There were times it seemed to Newkirk that he had known LeBeau longer than the seven years they had been friends. Waiting for him to arrive on the bus from Eastbourne, where would have arrived after going across the Channel, was one of those times—the Frenchman debarking from the bus was the elder brother he never had.
"Welcome back, little mate," Newkirk said, drawing his arm around the Frenchman as they walked back towards the Englishman's apartment.
"It is good to see you again, mon pote," LeBeau said. "How have you been? I have hardly seen you since you told me you had got a new job at the theatre."
"Life's been busy," Newkirk admitted. "But it brings money, so I can't complain. And working with Flood is always interesting; I expect we'll see 'im at the RAF reunion."
"Speaking of the reunion, you will never guess what I found!" LeBeau exclaimed. "Look at this!"
He pulled a bottle of wine from the bag he was carrying.
"Blimey, that looks like one of ours," Newkirk said, his eyes widening as he took it in his hand.
"That is exactly what it is," LeBeau said, with a smile. "It is from our first batch—remember? We made half a dozen bottles the time a bunch of American fliers came through—they had brought all of those grapes they had found as provisions."
"Yeah, that's right…" Newkirk said, smirking. "And you and I convinced them that the grapes wouldn't keep, so we'd turn them into raisins for them to take back. Blimey, it's a good thing they soon forgot about them. We probably would've gotten away with 'iding what we were doing from the others if the Guv'nor 'adn't noticed that our feet were red…"
"And after it had aged and we proceeded to use it, we lost the last bottle, remember?" LeBeau asked. "We thought one of the others had taken it."
"Where did you find it, then?" Newkirk asked.
"In one of my cooking pots; it was an old one, which I had set aside after Schultz got me another one," LeBeau said. "I had taken it back to France and only opened it the other day in the hopes that I could clean it up and use it again. And there was the bottle. I say we open this after we come back from the RAF reunion and remember what really happened in Stalag 13."
"I'm all for that, little mate," Newkirk said, as they approached the siblings' apartment. "Mind the carpet when you come in."
"Quoi?"
This was followed by a yelp as LeBeau tripped over the loose part of the carpet; if Newkirk hadn't been keeping his arm around him, the Frenchman would've taken a spill.
"I told you that thing was dangerous!" Mavis chided, coming out of her room in her new evening gown. "Maybe now you'll 'ave it mended!" She smiled at LeBeau. "'allo, Louis."
"Enchanté," he replied, returning her smile. "Is that a new gown?"
"It is," she said, pleased that he had noticed. "I'll be wearing it for the reunion."
"Oh, you are coming, too?" LeBeau asked.
"Ah, yes," Newkirk said, before Mavis could reply. "Me old mate Roger fancies 'er, you know. You remember Roger, don't you?"
"Roger? Oh, right—that friend of yours who tried to stand on his head on a barstool after he had a bit too much that one time…" LeBeau recalled.
"That's Roger," Newkirk agreed, ignoring the put-out look on his sister's face. "And speaking of barstools, 'ow about we all 'ead down to the Red Lion for a swift 'alf?"
Mavis folded her arms, decidedly not amused.
"I think I'll pass," she said, retreating to her room to change back.
Newkirk sighed as she stalked off. It was going to be a long week.
Newkirk managed to get Mavis to promise not to bring up her reunion arrangements until he deemed it was ready—and even then insisting that it would be better coming from him. LeBeau was aware of the fact that they were arguing about something throughout the week, but, thinking that it didn't concern him, he decided to stay out of it. He also did what he did best—preparing dishes that quickly made the siblings forget about their arguments.
The evening of the reunion had come after several days of good food and evenings out on the town. The two corporals were in their dress uniforms outside the banquet hall, arguing over who was going to pay for the cab as Mavis folded her arms and waited.
"Why don't you each pay 'alf of the blooming fare?" she asked, as the flustered driver stared at them.
The corporals exchanged glances and went with the idea as another cab pulled up.
"Oi, Peter!" Roger exclaimed. He got out of the second cab with a girl on his arm. "Philip and James said that they're going to be a little late. You've met Evelyn before, right?"
"I thought you were going with Mavis?" LeBeau asked, puzzled.
"Eh? I thought she was going with you…" Roger said. "She kept going on about it that night she found out about the reunion."
LeBeau blinked in confusion before narrowing his eyes and turning to the Newkirks; Mavis's gaze was shifting in the same way her brother's was.
"Pierre…"
"I didn't come up with it; it was all 'er!" Newkirk exclaimed, pointing at his sister.
"You were the one who told 'im that Roger was going with me!" Mavis said.
"I didn't say that; all I said was that 'e fancied you!"
Evelyn now turned to Roger with a suspicious expression on her face, who quickly led her inside the banquet hall before anything else slipped out.
"Louis, I swear that I all 'ad planned was to 'ave you come along," Newkirk promised. "She 'ad just come off of a bad relationship—"
"So bad that it lasted only three ruddy hours…" she added, folding her arms again.
"And she wanted to spend the evening with a bloke who still believed in 'debonair chivalry,' as she put it," Newkirk said. "She was very specific in saying that the French are the last great romantics still left, and when she heard that you were coming, she…" He shrugged his shoulders, helplessly.
LeBeau rolled his eyes, and headed inside, followed by the Newkirks.
"I knew you were up to something," the Frenchman said, as they wandered into the banquet hall. "She is just like you—always looking around when something is making you nervous—!"
"Louis! Peter!"
The voice called to them from across the room—a familiar voice they both knew very well, but hadn't expected to hear tonight.
"Andrew?" Newkirk asked, stunned.
He and LeBeau both stared as Carter dashed across the room to them; several people had to get out of the excited sergeant's way. Once the shock of seeing him passed, the two corporals greeted him warmly, and they all began to talk at once.
"André, we have missed you!"
"I've missed you guys, too; I've been waiting for this ever since I heard about it!"
"Blimey, Andrew, you got an invitation, too?"
"No, not exactly; Colonel Hogan got the invite, and we came as his guests!"
"Le Colonel is here?"
"Oi, who do you mean by 'we'—you mean the others are 'ere, too?"
"Yeah, they're right back there!" Carter said. "We were hoping you two would show up! Colonel Hogan had a feeling that you would bring Louis. Oh, and you're Mavis, aren't you? How do you do, Ma'am?"
Mavis glanced at her brother with a baffled expression. She had seen Carter on one occasion, when the Heroes had arrived in London after Stalag 13 had been liberated, but she had been so distracted by seeing her brother again, she hadn't really paid attention to him. She gave him a polite smile now, however, and shook his hand.
"Come on," Carter was saying. "Colonel Hogan and the others want to talk to you, too!"
Newkirk's head was spinning slightly as Carter led him and the others across the room. It seemed so surreal, but Newkirk soon realized that he should've expected that Hogan would've been at the reunion, as he had been attached to the RAF.
And then, they saw him—Hogan was deep in conversation with Group Captain Roberts, as a woman in an evening gown was beside the American colonel, facing away from the corporals. Just off to the side, Sergeant Flood was talking to Kinch, Baker, and Olsen. Carter was, apparently, still leery about being around Flood after the footlocker incident, which had been why he had been by himself, ready to notice when the corporals had arrived.
Kinch was the first to notice that Carter had found the corporals, and he politely interrupted Hogan's conversation to alert him to it before greeting them, along with the other sergeants. The colonel then turned to face them.
"Newkirk, LeBeau, good to see you again," he said, with a smile. So far, so good. "You know Group Captain Roberts and Miss Monet, of course."
The woman now turned to face them, revealing herself to be Tiger, who greeted them all warmly.
Roberts greeted them next, followed by Flood, who was a familiar face to Mavis, having seen her frequently when she came by the magic theatre.
"Well," said Roberts. "I suspect you have much to catch up on; I had best leave you to that. Come along, Flood."
The sergeant looked at him, baffled, but, sensing that it was an order, he obeyed.
"Ah, oui," said Tiger. She turned to Mavis. "We should let the boys talk among themselves for some time, non? Come; we shall have a drink."
"Oh… Thank you," Mavis said, not sure that she really wanted to go. But she did realize that her brother would be more likely to deal with his memories with the others than with her. Casting another glance at Newkirk and LeBeau, she followed Tiger.
"It is absolutely incredible, seeing you all again," LeBeau said, even before the women were out of earshot. "I never expected it—not even for a moment."
"We didn't expect it, either," Olsen said. "Colonel Hogan called us up and told us about the reunion. He said he wanted to see all of us again, and since you two were likely to come, he figured that this was the best way."
"Colonel, what's the score?" Kinch asked, surprising everyone except Hogan himself.
"What are you talking about?" Baker asked.
"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," Kinch said. "But the colonel certainly went through a lot of trouble to get us here together. There must have been an easier way."
"True, but it would've attracted a lot more attention," Hogan said, with a smirk. "You're as perceptive as ever, Kinch."
"I had a feeling, and it only grew after Roberts and Tiger cleared out as quickly as they did," the staff sergeant said. "It seemed just a little too—"
"I say, there!" another familiar voice called to them—one that they weren't at all pleased to hear. "A pleasure to see you chaps again!"
"Cor blimey, I didn't expect to see 'im again, either…" Newkirk grumbled, as Crittendon strode over to them.
Hogan's face was now set into a death glare, which the approaching officer was oblivious to.
"It really is a proper reunion with all of you here, what?" Crittendon said. "So, then… How are the victorious chaps?"
"Trying to reminisce, if you don't mind," Hogan bluffed.
"Ah, yes," Crittendon said, lowering his voice. "I suppose it's still all hush-hush, what?"
"Have you ever heard an officer say 'hush-hush' before?" Carter asked, in an undertone.
Newkirk quietly snarked and shook his head, now fully realizing just how much he had missed having Carter around.
"Well, we certainly don't want any extra ears listening in," Crittendon said, inviting himself into the conversation. "I shall have to tell my lady friend to entertain herself for a few minutes while we have this talk. Good lady, I think you should…" He trailed off, realizing that the space behind him was unoccupied. "Oh, dear; I do believe we got separated in the crowd…"
"Well, then, you'd better find her," Hogan said, hastily.
"Oh, yes, Sir," said Newkirk. "In a crowd like this, you might never find the bird again until the end of the party. In fact, if she doesn't come back 'ere soon, I'm going to go look for me sister!"
"Yes, I suppose you've got a point there, Corporal…" Crittendon said. "I say, it is odd that you're still a corporal, what? You mean to tell me that you haven't been promoted—and the rest of you, for that matter?"
"The girl," LeBeau reminded him, through gritted teeth.
"What? Oh, yes! The girl! Keep at it, Chaps; you'll get your promotions yet!"
He slapped LeBeau on the back, nearly sending the little Frenchman flying. The chef threw a French curse at Crittendon's retreating back, who didn't seem to hear it.
"Not for nothing, Sir, but why is it that we 'aven't received any promotions?" Newkirk asked Hogan. "I keep 'aving to put up with it; me mates all received promotions to sergeants."
"Oui, and my elder brother, Jean-Philippe, has become a lieutenant!" LeBeau said. "You should see the way the girls fawn over him!"
"Oh, that's nothing," Carter said. "You remember my cousin, Angry Rabbit with Thorn in Cottontail? He outranks me, and he's younger than me!"
Baker and Olsen started to voice their complaints, as well, but Kinch remained silent.
"All right, all right," said Hogan. "I know you're all upset about this. And if you'll notice, I'm still a colonel."
"Can I assume that this has something to do with why we're all here now?" Kinch asked.
"You can, and you'd be right," Hogan said. "Our promotions are currently—and temporarily—being withheld." He paused for a minute to let the men get their complaints off of their chests. "Are you aware of what's been going on in Eastern Europe?"
A round of nods replied the colonel.
"We aren't going to war again, are we?" Carter asked, his eyes widening.
"We hope not," said Hogan. "But our intelligence sources are beginning to notice an increase in Communist agents attempting to gather information. Long story short, our names were brought up as a possible counterintelligence operation by none other than General Barton." He smirked at the men's stunned expressions. "General Barton hasn't forgotten about how we freed him from the Germans in the last war, and he has the confidence that we could easily pick up useful information… if we're all on board, of course. The general's orders were very specific on that—he wants all seven of us in on this, if it's possible.
"And before you all agree on anything, let me tell you what it means. First of all, it means you'll be waiting for those promotions for a lot longer; back out now, and you'll get them now, though it's likely that the true story about Stalag 13 will have to be divulged in the process. Second, it means you will need to learn basic communication in some of the Eastern European languages, and you will need to thoroughly learn Russian; that includes the Cyrillic script, so it's not going to be like German at all. Third, it means that you'll need to get extended leaves from your places of work for going on missions. You'll be getting paid on a mission by mission basis, so you don't have to worry about lost salary.
"Lastly, there is the ever-present element of danger involved. I know it's nothing new to you, but these missions will involve the usual justified robberies, impersonations, spying—the whole nine yards. And once you've learned Russian, there's a very good chance that we'll be used for infiltration missions in the east. And in the event that war does break out again, we're going back to spending all of our time in enemy territory. I don't need to tell you what's going to happen to our life insurance rates once we accept—if we accept."
"We wouldn't be working alone, would we?" Baker asked.
"Not at all; we're going to be working with other intelligence agencies, as well as anti-communist agents in the east. And we'll be aided by some old friends; Tiger and Group Captain Roberts are in on it, to name a couple—we'll be making contact with other old acquaintances as we go along. Roberts was the one who helped orchestrate this reunion as a cover."
"Why'd he have to invite Crittendon?" Carter blurted out, prompting the others to chuckle.
"I've already received telegrams from our Russian contact, Arctic Fox," Hogan went on. "I don't know who they are, but Arctic Fox is going to be our link if we sign on—able to get us in and out of Russia as required, and helping us on missions in the west until then."
The men all exchanged glanced with each other, weighing their options.
"Well, Colonel," said Kinch. "I'd be honored to serve as your second in command again."
"And this time, I'll make sure the brass doesn't order you to some other position," Hogan promised, shaking his hand.
Carter raised his hand next.
"You know, Sir, I was thinking… It's getting pretty dull back there, studying for the pharmacy test and everything. I'm really much better at… this sort of stuff, anyway, and—"
"Glad to have you aboard, Carter," Hogan said, as Newkirk obligingly covered the sergeant's mouth to keep him from going on.
It didn't take much longer for Baker and Olsen to agree; it was soon down to the two corporals. Newkirk folded his arms, still pondering. On the one hand, he liked being able to make a safe living for himself and his sister. On the other hand, he couldn't stand the thought of his friends risking their lives without him there to help…
"Mon Colonel, it was indeed an honor to serve under you," LeBeau said, at last. He smiled. It was true that France was not in immediate danger now, but he still felt obligated to help the friends who had helped France in the last war. "I am sure it will be an honor to do so again."
"And I'm sure it will be an honor to have you in my command again," the colonel replied. "So that just leaves us with one more…"
Newkirk rolled his own eyes as the others' turned theirs in his direction.
"Well, Sir, you did lay out the risks involved 'ere. I'm the only provider for me sister, you know, and… Oh, Cor, not this again!" he exclaimed, as the others all gave him the "we're all in; you'd better come along, too" look that he had received countless times before. "Oh, all right; I'll never get another ruddy wink of sleep from worrying about you lot anyway! But I just 'ave one request, Guv—no more dressing me up as a little old lady in basic black!"
"Request granted. How about chartreuse?"
"What? Colonel—!"
Carter burst out laughing as LeBeau gave Newkirk a good-natured punch on the arm.
"Then it's official," Hogan said, passing drinks around. "The Unsung Heroes are back in business."
"Vive le Père-Ours," LeBeau said, raising his glass.
"To Papa Bear," Kinch echoed, as he and the other NCOs raised their glasses.
"And to the operation," Hogan finished, raising his.
"I say!" Crittendon called to them, utterly ruining the moment. "I found her, Chaps!"
"Rodney, Darling, I told you I was trying to get a drink," the familiar female voice purred. "Could you please get us a pair?"
Hogan's good mood had diminished upon Crittendon's return; now, it had vanished completely. LeBeau, on the other hand, perked up immediately.
"Why, of course!" Crittendon exclaimed. "Chaps, say hello to Miss Marya, won't you? I'll go and fetch us some drinks!"
"Ah, at long last! Hogan, Darling, it has been so long!" Marya exclaimed, holding her arms out to him once Crittendon had gone.
"What are you doing here?" Hogan asked.
"You are not pleased to see me?" she asked, feigning disappointment.
"I am, chéri!" LeBeau exclaimed, running into her outstretched arms.
"Oh, no you don't…" Newkirk said, pulling him away. "You try that, little mate, and you'll be a dead man!"
"My Marya would not harm me!"
"We can debate that, but I was referring to Mavis!"
The East Ender glanced over his shoulder to check on her; she was, thankfully, still in conversation with Tiger.
"I am warning you, Pierre; let me go, or else!"
"Or else… what?"
"Or else you will be having bouillabaisse for your lunch tomorrow!"
"Knock it off, you two," said Hogan. "I'm still waiting for an answer to my question."
"Why, Hogan, have you not guessed?" Marya said, with a coy smile. "General Barton said that you would be contacting Arctic Fox in London, da?"
Hogan shut his eyes, his face a perfect "Why me?" look.
"You are Arctic Fox?" LeBeau exclaimed.
"But of course, Little One!" she purred, now wrapping her arms around him, much to Newkirk's dismay; the Englishman frantically tried to stand so that he would be blocking them from Mavis's view.
"All right, all right," said Hogan, trying to break them up. "So, you're Arctic Fox. Prove it."
Marya sighed, presenting an affidavit from General Barton himself.
"You will see that it is my name he has written there, and his signature, which is genuine. You may call him up and confirm it."
"I believe you," LeBeau insisted.
"You would," Newkirk muttered.
"And I'll have to have a word with the general concerning his discretion," Hogan sighed.
"There is also this from him—for you, Darling, but concerning all of you," she added, handing him a sealed envelope.
Hogan took a look, going over the general's instructions.
"He says a telegram will arrive at my hotel room tomorrow morning containing coded instructions for our first new assignment," he said. "Newkirk, do you know anywhere secure for us to meet?"
"I know me flat is secure, Sir; I can convince Mavis to go shopping for the afternoon."
"And I can make a wonderful meal for you all," LeBeau added. "With one of the first bottles of wine Pierre and I made in Stalag 13."
"Good; we'll convene there for lunch and the mission briefing at 1300 hours tomorrow. Right now, though, Olsen and Baker are to report back to the States to give him confirmation of contact in person," Hogan went on. "A special plane is waiting for you in Heathrow to take you two back as soon as this reunion is over; you'll be working on the mission from that end—General Barton will give you instructions when you report."
"My instructions, alas, are to return to Russia for the time being, but I will see you all again very soon!" Marya purred.
"I can hardly wait…" the colonel replied, sardonically.
"I must go at once; do tell Rodney that I apologize for leaving so soon," she added. She paused to give LeBeau a kiss. "Until next time, Little One."
LeBeau looked as though he was about to melt as he watched Marya go. He was still in a trancelike state for some time after Marya's departure, prompting Newkirk to swat him with his hat several times. When this proved fruitless, Newkirk sighed and wandered off to get something to eat, barely noticing where he was going. A brunette woman shrieked quietly as he stormed past her.
"Cor, sorry," he apologized to the young lady, who was dressed in a red evening gown.
No need to apologize, Señor," she said. "You clearly have much on your mind."
Newkirk shrugged, but took note of her accent.
"Blimey, you don't sound or look like you were in the RAF," he mused.
"How very perceptive, Señor; I am a reporter. I worked for a paper in Madrid until after the war, and then I received a job here," she said. "My employer told me that this RAF reunion would be a good story to cover. Perhaps I could interview you, Señor; some brave tales of heroism would make the story more attractive."
"As attractive as you, you mean?" Newkirk complimented. "Sorry, Luv; I spent most of the war in a Luft Stalag."
"Oh, you poor man…" she said. "Forgive me; I will ask someone else."
"Right-o. Don't be a stranger, Miss…"
"Sandiego," she said. "Josefina Sandiego. And you are…?"
"Corporal Peter Newkirk," he replied.
"Ah," she said, smiling. "Hasta luego, Pedro."
"See you, Josie," he cracked back, heading to the table to get some food and talk to LeBeau and Carter, who were both there already (LeBeau complaining about the state of the food, and Carter telling him that he should consider it a good thing that he was attending a party for once instead of catering for it).
Newkirk was soon so engrossed in conversation with them that he did not notice Miss Sandiego discreetly write his name in her small notebook, followed by a single sentence:
Aprenda más acerca de él.
Author's Note: Hogan's reference to Kinch not getting transferred is my own way of explaining his absence in the final season—my theory is that London needed his expertise and endlessly wheedled Hogan to send him back until he finally did (I actually plan to write this fic if I can get a better grip on writing for Kinch). Also, I'm not at all hiding the fact that Josefina is a character to beware—her surname should be an indication for those who are familiar with my other fandoms…