Despite a broken arm, a bad concussion, multiple cuts and much bruising all over his body, Newkirk was okay. After regaining consciousness several times, he just slept fitfully and woke briefly for the next few days. Finally, late one afternoon, he was able to sit up - without getting too dizzy - and look around. His right arm was in a makeshift sling, and someone had tied a strip of cloth around his head. Every time he had occasionally opened his eyes before, Freddie had been sitting right beside him. This time, however, when Newkirk managed to maneuver himself into a sitting position, his young RAF mate was curled up beside Newkirk's cot, asleep. But he awoke the second he heard Newkirk move.

"Peter! You're awake!" He leaped to his feet, a broad smile spreading across his face. "How do you feel?"

Newkirk didn't answer straight away, instead he gazed around the room, taking in every, albeit fuzzy, detail. Then his eyes rested on Freddie. He looked awful. He was pale, and had cuts and bruises all over him. Newkirk could only imagine what he looked like himself. Then he remembered that he'd been asked question.

"Like I've jumped out o' a ruddy plane without a parachute." his voice sounded strange and rough. "What the 'ell 'appened, an' where are we?"

Freddie sat down beside him, and offered him some water from a badly battered tin cup. The water was cold, metallic, and tasted of rust, but it felt good on his dry sore throat. As Newkirk drank slowly Freddie began to explain. "Do you remember crashing?"

Newkirk wiped his hand across his mouth, and handed the cup back. "No, only a piece of flack 'itting me plane." He blinked slowly. "You were . . ."

"I got hit too, an' I managed to parachute out. I saw you going down, but you didn't get out. I was so worried. . ." He trailed off.

"The 'atch got stuck." Newkirk shut his eyes, suddenly feeling light-headed. His whole body was aching. Freddie looked concerned.

"Do you want to rest for a bit? I can tell you the rest later."

Newkirk managed to shake his head. "Nah, jus' got a bit of an 'eadache. I'll be alright. Go on, mate." he assured, not very convincingly.

Freddie frowned uncertainly, but continued in a lower voice. "I landed, and started lookin' around for you. I 'eard some voices, and I decided to follow 'em. I saw some wreckage and went over and searched, but you weren't there. Then I stumbled across a ruddy Kraut patrol, and I tried to hid and watch them. They were dragging you with 'em and I didn't know what to do. Then my head felt funny and I passed out. They musta caught me then." Freddie stared at the floor, and then glanced up at Newkirk, his dark brown eyes regretful. "I'm really sorry."

The Englishman didn't know how to react - he was blaming himself for their predicament, as the one who had personally promised himself to look after the lad, it most certainly wasn't Freddie's fault. His head was pounding as he tried to think of a reply. Unable to move his right arm without making it throb even more than it already was, he awkwardly put his left hand on Freddie's shoulder. '"Listen, Fred. It weren't ya fault, don't blame yourself." he said haltingly, but with conviction. "It's these bloody Krauts' fault. If they could only mind their own bloody business an' be content with what they've got, we wouldn't be in such a mess." He slumped back against the wall, annoyed at how exhausted he was from talking. His head was spinning, and he felt cold and nauseous. Closing his eyes, he realized he was shivering. He felt Freddie move him carefully into a flat position on the cot. Just before he drifted off into a restless sleep he noticed Freddie take off his jacket and spread it over him.

xxxHHxxx

"I've found him, Colonel! Quick, over here!" Carter hurled his shovel aside and fell to his knees beside the the area where he had just broken through the rubble into the small cave. He saw a piece of blue fabric caught under a rock and began hurling handfuls of dirt behind him. Hogan dropped down beside the young tech sergeant and proceeded to aid his efforts. Kinch and LeBeau followed suit.

"Right fellas - be careful. We're not gonna use the shovels anymore." he said. "We can't risk hitting him."

Under the speedy efforts of the four men, a hole was cleared just enough for someone to climb through. Hogan beckoned Kinch over and the two of them very carefully and slowly eased the unconscious Englishman out of the dusty, damp hollow. Carter couldn't hid a gasp of distress as he saw his friend's condition.

Newkirk's eyes were tightly shut, and his breathing uneven. The deep gash over his right eyebrow was awful mess of blood and dirt. The blue fabric around his lower right leg was torn roughly and dark red with hardened blood.

"Carter, spread that blanket on the ground here, quick - up near the radio. The bracing is strongest there." Hogan ordered. Carter nearly fell over in his haste to obey. LeBeau took a step backwards, and tried to look the other way as Hogan and Kinch lowered Newkirk onto the blanket.

Looking up briefly, Colonel Hogan directed his next command at LeBeau. "Go find Wilson."

The Frenchman did not delay, grateful to be of help.

xxxHHxxx

"Yes, General Burkhalter, certainly, General Burkhalter! It's always a pleasure to be of service, sir! Oh, you - . Of course, yes sir! Heil Hitler!"

Colonel Klink replaced the receiver with great alacrity. Rubbing his hands together, he enthusiastically sent for Schultz.

The stout sergeant, who had been loitering furtively around Barracks 2 ever since Hogan had told him about the soon-coming pancakes, heaved a heavy sigh when the summons reached his ears. Sending a longing glance as far over his well-rounded shoulder as he could, Schultz ambled over to the Kommandant's office. After briefly amusing encounter with Fraulein Hilda, he marched sharply into Klink's office, saluting smartly.

Unfortunately the tip of his rifle scored a direct hit on the lamp sitting nonchalantly at the corner of the desk, sending it to the ground with a crash and shattering the bulb into many thousands of pieces. Schultz's eyes widened in horror and he fumbled to pick up the minuscule shards with varying degrees of success owing to great difference of size between his large, sausage-like fingers and the small, dainty glass fragments.

The Kommandant, head inclined, stared through his monocle at the groveling guard with a condescending, long-suffering sigh.

When several minutes had passed it finally dawned on Schultz that he was not about to be sent on a one-way trip to the Russian Front. He stood up shakily, mouth working silently. For a fleeting moment no words came out.

"Herr Kommandant I - I beg - I didn't - Sergeant Schultz Reporting for Duty!" he ended falteringly, screwing his eyes shut fearfully.

Klink waved his hand. "Never mind about that. I have an important task for you."

Schultz opened one eye and peered at him. "You mean - you are not mad at m-me for breaking the lamp?" he queried.

"Not yet I'm not." said Klink in a voice which clearly demanded Pay Attention to My Next Request or So Help Me I'll. . .

"I want you to go get the VIP quarters tidied up and ready for a guest. Take a prisoner detail, and Get - It - Spotless!" He punctuated the last few words with a thump of his hand on the desk.

Both eyes open now, Schultz watched the Kommandant, curiosity creeping up on him. "Ja wohl, but may I ask who is coming?"

Bursting with self-importance, Klink couldn't help but tell. "General Burkhalter just called. In a week, we will be hosting one of the most valuable men to the Third Reich! This man says he has information so important that it may even end the War!"

Schultz's eyes bugged. "Who is he? What is his name?"

"He won't tell anyone. You know he must be a very hunted man." Klink shrugged, then snapped his fingers loudly. "Now, GO!"

The hapless guard jumped and backed out of the room, saluting madly. "Ja wohl, Herr Kommandant! At once, Herr Kommandant! Certainly Herr Komman. . ."

Schultz's luck was certainly out that day, for the second he turned around he collided with Fraulein Hilda's desk lamp, sending it to a similar doom as its cousin from the other room.

"SCHULTZ!"

xxxHHxxx

"Well, I don't know what caused him to lose consciousness - blood loss, oxygen deprivation, or concussion. It may even be a combination of all of them. But we have another problem here. The worst risk is infection, and I used the last of the penicillin a week ago." Sergeant Wilson, the camp medic, explained to Colonel Hogan, who stood watching with his arms folded. They had been trying without success to awaken Newkirk for about half an hour now. Both their expressions were grave. "I meant to ask you to get London to make an air-drop, but then everyone in Barracks 7 came down with the flu and it slipped my mind." he finished apologetically.

Wilson had cleaned Newkirk's leg injury as best he could with clean water, and wrapped it in clean bandages. He wasn't too worried about that wound, and although the Englishman would be limping for a few weeks once the laceration and bruising had healed, it just would require a few stitches. The gash on his forehead was another matter. It had still been bleeding when they had got him out of the cave, and only after some serious attempts to staunch the flow had it finally eased. Hesitant to examine or treat it down in the tunnel with such poor lighting lest he make it worse, Wilson suggested they keep trying to wake Newkirk, and see if he could get up the Barracks ladder with their help. "If it's concussion, that's probably the best we can do right now." He gave a cautious look at the roof. "And I don't like us being down here with those explosions."

Hogan nodded, and turned to Newkirk, tapping his face firmly. "Newkirk? Wake up. It's safe now." Hogan kept at it for near twenty minutes, before sitting back and in a final attempt issuing several military commands to the unresponsive corporal, in hope of eliciting a response. But to no avail.

It made Carter's heart ache to see his best friend lying there so vulnerable, and in desperation he accidentally shoved the Colonel to the side to reach over and grabbed Newkirk's hand tightly. "C'mon, buddy! Please? Peter? You gotta wake up! Don't leave me here alone!" He squeezed Newkirk's hand hard - pleading in a voice which sounded half like a whisper and half like a sob.

All three men were startled when Newkirk flinched and moaned. Immediately Hogan leaned over him, and resumed patting his face. "Newkirk? Can you hear me?"

The Englishman groaned again, and half-opened his eyes. "Ohhh. . . . . ." he shut them tightly again, wincing from pain.

"Newkirk, look at me." Hogan demanded, holding up three fingers. "How many are there?"

"Guv'nor?" Newkirk sounded dazed. He blinked confusedly around at the men. "What - where -?"

"How many fingers?" the colonel insisted.

"Uhhhh. . . five . . .?" Newkirk reached a hand up to his spinning head, and reclosed his eyes. "Oooh, that ruddy 'urts. . ."

Carter gave a choked sigh of relief to hear his pal speaking. Hogan grinned, Wilson - understanding the full gravity of the situation - wasn't so happy, but he gave a small smile. "Newkirk?"

Newkirk heard Wilson address him, but he just couldn't reply. Every sound resounded through his battered head like the boom of a cannon. Something felt wrong in the back of his mind, but he couldn't place it. Suddenly he struggled to sit up, looking around anxiously. "Where is Freddie? What 'appened to me mate?" he stammered, accent thick with worry.

Hogan shot a startled look at the medic before pushing Newkirk back down gently. "Who?"

Staring around the room, the disorientated Newkirk appeared to be searching for someone. "Me mate - Freddie Cooper!" he repeated, voice borderline nervousness. " 'e was jus' 'ere, weren't 'e?"

Carter seemed to be the only one able to decipher the cockney accent, but was too shocked to say anything. Wilson said smoothly. "He's safe, Newkirk. But you need to listen. If we help, can you climb up the ladder to the Barracks?"

Pacified only slightly, Newkirk gave a barely perceptible nod. Hogan and Wilson slid their arms under Newkirk's, and carefully lifted him up. Carter hovered behind, waiting to catch him if he fell. Newkirk's legs buckled the second they touched the floor and he stifled a cry of pain as he felt his weight on his injured leg.

"Uh-uh you can't sit down just now, Corporal!" Hogan said, gripping his arm tightly. Newkirk, limping badly, stumbled over to the ladder practically carried by his comrades. It was all he could do to keep from passing out from pain and dizziness. How the three of them got him up the ladder, they never knew. By the time they had literally man-handled him out of the opening at the top, he was semiconscious again - and obviously not able to make it to Colonel Hogan's room where they had intended to put him.

Kinch picked him up easily and lay him on Carter's bunk. Newkirk, eyes tightly closed as a rising feeling of nausea spread from his head through his entire body, couldn't help moaning. Carter covered him with a blanket, as Wilson switched on the Barracks light and addressed LeBeau, who had been standing guard at the door. "LeBeau? Go get some more water. Put some salt in it - It'll help to clean the wound."

LeBeau turned to face Wilson when he heard his name and loosened his hold on the door. A second later he was sent sprawling to the floor as the door flung open wide - revealing the inquisitive face of the chubby Sergeant Schultz.

TBC

Apologies for the delay in uploading! We've had some wild weather here the past week, leading to several power failures - usually occurring just before I click 'Save'. LOL.

Thank you Navy82 and SoraliaRyujin for leaving reviews! They are very helpful, and very welcome - so keep 'em coming!

Okay, I'm out for now! See ya!