A/N: Merry (late) Christmas! I put the ending all in one chapter. Hope everyone's had a good one!

"This is General Kinchmeyer," began Kinch. "I have been told you just let several of your prisoners go on a... day trip to visit some of our guns."

"Yes, sir." There was confusion in Klink's voice that Kinch plainly disregarded.

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, sir, to prove to them the might of the Third Reich! You see, they were arguing among themselves and didn't believe—"

"That's not a good reason," he interrupted. Now he switched his voice from vaguely disappointed to angered. "That's the reasoning of a private! And let me guess. That's who you sent them with?"

"Oh, no, sir." He responded very quickly to the anger. "Sergeants Schultz and Kohler went with them. They are very good soldiers."

"But not good enough to think to prevent enemies from seeing our defenses, it seems."

"Oh but they'd never get it out," Klink qualified. "Especially not out of my camp. You know, there has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13!"

Oh dear. He couldn't let Klink come up with a valid counter argument. And was that record true or was he trying to lie to a superior? Either way, Kinch felt his only chance was to give it all he had. He practically screamed, "Do you dare question me?!"

"Oh! No! No, sir. I am a loyal German soldier!"

"Fine," he growled. "Prove to me you can take orders."

"Yes, sir. Oh, I can take orders—"

"Prove it! Tell them these exact words. Can you do that? Or are all of the Luftwaffe as bumbling as the Blue Baron?" He hoped that would work. The kommandant sounded shocked.

"The Blue— uh, no, sir. I mean, yes, sir! I can remember."

"Tell them General Kinchmeyer wants them out of there in exactly..." He consulted his internal clock. Yikes. "Four minutes. And leave the sergeant behind. I will go there myself and talk to him."

"Um..." Kinch could feel the indecision. Should he ask the angry general which sergeant? And why would the sergeant be punished and not him? Kinch chose to answer the latter question.

"For some reason, your superiors want you to stay in command. But someone will get punished."

"But, sir, which—" There came the former question. He wanted to leave that one up to Hogan's interpretation.

"Tell them exactly that!"

He hung up as fast as he could. He sat frozen for a moment, then reviewed the conversation. Could it have worked? He hoped so. Movement made him turn his head. Newkirk groaned. He could finally see the body belonging to the voice that had brought him to camp. He wasn't surprised by his appearance, except for the sideburns and the deepness of the black eye he was sporting. Kinch made his way back over, leaving the headset on the table, as close to the edge as possible so he could hear if he was needed.

He looked Newkirk over again. Nothing was glaringly wrong. He probably just hadn't eaten and the stress of the cooler had caught up to him. He'd be up anytime. Kinch sat down next to him to wait.

He counted down in his mind the amount of time until the bomb and the entire AA station exploded. He took in the tunnel around him, which was becoming more clear and more impressive all the time. When he was down to a minute, though, his eyes became unfocused and he only counted each second in his head. 4...3...2...1...

Nothing. His eyes refocused. The tunnel was still dark. The radio sat peacefully on the table, calm, but ready. The flames of the lamps didn't even flicker. Nothing looked different. The only thing he could hear was Newkirk breathing softly. He didn't know. Whatever had happened, it was done.

In a few minutes, he settled into the wait. He didn't like it, but it was somehow okay. He was sitting below a POW camp, injured, with an unconscious man, waiting for a hastily planned sabotage party to come back from a mission they didn't even know had gone wrong with only a few short minutes to spare, and trusting the German above him to have related the message accurately enough that Hogan would know it was a message from him. He didn't even know how long he had to wait. Yet, despite all of this, Kinch felt better than he had for several days. Much more worried and frustrated, but, in some way, better. He realized the fog had lifted.

And then he remembered what Newkirk had said earlier and a thought occurred to him. He lifted Newkirk's jumper and undershirt with some difficulty, having only one hand available, to reveal his midsection. There was a blue and purple blotch that, upon further inspection, covered nearly half the area from the base of his ribs to his waist. It was much too large for safety. Or to be blown off. "Oh, Newkirk," he muttered. "You're one of those."

He had to get help. That was too much bleeding. He got up from the floor and headed for the ladder again, not sure where the rest of the tunnels would take him. Whoever was in the barracks earlier had to be gone by now.

Then commenced a flurry of activity. Before he could reach the ladder, it came down for him and a voice asked, "What's going on down there? We heard knocking during inspection."

"It's Newkirk. He passed out." Someone in American uniform came down the ladder, followed by several more. He couldn't put any voices to faces. As soon as they saw Newkirk, the first one down the ladder said, "Bricklin, go get Wilson." A scrawny, near middle-aged man took off down the tunnel. The others surrounded the corporal on the floor. "What happened?"

~~HH~~

Newkirk was soon protesting, waking up just after Wilson had made his diagnosis; internal bleeding, but it had come on slow enough that it was wiser to wait it out and let it heal itself as if a big bruise than to perform surgery. Newkirk would be out of action and in hot water for several more days. Meanwhile, they elected to wait to take him to the infirmary until the others came back. If someone was admitted to the infirmary, especially if Klink heard what it was, the kommandant would want to talk to the absent senior POW officer, and they all agreed it was best to let Hogan handle the situation, especially once they'd heard what Kinch had learned.

Everyone but Kinch, Newkirk, and Wilson had gone back up to the barracks to await the news of the AA team and their fate. Down in the tunnels, Newkirk refused to quit complaining.

"I refuse to quit complaining!"

"If you don't, I have iodine and I know where your cuts are."

"But you already cleaned 'em!"

Wilson's look said, You think I don't know that?

Newkirk got the message and pouted. "You sound like me mum."

"That's my job," Wilson huffed.

Kinch listened contentedly, still looking around, marveling at the enormity of the tunnels. They certainly had something going here. In what should be the deadest, most isolated part of war, they were involved. Heavily involved. And making a difference.

There was a sigh and Kinch brought himself back to the present. "You think they're okay?" Newkirk wondered aloud.

Wilson raised an eyebrow and glanced at Kinch. "Between Hogan and what I heard of what Kinchloe's done, I think so."

Newkirk grunted, at first, Kinch thought, in agreement, but when he saw the Englishman's eyes squeezed closed, he realized it was in pain. He looked at his watch. "They should be back in another five minutes." Even though Newkirk had said it came with the territory, Kinch still felt a little guilty. And the somber mood reminded him of something. Of LeBeau, just yesterday. Had he been so affected because he'd picked up on Newkirk's pain in the cooler? Kinch sincerely hoped Kohler wouldn't be coming back with them.

"While I'm down here," Wilson said. "Why don't we take a look at your forehead?" He came over to Newkirk's other side and worked on removing Kinch's bandage. "There's some good news. Looks like it's ready to come off. Needs some air now. Mind, you'll still have a scar."

"Best sort o' souvenir, righ'?" Newkirk said.

"Right," Kinchloe smiled.

"Course, with my luck, I don' even 'ave that, do I? Wilson couldn't be bothered to leave me one. Now what's the big idea, mate?"

"Shut your trap, Newkirk," he replied calmly. "It's still an option."

Newkirk winked at Kinch. He was still trying to cover up his pain, but Kinch had to hand it to him. He was having fun doing it.

The ladder opened and Kinch heard a familiar American voice. "That was too close a call. We could have been standing over it when it went off. I swear, the next pyromaniac that comes through here, no matter how creepy, I'm snapping him up." Three men made their way down into the tunnels, a suave American colonel who wore his uniform better than any officer Kinch had met, followed by a shockingly short Frenchman in a red sweater, and an older man with a pinched countenance in Russian uniform.

"You're back!" Wilson said with a smile.

"And it was a close thing too," said Minsk.

"How did you know it was going to blow up?" asked LeBeau. "Do we have traitors in the Underground?" He paused. "And why are you on the ground, Newkirk?" he added suspiciously.

Hogan looked at Kinch. "I think you have something to do with this, Sergeant. Am I right?"

Kinch nodded and explained while the others gathered around Newkirk. "The Underground radioed after you'd left and said they had managed to set it. They sent one of their operatives back."

LeBeau, sitting beside Newkirk and poking around, mumbled, "That doesn't explain why you're on the ground with your legs—" It had not taken him long to find the bruise. "Mon Dieu, Newkirk! You lying scoundrel! What do you call that? A bump?"

"He has internal bleeding. He passed out," explained Wilson. "I wanted to get him to the infirmary as soon as you came back, Colonel."

Hogan gained a serious expression. "By all means. Minsk and I can get him."

As Minsk threw up his hands and Hogan crouched by Newkirk's head, the Englishman swatted at his commander, starting to prop himself up on his elbows. "I'm weak, yes, but me bones ain't broken."

Hogan only looked at Wilson, who replied, watching Newkirk carefully, "Carrying him won't be any different. He only needs to go slowly." The last word caused Newkirk to stop in his efforts for a moment to roll his eyes before continuing again. He only actually slowed down when he had to stop once or twice to blink and shake his head. Eventually, he was up and heading for the ladder with plenty of unwanted help.

Kinch, coming to his feet and watching them leave, saw Hogan hang back, coming to stand beside him. The colonel looked surprised when Kinch looked up at him in question. "Can you see?"

He nodded. "Came back while I was on the radio."

"With Newkirk out cold?"

"Yes, sir."

He narrowed his eyes. "Well, congratulations on your sight. And you're going to have to tell me exactly what went down."

"Ow! You lot steppin' on me toes is not 'elpin'!"

They looked over at Newkirk, who was trying to hit LeBeau with his hat, but had to be steadied when he lost his balance.

"The quick version," Hogan said with a smirk. "Klink'll want to see me about him."

While the others finally got Newkirk up the ladder, he told the colonel what had happened, and only then did he fully realize why he had felt so much better earlier. The fog was gone now, and when he'd left it behind, he didn't leave behind peace and comfort. He'd become useful. His presence mattered, to the men around him and to the war effort. And he liked it.

~~HH~~

One week and two lone escapees later, LeBeau had brought Kinch his lunch. They fell into easy conversation, as they had become apt to do.

"How do you feel, mon ami?"

"Good as ever. What's been going on up top?"

LeBeau snorted. "Olsen and Burrows pulled a prank on Hoffman that we are still cleaning up, we have run out of onions, and we have a mission tonight. Some krauts came into camp today bragging about some new battle movements. Hogan wants us to serve them at their party in town so we can get a look at the plans."

"Will Newkirk go?"

"No. Wilson's determined to keep him laying down as long as possible. But he is getting better, especially knowing Kohler isn't around."

"Who's going?"

"I am going to be in the kitchen, Hogan will be at the party, and Minsk, Bricklin, and maybe Olsen are serving. It depends on when you're leaving. Tonight might be the perfect chance. Has Wilson said if you're ready?"

"I think so. It's just my collarbone now."

LeBeau sighed and gave him a half smile. "I will be sad to see you go."

He returned the smile. "I'll miss it here. It certainly is interesting, isn't it?"

"Oui. It's nothing if not that."

The ladder opened and three people filed down. Kinch could now recognize everyone in Barracks 2, Schultz included. It was Hogan, Minsk, and Olsen. "Ready with those outfits LeBeau?" asked Hogan, coming up to them.

"Oh! I forgot," he said, and began to leave.

"One moment, LeBeau. Minsk will go with you." LeBeau stopped, a question in his eyes. Now Hogan addressed Kinch. "You heard about the mission tonight?"

Now Kinch was wondering too. Perhaps tonight was the night? "Yes, sir. Why?"

Hogan smiled, as if he were up to something. "Besides the fact that he's not here, we're banning Newkirk from radio, or at least he's not going to be our go-to. We need a replacement."

"I'd be happy to take it tonight," Kinch offered.

Hogan squinted. "We need something more permanent."

"Why don't you use LeBeau?"

"You kidding?" Olsen piped up. "He's worse than Newkirk."

LeBeau stepped in to defend himself. "The way they speak is terrible. I only made it sound better."

"And break every protocol created since the invention of radio communication," Minsk mumbled in an undertone.

LeBeau, who had definitely heard that, began arguing.

"The thing is," Hogan interrupted, "we could use a good radioman, as you can see, to stay behind and hold down the fort, fix equipment, and use proper protocol, especially as we, shall we say, expand our repertoire? And we need someone who can think on his feet if things don't go to plan." Hogan looked Kinch squarely in the eye. "Sergeant Kinchloe, I've got a job offer for you."

Kinch could feel it coming. It felt right.

~~HH~~

Newkirk, apparently finished with his poker game, had joined Carter and Kinch in the sun, catching the tail end of the story. "Did 'e tell you I was the one what called 'im?" he asked Carter, leaning against the wall beside Kinch.

"When he was crashing?"

"You did a bloody awful job," Kinch said.

"It worked, di'n'it?"

"I almost didn't respond."

Newkirk crossed his arms over his chest. "But you did. And it worked. End of story."

After a pause, Carter said, "I agree with Kinch." He ducked to avoid Newkirk's hat, just as the Colonel closed the barracks door behind him.

"Yeah, it's a good thing we got Kinch on radio," Hogan said, coming to stand beside them and stretching. "Got a lot less dangerous."

"Less dangerous? Hah," protested Newkirk.

"How'd you like the story?" Hogan asked Carter.

"Oh, it was good. You should tell them more often, Kinch. I mean, sometimes I wonder what happened before I got here. You guys already had a lot going. You had the tunnels, but not all of them, and the radio and the line to Klink's office—we don't have that anymore, just the switchboard—and of course, you were making clothes and papers for people to ship them out—"

"Yeah, yeah good story," interrupted Newkirk. "I'd rather Kinch tell 'em than you, 'specially since you weren't there."

"Yeah, and I didn't know that's how Kinch got his name," Carter continued, ignoring Newkirk.

"Couldn't call him old fellow anymore," said Newkirk.

Carter grinned mischievously. "I could call you old fellow."

"No you couldn't! You're only four years younger than me."

"But the cutoff was three years!"

Newkirk crossed his arms and turned to their radioman. "Oh, Kinch. Is that what you told him?"

Kinch shrugged matter-of-fact-ly. "That's what you said."

"I said five!"

"Nope," he said, undaunted. "It was three."

"That's right, old man," giggled Carter.

Newkirk rounded back on Carter. "It was old mate—"

"—old fellow— " Kinch corrected.

Newkirk spoke over him. "—and it was five years!"

A distant French voice from inside the barracks said, "Hah! I told you, Newkirk!"

Newkirk gave up and rolled his eyes with a huff of a sigh that dropped his shoulders.