Christmas Eve 1943

"Oh boy, did you see that explosion? Pow, Kapow, Kaboom!" Carter chattered excitedly.

Newkirk rolled his eyes as he and Carter trudged through the snow. Carter had been going off about that blooming explosion for a good half hour. Well, at least he had the good sense to keep his voice down.

"I was there, remember?" He would never understand Carter's obsession with explosions. In the moment, Newkirk himself was a little awed by the sheer power of a good explosion, but not enough to natter on and on about it. Anyway, right now, Newkirk was more focused on getting home. Or, at least, Stalag 13.

"Santa won't need Rudolph to find us tonight, boy!"

"Who?" Newkirk asked, giving his American companion a quizzical look. "Actually, never mind, I don't really ca–" he started, but Carter, oblivious as always, continued.

"Oh, yeah, I guess you've never heard of him. It's kind of a new story, so that makes sense. Heck, I probably wouldn't have heard of him either, but I have an uncle in Chicago and he sent a booklet to my family back in '39 and my sister Mary loved it. She must have read it every day until the next Christmas!"

"Fascinating," Newkirk said dryly. "You can tell me all about it when we get back." Maybe he would forget about it by then.

"Oh, sure," Carter said. He paused and blew into his hands before looking around. "You know, it's funny: we've been through these woods a thousand times and they're still a bit unfamiliar to me."

Newkirk stopped and also looked around. Carter was right; the surroundings did look unfamiliar. "It's the snow, I guess," Newkirk said. While it was clear tonight, there had been a big snowfall a few days earlier. It was bound to throw them off a little. "Where's the compass?"

"Ummmm…." Carter checked his pockets. "Errr… I thought you had it."

"Oh, bloody hell," Newkirk muttered. He should have known better. Carter could build a bomb out of bubble gum and paper clips, but he couldn't be trusted to keep track of a simple compass.

"Sorry, Newkirk. But really, you guys ought to know by now–"

"Never mind," Newkirk growled. "All right, let's see…" He turned this way and that and finally decided on a direction. They were bound to run into something familiar eventually. As long as it didn't lead them right into Gestapo headquarters, they would be fine.

"Okay," Carter said cheerfully. He waited until Newkirk started and followed behind him. "You know, I sometimes wish I had a camera with me to take a picture of all my explosions. It would make for a pretty neat scrapbook, don't you think?"

"And who would you show it to?" Newkirk asked irritably. Back to that explosion, again? Like a dog with a bloody bone.

"Oh… I don't know. I guess I would keep it for myself."

"That's barmy."

"Is it?" Carter asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Yes. Normal people don't keep trophies of the destruction they've caused." Or the people they've killed, he added mentally. Because, lost though it may be on Carter, Newkirk was well aware that sometimes there were people caught up in those explosions.

"Oh… Well, when you put it like that…" Carter trailed off, looking sheepish.

Newkirk sighed and kept walking. The trees started to thin out and Newkirk could make out a clearing in the distance. He grimaced. Out in the open they might have a chance to get their bearings, but it also left them exposed.

"Stay put," Newkirk ordered. Carter nodded and crouched down. Newkirk carefully crept to the edge of the treeline and peered out into the clearing. There didn't seem to be anyone about. After double-checking, he took a step into the open. And then another.

"Newkirk?" Carter called.

Newkirk just flapped his arm, motioning for Carter to stay put. Then he reached for his gun as he took another step. He paused and scanned the area. On the other side of the field there seemed to be a road. Maybe there would be some sort of signage to help him figure out which way they should go.

Newkirk debated calling Carter over to join him, but decided against it. It was safer to leave him in the trees. That way, if he was spotted, he'd be the only one to get caught. Carter would be able to eventually find his way back to camp and get the colonel.

Darting forward, Newkirk hurried across the empty space as quickly as he could. His plan was to get to the road, find a sign, and get back to the safety of the forest as quickly as he could. And it was all going well until his feet suddenly slipped out from under him.

With a thud that knocked the wind right out of him, Newkirk fell right onto his back and slid several feet. When he came to a stop, he groaned and rolled over onto his side. He took a moment to collect himself before getting up. Or, at least, trying to get up. His hand slipped and he collapsed back onto the ground. Newkirk growled and rolled onto his stomach before tucking his knees under him. What was going on?

Newkirk looked down and saw that the ground beneath him was sheer ice. He looked around and realized he was on a pond. The wind had swept the snow off it, leaving it exposed.

"Idiot," Newkirk muttered to himself. How had he not seen it earlier? And how had he made it so far onto the ice before slipping? He was a good twenty feet from where the snow became thick again.

Gingerly, Newkirk pushed his hand against the ice and tried to get up. He made it to his feet and shuffled a foot forward. He made little progress before slipping and falling on his back again.

"Newkirk?"

Newkirk groaned and looked over to see Carter at the edge of the ice.

"Stay there, you ruddy git," Newkirk said between his teeth.

Carter either didn't hear him or misinterpreted what he said as 'get over here and help me,' because the sergeant stepped onto the ice. Newkirk wasn't surprised when he fell a few feet in.

"Oof."

"Brilliant," Newkirk growled. He debated trying to get on his feet once more, but it seemed hopeless. It looked like the best thing to do was crawl. Though he felt silly doing it, Newkirk got on his hands and knees and slowly started to crawl across the ice. It wasn't too far. He'd be off the ice soon enough.

Except, just as he thought that, his hand went one way and his knee went the other. Newkirk found himself flat against the ice, hitting his chin in the process. Newkirk propped himself up on his elbow and grabbed his chin, moving it one way and then the other. When he was satisfied that there was no permanent damage, he let loose a string of curses under his breath. Ruddy, stupid ice.

"Don't worry, Newkirk, I got you."

Carter was on his belly, pushing his way towards Newkirk. "Come on, grab my hand," he said, stretching out to reach for Newkirk.

"I'm not sliding across the ice like a ruddy seal," Newkirk groused.

"Aw come on."

Newkirk rolled his eyes, but grabbed Carter's offered hand. Carter pulled him until their noses were practically touching.

"Okay, hold on a sec," Carter said. He slowly got onto his knees and then reached over and grabbed the back of Newkirk's coat. Then the seat of his trousers.

"Oi!"

"On your mark, get set, go!" Carter said before tossing Newkirk forward. Newkirk skid across the ice, before plunging headlong into the snow. He sputtered and coughed and wiped off his face. Digging his hands into the snow, he was able to pull the rest of his body off the ice and, finally, stand.

Turning around, he saw Carter pushing himself across the ice on his belly, a big, boyish smile on his face. When he reached the edge of the pond, Newkirk grabbed his hand and pulled him up.

"See, fun, right?"

"A bloody riot," Newkirk replied.

"Say, that ice sure was slick! It's a shame we don't have skates because it'd make the perfect rink."

"Maybe Santa will bring you a pair," Newkirk said. "Now, come on, we've still got to figure out how to get home."

"Okay. Say, did you do much skating back home, Newkirk? We had a pond on our farm and–"

Newkirk heaved another great sigh. He was sure they would eventually find their way back to camp, but he wasn't sure he'd survive all of Carter's stories. But at least, he thought, Carter had moved away from talking about explosions.

"I remember one year we got some fireworks. Boy, skating under all those lights was something else. Say, I wonder if I could add some different chemicals to my next bomb and put on a real show. That would be something. Not that it really needs it. I mean, that explosion tonight was a real loo-loo. Did you see the way that second bomb lit up?!"

Right. A dog with a bone that Carter. A dopey– admittedly loveable– dog with a ruddy bone.