The day passed excruciatingly slowly, with Hogan and the others waking Newkirk every hour, to ensure that he didn't lose consciousness again. The Englishman was in pain and exhausted, refusing food thanks to his nauseated stomach, only sipping water when he desperately needed it.

Carter reached over to wake Newkirk later that afternoon, gently squeezing his shoulder. "Hey, wake up," he said.

Newkirk groaned, lifting a shaky hand to his throbbing head. "Why d'ya keep doin' this ta me?" he whined. It was hard enough falling to sleep with such a headache; he wasn't getting any rest at all by constantly being disturbed.

Carter sighed. They had to explain 'why' to Newkirk almost every time they woke him up, and it frightened him to see his friend so confused. "It's dangerous to let you sleep too long," he explained for the fifth time. "Now, can you tell me your name and rank?"

Another groan was Newkirk's reply.

"Come on, just answer a few questions for me and then you can go back to dreamland!" Carter said.

The Englishman sighed. "Corporal Peter Newkirk."

"That's right! How old are you?"

"Thirty-three. Now lemme bloody sleep."

Carter had a couple more questions for him, but he'd answered those correctly, so he let it go. "Okay. How's your stomach? Can you drink some water?"

Newkirk would've shaken his head if it weren't currently pounding. "No."

Carter sighed and sympathetically patted his friend's arm. "Okay. Go back to sleep."

Newkirk mumbled something before becoming quiet again.

Carter sighed and sat at the nearby table, facing his friend. He was terribly worried; head injuries always scared him, especially since their severity couldn't always be immediately discerned.

"How is he?" LeBeau suddenly whispered, over his shoulder.

"His head really hurts…his stomach, too. He answered my questions though, which is good."

LeBeau nodded. "I'm sure he'll be fine; he has a hard head! You worry too much, mon ami."

Carter smiled. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Just then, the door opened and a couple of men from their barracks were ushered in by Schultz, who came closer and peered at Newkirk. "How is he doing?"

Carter shrugged. "Not too bad, I guess, considering."

Schultz was relieved. "Good. Everyone is restricted to barracks for the next hour," he said. "It is time for maneuvers!"

Carter nodded absently.

Schultz left, and it wasn't until they heard a gunshot that they realized the awful timing.

Hogan suddenly came out of his quarters, having grabbed a nap after being up all night with their injured friend. "What's going on?" he asked, even as another gunshot sounded.

"Maneuvers," said Carter, upset at the realization. "Oh no, they'll wake him up!"

As if on cue, more gunshots sounded and Newkirk startled awake, immediately raising a hand to his pounding head. "Wha—?" he said.

Carter put a hand on his arm. "It's okay, the guards are just doing their weekly maneuvers."

More shots split the air, and Newkirk's body jerked again. "What's that bloody racket?!" he exclaimed, apparently not fully awake.

Carter repeated himself. "The guards' maneuvers."

There was another gunshot, and another immediately after, and Newkirk groaned from the pain that the loud sounds were adding to his head.

Carter jumped up and ran towards the door, but Kinch grabbed him before he could get there. "What are you doing?!"

"Telling them to stop it!"

"They'll shoot you if you go out that door at a time like this!" said Hogan, going over and taking his arm.

Not knowing what else to do, Carter ran back to Newkirk's bunk and clamped both of his hands over his friend's ears.

Newkirk was just as startled at that as he'd been over the sudden gunshots. "What ya doin'?!" he asked.

"Blocking the noise!" Carter said. He then realized that Newkirk might not have heard him, so he removed one of his hands and repeated himself before putting it back again.

Newkirk felt extremely silly with Carter covering his ears, but he was very touched at his friend's desperate need to help. "Ya don't 'ave ta do that, mate."

Right after he spoke, the German guards all fired their guns together, practically rattling the entire camp.

"Good timing," LeBeau told Carter, who smiled.

The guards' maneuvers didn't last as long as usual, making the men wonder if Schultz eventually thought of Newkirk and cut it off early for his sake.

The injured corporal eventually fell back to sleep, and the men resumed their duty of waking him every hour.

By the next morning, Barracks Two was filled with very tired men. Newkirk had made it through the night without losing consciousness, and no one really knew how long they had to keep up the frequent wakings, so they continued to do it through the day, to Newkirk's dismay.

The good thing was that his vision was only blurred now instead of doubled, and his stomach felt a little better, so he allowed them to feed him water and soup broth. He still didn't feel up to eating yet, but was never awake long enough to be hungry anyway.

Later that afternoon, Carter tried to make him eat.

"I can't yet, Andrew," Newkirk told him.

Carter frowned. "But I thought you felt better."

"I do," the Englishman said. "I just don't think me stomach is ready for LeBeau's gourmet cookin'."

Carter nodded. "True." He sighed and took something out from behind his back, sitting it in his lap. "If you don't think you can eat, you shouldn't try to force yourself."

Newkirk was blinking at the tin on Carter's lap, wondering if his off-kilter vision was showing him things that couldn't possibly be there. "What's that?"

Carter shrugged. "Oh, just a tin of English tea biscuits. I'd offer you one, but with your stomach…"

Newkirk was stunned. "Where did ya get that?!"

Carter smiled, opening it and placing it beside Newkirk on the bed. "From England, where else?"

Newkirk carefully raised himself onto an elbow and picked one up, taking a tiny bite and swallowing carefully. He waited to see the effect on his stomach, and was relieved when it sat just fine. He took another bite, before looking at Carter. "But 'ow did they end up 'ere?"

"After the Colonel came back with you, he yelled at Mama Bear for messing up and almost getting you killed," the sergeant told him. "We gave them a list of things we wanted—not just needed, but wanted—and they airdropped it all. I tried to think of some things for you…do you like them?"

Newkirk was touched; Carter truly was a caring friend. "These are me favorite, mate. I used ta buy them all the time, back 'ome…"

Carter smiled at that. "Really? Well you have a lot of them now…I had them put in a few of those tins, and a whole bunch of tea too. Oh, and I asked for these!" He stuck a hand into his pocket and took out something small, handing it over. "Look, a brand new deck of cards! It was the first thing I thought of, since yours are all worn out."

Newkirk opened the box and took them out, thumbing through them with a smile. Not only was his old deck of cards very worn out, but some of the cards were missing, causing a huge annoyance with certain games. "Andrew…I dunno what ta say…"

"You don't have to say anything," said Carter. "That's what friends are for."

Newkirk smiled, oddly choked-up. "Thanks. You're the best mate a bloke can 'ave."

Carter smiled back.

TBC