This chapter includes some violence. Fair warning. Thank you as always to my beta TinySprite who is made from awesomeness.

I will try to be updating about once a week.

Thank you to all the people who left reviews. I appreciate every single one.

CHAPTER 2

Half an hour into his "discussion" in the German guest quarters, Newkirk was finally beginning to regret his quips. Even if it did restore some of the prisoners' self-control and pride to see their captors taken down a peg or two, getting pummeled while unable to fight back wasn't something he'd ever managed to do gracefully.

"So does the Englander have anything to say now?" Hendrich was beginning to breathe hard at least.

Newkirk took a few seconds to breathe himself. At this point he was sagging in the grip of Otto, the larger of the bodyguards. The just slightly smaller bodyguard stood next to the door looking so bored that Newkirk knew this wasn't the first time Hendrich had pulled this sort of abuse off. Hendrich was taking no chances of his chosen POW giving out any retaliation. Even though Newkirk as a POW couldn't fight back to even abuse without risking being shot for aggression, Hendrich had his minion pinning the prisoner's arms behind him. Otto seemed to know exactly how to twist to get the maximum of leverage and pain out of his hold.

After a moment, Newkirk lifted his face, telling himself to apologize and get it over with. "Sod off, you Kraut bastard." Well, or just let his Cockney temper flare. That was a great tactic too. The next few punches to his face loosened a tooth. They also made him gray out to the point that it startled him when the blows switched to his ribs again.

"Please..." His voice cracked slightly and he told himself it was a great effect, not weakness. Swallowing, he coughed a spray of blood onto the rug before continuing. "Please, stop. Sorry... I'm sorry." His pride stung but honestly, the pain from the beating covered up that little sting quite nicely. If he had the brains God gave a rutabaga, he would have realized this would be the result well before this point. "I... apologize for.. for my r-rude comments during formation. Please..."

Hendrich considered that for a moment. His hands flexed inside the fine leather gloves. As he stepped back and paced the floor back and forth in front of Newkirk, the Brit kept his eyes on the rug and tried to project his abject misery. He'd misjudged this particular German Army officer truly. Newkirk had expected him to relegate the physical punishment to his underlings, not carry it out himself. He was a very able-bodied officer too. Most officers that made it to Major-General weren't in good enough condition to carry on with a fight beyond a few minutes. Not that this was a fight, per se. It was all one-sided.

The boots approached again and Newkirk artfully cringed. In his experience, if he showed he was beaten, they'd give in. All most Nazis wanted was to dominate properly and then they'd back off. If he himself wasn't so damned stiff-necked about it, this would have been over much earlier.

A rough hand gripped his bruised jaw and yanked his face up. "Say it properly." The voice still sounded angry.

Swallowing what little was left of his pride, Newkirk gazed right back into those gloating eyes. "I apologize, herr General." Keeping his voice soft and frightened was an effort when he wanted to spit the words at the Kraut.

The pleasure showed in Hendrich's expression. He looked over Newkirk's shoulder at his underling. "See Otto? And you said Englanders couldn't be tamed so easily."

Otto took this personally enough to tighten his hold on Newkirk's arms, causing him to let out a cry of pain. That seemed to satisfy him however and he let up on the extra pressure. "Yes Major-General Hendrich, of course, you are more knowledgeable about these things."

Hendrich gave a last slap to his victim's face. "Take him outside to the guard. I'm finished with him tonight." He sighed sounding rather pleased with himself. "Perhaps tomorrow we can let Jager pick out another POW with as much spirit."

The second bodyguard, Jager straightened up more and gave a nod. "Jawohl, herr Major-General. There are many pigs to choose from here."

Newkirk felt his heart freeze. His head twisted around to glare fiercely. "Leave them alone."

Hendrich turned back from where he'd already gone to the sideboard to pour himself brandy. "Oh, it seems he's not completely broken?" Coming back slowly, he sipped at the delicate glass as he looked Newkirk over. "We shall see. Otto? Outside with the dog, he's mussed the rug up enough."

Otto nodded his head sharply and jerked the smaller man upright by his pinned arms. "Come, raus." Taking him out the door to the guest quarters, he gave one last shove that sent Newkirk sprawling down the steps into the light cover of snow. "Major-General Hendrich is finished questioning the prisoner. Return him to his barracks." With a snap of his fingers to the stalag guard, Otto returned to inside, slamming the door loudly.

Lying in the snow, Newkirk simply rested a moment, wondering how miserable he'd feel if he just slept there instead of having to get back to his feet to cross the compound. When someone took him by his upper arm to start tugging him up to his feet, he tried to jerk away. "Leave off."

"Nein, up up! Come, back to the barracks." Schultz tried to be gentle as he helped the troublesome British prisoner to his feet. "Come Newkirk, you must go back to the barracks now."

"Give a bloke a minute, Schultzy, I've 'ad a rough evening." Struggling to his knees, Newkirk paused and let Schultz lift him the rest of the way to his feet. "Blimey, I 'urt everywhere."

"Ja, you were foolish. Insulting a major-general!" Schultz chided him, making soft tcching noises of reproach.

"Yeah, take 'is bloody side, Schultz. Makes it right for 'im to beat me bloody when I can't even defend meself." Newkirk complained softly to the big guard. "Bloody great bullies, that's what the lot of you Germans are. Beating prisoners, you just wait. I'll put a complaint in with the Red Cross against the whole sodding lot of you."

"Newkirk, shush." Schultz held him up as he stumbled across the compound. He knew the young man was just venting over his ill treatment and didn't really blame Schulz for it. Schultz had never struck a prisoner in the entire time he'd been at Stalag 13. "Quiet and just go inside and try not to make any more fuss, ja? No trouble."

"Tell me not to make trouble, when I'm the one getting beat up." Newkirk's grumbling continued, although at a greatly reduced volume. "See if I bail you out of any more jams, then."

"Ja, Newkirk, here, go inside. Please, do not say things tomorrow that will make the Major-General angry." Schultz gave him a last pat as he opened the barrack's door.

Newkirk snorted in reply as he walked in, reaching out to feel for the bunk by the door. A hand took him by the elbow out of the dark, causing him to jump and swear softly. Kinch's voice made him sag in relief. "I'm okay." The hand steered him towards Hogan's empty quarters however. "I just want to lie down..." whispered Newkirk softly.

"Right after I make sure you're okay." Kinch firmly escorted him into the room and shut the door quietly. After a few seconds, an oil light flared to life, casting a dim light through the room. "Let's see. How bad is it?"

"I'm bloody well fine." Newkirk kept to the shadowed part of the room, turning his face to keep Kinch from looking at him too closely. "If I wanted a nanny, I'd wake up Carter."

"You'd better be glad I didn't wake him up." Kinch drew him closer to the lamp and hissed at the bruises already showing. "Anything broken?"

"Me pride?" Newkirk quipped. "Possibly a rib or three?" He shook his head gingerly. "It's not too bad. I'll just be colorful a few days. Won't be playing any of you Yanks' 'football' anytime soon."

"Well that's good, you suck at American football." Kinch motioned to his shirt which Newkirk reluctantly lifted for him to check his ribs. "I think you're right, at least one broken." He probed carefully, gauging the damage both from the feel and the reaction of pain. Stepping back, he looked the Cockney in the eye. "Are you okay?"

Newkirk glanced aside, knowing that action alone was giving himself away. "I'll be fine. It's not the first time. 'ow many times 'ave the Gestapo 'auled me off for a nice little chat now?" He tugged his shirt back into place with a wince.

"Yeah but this isn't the Gestapo." Kinch sighed lightly at him. "Anything I can do?"

"Yeah, give a bloke a boost up into 'is bunk?" Newkirk grinned rakishly, if a bit lopsidedly. "I don't much fancy the climb 'onestly."

"Sure. Want me to roust Carter out of his bunk? You could take the lower one for the night?" Kinch blew out the lamp as they left the room.

"No. Carter will just raise a fuss and then fall out onto me 'ead first thing in the morning." Newkirk felt his way through the darkness to his bunk. When a hand grabbed him by the pant's leg, he jerked violently away. "Bloody 'ell! Andrew!"

"Sorry." Carter sounded contrite. "I just wanted to ask if you were okay." There was a bit of noise as he shifted about in the bunk.

"I was before you gave me a bleeding 'eart attack." Despite the minor fright, Newkirk reached down to give his friend a reassuring pat. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

A voice came from across the room carrying both a sleepy tone and a French accent. "Are you really okay or are you just saying that to cover that you're hurt?"

Huffing in irritation, Newkirk felt about for Kinch's supporting hand and put his ankle into it. "Up?" As he was lifted, he got himself into the upper bunk and very carefully laid down, trying to find the least painful spot to lie on. "Thanks Kinch." He spoke quietly to LeBeau. "I'm fine, mum. Go to sleep."

"Fine... you'd say you were fine even if your leg was missing." There was a creak as LeBeau began to climb off his bunk.

Kinch coughed softly. "LeBeau, I already checked him over, he'll be okay. You can fuss over him in the morning. Right now, everyone go back to sleep. Morning will be here soon enough." He bent to speak to the bunk underneath Newkirk. "Carter? You might have to help him down in the morning. Don't let him fall on his stubborn English skull, okay?"

"Charming, Kinch, bloody charming." came from the upper slot.

Carter agreed. "Sure. I would have let him sleep in my bunk."

"I tried, he didn't want to." Kinch made his way across the room to his own bunk and rolled up into the blankets. Even though he'd ordered everyone to sleep, he could hear very soft whispers for a while before it quieted down completely. A long time after that, he finally fell asleep himself.

End Chapter

Sorry Newkirk.

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