December 23, 1942

The wind rattled the shutters and whistled through the gaps in the barracks walls. Frost crept from the edges of the window, stretching its tentacles toward the center. A dying fire in the stove at the center of the room did little to battle the cold that wrapped itself around the prisoners who huddled in their bunks. It didn't do much for the two prisoners squatting next to it either.

"Bloody cold," Private Fuller said as he blew on his fingers. "Are you sure you want to go out tonight? You're going to catch your death."

Newkirk just nodded, knowing that Fuller's warning was about more than just the cold. He checked his watch. 0200. Ruger had to be asleep by now.

"You're a good one, Peter Newkirk," Fuller said.

"Don't tell anyone else that," Newkirk replied with a wink. "Come on." Both prisoners stood and crept to the door. Slowly, Newkirk opened it just a crack and peeked out. The yard looked clear; no guards were nearby. Newkirk counted in his head until the searchlight started its sweep. He closed the door quietly, waited a moment, and then cracked it open again. He counted once more, waiting for the light to return and pass by. When he was sure he had the count down, he nodded to Fuller.

Fuller clapped him on the back. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Newkirk waited for the right moment and then opened the door again, this time wide enough for him to slip through. From inside the barracks, Fuller closed it softly and silently behind him.

Newkirk darted across the compound to the next closest barracks, pressing himself against the wall. Crouching down, he stayed in the shadows as the searchlight passed over him. He continued that way, racing from barracks to barracks and hiding from the light, until he was finally outside the Kommandant's apartment.

The apartment was completely dark. Newkirk crept to the door and pressed his ear against it.

A tap on his shoulder nearly made him jump out of his skin. He whirled around to find LeBeau crouching behind him.

"What–" Newkirk started to hiss, but LeBeau held up a finger with a quiet 'shhh'. Newkirk grimaced but since he couldn't chew the Frenchman out like he wanted without bringing every guard in the camp down on them, he turned his attention back to the door. He tested the knob and was unsurprised to find it locked. A minor inconvenience. Newkirk pulled out his crude, handmade lockpicking kit, and went to work. The lock was no match for his years of practice and soon the door as opened. Newkirk and LeBeau slipped in.

"What do you think you're doing?" Newkirk whispered angrily once they were inside the darkened kitchen.

"This was my idea, too," LeBeau replied. "If you are going to get caught, I will get caught with you. That is how we do things, non?"

Newkirk sighed and shook his head, but he couldn't stop the small smile that pulled at his lips. "All right, little mate, have it your way."

"I will watch the door," LeBeau said. He silently crossed the kitchen to the door leading to Ruger's parlour and eased it open a sliver.

Pulling a little sack from his pocket, Newkirk opened the fridge. Newkirk knew Ruger was planning to throw a party for some big brass, but the sheer amount of food was staggering. He wondered how the kommandant had procured it all but figured a man like Ruger had to have his fingers in the black market.

Newkirk's stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. He studied the fridge's contents, deciding what he could take and how much before Ruger noticed something was off. In the end, he shaved off a bit of ham and some cheese with his illegal pocketknife and then filched a few sausages and some boiled eggs. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

"Eats like a bloody king," Newkirk growled. "All right, LeBeau, let's go."

"Just a moment," LeBeau whispered. Before Newkirk could stop him, LeBeau opened the door and went into the parlour. Newkirk hesitated before following him. If they got out of this alive though, he was going to box LeBeau's ears.

Newkirk found LeBeau sitting in front of Ruger's grand Christmas tree. LeBeau's face was contorted with rage. Not wanting to speak, Newkirk followed the Frenchman's eyes to the top of the tree. Instead of a star or an angel, there was a Swastika. The rest of the ornaments were a mixture of red balls with swastikas, silver balls emblazoned with mottos such as 'Sieg Heil!', and replicas of grenades and machine guns. Newkirk wondered what other grotesque decorations were in the parlour, but there was no time to look. They were pushing their luck from the moment they stepped foot into Ruger's apartment, but being out in the parlour was damn near suicidal.

Tugging on LeBeau's sleeve, Newkirk pulled him away from the tree and the two snuck back into the kitchen. Then they stole away through the back door and into the compound.

"They ruin everything," LeBeau whispered harshly as they crouched in the shadows.

"I know, mate. I know."

They didn't exchange any more words as they darted through the compound. They paused at a barracks halfway between Newkirk's and LeBeau's. They were about to part ways when they heard someone walking towards them. Quickly, Newkirk opened the barracks door and shoved LeBeau inside. Once inside, Newkirk eased the door closed and then pressed his ear up against it.

"Oi. What's going on?" one of the barracks' residents said sleepily.

"Hush," LeBeau said. The protestor grumbled but didn't say anything else.

Newkirk waited, listening for the guard to pass. Instead, he heard, and felt, a thump against the barracks wall.

"Ach, my feet. You go on ahead, Georg; I will catch up."

It was Schultz. Newkirk let out a little sigh of relief. Schultz might linger for a bit, complaining about his feet, but Newkirk doubted he would look inside any of the barracks.

Newkirk and LeBeau stayed silent, waiting for Schultz to move on and join the other guard. They were both taken by surprise when they heard Schultz's weary voice through the door.

"Newkirk, LeBeau? What are you up to now?"

Newkirk and LeBeau exchanged a look but said nothing.

"I saw you leave the kommandant's apartment," Schultz continued. "You are lucky that Corporal Sommer didn't." There was a long pause. "Puh-leeze tell me you did not hurt him… Answer me or I will have to sound the alarm."

LeBeau nudged Newkirk and they had a silent conversation with their eyes as they decided their next move. Finally, Newkirk cracked the door open a bit. He could see Schultz leaning against the wall next to the door, but the Sergeant was resolutely keeping his gaze averted.

"We didn't hurt him," Newkirk whispered.

Schultz sighed in relief. "Good. I would hate to see what they would do to you– all of you– if you had. But what were you doing in there?"

"Admiring his Christmas decor," Newkirk replied.

"Puh-leeze, Newkirk."

"We just took a bit of food," LeBeau said, peeking up over Newkirk's head.

"You would risk your life for that?" Schultz asked.

"It's not for us," Newkirk replied. "It's for them. The two new ones. They deserve something good after… what happened."

LeBeau nodded, though Schultz had no way of seeing it. "We would have used food from the Red Cross packages, but Ruger–"

"I know," Schultz interrupted. "He is a…" He cut himself off. "I am sorry, but he said he was going to keep them in the cooler until after Christmas."

"The rotter," Newkirk growled. "Even after what happened."

"I think it is because of what happened," Schultz sighed.

"He probably wants them to do the same thing," LeBeau spat. "Cochon. But do not worry, Schultz. It is cold enough that we can keep the food until they come out."

"And if someone were to inspect your barracks and find it?" Schultz asked. "Nein. Give me the food. Now."

"No. Please, Schultz. Those lads need it. They need to know we're going to take care of them. That they have friends. That it's not all hopeless." Newkirk was surprised by the amount of feeling in his voice. But there was something about the haunted look in the three Americans' eyes when they marched into camp that had seared into Newkirk's heart.

It was cruel and unjust for Ruger to send them right into the cooler, but not at all surprising. It fit in perfectly with his character and no doubt he wanted to teach them, the first Americans to arrive at Stalag 13, some sort of lesson for interfering in a war that was not their concern.

Maybe Ruger hadn't actually expected what had happened next, but he had certainly delighted in it. He had crowed about it to the camp and Newkirk could only imagine what he had said to the remaining two new prisoners. His heart ached for them and he knew he had to do something. Making sure they had something nice for Christmas might have been like putting a band-aid on a bullet wound, but it was the only thing Newkirk could think to do.

"Newkirk. LeBeau. I am warning you."

Again, Newkirk and LeBeau exchanged looks. Schultz was usually a pushover, but there was an edge in his voice. Newkirk had feared that, one of these days, Schultz would turn sour. Perhaps that day was upon them.

"All right, Schultz." Newkirk fished the sack out from under his jacket and opened the door enough to hand it out to him. "What you going to do with it?"

"I should put it back in the Kommandant's kitchen. If he knows it is missing, the whole camp will be punished, including me. But!" Schultz clapped his hands together, wincing at how loud the noise was, and then reached down and picked up the sack. "I think," he said as he stood, "I will be guarding the cooler on Christmas."

"You will make sure they get the food?" LeBeau asked.

"I know nothing. Nothing! Now go back to your huts. It is late and you ought to be in bed."

They didn't have to be told twice. LeBeau and Newkirk scurried out of the barracks. Schultz had his back to them and studiously ignored them as they darted away.

"Ach. Ooof! My poor feet!" they heard Schultz loudly complain.

"He is going to eat it himself," LeBeau said hotly as they rounded the corner of the barracks.

"Maybe." But Newkirk had a feeling he wouldn't. Schultz was one of the few guards with a heart– a heart that was hopefully bigger than his stomach. "Nothing to do about it now. Now get going."

The two parted ways and Newkirk made his way back to his own hut.

"All right, Newkirk?" Fuller asked.

"All right, Fuller," Newkirk replied as he climbed into his bunk.

"Good. Poor blokes. I hope this'll let 'em know they have friends here."

"I'm sure it will," Newkirk said. "They might even find they have more friends than they expected."