Hogan blinked his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart and get his bearings. Another bomb fell nearby, and he instinctively ducked. "Newkirk!" he exclaimed. "You okay?"

He received no answer.

Hogan looked to the left, seeing the Englishman slumped against the passenger door, unconscious. "Newkirk?" he said, reaching over to check for a pulse, relieved to find one. "Newkirk!"

No reply.

Bombs continued to fall, and Hogan slid over to the corporal, covering him with his own body as if he could actually keep him safe from the destruction that waged all around them. It didn't last very long, as the planes continued their flight, and when they were out of range, Hogan sighed with relief.

After checking Newkirk's pulse again, Hogan quickly got out of the car, stumbling when his head responded with a throb. He reached out to brace himself on the trunk, removing his sergeant's helmet and rubbing his neck, where the stab of pain had come from. He hurried around the back of the car before seeing that the passenger door was wedged against the tree, making it impossible to open.

Quickly, he crawled back into the driver's side of the car, checking Newkirk for injuries as best he could before carefully pulling the Englishman across the seat and out the door, gently laying him on the ground.

Hogan knelt beside the younger man, immediately noticing the blood that dripped down the left side of his face from a nasty wound on his forehead. With a concerned sigh, he gently tapped Newkirk's cheek. "Newkirk?" he said. "Wake up, we have to get out of here. Newkirk?"

Still no answer.

Sighing again, Hogan scrubbed a hand across his face nervously before standing and getting back into the car. He tried to start it up, but the engine wouldn't turn over, apparently too damaged from the crash. Realizing that they'd have to abandon the vehicle, he looked inside and grabbed Newkirk's German officer's hat, which he found on the floor. I should've had Newkirk be the sergeant, he thought, realizing that the hard hat would've protected the Englishman's head, like it had protected Hogan's own.

Leaving the car, he again knelt beside Newkirk and took out a handkerchief, holding it against the cut on his forehead as he tried to wake him up again. It took nearly an hour before the injured man finally responded with a groan. "That's it, wake up! Come on, Newkirk!"

The Englishman groaned again, eyes clenched shut with a wince.

Hogan sighed. "Newkirk? Can you hear me? Open your eyes."

After a few more seconds, Newkirk finally did. "Colonel?" he said, sounding dazed.

Hogan sighed with relief. "Yeah, it's me. How many fingers do you see?" he asked, holding up two.

Instead of answering, Newkirk's eyes drifted closed again.

"Stay awake!" Hogan exclaimed, gently shaking his arm. "Newkirk, look at me!"

The Englishman slowly reopened his eyes.

"How many fingers?" Hogan repeated.

Newkirk blinked and squinted. "Five."

Hogan lowered his hand with a sigh. "Figures. Can you sit up?"

Newkirk frowned, wincing again. "What 'appened?" he asked, as if being awake only now.

"The air raid was an hour early!" Hogan replied, angrily.

"Air raid?" Newkirk repeated, confused.

Hogan sighed again. Newkirk obviously shouldn't be moved, but they had little choice in the matter. "Let's get you up. Don't move; let me do the work."

Newkirk remained still as Hogan slid an arm underneath him and sat him up slowly. The change in position caused stars to erupt in his vision, and he closed his eyes with a gasp.

Hogan inwardly cursed the man who'd changed the timing of the air raid when Newkirk's head lolled limply against his shoulder. He reached up and tapped the Englishman's face. "Don't pass out on me yet, Newkirk! Wait until we get back to the stalag, huh?"

Newkirk somehow heard him, and tried to lift his head.

Hogan knew that if sitting up made Newkirk black out, then standing would be worse. "Just take it easy for a minute," he said, knowing that rushing was pointless if Newkirk ended up unconscious again.

The Englishman stilled, breathing heavily against the pounding pain that reverberated through his skull.

"Are you hurt anywhere else besides your head?" Hogan asked him.

Newkirk didn't answer for a minute, assessing himself. "Just bruises...I think."

Hogan nodded. "Same here."

"I don't remember what 'appened ta us…" Newkirk told him. He raised a hand to his forehead, but his aim was clumsy and he accidentally whacked his wound, making it bleed again.

Hogan inwardly cursed when he saw the renewed blood flow. "I'm not surprised. It looks like you hit your head pretty hard."

"How?" Newkirk asked, wincing.

Hogan shook his head, still angry. "The air raid happened an hour early! They knew we'd be out here! What kind of irresponsible—" He felt Newkirk's body tense up, and realized that he was talking loudly practically right into the injured man's ear. "Sorry," he said, more softly.

They were quiet for a few seconds, before Newkirk seemed to notice the crashed vehicle. "Were we in the car?"

Hogan nodded. "Yeah."

Newkirk frowned, still trying to remember the incident.

The colonel sighed. "Come on. Let's see if you can stand up," he said, pulling Newkirk's arm around his own shoulders. He stood slowly, gripping Newkirk tightly when the Englishman's knees buckled. Hogan pulled Newkirk over to the back bumper of the car and sat him there; holding his handkerchief against the Englishman's wound again.

Newkirk couldn't prevent a groan, elbows on his knees while holding his spinning head, which felt like a thousand Schultz's were doing jumping jacks inside it.

"Schultz what?" asked Hogan.

Newkirk didn't answer, and the colonel grew more concerned. He squeezed Newkirk's shoulder and looked around, making sure no one was in sight. "We have to get out of here," he told him.

Newkirk slowly straightened up, eyes closed against the dizziness.

Hogan pulled Newkirk's arm around his shoulders again and stood, holding onto him for a minute before he took a step.

Newkirk, for his part, valiantly fought against the unconsciousness that wanted to reclaim him. It was obvious to them both that he had a concussion.

Hogan stayed on the side of the road among the trees, not wanting to be spotted by anyone. He tried to keep the pace easy for Newkirk, but nothing could be easy in his present condition.

Newkirk had suffered a few head injuries in his lifetime—including the day that he'd been brought as a prisoner to stalag thirteen—but the pain from this one topped them all. He couldn't remember a single thing about the accident, and wanted nothing more than to lie down. He was grateful for Hogan's strong grip, for he knew that he'd be flat on his face otherwise.

The walk back to the stalag seemed to take forever, with Hogan needing to stop for a while once when Newkirk abruptly passed out. He was able to wake him up again, but the corporal was obviously growing weaker the longer he was forced to walk.

When the tunnel stump came into view, Hogan sighed with relief. Unexpectedly, he suddenly saw it pop open, and Carter climbed out, followed by LeBeau and Kinch. They didn't see him at first, in the dark, and walked in their direction, dressed all in black.

Carter eventually looked straight at him, and stopped dead in his tracks, startled. "Colonel! What happened!"

The other two saw, and all three men rushed over.

"Newkirk has a concussion," Hogan told them. "I'll explain in the tunnel."

Kinch, easily the strongest of the men, picked Newkirk up and carried him the rest of the way to the stump, and they carefully got him down the ladder and safely underground.

"What happened to you two!" said LeBeau, seeing the blood on Newkirk's face and quickly turning away from the sight.

"Are you hurt too, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Hogan shook his head, a wince contradicting him. "Think I pulled a muscle in my neck," he said, rubbing it. "I'm fine."

"Why didn't you come back before the air strike!" Carter exclaimed.

"They changed it!" said Hogan, as they gently laid Newkirk on a cot that they wisely kept stashed down there. "It came at 1800 instead of 19, and we crashed! Kinch, radio London."

He obeyed, before handing the microphone to Hogan and going back over to Newkirk, to see if he could help Carter with him.

"Papa Bear calling Mama Bear," Hogan said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

"Mama Bear, here. Did you retrieve the plans? Over."

Hogan shook his head. "We sure did, and nearly got blown up! Why was the air strike time changed to 1800? Over."

There was silence for a minute, and everyone looked at Hogan, wondering why.

"Repeat, why was the air strike time changed? Over."

"Papa Bear…the air strike was on schedule at 1800 hours. Perhaps you are mistaken? Over."

"What?!" said LeBeau.

Carter looked up from where he knelt beside the cot, cleaning the blood from his friend's face. "They said 1900! I heard it too!"

Hogan nearly dropped the microphone. "That's a definite 'no', Mama Bear. We were told it was planned for 1900! Over!"

More silence.

"I don't believe it!" said LeBeau. "Who are they trying to fool?"

Hogan leaned on the table; in shock that London had made such a serious mistake. "Quiet!" he told his men, when their chatter became too much.

The voices instantly stopped, and the radio came alive again.

"Papa Bear…we regret the unfortunate error—"

"Unfortunate error?!" said Hogan, cutting him off. "One of my—one of our—best men is lying here unconscious with a concussion! Your mistake could've killed us both!"

The microphone was silent again for a few seconds, and Hogan knew that by saying 'our', he'd succeeded in telling London that it was Newkirk—their own countryman—who'd been injured by their negligence.

The British voice took on a note of shock. "We deeply apologize, Papa Bear! Is there anything we can do to rectify the situation? Over."

Hogan put the microphone down, exasperated, before picking it up again. "How about checking your notes for mistakes before relaying information from now on? Over," he said, sarcastically.

"We shall certainly do so, Papa Bear. If you would like to compile a list, we would be happy to arrange an airdrop of supplies tonight. Over."

Hogan was glad to get that, at least. "Kinch, get the list that we were making the other day, and add anything you'd like to it. That goes for everyone." He picked up the microphone. "Stand by, Mama Bear."

LeBeau went over to Kinch and grabbed a pencil.

Carter looked up from where he still knelt beside Newkirk. "We could use more medical supplies."

LeBeau stopped in the middle of writing 'caviar'. He erased it and wrote 'bandages' instead.

After the men finished with the list, they read it to London, and signed off.

Hogan put down the microphone and walked over to Carter. "How is he?"

Carter sighed. "Passed out before we even laid him here," he said, holding a towel to Newkirk's forehead. "He's not really bleeding much now, but he could definitely use some stitches."

Hogan sighed.

TBC