Prompt: Rewrite of a scene of your choice (from day 21 of the Falling for Hogan's Heroes event on Tumblr/AO3)

Author's Note: This was probably the first idea I ever had for a Hogan's Heroes fic, circa 2013. As an aficionado of hurt/comfort and whump, when I first saw this episode, I couldn't help but be disappointed that LeBeau's bullet wound turned out to be so mild. I turned to the internet, and while I found one or two magnificent reimaginings of how this scene could have gone, none of them quite scratched my specific itch. Ergo, I wrote my own. I was never entirely satisfied with it, but the Falling for Hogan's Heroes event inspired me to polish it up a bit and finally post it.

"Put him down right here," Hogan said. Newkirk gently set the little Frenchman on the cot, Hogan and Baker each lending a hand.

"Careful," Hogan said.

"There you go. Lift him up," Newkirk said. He sat on the cot next to LeBeau and turned to Carter. "Andrew, get some hot water for me, will you, please? And some bandages?"

"Right."

"There's some sulfa in my foot locker. Bring that, too," Hogan said.

"Right." Carter disappeared up the ladder.

Newkirk opened LeBeau's jacket and pulled down his shirt to get a better look at the wound. "Oh, blimey, look. That's where the bullet 'it."

The two men looked at the gaping hole in LeBeau's shoulder.

"Here, let's get his shirt off," Hogan said, gently separating cloth from man. Once the shirt was out of the way, Newkirk took his handkerchief and pressed it to LeBeau's shoulder, trying to slow the bleeding. LeBeau's moans grew louder.

"Smith was transferred to Stalag 9 three weeks ago," Hogan said, "We've got nobody who's qualified to take that bullet out."

"I guess I'll 'ave to take it out me self, sir," Newkirk said quietly.

"Maybe you don't have to take the bullet out," Carter said, coming down the ladder with a kettle of hot water and rolled-up bandages poking out of his pockets. "I have an uncle who's had a bullet in his leg since the last war. It gives him trouble when the weather changes."

"No, it's got to come out. You can see by the way it's lodged in there," Newkirk said. "'E's not gonna stop bleedin' until we get it out."

"You sure you can do it?" Hogan asked.

Newkirk held up his fingers and wiggled them half-heartedly. "If I can take 'is wallet without 'im noticin', I can get the bullet out, no trouble at all."

"All right. Carter, go find some pliers," Hogan ordered.

"And we're going to need something to stitch 'im up with," Newkirk added.

"All we have is a plain old thread and needle," Carter said.

"Get them for me," Newkirk said, leaving to wash his hands.

"Baker, keep an eye on the radio. Let me know when Dansig checks in," said Hogan.

"Here are the pliers," Carter said, jumping the last few feet down the ladder.

Newkirk dried his hands and went to look. "They'll have to do," he said. He took the pliers and the needle to the kettle in an attempt to sterilize them. He then put them on the clean cloth someone, Newkirk hadn't noticed who, had spread on the table.

"Ok. 'Ere we go," Newkirk said nervously once the needle had been sterilized, "Carter, I need you over 'ere. Now, when I tell you to do something, do it. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Colonel, I need you to hold 'is shoulders down and keep 'im quiet, would you? If he moves in the middle of this 'e could very well kill 'imself."

Hogan nodded and placed firm hands on LeBeau's arms, pinning him down.

"Ok. This is it." Newkirk had never been this nervous before. The life of his friend rested in his hands.

"'Andkerchief," Newkirk said. He used the piece of cloth to wipe away as much blood as he could. "Pliers."

Silently, Carter handed them over as LeBeau's moans grew louder.

Carter wiped the sweat gathering on Newkirk's brow before it could drip onto the patient, leaving a greasy streak on Newkirk's face. Apparently, the sponge wasn't as clean as Carter had thought.

"You got 'im, Colonel?"

"I have him."

"All right. 'Ere goes." As gently as he could, Newkirk inserted the pliers into his friend's body.

LeBeau gasped.

Hogan began speaking to him in a low, soothing voice. "Now, take it easy, LeBeau. Everything's going to be ok."

Newkirk pushed the pliers in deeper and squeezed them around the bullet. LeBeau's moans abruptly stopped.

"I think he's unconscious again," Hogan said.

Newkirk nodded and slowly pulled the bullet out, not wanting to cause any more damage.

Carter quickly took the bullet and the pliers from Newkirk and handed him the needle and thread. Newkirk stitched the wound shut and wrapped it in bandages.

"Done," he said, straightening up.

The radio crackled to life. "This is Red Riding Hood calling Papa Bear. Come in, Papa Bear."

"This is Papa Bear. Go ahead, Red Riding Hood," Baker replied.

Hogan looked at Newkirk. "Good work," he said before going over to the radio.

Newkirk staggered into the next room and gripped one of the support beams that held up the tunnel as the room spun about him. Bile rose in his throat as he was hit with the reality of what he'd just had to do. He swallowed it back. The job wasn't done yet. Newkirk took a deep breath and returned to the main tunnel.

"Penicillin. Tell them we'll arrange with London for a drop tonight," Hogan was saying to Baker.

"Will contact London for a drop tonight," Baker relayed into the transmitter.

"Thank you, Papa Bear," Red Riding Hood said as Colonel Hogan gestured for Baker to hand over the radio.

"Can one of you pass the information on?"

"No. They won't accept it from anyone but Dansig."

"Ok. Over and out."

"Maybe we ought to ask London for a little extra penicillin," Carter said.

Hogan nodded. "You're right." He gave another nod to Baker, trusting him to take care of sending the message, and then turned back to Carter. "Keep an eye on him."

"Yes, sir."

Hogan climbed up the ladder back into the barracks.

Newkirk drew a bucket of water from the tunnel supply and brought it to the cot with a clean cloth.

"Keep 'im as comfortable as you can and let us know if anything 'appens," Newkirk said.

"Ok. Uh, Newkirk?"

"What?"

"You have a little something…" Carter gestured towards his forehead.

Newkirk wiped his brow and looked at the greasy smear that came off on his hand. He rolled his eyes and went up the ladder.

Author's Note: This was originally supposed to be a longer fic, but if you've read any of my other Hogan's Heroes fics, you'll know that I haven't yet succeeded in writing anything longer than a scene or two, and I'm not about to start now. My original outline included Newkirk hovering over LeBeau as he recovers, LeBeau scaring everyone half to death once the worst of it has passed by fainting at the sight of his own blood, and Newkirk having to clean LeBeau's blood out of his jacket.