Later, it was hard to tell if he was more embarrassed or angry that he'd fallen off the roof of the guard tower. The fact that they had no plausible explanation for his being up there accounted for the embarrassment. Klink did not buy Hogan's assertion he had been sleep-climbing. The fact that he had fallen before he had gotten the experimental radio beacon placed on the roof accounted for about half his anger. The fact that he had broken his jaw in the fall and it was now firmly wired shut accounted for the other half. Because Peter Newkirk had been strictly restricted from smoking for eight weeks.

Just after Hogan had returned from accompanying Newkirk to the hospital for an overnight stay, with Langenscheidt guarding him, Hogan had given Kinch orders to search the barracks for all of Peter's cigarettes and confiscate them. He told Kinch, "Put 'em in my footlocker. He won't touch it." He also turned a stern eye on his youngest team member. "Carter, if I catch you giving him one, I will bust you down to private so fast, your head won't have time to spin, understand?"

Eyes wide, Carter nodded. "Yes, sir!" The two friends were well-known for flaunting Joe Wilson's ban on smoking in the infirmary, and it had long become a sort of game to them. "In fact," Hogan eyed his demolitions expert narrowly. He looked at Kinch. "Confiscate Carter's cigarettes, too. Search his lab. Put them in the footlocker."

"But, Colonel, that's not fair!" Carter protested.

"I'm not saying you can't smoke. But, you'll have to come and get one from me. That way, there's less chance of Peter getting his hands on your cigarettes, and less chance of you being tempted to share with him."

Chagrined, Carter frowned. "What's to keep him from stealing cigarettes from the rest of the guys?"

From the corner of the room, someone ominously cracked their knuckles, and someone else laughed.

Gopher chuckled. "You can't break his face. He broke it already."

Olsen smirked. "Be an improvement."

"Colonel, why can't he smoke, anyway?"

"Think about it, Carter. His jaw is wired shut. Anything that could aggravate his throat, cause him to cough, could strain those wires and mess up his jaw. Not to mention hurt like hell. Plus, the smoke could cause an infection. It ain't pretty inside his mouth right now, trust me."

Carter nodded, his expression serious. "He won't get a cigarette from me, boy—sir."

The others smiled at the resolve in his voice. Hogan had no worries now. Once Carter realized it really was for Newkirk's own good that he not smoke, hell had a better chance of freezing over than did the Brit of getting a cigarette out of Andrew.

"In fact, Colonel, why don't you just keep my cigarettes, too. I won't smoke while he can't. That way, he doesn't have to do it all alone." And with that, Andrew opened his footlocker, and handed Hogan four packs of cigarettes.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the last of his remaining pack and handed it over. And Andrew Carter headed down to his lab, whistling.

Hogan groaned. It was going to be a long two months.

~The End~