Hogan, Carter, LeBeau, and Kinch—taking Newkirk's place on the mission—traipsed through the woods, quickly spanning the two-mile distance.

Carter took out his explosives and handed some off to Kinch and LeBeau, who ran off to one end while he and Hogan went to the other. Planting them went smoothly, and all four men met up at a planned rendezvous point, before Carter connected the wires and pushed the lever, sending the bridge miles into the night sky in a million pieces.

After that, they quickly ran off, mentally celebrating yet another success. Once they reached the Stalag again, they quickly changed out of their black clothes.

Carter looked at his watch. "It's been three hours…do you think Newkirk feels better?"

LeBeau shrugged. "He got his aspirin, so he should."

Quickly, they climbed back up into the barracks, all four men heading for Hogan's quarters, to check on their friend. The colonel grasped the door handle and made a 'shh' gesture to the others, before soundlessly opening it. What they found wasn't what they'd hoped for.

Newkirk lay curled on his right side, arms encircling his head, still in obvious pain.

The four men walked inside the room quietly, not knowing if he was asleep. They got their answer when Newkirk's body suddenly uncurled and he lowered his arms.

"Everyone okay, then?" he asked.

"We're all fine, but what about you!" Carter asked, worried.

Newkirk opened his eyes and squinted at them. "I'm doin' better, mate. The mission go all right?"

Everyone nodded.

"You should've seen it!" said Carter, excitedly. "The bridge went up like the Fourth of July!" His expression suddenly changed. "Oh, you're probably glad you didn't see it. The sound would've hurt your head too much."

Newkirk smiled slightly.

Hogan looked at his watch. "Lights-out is in twenty minutes. You three go get ready for bed before Schultz gets here."

Carter, LeBeau, and Kinch nodded and headed for the door.

"Somethin' ya wanna discuss, Colonel?" Newkirk asked, noticing the 'three'.

Hogan looked at him. "Yeah, your incredible acting skill. The others believe that you're better, but I don't."

At that, Newkirk dropped the act…accidentally. He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face before he could stop himself. "I 'aven't 'ad one this bad since before the war," he admitted, his voice sounding muffled behind his hands.

Hogan sighed. "You can sleep there tonight," he said. "I'm not cruel enough to make you get up."

Newkirk's pride couldn't even get in the way of this horrid headache. "Thanks, guv. I don't snore."

Hogan smiled and changed into his pajamas. "You plan to sleep in your uniform, then?"

"I 'ave no choice," Newkirk said, the pain showing in his voice. "If I get up, I don't think I'll be standin' for very long..."

Hogan sighed, extremely concerned. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Besides knock me out? No," Newkirk answered, miserably.

"How about more aspirins?" Hogan said. He took them off the table and fetched a glass of water, before sitting on the side of the bunk. "Can you drink sideways?"

Newkirk smiled slightly at the question, before taking the pills and popping them into his mouth.

Hogan helped with the glass, ensuring that Newkirk didn't lift his head. Some of the water spilled onto the pillow, but despite lying on his side, Newkirk was able to drink enough of the water to swallow the pills.

Hogan put the glass down before hopping up to his top bunk. "Try to sleep, Newkirk…if you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me."

"Thanks, guv," Newkirk said with a sigh. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'Fine' was the understatement of the war.

Newkirk didn't really fall asleep…he tried, but his migraine refused to allow him. About four hours after lights-out, the pain grew to unbearable limits. He grasped his head and curled into a ball, his body shaking from the intensity. He'd somehow succeeded in preventing himself from groaning, not wanting to wake the room's other occupant, but he couldn't hold it in any longer. He'd had no intentions on waking Hogan…until now. Though he had no idea what the colonel could possibly do, he just couldn't take it anymore. "Colonel," he said, barely a whisper. With another groan, he took a shuddering breath and tried to talk louder. "Colonel!"

Hogan instantly woke, sitting up and blinking, not sure what he'd heard.

"Colonel…" Newkirk said again, with a gasp.

Hogan quickly jumped off the top bunk, reaching for his table lamp and switching it on before bending over the bottom bunk. "Newkirk?" he said, instantly noticing that the corporal's face was sheet-white under a sheen of sweat. Newkirk's eyes were tightly closed, and his body visibly trembled. Extremely alarmed, Hogan sat on the side of the bunk and grasped the Englishman's arm.

"Colonel," Newkirk said, breathing heavily. "Help?" His voice shook.

Hogan's heart leaped into his throat. For such a plea to come from someone like Newkirk, the pain had to be debilitating. Standing, he quickly grabbed a towel and the pitcher that still sat on the table, quickly wetting it before patting it over the corporal's face to wipe away the sweat. "I'm here, Newkirk," he said. "I'm here."

The Englishman groaned again, squirming.

Hogan patted his arm, trying to comfort him in any way that he could, nervously beginning to wonder if it wasn't a migraine after all, but something more serious. He didn't know much about migraines, and had no idea if such terrible pain could be normal. "Newkirk?" he asked. "Do you have any other symptoms?"

Newkirk said nothing, seeming unable to speak. Instead, he sucked in a pained breath and suddenly reached out to grasp Hogan's wrist, squeezing it tightly.

Hogan was slightly startled, but didn't pull away. Not able to see his watch with Newkirk's hand covering it, he looked towards the window to try to figure out what time it was. He saw that it was still pitch-dark, with no indication that dawn was approaching.

Newkirk suddenly gasped again, and made a sound that could only be described as a whimper, before squeezing Hogan's wrist once more.

"Take it easy, Newkirk," Hogan said, patting his arm. "Take it easy." The words seemed ridiculous to his ears, but he didn't know what else to do. Sticking the towel right into the pitcher this time, he patted his friend's face and forehead with it again, hoping that the coldness would provide some relief…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Just after dawn rose, Schultz was abruptly woken by one of the night guards. Startled, he quickly sat up and stared at the man. "Was ist los!" he exclaimed.

"There is something amiss in Barracks Two, Sergeant," said the man. "Colonel Hogan came out and demanded that we wake you immediately!"

Schultz looked at his watch and quickly got up, knowing that something had to be very wrong for Hogan to do something like that. Ala Klink, he put on his robe and boots and dashed out of the room. He hurried to the barracks and opened the door, finding all the men still asleep. Quietly, he went over to Hogan's door and opened it.

What he saw inside made him frown with concern.

Hogan was crouched beside the bottom bunk, grasping Newkirk's shoulder, who lay facing him. Schultz was shocked to see that the corporal appeared to be suffering immense pain, judging by his gasps and groans, and terribly pale face…nevermind the fact that he was squeezing Hogan's wrist in a death-grip.

"What happened!" Schultz exclaimed, hurrying forward.

"Wake Klink," Hogan told him, rather than answer. "Newkirk needs to see a doctor, fast!"

"Jawohl!" Schultz replied, forgetting to speak English. He ran back out the door and high-tailed it to Klink's quarters, where he woke him in the same fashion that the guard had woken him.

"What is it!" Klink exclaimed, sitting up.

"Kommandant, something is very wrong with Corporal Newkirk!" Schultz explained. "He needs a doctor right away!"

"What?" Klink said, fumbling with his blankets, still half asleep. He stumbled around his room looking for his boots, and within a minute, he and the sergeant were hurrying back to the barracks…both men dressed in the same hilarious outfit, though Klink, at least, had grabbed his hat.

"Hogan!" Klink exclaimed. "If this is some kind of trick to escape—!" He stopped at the sight of the Englishman curled up on the bed, pale and looking in absolute agony.

"Colonel," Hogan exclaimed, ignoring the tirade. "Newkirk needs to get to a hospital!"

Klink just stared, realizing that it wasn't a ruse. "What happened to him?"

Hogan sighed. "He said it's a migraine…but this doesn't look normal to me! It could even be something contagious!" he said, knowing that if nothing else worked on Klink, that would.

Klink paled, himself. "Schultz, get a car and take Newkirk to the hospital in Hammelburg!"

Schultz nodded and ran out the door.

TBC