The airdrop was done in record time, and LeBeau and Kinch went to retrieve the packages, which were overflowing with everything they requested and more.

Carter and Hogan took care of Newkirk's injury, carefully stitching it and wrapping a bandage around his head. He remained unconscious, and they desperately hoped that he would wake and they'd find his injury to not be as serious as they thought…or they'd be in big trouble where roll call was concerned.

They eventually got Newkirk up the tunnel and into the barracks—after changing him out of the Gestapo uniform—and placed him in Carter's bottom bunk. After the men of the barracks went to sleep, Carter and Hogan both sat on the floor beside the bunk, promising to wake LeBeau and Kinch if anything happened.

Carter played with the flashlight on his lap, the only light they'd be able to use that wouldn't alert the guards that anyone was still up. "I can't believe London made a mistake like that," he whispered to Hogan.

The Colonel shook his head. "I know."

"Do you think he'll be okay?"

Hogan nodded, forgetting that Carter wouldn't see him in the dark. "I'm sure he will…he was conscious and talking. That's a good sign." He refrained from telling Carter that Newkirk didn't remember anything about being injured.

The news made Carter feel better. "Yeah."

They sat quietly for a couple of hours, before Newkirk suddenly groaned.

Carter immediately got to his knees and switched on the flashlight, shining it onto his friend. "Newkirk!" he whispered. "Are you okay?"

The Englishman winced, putting a hand to his forehead and feeling the bandage. "Oh, blimey…me 'ead…"

Carter suddenly realized that shining the light into his injured friend's face wasn't a good idea, and he shifted the light to the side.

"How do you feel, Newkirk?" Hogan asked.

"Awful," he replied, hand still on his head. He took a deep breath and let it out in a shudder, scrunching his eyes tightly with a wince.

"Just take it easy, boy," said Carter.

"Wha' time's it?" he mumbled.

Hogan stuck his wrist in the beam of Carter's flashlight. "A little after 1am."

Newkirk opened his eyes for a split-second. "We're back?"

"You sure are," said Carter.

Newkirk finally lowered his hand again, the wince still displayed on his pale face. "Ooooh…" he couldn't stop himself from moaning.

"What'd you hit your head on?" Carter asked, concerned at the amount of pain that his friend was in.

"Dunno," Newkirk mumbled.

Hogan shrugged. "One of the bombs flipped the car over before it landed against a tree. The dashboard, the window…I can't be sure."

Newkirk suddenly inhaled sharply, biting his bottom lip.

"Do you want a drink of water?" Carter asked. "We have aspirins too."

"Please," Newkirk answered, his voice tight with pain.

The American sergeant went to fetch them, coming back quickly.

"I'll lift him up," said Hogan, remembering what had happened after Newkirk had sat up the first time.

Carter nodded, watching as the Colonel slowly raised Newkirk to the barest-minimum height.

Newkirk gasped again and tried to hold in a groan, but he didn't succeed.

"Wait," Hogan told Carter, making sure that Newkirk wasn't about to pass out again. Thankfully, he didn't, so they quickly gave him the pills and helped him drink the water.

Suddenly, Newkirk tried to pull away from the glass. "Stop," he gasped.

"Uh oh…" said Carter, backing away.

Hogan desperately hoped that what seemed about to happen actually wouldn't happen. He kept his hold on Newkirk, knowing he'd need help if he got sick, but the corporal merely gasped a few times and groaned again. When it seemed obvious that the Englishman was miraculously not about to lose whatever was in his stomach—probably because it was too late at night for anything to actually be in it anymore—Hogan gently laid him back down.

Newkirk looked absolutely miserable.

Carter patted his arm, in sympathy. "He's not gonna make roll call, Colonel."

Hogan shook his head. "We'll have to make something up."

"Something that Klink will believe."

Hogan shrugged, crossing his arms. "That shouldn't be too hard. Dumb stories are usually the most believable..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Schultz counted the men that stood before Barracks Two, instantly seeing that someone was missing. "Colonel Hogan!" he whisper-whined. "Where is Newkirk! Please tell me that he is here!"

"He is, Schultz," Hogan replied. "Inside. He has a concussion."

Schultz's eyes opened wide. "A concussion? How did that happen?"

Before Hogan could answer, Klink came outside. "Repoooort!" he exclaimed.

"We're all here, Kommandant," Hogan called, before Schultz could say anything. "But Newkirk is injured, inside. Can we cut this short?"

Klink strutted over to him. "Injured? How do I know this is not a trick!"

"Come see for yourself," said Hogan.

Klink followed him in and looked at Carter's bunk, where Hogan was pointing. It was clear that Newkirk was not well; even if there wasn't a bandage around his head, his too-pale face made it quite obvious.

"Remove the—"

"Shh!" Hogan said. "Do you know how hard it was to get him to fall asleep?" he whispered. "He probably has the worst headache in the whole country right now."

Klink lowered his voice. "This could still be a trick! Remove the bandage!"

Hogan looked around for the scissors that they kept in their first aid kit, and ever so carefully picked up a piece of the bandage and snipped through it.

Klink was so intent on proving their ruse, that he didn't even realize that Hogan wasn't allowed to have scissors, since they were considered to be a 'weapon'. He made a face when he saw the stitched gash and surrounding bruise on the Englishman's forehead. "Ohh," he said.

Schultz frowned too.

"How did he do this?" Klink asked, sounding shocked.

Hogan sighed. "He fell off his bunk and hit his head."

Klink looked at him, incredulous. "Why would a grown man fall out of bed?"

Hogan shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine, Kommandant. He hasn't been coherent enough to tell us yet."

Klink blinked. The story was so ridiculous that he had to believe it. "All right, he is excused from roll call until sufficiently recovered."

"Thanks."

With that, Klink left, and Schultz lingered, peering at Newkirk's injury. "That looks very bad! He fell out of his bunk?"

Hogan made the 'come here' gesture with his finger. "Do you want to know what really happened, Schultz?" he whispered, conspiratorially.

"No!" the guard exclaimed, standing up straight. "I know nothing and I would like to keep it that way!"

"Suit yourself," said Hogan.

Schultz quickly left, and everyone chuckled.

TBC