LeBeau stood at attention in line, waiting for Schultz to finish counting. He rubbed at his scarf. It felt bruised. He'd have to take a look after roll call. He looked up at Newkirk beside him. The Englishman only yawned and pulled one of Schultz's bullets out to examine. He looked much better than he had the last few days, and honestly much better than LeBeau would have thought after last night. Of course, LeBeau hadn't been around for the latter half of events, but he'd heard what had happened, and a few mumbled complaints were less than he was expecting. He was puzzled, but glad. Though he had no soft feelings for the captain, he at least saw the sense in just letting it go. Apparently, Newkirk did too.

"Reporrrrt!" LeBeau's attention went to the front.

"All present and accounted for!" Schultz reported happily.

"Good. I have an announcement to make!" announced Klink.

"Burkhalter needs a new aide?" suggested Hogan.

"How did you know—?"

"Rumor gets around. Might I suggest Sergeant Schultz?"

Klink's eyes popped. "Do you want me to go to the Russian front, Hogan?"

He shrugged.

"Mmmph!" Klink composed himself. "I was going to say, your Red Cross packages will be arriving late this month because of damaged transportation lines."

LeBeau saw Newkirk's hands open behind him, silently collecting debts from Olsen, Slim, and Adams. LeBeau almost snickered, but then Newkirk's hand was opened towards him. He rolled his eyes. That was right. He handed over three cigarettes. It wasn't like he used them for anything but bargaining power anyway. One of LeBeau's cigarettes was slipped into Carter's hand. He looked surprised, but gladly accepted.

Klink was still continuing. "…showing that the might of the Fatherland is greater than—"

"Aw, come on!" Newkirk, done collecting bets, now led the campaign to create a hubbub loud enough to shorten Klink's speech. Five minutes later, the ploy proved successful and they were heading back into barracks.

"Do you think Burkhalter will be able to find a new aide?" asked LeBeau.

"Hopefully he won't be able to find anyone too bright," said Carter.

"Shouldn't be too 'ard. 'e's lookin' in Germany."

Carter chuckled and Hogan smiled, saying, "Thanks for the vote of confidence. But to answer your question, LeBeau, I'm sure he will."

"With ze help of Herr Goeber," Kinch growled in an impeccable German accent.

"And Major Schmidt, if you vouldn't mind sharing ze microphone," Newkirk added.

"Not at all. Permission, Oberst?" he asked Hogan.

"Absolutely. I'm sure we can find one of our guys to take the job."

~HH~

Captain Franz lay in the corner. The door closed and left him in the dark. He breathed out, glad to be alone and out from under scrutiny for the first time in several hours. He shifted to a more comfortable position, glad his hands were tied in front of him and not behind. After a few minutes of resting, trying to wipe clean his mind so he could enjoy, at least in some form, his last days outside of a prison camp, his thoughts wandered elsewhere. Before he'd left, Carter had spoken to him. They'd kept him away from Carter most of the time, probably because he'd almost killed him. But Hogan had allowed Carter to be down there, and while the Colonel was talking with the Underground, telling them Franz understood English well and not to hesitate to shoot if he tried anything, Carter had told him a few things. He said he was sorry good people ended up on the wrong side. He was sorry that they had to send them to a prison the way he was in a prison, and this was his way of making up for all of the times they'd had to do it.

And then, Carter had stretched out his fist toward Franz, facing down. "Here. I don't know what you talked about, but you must be a good person if Newkirk forgave you." Franz had looked dubiously at his hand. "Here," Carter repeated. "For when you're lonely. Don't tell anyone."

Franz held out his hand, and Carter dropped something small into it and closed his fingers around it.

Hogan was coming back over with Chicken Little, so Franz slipped the object into a pocket before he or the others could see it.

Now, Franz managed to get both hands into his trouser pocket and find what he'd dropped in earlier. In the darkness, he could just make out a pin with a symbol on it. He squinted more closely. It was a black eagle on a yellow background, the German coat-of-arms, pieced together like a mosaic with the tiniest of stones. Carter had given him a symbol of his country? Why would he do such a thing?

Captain Franz thought about that. He thought some more.