk! Answer me! Please? Are you alright?"
There was no reply. Carter realized he was not going to get anywhere on his own, and as much as he didn't want to leave Newkirk, he knew it would be better to go alert the others to help. Fast.
"Uhh, Newkirk? I'm gonna go get help. I-it'll be okay. Just h-hold on."
Choking back a sob, he bolted back towards the ladder up to Barracks 2.
xxxHHxxx
Hogan walked thoughtfully back to the Barracks. He met Kinch on the way, who was reading casually on a bench in the sun.
"Hi Kinch. Already finished with the coffeepot?"
Kinch nodded. "All done there, Colonel. Some of the wiring had gotten loose, it easy to fix. You really should stop LeBeau from using it, though."
He gazed up at the clear blue sky. "Great to be outside for a change."
"Well, enjoy a day in the sun then." said Hogan smiling. "Carter and Newkirk will be close enough to the radio room to hear if any messages come through."
"Yeah. We should have finished that new branch by tomorrow afternoon, at the latest." Kinch agreed. Hogan cheerfully slapped the radioman's shoulder, and moved on, feeling very pleased. He'd tackle Klink about his requests later that afternoon, after lunchtime when the Kommandant was usually more relaxed.
Everything was going so well today, he thought. It'd be typical of life to spoil it. . .
xxxHHxxx
The first thing Newkirk became aware of as he slowly regained consciousness was a throbbing pain in his head. He attempted to move, and realized he couldn't. His head was spinning. A fierce pain shot through his right leg, and he let out a soft moan.
He tried to open his eyes. It made no difference - it was pitch-black in the small cave he was trapped in. For a moment, he couldn't work out where he was or what had happened. He began breathing too quickly, and he struggled to sit up, verging on panic.
"C-carter? Andrew?" Newkirk gasped in pain as his forehead seemed to be on fire. His voice was little more than a rough whisper. He reached a hand up to his aching head. He could feel a huge gash over his right eye, and blood was flowing freely down the side of his face.
The small movements made him feel dizzy. Suddenly he began to feel lightheaded, and he slumped back. His chest hurt with every breath. The pounding in his head kept increasing, and he felt hot. His injured leg was pinned under something, and rocks were digging into his back. Trying to pull himself clear of the rubble seemed impossible, and was barely a minute before he passed out from the pain.
xxxHHxxx
"Colonel!"
LeBeau startled for the second time that day as heard a frantic voice calling from down below. It sent his heart to his mouth and he raced over to the bunk hiding the tunnel entrance. It crashed open and a dirty, disheveled Carter shot up the ladder, shouting - much too loudly - for the Colonel. He leaped off the ladder and Lebeau quickly grabbed hold of his arms, but Carter was too out of breath and panicky to speak.
Lebeau forced him down on a chair and handed him a cup of water.
"What is it Carter? What happened, mon ami? Are you hurt?" LeBeau fired off several questions all at once, and then stopped short, an uneasy feeling creeping up inside him. "Where is Newkirk?"
Carter pushed away the water, shaking his head. "He - he - is still - in - the tunnel." he said breathlessly, "It caved-in during that last - last explosion! He's trapped!"
Carter started up and ran back to the ladder, looking over his shoulder at Lebeau. "Go get Colonel Hogan - we've gotta get him out fast!"
LeBeau dashed outside without another word, and crashed right into Hogan, who was already on his way. It was his turn to feel concerned as he watched Lebeau trip backwards onto the ground.
"I thought I heard someone calling me a moment ago? Was it you, LeBeau?" he asked, offering a hand.
Lebeau got up, dusting himself off hastily. "No, colonel, it was Carter. The tunnel collapsed and Newkirk is trapped!" he said rapidly "Carter's gone back down."
Hogan was already through the door and walking over to the bunk before LeBeau had finished speaking. "Go get Kinch. We need to get him out before the next blast." The Frenchman nodded and left to do his bidding. Hogan slid down the ladder, muttering under his breath. "Or else he'll be trapped even deeper."
xxxHHxxx
Newkirk drifted in and out of consciousness. Everything seemed to blurred by the pounding of his head. He couldn't think, it was hard to breath. The air was stifling hot and damp. He could feel sweat dripping off his forehead. Sometimes it trickled into the deep cut on his forehead, and he involuntarily moaned as it stung fiercely, making his whole body throb with pain. At intervals red-hot lances of fire stabbed his leg, and he tried to pull away and call for help but the effort rendered him semiconscious time and time again.
Time passed and sometimes he thought he could hear the sound of voices, but as soon as he began listening, they faded into silence.
After some time, Newkirk's breath was coming in short gasps as the air began to thin. He wanted to get out. Where was he, even? When was he? Some ideas floated through his dazed brain, but he could barely lift his arms now. He felt his head start to spin even faster, then suddenly through the fog he heard a voice, although it sounded jumbled beyond recognition.
". . .ound him, Colonel! Quick, over he. . ."
Newkirk wanted to reply, but all he could manage were four words.
"Freddie? Is - that - you?" he murmured, as he saw a shaft of light pierce the blackness.
Then everything went dark.
TBC
Second Chapter! Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to drop a Review!
I'm super excited to get it published, and thanks a million to everyone who followed the story! And a special thank you to tigerlion9 and Old English Game for their wonderfully encouraging reviews!
(Oh, and I just thought I'd add this. No matter how hard I try, I always seem to do my best proofreading after I've clicked 'Publish'. LOL. So don't worry, I make sure to correct any mistakes ASAP ;)