I am a bit stuck so for a little bit you are going to have some one shots in this series. This takes place a few months after our last chapter.
The glass vial was half full, the blood inside aged and thickened. Newkirk studied it, knowing full well what it meant, while the others had just begun to catch on. Their contact, the American General, was dead and this was all that was left.
If they were a normal underground unit this would have been the end of the road. But the unit at Stalag 13 was far from normal.
He pulled the stopper from the vial but the blood was too old to pour so he crushed the vial instead. The glass sliced his skin and his own sanguine flow rushed to greedily consume its contents.
His mates watched in mute fascinated horror. It had been a few months since the King had completed his transformation and there had been no shortage of weird unsettling thing he had proved capable of. However this was the most unsettling.
His blood flowed backwards back into his cut and it sealed behind it, leaving unblemished skin. As it healed Newkirk shifted. He drew himself up to his full height, head held level and spine as straight as an arrow. It was perfect military posture, jarring on Newkirk's form.
He looked around, studying and assessing the room and its occupants. When he looked at Hogan he smiled, fond and proud. "Giving the dead a voice. Even for you Robbie that's impressive. " The voice spoke in unblemished American English.
Hogan was deathly pale, his eyes wide as saucers. He tried to smile but just enter up looking sick. He managed to grind out. "Not my parlor trick. "
Newkirk nodded thoughtfully. He looked down at the desk and, grabbing Kinch's notebook and pencil, he began to jot down a series of symbols. "London said you would be able to decode this. I have no idea what it means... It was safer that way.
Hogan stared stricken at his English operative. "I am so sorry Sir." He barely managed a whisper. His voice was heavy with sorrow, and regret.
Newkirk finished his drawing and looked up at Hogan again. His spoke in a chiding tone. "Don't you dare go blaming yourself Robbie. I'm an old soldier, I knew the risks. My only regret was... Well now that I've seen you I don't really have any. I am very proud of you. "
"Sir... " Hogan's throat closed up, forcing the words back down.
Newkirk grabbed Hogan by the shoulders and looked his straight in the eyes. "Don't leave it unsaid. "
"But it's not really you. "
"It's the closest you are going to get. Say it, we don't have a lot of time. "
The other men watched transfixed as Hogan grabbed Newkirk's lapels and pulled him close enough to whisper in his ear. "I'm... I'm going to miss you Dad. "
Newkirk pulled Hogan into a bear hug. "I love you too son. I'm sorry I couldn't make it home properly this time. "
Hogan lost all the composer he had left and set his head on Newkirk's shoulder, weeping bitterly.
What could have been seconds or hours later he heard Newkirk speak in his own voice full of magic. "Go to sleep Guv. "