Thank you for the many responses and reviews.A special thanks for a PM that pointed out that "Raus" is incorrect for moving the POWs into the barracks from the outside. That led to a fascinating bit of research and more knowledge which I always love! Thank you to the guest reviewers! I can't respond personally if you're not signed in to the site, but I certainly loved each of your reviews!

To clarify, Newkirk is not REALLY the MOC. The POWs know Kinch is really in charge, they just elected a 'stooge' to stand up front for the Germans. With all of Newkirk's pranks, I figure the other POWs would happily paint a target on him for the humor, not knowing of course what ends up being in store for him.

Again thanks go to TinySprite for her endless patience with me. And apologies to Newkirk, sorry old chap, I'll send tea.

This is an incredibly long chapter, I apologize.

Chapter 3

The next morning began with Kinch and Carter all but lifting Newkirk down from his bunk. Every bruise had stiffened during the night and the complaints were loud and numerous. His face was swollen and discolored although Carter tried to cheer him up by pointing out that neither eye was completely swollen shut. Newkirk had requested that someone thump Carter at that point, Olson obliging him with a smile.

Sipping rather gingerly at a cup of hot coffee, Newkirk settled at their table after roll call. Hendrich had smirked at the sight of his victim while the prisoners muttered darkly. Putting on a show of nonchalance, Newkirk had made certain to exchange grins all around with the other barracks. Once they were dismissed, he sauntered about to chat with other prisoners making jokes about his 'state of disrepair' to make everyone believe it looked worse than it really was. LeBeau shadowed him to one side, keeping people from accidentally bumping into his hidden injuries to his ribs. After several minutes, Newkirk pretended to see a summons from Kinch over at the barracks and excused himself.

Now he could sit in peace and try to control the nausea from the pain. His face throbbed in beat with his pulse and there was no comfortable way to sit or move with the damaged rib. His hands stayed busy with his oldest deck of cards, shuffling them back and forth and pulling random cards out before returning them. If he dropped the occasional pull from the bottom of the deck, no one pointed it out to him and he ignored it.

When Carter brought in their medic, Newkirk barely made a token protest before being ushered into the office for an exam. For once, Newkirk was candid about most of the injuries and submitted to his ribs being taped up gladly. The extra support helped lessen the misery and he thanked Wilson.

The medic pretended to be stunned. "You usually have to be at death's door to admit you're hurting." He put away the few supplies he had. "If you start feeling congested in your lungs or get blurry vision, send someone for me. I doubt those ribs have damaged a lung, but it's possible and if you move wrong, it could still happen." He pointed at Newkirk's face. "Try a cool wet cloth for the bruises. I'll try to scare up some aspirin for you if it's really bad but we're short of everything."

"I'm okay." He very obviously was not okay but if there was nothing available to help, it did no good to make Wilson feel more guilty over it.

Carter continued to hover near the door and Newkirk finally turned enough to look at him. "What?"

"Nothing!" Carter shifted his feet nervously and then looked at his friend. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

"No Carter..." Newkirk began to snap irritably. Then he stopped and pushed back the irrational annoyance he was feeling. "Sorry, I'm just cranky, mate."

"It's okay. I understand." Carter suddenly beamed at him. "If you put up with me when I'm sick, I can put up with you when you're hurt, right?"

LeBeau poked his head in to smirk. "Oui, but then we also have to put up with Newkirk when he is sick, and hurt and we all know that he gets hurt much more often than the rest of us. He's just clumsy that way." He disappeared before the stray boot impacted next to his head. "Oh so cranky!" came from the other room, the laughter evident in the tone.

"Ruddy frog." His friend making fun of him somehow made everything feel better. If LeBeau could make a joke about Newkirk's injuries, then those injuries were not serious and didn't hurt so much. Maybe it made no logical sense but after the years spent in ridiculously horrible conditions and enduring brutal treatment, the two friends ran with what worked.

Kinch met him in the main barracks as Wilson left. "You gonna live?"

"Yeah." Newkirk settled himself gingerly at the table. "I'll walk the compound in a bit." LeBeau brought him tea and bread. "Thanks little mate." His constant shifting to try to find a comfortable position with his ribs made LeBeau sit down next to him. "I'm fine, don't fuss."

"Oui, you look fine." LeBeau hesitated. "Did you let Wilson wrap your ribs?" At the affirmative grunt, he continued. "You should lie down for a while."

"Can't." Newkirk had to pause a moment while swallowing bread. "I'm the official Man of Confidence, remember? I have to be out and about. I've also got to take a list to Klink too. Kind of wish that could wait, I'm no good at jollying stuff out of Klink like the Colonel is." He tucked the last bite of bread into his mouth.

Carter sat across from him. "What list?" He reached for a little bit of crust that was leftover from the piece of bread.

Newkirk's hand snatched the crust from under his fingers. A second later, the Brit offered it to him with a sheepish look. "Sorry, habit."

"No, that's okay." When Newkirk insisted, Carter took the bite of bread and broke it in two to share. "Thanks."

"Sorry. Uhh, it's a list of requests from the men. Mostly it's Red Cross stuff, boots for a few of the guys, replacement blankets for them what got burned during that last fire. We really should have a chat with everyone about distractions too. Fires are great diversions but the guys need to make sure they don't burn irreplaceable things like blankets."

Kinch walked over to pour himself coffee. "I'll bring that up at the barracks' chiefs' meeting." He sighed heavily as he took a seat at the table with them. "I'm sorry you got tagged with this, Newkirk. If the Krauts didn't have such a hard time accepting me, I'd do it."

"Can't help Germans being German, mate." Newkirk grinned, making the bruised face look rather macabre. "I just wasn't expecting to be volunteered as the senior POW. I'm just a corporal."

Carter bounced slightly. "Yeah but you're the Newkirk. Even all the Germans call you 'the' Englander. Like we only have one!" He looked down at the table and scratched at a little burn mark absently. "I couldn't do it, I wouldn't know what to do."

"You'd 'ave managed just like I am." Newkirk reassured Carter. He rubbed one hand over his hair, smoothing it and wincing when he encountered lumps and bruises. "Kinch? What else do I 'ave to do for the day?" He pulled out his pack of cigarettes to light one up.

Kinch got up to retrieve his clipboard and flipped a couple pages about. "Well, go see Klink, try for those blankets for sure. You also have to go check out tools for the work party to repair the roof on Barracks 8." He hummed absently to himself. "I'll check on the progress in the tunnels, inspect the forgers latest efforts at Bavarian papers and double-check the reports from the Underground."

Carter made a small noise. "Well, why isn't Newkirk doing those things?"

Kinch hesitated. "Well, for one thing, Newkirk is pretty beat up and probably needs some time to rest up..."

Newkirk spoke up then, interrupting Kinch. "And secondly, I'm not in charge. Kinch is in charge. I'm just a figurehead for the bloody Krauts. Don't forget that, Carter." He glared at the younger American and gave Kinch an apologetic glance. Inhaling deeply on his cigarette, he let the smoke trail out of his mouth slowly. "Kinch is better at 'andling all this camp stuff. I'd just bollacks it all up if I were in charge for real."

Kinch smiled. "Thanks. But I think you'd do just fine. You'd just panic a lot more while dealing with all of it." Even though he joked with Newkirk about it, his words of support made the black radioman feel more confident. Kinch was quite confident in his own abilities, but less confident in whether anyone else would recognize that he could do things as well as any white man, and better than some. "LeBeau, we still need two sets of civilian clothing on hand. Also, Olson said his shirt lost a sleeve on the last chase through the woods."

"Oui, he told me. I can do those all today." LeBeau finished his cup of coffee and took the cup to the sink. "Without Newkirk, it will take me most of the day though." Toweling his hands off on a scrap of fabric, he smiled at Newkirk. "It must be nice to be able to loaf about all day instead of doing real work."

Newkirk snorted lightly. "I'll trade you." Tilting his bruised face up to peer at LeBeau, he sighed heavily. "Wait, I can't see well enough to be threading needles."

LeBeau hurried to find a clean cloth and ran water over it. Bringing it over, he put it on the worst eye. "Hold this on your eye. You should have had cold cloths on your eyes."

"Ow." The mild protest came quickly as Newkirk took the cloth away. He pressed it back into place himself however. "Thank you, mum. You're right." He looked miserable. "How bad does it look? I 'aven't even looked in a mirror."

"Pretty bad." Carter bent to look closer. "Your face is all lumpy." He sat back again. "And purple all on the left side." Considering his friend who eyed him with a irritated look, Carter mused aloud. "I wonder how you ended up with so much bruising on the left side?"

Newkirk barely looked at him. "Hendrich is right-'anded."

"So?"

"So, 'e 'its mostly with 'is right 'and, right?" Newkirk suddenly reached out and smacked Carter with his right hand. "Which cheek did I slap?"

"OW!" Carter jerked away. "The left... oh." He nodded. "You could have just explained."

"I thought I did." Newkirk smirked at him. "Not that 'e don't use his left too, mind you." He got up with a wince. "I need to get over to Klink's office. Maybe if I catch 'im before it gets too late, 'e'll be in a better mood."

Kinch nodded at Carter. "You're on cleaning detail today in the kommandatur, check the outgoing mail for anything that looks like a request for leave."

"I can walk over with Newkirk!" Carter jumped to his feet with enthusiasm. "And this way I can keep an eye on you, buddy!"

Newkirk was struggling into his coat and had to stop when Carter came and helped him with it. "Carter... no, just lift the back of me coat... up Carter, not sideways." Shrugging into it finally, he reached up and settled the heavy greatcoat into place properly. "Thanks. I don't need you keeping an eye on me. I need you to do what Kinch tells you."

"But I can walk over with you though, right? I mean, we're both going over at the same time so it's okay, right?" Carter was fumbling to get the cleaning supplies out quickly. "I'm ready right now... well, just gotta grab the duster, oops, yeah, I'm ready right now!"

Newkirk was watching with some bemusement. "Okay, come along then." He opened up the door and spoke over his shoulder quietly. "Do me a favor and stay to my left side so no one runs into me busted ribs?"

Carter immediately darted around him to the left side, almost dropped the bucket and managed to smack Newkirk in the side of his head with the handle of the duster. "Sorry! Sorry! Are you okay?"

Sighing heavily, Newkirk pushed the handle away and glared. "Just blooming peachy, Carter. Try not to put out me eye on the walk over, okay?" The light bump into his head wasn't noticeable over the rest of the throbbing pain, but it was the principle of the thing.

"I said I was sorry! It was an accident!" Carter held the items in his other hand. He trotted forward a few steps to catch up and settled in just a half step behind Newkirk. "Do you think Hendrich will leave soon?"

Newkirk pulled out a fresh cigarette to light it as he thought. Even as they walked across the compound, he checked the situation. "I don't rightly know, Carter." He didn't see much out of the ordinary, a few prisoners were doing laundry near Barracks Ten, a small group were leaving the messhall and a handful of others were scattered around randomly. Newkirk had to squint to see the spotters at the corners of four different barracks were in place. They were ready to signal others that Germans were coming near. Even with Hogan out of camp, the POWs had plenty of schemes underway.

"But he can't just hang around here at Stalag 13, right? I mean, he has to go do stuff." Carter was reasoning out his idea. "If he's a Major-General, he's got duties and he should be doing fighting and stuff in the war."

Newkirk puffed on the cigarette, only half following Carter's words. "Yeah, 'e's probably on leave." The forgers had been moved to the Rec Hall, mostly because it had better light. It made the papers and passes only take half the time and the end products were better quality but it was ten times as risky. Any German guard could wander in to check on the prisoners at any time. Hogan had come up with the idea of having Russian studies and Olson and Kinch had quietly spread the idea among the guards that any Germans found in those classes might just get into trouble for being part of the class. The lookouts could alert those within of approaching guards in time for the forging to be hidden.

"Newkirk?" Carter was peering at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

"What?" Refocusing, Newkirk tossed aside the cigarette butt and blinked at Carter for a few seconds. "Sorry, woolgathering, mate." His eyes went back to the Rec Hall. "I think we should suspend using the Rec Hall until Hendrich leaves. Too risky with 'im rooting around."

Carter dutifully looked at the Rec Hall as well. "Maybe. But if we stop using the Rec Hall suddenly, won't that be suspicious too?"

Humming softly as he thought, Newkirk agreed. "You're right. After you're done in the office, go ask Kinch about it. If 'e agrees, go 'ave someone start a fight in the hall, get it shut down by the guards." He smiled slightly as he tilted his head. "But make sure the forgeries are out before you do that, all right?"

"Well, yeah, gee! I'm not stupid!" Carter was a little indignant. "I know better than that!"

"Sorry mate. Don't get your dander up." Amusement at his friend's expense made Newkirk chuckle slightly. They reached the kommandantur and stepped up onto the porch, nodding agreeably at the German guard who watched them carefully. Newkirk spoke first. "Acting prisoner representative Newkirk to see Kommandant Klink on camp business."

Carter spoke up brightly behind him. "I'm on cleaning detail!"

The guard glanced dutifully at Carter's cleaning supplies and nodded. "Ja."

When Newkirk entered the outer office, his demeanor changed to a meek quiet attitude. Swiping his cover off his head, he stepped towards Helga's desk. "Pardon Miss, I mean, Gutan log Fraulien Helga. Corporal Newkirk to see the Kommandant, bitte?" His mispronouncing the simple phrases still amused Helga. She seemed to regard the familiar Cockney with some fondness, much like a person would view a somewhat dimwitted spaniel at times. It was a impression that Newkirk liked to reenforce whenever possible. The more harmless he seemed, the more mischief he got away with. Somehow it was a lot harder to do now than when he was just a little lad in the streets.

Carter eyed the theatrical performance and began to empty the wastebaskets quietly. He saw Helga begin to look up at Newkirk with a smile and then watched her face change to a horrified expression. "Oh Corporal! You are hurt!"

Newkirk was startled. He hadn't thought of his macabre appearance. "It is nothing. Just a few reminders not to forget me manners." He edged back a step. The woman had actual tears in her eyes and although there was a part of him that felt a bit warm over her concern, mostly he was alarmed. Upsetting Klink's secretary would not endear him to the German officer. "Really, bitte, it is not so bad."

Carter tried to help. "Yeah, his face is just kind of purple. It's the broken ribs that really hurt him!"

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Carter! Just flipping clean the office." He turned back to Helga who sniffled as she put a hand over her mouth. "It's really nothing. Could I see the Kommandant, please?"

She scooted around her desk to knock on Klink's door and enter. After a moment, she returned. "The Kommandant will see you now. " She looked away from the battered face.

Carter leaned towards her cautiously. "He really is okay. I know on account of he's my best friend and he told me he was okay. So he really is fine." His earnest desire to make her feel better had the intended effect. She gave him a little hesitant smile. "Besides, if he was really hurt bad, we wouldn't let him walk around and all. We'd make him stay in his bunk to rest." Carter leaned on his broom to think about it. "Well, we'd try, but he's awfully stubborn sometimes. I mean, sometimes I think that to get him to do something, we have to tell him to do the opposite, do you know what I mean? Once, Colonel Hogan wanted him to stay out of the barracks because we wanted to plan a surprise for him see, and so the Colonel was really smart and he told Newkirk he wanted him to stay inside the barracks, because he knew that Newkirk would sneak out and stay out in the compound just because the Colonel told him not to. You know? I bet you know folks like that."

Newkirk sighed softly to himself as he entered Klink's office. Carter would chatter at poor Helga until Newkirk came back out. Hopefully he would remember the task he was to do while he was in the office. Carter was a good bloke but he was absentminded sometimes. At least Helga liked him. He came to attention in front of Klink's desk, wincing as he pulled the broken ribs too much. "Corporal Newkirk, acting prisoner representative, sir."

"Yes yes..." Klink was bent over his forms and books. "What do you want, Corporal? I'm very busy." He scribbled figures from one sheet of paper to another.

Newkirk put his neatly written list onto the desk. "I 'ave a list of requests, herr Kommandant. Some of the men need blankets. I also 'ave four men what need new boots. It's awful cold, sir and I know that you wouldn't want to 'ave prisoners in the infirmary with frostbite." The ploy to scare Klink into giving them what they wanted felt clumsy and inept to Newkirk. When the Colonel did this, he was so smooth that Klink gave in without even realizing it. He cleared his throat. "Also, we only got 'alf our Red Cross packages last week, sir. I wondered if you might 'ave located those what are missing?"

Picking up the slip of paper and glancing over it quickly, Klink grumped in reply. "IF you're trying to imply that we Germans are stealing your Red Cross..." Klink's voice stopped as he looked up and saw Newkirk's face for the first time. "What happened to your face?" His voice had gone just a little bit shrill.

Without thinking, Newkirk blurted out "The same thing what 'appened to me bleeding broken ribs." He shut his mouth, cursing inwardly at his impulsive nature. "I-I mean, I'm sorry, herr Kommandant, but Major-General Hendrich took it upon 'imself to give me a bit of a lesson on manners, sir." His eyes flickered up and then fastened on the floor again. He really wished the bruises were not so visible.

"I..." Klink seemed to have lost his voice temporarily. "Major-General Hendrich has no right to damage my prisoners."

"Well, no one seems to 'ave told 'im that." Newkirk snorted in disgust then remembered who he was talking to. "Sorry, herr Kommandant."

"Yes well, still..." Klink seemed to be bordering on outraged. "I will speak to him. This sort of thing isn't done, he's not even a member of the Luftwaffe."

Before either of them could continue, there were loud words from the outer office. Hendrich's distinctive voice came through clearly, along with a yelp of pain. Before Klink could move, Newkirk had snatched open the door and rushed out. "Carter!"

Hendrich and his favorite bodyguard Otto had a terrified Carter backed into a corner. A tiny trickle of blood showed that one of them had already hit him in the mouth once.

Hendrich spoke angrily. "Tell me again, why are you here in the office? Are you trying to get your pathetic kommandant to defend you?" He raised his hand to strike again.

Newkirk shoved himself between the two Germans to put himself between Carter and Hendrich. "You get off Carter! He's on cleaning detail! Leave him alone!" He glared into Hendrich's eyes defiantly.

Otto reached to grab Newkirk by the arm. "Get out of the way! No one asked your opinion, cur!" To his surprise, the same Englishman that meekly took a beating the night before now jerked his arm free, slamming the elbow into Otto's wrist sharply.

Helga's scream rose above all of the shouting. "No! Please! Kommandant! Make them stop!" She was cowering behind her desk, shaking with fear. "Bitte herr Kommandant!"

Her cries made Klink jump into action. He might normally be a coward but now he felt pressured into standing up for once. "That's enough of all this!" He walked out stiffly. "Major-General Hendrich, you are upsetting my offices, and I cannot allow all these disruptions to the routine. Perhaps you are not aware, but routine is important in prisoner of war camps, and my stalag has a very good reputation among the High Command because I run it with an iron fist. Your actions are causing quite the uproar." He was covering his nerves quite well for Klink.

Hendrich was nonplussed and took an involuntary step back. "Colonel Klink, perhaps you have forgotten that my rank..."

Klink swallowed back his own fear. "Perhaps you have forgotten, this is a Luftwaffe Stalag, this is not your Heer command. No one is permitted to disrupt the prisoners here, to incite them to violence. No one is permitted to disrupt my staff."

Otto was looking from the increasingly angry Hendrich to Klink. "Do you know who you are speaking to?"

Klink turned on him, almost grateful to have a target who in fact did not outrank him. "I may remind you, Feldwebel Otto... that I am in fact the Kommandant of this Stalag and that you are in my office."

Hendrich tightened his jaw. "I will ask that you do not reprimand my underling."

"Perhaps you should train your underlings better." Klink was bolstered by his success in not being shot so far. He motioned towards the battered Newkirk who was standing in front of Carter with his mouth open. "Newkirk, take Sergeant Carter back to his barracks." He turned to Helga. "Helga, please go into my office and compose yourself. Tears are so unseemly, my dear."

Newkirk reached behind him to tug Carter along the wall. "Out Carter... bloody move.." he whispered. He raised his voice to speak to Klink. "Yes, herr kommandant." Carter fumbled his way out of the door and Newkirk hesitated briefly himself, looking to Klink for just a second. Outrageously, he felt as if he should stay to protect the man. Instead, he backed through the door and shut it behind himself firmly.

Newkirk tried to hurry but they were only a few dozen steps away when the door banged open. Carter turned to look and his eyes widening gave Newkirk all he needed to know who was coming. He reached out and gave Carter a shove to keep moving. "Barracks... 'urry."

"Halt!" The shouted order made both men stop. "I was not finished with this American." Hendrich stomped up, making both of them edge backwards. "Move out of my way, Englander!"

Newkirk swallowed hard. "No herr Major-General." He reminded himself that he was standing in for Colonel Hogan and the Colonel wouldn't allow anyone to touch one of his men. "Kommandant Klink's orders, I 'ave to take him to the barracks." Carter started to try to step around him and Newkirk elbowed him back. "Kommandant's orders. 'e 'as to go to the barracks." Stepping backwards into Carter, he forced him back two more steps away from Hendrich.

Sergeant Otto started forward and Hendrich put a hand up, stopping him. The office door had reopened again and Hendrich was exchanging a glare with Klink. For a few seconds, it seemed the entire world had gone silent.

Klink flicked his gaze away first, turning his glare onto the two prisoners. "Corporal Newkirk! Did I not make myself clear that you were to take Sergeant Carter to his barracks immediately?"

"Yes, herr kommandant..." Newkirk hazarded two more steps backwards, taking Carter with him by shoving behind him with one hand. "I was taking him right now, sir." He continued moving slowly away from Hendrich. When the Major-General suddenly turned to stalk away angrily, followed by Otto, the Brit finally let out his breath and looked at Klink briefly before twisting around to take Carter by one arm and haul him across the compound. "Bloody git."

Carter was looking at him with wide eyes. "I didn't do anything!"

"I know." replied Newkirk tersely. "Just stay out of the Kraut's way." He flashed a wan smile at his friend. "Well, as much as you can, anyway. He cornered you in the office, didn't he?"

"He did! I swear, Newkirk, I was just sweeping and he came in and I moved right out of his way 'cause you know, I always try to stay out of everyone's way, that's how they don't notice you, you told me that. You said 'Carter, if you're not underfoot and act like you're supposed to be there, folks won't notice you' and boy, you were right, because most of the time no one does." Carter looked up and noticed the look of annoyance building on Newkirk's face and made himself go back to the original topic. "But anyway... when he came in and I got out of his way, he just up and slapped me right in the head and it made me fall right into his goon and then he hit me like it was my fault!"

"Not your fault, Carter. They're just a pair of bully boys. Mean just for the sake of being mean." Newkirk gave one last check of the compound before they entered the barracks. "You stay inside, out of sight. I don't think Hendrich will come into the barracks."

"What do you mean, I'm not scared of him!" Carter seemed indignant.

"That's why you need to stay the bloody 'ell away from 'im. You don't have the good sense God gave a rutabaga." Newkirk took a look at Carter's face. "Go clean that blood off before LeBeau spots you and faints." He looked around as Carter went to the sink to clean up. "Olson?"

"Yeah? What do you need, acting-senior-prisoner-representative Newkirk?" Olson hopped down from his bunk and came over. Despite his teasing, he was concerned over his barracks-mate.

"Leave off, you wanker." Newkirk took his teasing well. "Spread the word around camp, everyone that can stay out of the goons' way, do it." A glance showed him that Carter was still busy in the corner, dabbing at his cut lip with a clean cloth from Kinch's footlocker. "Hendrich is after Carter."

"Carter? Wait, our Carter? You don't mean, Carter-Carter?" Olson puffed up a bit. "Well, he can just go hang. No one is beating up our Carter but us." He frowned. "You know what I mean."

"I know." Newkirk rubbed a hand over his hair nervously. "I've got to go get things done."

"Newkirk, you shouldn't be out there either. Both of you should just drop down in the tunnels and stay there." Olson was uncharacteristically somber.

"Can't. Remember?" Newkirk pulled out his halfpenny to begin walking it over his fingers. "I'm the acting senior prisoner representative, right?" The coin made it way back over the fingers again before flipping up into the air and disappearing. "Besides, 'alf the guys out there are going to start panicking if Hendrich keeps on with 'is nonsense." He raised his voice to call to Carter. "Hey, Carter, get down in the tunnels and let Kinch know what 'appened."

Carter nodded and opened the tunnel entrance. "I'll let LeBeau know too, okay?"

"Right-o." Newkirk watched the false bunk drop closed. "I'm 'eaded to Barracks Seven to pick up the work crew. Those roof repairs can't wait." Waving off Olson's protest, he snorted. "Won't matter if no one is beat up if the snow is coming in through the roof. We'll 'ave the whole bleeding barracks down with pneumonia."

"Yeah well, just try to be careful." Olson slipped out of the door, followed closely by Newkirk who carefully sauntered across the compound. Newkirk's forced charade of careless ease was covering his nervous checks of the camp, watching for Hendrich or his personal guards.

The Brit was well practiced in putting up a front for the Germans or for his fellow prisoners. It had been useful to fool Germans into thinking he wasn't about to attempt a bold escape and equally useful to keep other prisoners from guessing exactly how physically weak Newkirk might be. Early in his time in the camps, he had needed to hide any illness or weakness from starvation to avoid being targeted by bullies and nasty guards. After LeBeau had arrived, it had still taken weeks for the Frenchman to see through his act and realize exactly how sick he was. The suspicious Englishman had still collapsed before accepting any help.

Newkirk dug in his pockets for a cigarette. How exactly had he gone from distrust on all sides to most of the camp insisting he act as the representative in Hogan's absence? He smiled to himself. The answer to that was Hogan.

Now if he could only keep things straight until Hogan was back. He amended that in his mind. Kinch would keep things straight. Newkirk just had to not screw things up until Hogan got back.

End Chapter

I told you it was long! I apologize again but I really didn't feel there was a good place to break it for two chapters.

As always, thank you for reading!