Author's note: I reference Episode 12 ("The Scientist") in this chapter. Also, the mention in the end about Newkirk's mother is debatable, given the fact that Newkirk has contradicted himself in another episode, but I'm going with what he said in Episode 55 ("Everyone Has a Brother-in-Law") concerning her. Also, I own the OC in this chapter, Major Vulsor. Those of you who have read my fics in other fandoms might be familiar with his family members…

Schultz knew that the men of Barracks Two would not be sleeping that night, but he did not say a word about it. Hogan and his men were an incredibly close-knit group of surrogate brothers; he had seen how they had looked when they thought that Newkirk would be leaving them not too long ago. And now it was LeBeau's turn.

He suppressed a shudder at the thought of the little Frenchman in Stalag 6. Mullenberg was not known for niceties; those escaped fliers had been driven to break out. Schultz had never even wanted to send Newkirk to Mullenberg; the young RAF corporal had been lucky to escape that fate, even if it had been at Schultz's expense. The big man would not soon forget how Newkirk had pulled a gun on him. But after what had happened with the Englishman, Klink would order that LeBeau be searched for a weapon before he left with Mullenberg. There was no way out for him… at least, no way out that Schultz could see. Dare he hope that Hogan had a way to get LeBeau out?

His patrol took him closer to Barracks Two, and he strained to catch some words of whatever they were saying. They weren't discussing escape plans, Schultz realized. They were reminiscing about old times. And if Schultz hadn't heard the accent, he would have sworn that the quiet, powerless voice he heard could not possibly have been the normally snarky Corporal Newkirk. That, more than anything else, confirmed that LeBeau would be leaving for good.

Schultz soon found eavesdropping to be too depressing; Hogan and his men would talk for a little bit, and then lapse into long periods of silence. He continued on his rounds as the broken conversations in Barracks Two continued until the hours of the morning.

When morning came, Mullenberg's aide began to bring things to his staff car; LeBeau would be leaving soon. The other Heroes were not about to let him go completely defenseless to Stalag 6, of course. Though a weapon was out of the question, Newkirk had cleverly sewn a set of sleeping pills beneath the collar of the Frenchman's shirt. They were to be used only as a last resort, according to Hogan's instructions, to be slipped to Mullenberg on the night of the escape from Stalag 6. But unbeknownst to Hogan and LeBeau, Newkirk had included a couple of extra pills "just in case." The Englishman hadn't intended for LeBeau to slip them to Mullenberg before the appointed time, however; he was thinking about LeBeau being overworked, and being unable to find relief as he was driven to exhaustion. The extra pills would serve as a ticket to a dreamless sleep for the Frenchman to find a temporary escape from his troubles, if that was what he required.

Newkirk did not divulge this information as they headed outside of the barracks. LeBeau would find out soon enough, but he expected that Hogan would be more than a little miffed if he happened to hear about it. Not wanting to incur the Colonel's wrath for going against orders the second time that month, he said nothing.

"LeBeau, I need to commend you for going through with this," Hogan said.

"It is as you said, mon Colonel; we have no choice," LeBeau replied. There was a quiver in his voice, as though he was holding back a great load of emotions.

Too true, Hogan thought. "Don't draw any unnecessary attention to yourself while you're there; I suggest that you toe the line for the first couple of days. And if Hochstetter comes poking around, stay out of sight."

But in response to Hogan's words, both LeBeau and Carter paled.

"Hochstetter's having dinner with Mullenberg tonight," the young Sergeant said. "I heard him mention it to Klink last night!"

"Oui; I was so upset at the transfer, I didn't recall," LeBeau said, having overheard the conversation when he had been listening from the kitchen.

Hogan shut his eyes, trying to think of what to do as Newkirk audibly cursed.

"There's no way we can change our plans now," said the Colonel. "LeBeau, you can't let Hochstetter see you; request one of the other prisoners to help you serve to food."

"Oui, Colonel."

"I can't believe this!" Newkirk fumed. "That's all that you can offer him!? There's still time for 'im to escape through the emergency tunnel!"

"Pierre, stop," said LeBeau. "Colonel has given an order, and I shall follow it." He stopped himself from saying that if only Newkirk had listened to Hogan, too, he wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. But the last thing Newkirk needed was more salt in the wound.

"Corporal!" Mullenberg shouted as he crossed to his staff car. "Herkommen! Schnell!"

LeBeau glared silently at Mullenberg in response, but then turned to his friends one last time. His heart twisted; he did not want to have to say goodbye to them, however much Paris beckoned to him after this mission was over! And yet, he knew he could not resist the sweet sound of France calling him home.

"Au revoir, mes amis," he said, softly. "I left the last few bottles of wine for you."

"Ta," Newkirk said, smiling through his sorrow. "We'll drink to you tonight, Louis. Good luck, little mate."

"Take care of yourself out there," said Baker.

Carter was about to say something when Mullenberg's aide strode over, seized LeBeau by the arm, and began to force him towards the staff car. The Frenchman let out a yelp as he glanced back at his friends again, his eyes transmitting the remainder of the unspoken words of his goodbyes.

"No!" Newkirk fumed, moving to charge at the aide.

"Newkirk!" Hogan said, sternly, as he and Kinch held the Englishman back.

There was nothing that they could do as LeBeau was forced into the staff car, only moments before it roared away. The remaining Heroes watched until the car turned at a bend in the road and disappeared from view.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan could see Schultz holding his red handkerchief to his face, but the Colonel's concern was for the Englishman. The RAF Corporal suppressed a shudder as he bowed his head slightly.

"Oh, Cor," he said, in a voice barely audible. "What 'ave I done?"

The long ride to Stalag 6 was one that LeBeau spent deep in thought. Memories and thoughts of his friends intertwined with prayers as the scenery flew by. When the staff car finally pulled through the gates and slowed to a stop, Mullenberg ushered LeBeau inside to his office, briefly speaking to his Sergeant of the Guard to send for the senior POW officer.

"You will find, Corporal, that Stalag 6 is nothing like Stalag 13," Mullenberg warned. "You will be put to work to prepare meals and will spend the rest of the time with the prisoners in your assigned barracks."

"I assume that I'm getting some sort of compensation for my work," LeBeau countered. "It's against the Geneva Convention for you to order--"

"And there's another thing about Stalag 6," Mullenberg said, cutting him off. "Prisoners do not question or protest against my decisions. Another outburst such as that, Corporal, and you will be in the cooler."

LeBeau bit his lip. That might be what he needed to make contact with those fliers; they would be, most likely, in the cooler after their failed escape attempt. But now wasn't the time; he was still under Hogan's orders, and would toe the line as Hogan had instructed.

The door opened as a new man entered in an American major's uniform; the tall man's white-blond hair was visible from beneath his hat as he saluted Mullenberg.

"Corporal, this is Major Adrian Vulsor, our senior POW officer," said Mullenberg. "Major, this is Corporal Louis LeBeau, our new transferee from Stalag 13."

LeBeau saluted the Major out of courtesy, but a part of his mind was still on the name. The name of Vulsor sounded oddly familiar to him; he hadn't heard the name recently, but thought that the name had been mentioned by someone in his family. He could not recall the reason why; the name must have come up in passing. If he was related to a family friend, it would at least give LeBeau someone to talk to during his stay here, which he hoped would not have to be too long.

Vulsor, on the other hand, showed absolutely no sign of recognition as he returned the salute. "I'm sure you know the usual protocol, Corporal," he said. "Name, rank, and serial number are all that you owe them."

"That, and his services in the kitchen," Mullenberg said. "He will be staying with your men unless he is preparing a meal for me. In fact, take him to the barracks to keep his belongings, and then send him back here immediately."

Vulsor nodded, saluting again as they were dismissed.

"You're a chef, Corporal?" he asked, as he led the way to the barracks.

"Oui, Major," he said. "When the war is over, I hope to open my own restaurant."

"I am a chemist and entomologist," Vulsor replied. "It's a family trade."

"A chemist?" LeBeau repeated. A wan smile crossed his face. "I know an excellent concoction for an emulsion that doubles as a cure for nasal congestion." Oh, what a crazy misadventure that had been—impersonating a French scientist, with Newkirk as his assistant, getting steadily and steadily more drunk off of wine! LeBeau couldn't help but smile at the memories, but the smile faded as he realized that he would no longer be a part of such capers anymore. Nor would he be able to tease Newkirk, as he had done during that case, making a wry comment about the Englishman's inevitable hangover.

LeBeau pulled himself back to the present as Vulsor spoke again.

"I was not developing those sorts of mixtures," the man said, though he was amused by the Corporal. "The entomology was closely related to the chemistry; I was continuing my mother's work of developing anti-venoms and other serums from spider venom. Have you ever milked a venomous spider, Corporal?" He spoke of it with the same amount of passion as he would have if he had been talking about kissing a woman under the moonlight.

"Non, Major," LeBeau said, with a shudder, as they went inside the barracks. I'd probably faint first.

LeBeau ignored the numerous sets of eyes studying him as he entered. He placed his few belongings on the bunk that Vulsor indicated, took his leave of him, and headed back to report to Mullenberg. He knew very well that Vulsor and the men were going to root through his things to make sure that he was not a spy; it was what he and his friends had done on numerous occasions to new prisoners in Stalag 13. Although it annoyed him that people were going to be looking through some of the personal things he carried, he knew that those men didn't have a choice.

The Sergeant of the Guard escorted him to see Mullenberg again.

"Ah, Corporal," said the Colonel. "Here are the menus for lunch and dinner. I realize that this is all on such short notice, but I am confident that you will be able to impress me and Major Hochstetter tonight." His eyes narrowed. "And there will be a guard posted outside the kitchen windows, should you get any ideas of an escape attempt. Furthermore, you will be tasting the completed food in front of me or one of my guards."

"With all due respect, Colonel," LeBeau said, though not intending any respect at all. "No one has ever suffered from my cooking. Colonel Klink has never had any complaints."

He had never intended to put the sleeping pills in the food anyway; he would have slipped them into the drinks. LeBeau still decided, however, that it was expected for him to be affronted by Mullenberg's accusations.

"I am not a fool as Klink is," Mullenberg said.

Of course; you are an even bigger one, LeBeau thought. He bit back a smirk; it was a quip that Newkirk would have come up with.

"Klink may be willing to trust you, but I am not. I know that he has a fat fool of a sergeant to taste your food," Mullenberg continued. "And with Stalag 6 being so different from Stalag 13, your methods are likely to change, as well. I've had my suspicions about why Stalag 13 has never had any escapes, and when I heard that the men who escaped from me were heading there, my suspicions increased. You don't want anything to happen to Klink, for his stupidity allows you to get away with anything. What do you say to that?"

"Louis LeBeau, Corporal, serial number H124--"

"Silence!" Mullenberg snarled. "Get to the kitchen and start working!"

LeBeau was prodded along by the Sergeant of the Guard, but was fighting to hide the satisfied look on his face.

"Carter, what have you done to those poor vegetables?" Hogan asked, as the scent of burned food filled the entire area of Barracks Two.

"Well, I was trying to make a ratatouille like Louis does, but it… didn't quite work out," the young Sergeant said, presenting the results of his failed cooking attempt. "I think lunch is going to be a bit delayed, Sir."

Hogan sighed, looking around the quiet barracks. No one was making any snide comments about Carter's cooking skills—or lack thereof. Not even Newkirk was saying anything, and it was only after a double-take that Hogan realized that Newkirk wasn't even present.

"He's down in the tunnels," Kinch said, as though reading Hogan's thoughts.

Hogan gave a nod; Newkirk wasn't going to stop beating himself up about this for a long time. And the Colonel couldn't even say that it wasn't his fault. Hogan wasn't sure what to say to the Englishman, but he blinked in surprise as the bunk bed opening rose, admitting Newkirk back to the barracks. His face looked a little red; Hogan suspected that he had helped himself to one of the wine bottles that LeBeau had told them about.

"Cor Blimey, what is that!?" Newkirk blurted out, getting a whiff of the overdone ratatouille.

"Lunch?" Carter offered, holding out the cooking attempt. "It didn't turn out the way Louis would've done it, but…"

To his astonishment, Newkirk gave a wan smile instead of his usual sneer and insult.

"Maybe you'll get it next time, Andrew," he said, closing the trapdoor after him.

He closed it just in time; Schultz came walking in a moment later.

"Carter," he said. "You know that cooking in the barracks is verboten!"

"Gee, you never mentioned that when Louis was cooking in here," the sergeant replied.

"That's because he wasn't cooking; he was bringing a masterpiece to life!" Schultz said, dreaming of apple strudel.

"Oh, don't worry, Schultz; this isn't cooking, either. Look." Carter held out the inedible food to him, causing the big man to wince at the sight of it.

"Bury that before Kommandant Klink finds out about it," Schultz said. "Und bury it deep!" He sighed, looking around the barracks.

"You miss him, too, eh, Schultzie?" Newkirk asked, softly. He quietly hiccupped once, confirming what Hogan had predicted about the wine.

"Ja," the big man replied. "But you didn't hear it from me." He cast one more disdainful look around the barracks before exiting.

"Men, I've had enough of this," said Hogan, looking around. "Yes, we've lost one member of our team, but he's going to be carrying on the brunt of the mission, and we have to help him. LeBeau wouldn't want us to stop the operation because of him."

"Would this involve impersonating some officers and making contact with 'im in Stalag 6?" Newkirk asked, suddenly becoming more alert.

"No," said Hogan, with a shake of his head. "It's too risky for us to try something like that; I have a feeling that Mullenberg might even be expecting it. Based on what Carter said about his conversation with Klink last night, he knows something's up. We can't run the risk of him recognizing one of us, and that goes double if Hochstetter is going to be with him. If anyone is going to contact LeBeau, it'll have to be someone in the Underground."

"But--!"

"Newkirk, that's my final word on the matter. All it takes is wrong move, and a bad situation can turn worse—for us, and for LeBeau."

Newkirk backed down from the argument without any further word on the matter, barely listening as Hogan continued attempting to raise the morale of the others. The Englishman already wasn't able to forgive himself; the very thought of becoming responsible for LeBeau's death was enough to silence his stubborn side.

Newkirk wasn't a praying man; it had been difficult for a cynic like him to be spiritual. But now he was attempting to appeal to a higher power. It didn't bode well that the last time he had done so was for his dead mother; it had all been for naught.

"Peter?"

Newkirk looked up to see Carter looking at him. Even concerned, the young sergeant was managing a smile. Newkirk didn't know how he could do it.

"Louis will be alright," Carter said.

Newkirk responded with a nod, even if he wasn't so sure of it.

I envy you, Andrew, he thought. It must be nice to have faith. I just hope your faith isn't betrayed.