That night, Hogan decided that they'd try waking Newkirk every two or three hours, figuring he was on his way to recovery by now. Newkirk woke up each time without incident; so after morning roll call, Hogan figured that they'd just let him sleep until he woke up himself, as long as it wasn't an extreme length of time. It troubled him that Newkirk still didn't remember the accident—and Carter had been shocked when he'd found out—but he'd heard of some people never remembering an incident that resulted in a head injury. They'd just have to let the corporal take it easy for a while, until they were sure he was back to complete health.

Newkirk was finally getting some quality rest; not being constantly woken anymore, and was finally able to sleep deeply enough to dream…

"Take zis man's orders and give zem to me so I can change zem to zee Russian Front!" Newkirk exclaimed. He kept a stern expression on his face as Hogan stepped forward, but the man quickly took the new gun's plans out of a drawer.

"Give zem to me, sergeant," Newkirk said to Hogan.

Hogan snatched them from the man and handed them to Newkirk, who took a monocle out of his pocket and stuck it in his right eye. "Hmm…hmm…yes…" Newkirk mumbled, studying them. He looked at the German and nodded. "Danke," he said. He then rolled the plans up and stuck them inside his jacket.

The man protested, and Newkirk almost laughed when Hogan's 'achtung!' promptly shut him up. They quickly left, and after they'd driven through the gates, they'd both laughed over their successful theft of the plans. Soon, though, Newkirk heard the sound of approaching planes, and stared in shock out the window. "Colonel! It's the air raid!"

"What?!" Hogan said. "What time is it?"

Newkirk looked at his watch as a bomb exploded nearby, sending his heart into his throat as Hogan swerved the car. "It's only 1800, Colonel!" he said.

Hogan gave no answer, and suddenly another bomb exploded, sending the car rolling upside down before it landed right side up against a tree.

At some point during the car's tumble, Newkirk felt his head smack hard against something, and he fell into darkness…

Newkirk woke with a start, surprised at the vividness of the dream. His head still throbbed, and he reached up a hand to it.

"Hey, you okay?" It was Carter, unsurprisingly.

Newkirk felt groggy. "I remember what 'appened."

Carter's face split into a wide grin. "Do you? That's great! Hey Colonel! Newkirk remembers!"

Hogan came out of his quarters, making his way towards the bunk. He was immensely relieved that Newkirk had woken on his own.

"I was impersonatin' a general," Newkirk said, before Hogan said anything. "You were a sergeant." He smiled. "I outranked ya."

Hogan smiled back. "Don't remind me."

Newkirk's smile widened. "We gave that bloke a right scare, didn't we? Didja see his face when I stuck the plans in me pocket?"

Hogan chuckled. "It was priceless."

Newkirk's smile faded. "Me monocle! What 'appened ta it?"

"I put it in your foot locker," Carter told him. "Found it in the uniform pocket."

Newkirk was relieved. "Oh, that's right, I put it in there. Guess I didn't quite remember everythin'." He tried to sit up a little, and Hogan helped him.

"Do you remember the crash?" Carter asked.

Newkirk carefully nodded. "I may 'ave forgotten it once, but I'll never forget it again. The bombs were rainin' down, mate, an' we 'ad nowhere ta go."

Carter frowned.

Newkirk shrugged. "Then the car rolled over, an' that was it. I woke up not rememberin' 'ow we'd got there."

"Wow," Carter said.

They were quiet for a few minutes, and Carter brought Newkirk some more aspirins and water.

"Does your head hurt any less yet?" the sergeant asked.

"Yeah, it's gettin' better," Newkirk said. "Me vision's just about fine now, too." He reached up to feel the bandage. "What's this look like?"

Carter looked at Hogan, as if asking if they should take the bandage off. The colonel shrugged and reached over to untie the bandage, removing it while Carter went in search of a mirror. He came back and handed it over.

Newkirk stared at his reflection, shocked at the sight of the three-inch-long stitched gash, surrounded by a nasty purple bruise. "Blimey!"

"Yeah," said Carter. "That's what I thought! Well, in more American-type words."

Newkirk reached up and felt the wound, wincing.

Hogan grabbed his hand and lowered it. "Now now, no touching."

"No wonder I was thrown for a loop," the corporal said, looking at the wound for another few seconds before handing the mirror back to Carter. "What time is it?"

Hogan answered. "Quarter past noon."

"Can ya help me up? I'd like ta go outside for a while."

Carter gave Hogan a worried look. "I dunno if you should get up yet, Newkirk…"

"Well, 'ow long 'as it been?" Newkirk asked.

"Um, three days," Carter told him.

"I've been lyin' 'ere too long," Newkirk said. "I just want some fresh air."

Hogan couldn't blame him…it was early summer and the barracks currently felt stuffy. "Fine, but only for a minute." He reached over and pulled the covers back, before taking Newkirk's arm and helping him sit up on the side of the bed.

This was the first time that Newkirk had actually sat up since he'd been injured, and he took a deep breath when he got dizzy.

"Take it slow," said Hogan. "Let us know when you're ready."

Carter sat next to Newkirk and held onto his arm, to keep him steady.

A minute later, Newkirk told them he was ready, and they slowly helped him stand, Carter immediately pulling one of his arms around his own shoulders.

It was a good thing, for Newkirk got even dizzier, more than he expected.

Hogan held onto his other arm, watching as the Englishman paled and closed his eyes, slumping against Carter.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…" the American sergeant said, worriedly.

Hogan opened his mouth, to agree, but Newkirk spoke first. "I'm okay." He didn't really sound it, but he opened his eyes, blinking a few times.

Against their better judgment, Carter and Hogan helped him towards the barracks door, with Hogan opening it.

Outside, the men were hanging around, talking, smoking, or playing ball. A nice breeze wafted by and ruffled Newkirk's hair, making him glad he hadn't given in and stayed inside.

The two men helped their injured friend the few steps to the bench, where they sat him down. Carter sat next to him, making sure he was okay.

Newkirk repeatedly blinked, the bright sunlight increasing his headache. He suddenly realized that he was sitting outside in his pajamas, but the breeze felt so wonderful that he really didn't care.

A few of the prisoners eventually spotted him and came to ask how he was. LeBeau and Kinch were overjoyed to see him out of bed, and Schultz seemed the happiest of all, jogging over as fast as his overweight body could go.

After a while, Hogan could tell that the corporal was weakening. "All right, visiting hours are over. Newkirk needs to get back to bed."

"I hope you continue to feel better, Newkirk," Schultz said. "If you need anything, let me know."

Newkirk smiled. "Thanks, Schultzie."

Schultz took his rifle back from Carter, who'd been 'holding' it for him, and went back to his post.

Hogan and Carter brought Newkirk back inside and helped him lie down again.

"You okay, Newkirk?" Carter asked.

The corporal gave a huge yawn. "I'm right-knackered an' about ta flake out."

Hogan and Carter could always tell how tired or stressed Newkirk was by the amount of British slang he used. That one was definitely in the top three.

"Um…okay," Carter replied.

Without another word, Newkirk closed his eyes and fell right to sleep.

TBC

Translation of Newkirk's British slang: Exhausted and about to fall asleep/pass out. LOL