Well, I think you've all been on the edge of your seats for long enough. This chapter is more than twice as long as my usual chapters. Sorry about that. I did up the rating to *T*, thank you for the reminder Abracadabra. I intended to do it before and forgot.

My usual profuse thanks to my beta TinySprite who is absolutely brilliant and has already assisted with the next fic! (which won't involve any torture of Newkirk... unless you count having to eat French cooking...) and to Bits and Pieces for the continual support and encouragement. Also to the Twitter crew who give me feedback and encouragement.

A huge thank you to all of you guys who review and send me feedback. I appreciate all of it. Also, I'm pleased that Burkhalter is proving so popular.

Chapter 11

Newkirk knelt in the middle of the room and tried rather desperately to stop shaking. It seemed like he was surrounded by a horde of Nazis and he'd counted heads. It wasn't a horde. It was four officers. Well, his eyes flicked up to check Otto and Jager standing to one side smiling and nodding at the major's jokes. Four officers, two enlisted... his eyes searched for and found the extras... and three unknown qualities. Those were enlisted guards as well. But that was nine Nazis and one lone POW in a room that was entirely too small to have this many Germans in it with him.

A loud laugh made him twitch sideways but he righted himself before he leaned too far. Otto took it quite amiss if he wasn't in proper position. As far as Newkirk was able to ascertain, Otto was the one in charge of making sure the prisoner behaved. Otto was a sadistic bastard and if the bugger accidentally fell out of the window, Newkirk wouldn't shed a tear.

One of the colonels was looking at him again, this time smiling. Several of the Germans had lost items of clothing already. They were quite casual about it. That told Newkirk they were used to this sort of scenario. If anyone had ever tried to bet Newkirk that he'd wish for a German to beat him, he would have laughed at taking a fool's money so easily. But right now, he'd greatly prefer for the officers to hit him than what they'd planned. He blinked a trickle of blood out of his eye suddenly. Not that they hadn't practiced a bit of the hitting stuff earlier as well.

He worked the lockpick to between his teeth and held it there carefully. At this point, he'd rather have it hidden in between his fingers where it would be ready to use if he decided he needed the manacles off in a rush.

Newkirk tried very hard to steel himself, to put on a brave front and think his way out of this. He was certain that if Colonel Hogan was in this predicament... he derailed that train of thought. Hogan was too smart to be put into this predicament in the first place. But if Hogan ended up here, he certainly wouldn't be shaking and struggling not to hyperventilate and pass out on the floor.

One of the German Colonels stepped past him, reaching to put one hand on his head and stroke his hair. Newkirk froze in place until the fingers left him. Only then could he start breathing again. Colonel Hogan wouldn't be panicking this way. But Colonel Hogan wasn't a poor Cockney natural-born coward who was in way over his head. His breath hitched slightly as he tried to slow the hyperventilating that threatened to make him faint.

Hendrich had a little smug smile on his face and Newkirk paled each time he turned that gaze on him. Hendrich had enjoyed his prisoner's terror for the past days. He'd enjoyed abusing him and offering the false hope and mental torment of making him choose between this end result or the same situation for one or more of his mates. The thing Hendrich had never realized was that every time he reinforced that Newkirk was choosing the torture over betraying his friends, he made it a tiny bit easier for the POW to endure it all. Newkirk was the sole representative of England in the core group of Hogan's operation. It should have made him the outlier and less included. But Hogan's group was different. Newkirk was one of the brothers in arms and he would happily die protecting his mates.

A soft laugh brought his attention to the major who was chatting with Jager in heavily accented German. "He is a pretty one, much better than the last."

Okay, maybe he wouldn't happily die... Newkirk closed his eyes and shuddered as someone put a hand on his back. Where the hell was Colonel Hogan with a last minute rescue or scheme? Where was the Underground, bursting in with drawn guns and masks? Newkirk would take 'concerned German citizens' if they wanted to come stop the depravity about to occur in here. He'd accept help from any source at all, as long as it stopped the events proceeding in here.

The hand slipped up to grip the short hair on top of his head. His face was tilted up as Hendrich sauntered up to him. He heard himself whimper and loathed himself for that verbal weakness.

Hendrich smiled at that whimper and reached for him. He was taking his time, enjoying the visuals of his victim shaking in fear before him. "Now, Englander..."

There was a loud crack as the door crashed inward, flinging open to admit two burly German sergeants who came in shouting for everyone to stop and freeze in place. Newkirk's lips moved silently as he repeated that desire for any help at all from any source even if it were Satan himself from the depths of hell as long as it got him out of this room.

The pudgey form of an irate General Burkhalter stomped into the room and Newkirk stared for a few seconds. Ridiculously, inside his head he was thinking that perhaps the "any help at all" was stretching things a bit. The grip in his hair tightened and he immediately apologized to the fates with a addition that at least it wasn't Hochstetter. The entire room was silent as the guilty parties struggled to think of an excuse and the armed guards waited for orders.

"Cor blimey, General Burkhalter, tell me you ain't 'ere to join the party!" Approximately one half of a second after uttering that, Newkirk wished his mouth had stayed shut. But there it was, his Cockney impulsive self blurting out something exceptionally stupid at the earliest opportunity.

"What is going on here!?" The general barely glanced at the prisoner, but was taking in each of the officers. His gaze grew more angry as he noticed several in various states of undress. Newkirk could see the general's expression turn from anger to outright fury as he realized exactly what was happening in here. Burkhalter strode up to Hendrich. "Major-General Hendrich, I presume? I ,of course, must assume considering your lack of decent attire."

Hendrich scrambled to tug his pants back into place and grabbed his jacket to dress. "Herr General, I uhh... I had no idea you were in the area." He cleared his throat, so obviously trying to think of a way out of the situation that Newkirk had to suppress the insane desire to laugh. "I can explain, of course."

Burkhalter's face went a shade darker as he shouted. "No! You cannot explain. I was already informed that you removed a POW from one of my Luftwaffe stalags. I was then informed that you had no authorization to be in one of my Luftwaffe stalags. Then when I arrived here I was informed of your conduct unbecoming a German officer and when I entered these quarters I find you engaging in deviant behavior with a prisoner! There is no explanation." Burkhalter turned slowly, looking about the room at each inhabitant carefully. "The only question is how many of you are going to suddenly volunteer to be demoted in rank and sent to the Russian Front."

Newkirk hazarded a soft pleading whine of pain to get Burkhalter to realize he was still in the room. It worked perfectly as the general whipped around and pointed at his captor. "Take your hands off that prisoner of war! He is now in my custody!" The hands turned loose and Newkirk twisted to peer fearfully over his shoulder at a completely unsettled Otto. His twist was a ruse to allow him to spit his lockpick to within inches of his fingers. With everyone's attention on the two high ranking officers in the room, he could be prepared in case he needed out of the middle of a firefight. In an instant he had it secured and was working at one of the heavy manacles, unseen by everyone.

Hendrich was trying to rally himself. "Herr General, I can assure you that there is no need to send anyone to the Russian Front. I think you'll find that I have many friends..."

"Your friends can join you there. As privates!" Burkhalter had a formidable bark when he chose to use it in a serious manner. At Burkhalter's gesture, the two guards stepped forward to manhandle the other three officers and their own enlisted guards to one side of the room. Hendrich began to protest and Burkhalter swung to shout at him again. "Quiet! One more word and you'll be sent to a camp yourself as an undesirable." Burkhalter turned back to the thoroughly cowed officers. "All of you will be demoted to enlisted status and assigned to combat units on the Russian Front immediately. You will count yourselves lucky that I did not inter you in a camp where you belong."

Newkirk had unlocked one of the cuffs although it was still closed about his wrist loosely. Still kneeling in the center of the floor, he was in the perfect position to notice that the two guards were searching the other officers with a thin aide watching the enlisted guards including Jager next to them. Burkhalter's two personal guards were just behind their general when Hendrich made his desperate move. Hendrich raised his knife high as he jumped at the general.

"General! Look out!" Newkirk reacted to Hendrich's lunge towards Burkhalter's unprotected back. The Britishman levered himself up off the floor and swung the loose manacle on its chain at Hendrich's extended arm. The noise of bones breaking was almost covered by the shrill scream of pain from the Major-General as he dropped the knife on the carpet to clutch at his injury. Newkirk took the opportunity to swing the loose manacle into Hendrich's face next. Hendrich blocked it mostly and Newkirk tried to line up a better swing.

The enraged shout from behind Newkirk was his only warning as Otto rushed him. "English dog! How dare you attack your masters!" Otto's burly form came in fast, intending to put down the annoying prisoner once and for all.

Newkirk didn't hesitate as he swung a right hook into the center of Otto's face, putting the big sergeant on the floor in a dazed state. He felt a crazy thrill that he would finally be able to deal some payback to the vicious Otto. Then the POW went down under Burkhalter's two personal guards as they mobbed him. He chose the better part of valor quickly curling up into a ball on the carpet and screaming "Kamerad!" repeatedly. It wasn't so much that he really thought anyone in that room would honor the surrender as much as an automatic reaction after so many years in the stalag.

Burkhalter's voice put a halt to everything. "STOP! Everyone stop this madness at ONCE." Everyone complied, right down to Newkirk shutting up on the floor. "Guards, secure those two aggressors. Take your hands off that prisoner. Apparently he was the only one in here who could prevent an attack on me!" The rebuke did not sit well with either of his guards and both managed a last jerk to Newkirk's limbs as they turned their attentions to Hendrich and Otto instead. Burkhalter indicated them with a shaking finger. "Take them both downstairs to the courtyard and shoot them."

Hendrich protested as he cradled his arm. "You cannot DO that!"

"Attempted murder of a Luftwaffe General? Yes, I can." Burkhalter's voice was ruthless. "Take them away." One of his personal guard and his aide were joined by another trooper in taking Hendrich and Otto out of the room, their protests falling on deaf ears as they were half dragged out. Burkhalter's remaining guard stood next to him as he turned his attention back to the remaining officers and enlisted. "Now are there any more suicidal Germans in the room?" All of them assured him of their intentions to comply with whatever punishments he thought best. "I thought not. Take them downstairs and secure them in the basement until I have someone come take custody of them. They will be stripped of their ranks and taken to the first train to the Russian Front." He leaned in to snarl at them. "Unless any of you wish to protest my decision?" The sound of a pair of rifle shots in the outside courtyard suddenly seemed very loud.

One of the colonels swallowed hard. "Nein, herr general, you are more than fair, herr general!"

"I thought you might see things my way." General Burkhalter watched them being taken away before he turned his attention to the POW who had managed to get back to his feet warily. Burkhalter's last guard stood next to him. "Now, as to you..."

Newkirk straightened up and tried to steady his voice. "Newkirk, Peter, Royal Air Force, serial number..."

"I don't need your serial number!" Burkhalter cut him off. "Any other time I would simply have you shot to clean up loose ends." Newkirk felt the blood drain from his face. Maybe Hochstetter would show up to help him now? His inner pleas seemed to help not at all. Burkhalter continued, not being privy to the inner thoughts of his prisoner. "But I suppose these are special circumstances." He frowned. "After all, Corporal Newkirk, you did save my life."

Newkirk nodded vigorously. "Yes, herr general, I saved... I..." His face went even more pale. "Please don't tell Colonel Hogan! I 'ave a reputation to keep, you know?" Then suddenly.. "Oh Cor BLIMEY! I saved a bloody Kraut GENERAL! I could be court-martialed and shot for this!"

Burkhalter humphed. "I could take care of the shooting part right now, if you'd like to save time, Corporal."

"Sorry herr general." Newkirk lowered his eyes, suddenly reminded again that although he wasn't in the hands of Hendrich any longer, Burkhalter was no cuddly teddy bear himself. His threat was not an idle one.

Burkhalter suddenly chuckled. "Well, I won't court-martial you. I don't think that you have to worry overly much about your own military court-martialing you unless the Third Reich falls. You are still a POW here in Germany." He stopped chuckling. "But I do have to figure out what to do with you. I suppose there is a labor camp not too far away."

Newkirk swallowed nervously. "Well, maybe you think that's a fitting way to treat the bloke what just saved your life, herr general, but meself, I think I'd do a little better for him."

"You're right. I really should send you back to Klink." Burkhalter grunted in irritation at the thought of the kommandant. "It would be less paperwork all around if you just went back there." He hummed. "I don't have enough extra personnel to spare a guard and it would be overkill to assign an entire vehicle to drive you all the way back to Stalag 13 however."

"Well, if you turn me loose, I'll just make me own way there." Newkirk shut up quickly at the glares. "Oi, I'm sure that the very generous General Burkhalter will decide on something very fair, indeed, most generous herr general, sir."

"Hmmph." Burkhalter finally snorted. "I'm certain that I will." His eyes went to the dangling cuff suddenly. "How did you escape your chains?"

Newkirk looked at the manacle himself like a guilty child. "Oh... it... it wasn't fastened properly, herr general. They..." Sudden inspiration hit him and he ducked his head down. "They knew the ruddy things didn't latch properly, herr general. If I jostled them and they fell open..." He took a ragged breath in and let his body shake as it wanted to. "Well, then they could punish me for trying to escape, even if I weren't." Praying the fiddling he'd done already was enough to open the second lock, he shook the cuff and reached to tug it and thankfully it clanked open. He held the chains out to Burkhalter. "See?" Now he was hoping that he'd done as good of a snowjob on the general as Hogan could have.

Burkhalter looked down at the offered manacles for several seconds. Then back up at the bruised face. "I see. Very cruel." Newkirk prayed he wouldn't actually examine the lock on the second cuff as it still had his lockpick jammed inside it. After a moment, Burkhalter turned away and Newkirk took the chance to palm the bit of metal again. When he bent to cough into his fist, he slipped it back into his mouth.

Burkhalter had turned back abruptly at the cough and looked at his prisoner for a long moment again. He gestured to the guard. "Take the prisoner downstairs and take care of him." Burkhalter turned away.

Newkirk raised his voice a bit frantically as the guard snatched him up by one arm. "Herr General! Would you please care to indulge a poor enlisted enemy and clarify your orders just a wee bit, sir?"

Burkhalter turned back to glare at him, only then noting the tight grip of his corporal. "Take good care of the prisoner, I expect to see him clean and in fresh clothes in my personal rooms this evening. Understood?"

Relaxing the bruising grip, the guard eyed Newkirk for a second. "Jawohl, General Burkhalter, of course." He gave a light tug to the arm. "Come, Englander."

"Danke, herr general." Newkirk felt as if he might be able to breathe sometime soon. His escort took the bundle of uniform parts that he wasn't wearing and tucked it under his arm as he pulled the protesting Newkirk out of the room.

"Let me get dressed at least?" Newkirk was shaken like a disobedient child and the glare he got looked like it would be his only warning to comply. Shirtless, he stumbled along with the German through hallways and down a set of stairs that he was certain would finish his poor bruised knees off completely.

By the time they were in a small concrete room, his innate sense of direction had failed entirely. He couldn't have found his way out with a map and compass. All he wanted was to collapse and rest but his guard was steadfastly determined to carry out his orders, no matter how distasteful. They found one of the hotel employees down in the room already, the older man ironing clothing in the hotel laundry. A few words of German exchanged showed Newkirk, who still feigned complete ignorance of the language, that his guard was angry that he'd been relegated to washing and outfitting the 'stupid Englishman' instead of remaining behind to guard the general and possibly be noticed for all his forthright dutiful self.

Newkirk let his eyes close as the guard complained to the sympathetic staff. His uniform was dumped into the pile of dirty laundry with the man assuring them it would be done quickly. The Brit's eyes flicked open when he was shaken again, the guard obviously repeating orders to strip.

"Wot?" Newkirk's eyes widened for just a bare second before he realized he wasn't supposed to know what the guard was saying. Cringing away, he pretended to simply be scared of the angry words instead of the fear from the orders to remove his remaining clothing. The guard became more annoyed with him and pantomimed taking off the clothing. When it was obvious he would forcibly strip his prisoner, Newkirk began to comply slowly, keeping as far as possible from the German.

To cover his fear, he began to talk to the guard even though it was evident he knew extremely little English. "I 'ope you 'aven't got the same designs as the ones what are upstairs... " The guard yanked the pants and shorts out of his hands to toss onto the laundry pile and Newkirk protested. " 'ere, now them's me only clothes so don't... well fine, but I really don't fancy waiting about in me altogether while Gramps there does the laundry. It's bloody cold down 'ere." Naked, he shivered and hugged his bruised body and warily kept an eye on the German corporal.

After a last few complaints about the filthy state of the prisoner, which Newkirk longed to bristle over, it wasn't HIS fault that he hadn't been given so much as a basin of water to clean up in days... he was herded down the long dank room towards the far end. His annoyance quickly turned again to nervous fear but when they reached the back of the room, he found a simple shower. Apparently he was finally going to be able to take a bath.

He was partially wrong. He got bathed, by the coldly efficient German who from all appearances didn't think Newkirk could tie his own shoes much less clean himself. Despite his protests, the guard scrubbed him down like a dog, letting him rinse in the cold water once he was done. Every one of the few open wounds was grumbled over and scrubbed all over again, forcing stinging harsh soap into each. Even though he yelped and cursed over it, Newkirk himself would have done the same in hopes of preventing them from becoming infected. He had no grumpy Medic Wilson to see to his ills right now and that meant falling back on the simplest of care. Keep as clean as possible and keep any cut or scrape twice as clean as that.

Finally cleaned to the guard's satisfaction, he was handed a threadbare cloth to dry with and half-dragged back along the concrete to the laundry area where a fairly long conversation laced with more complaints about everything from the general's orders, the sergeant's lack of advancement in rank, the amount of dirty clothing from upstairs, and the general state of the war covered up the minor request for something to cover up the disreputable shivering prisoner.

Finally a pair of loose underwear were handed over and Newkirk slipped them on before his guard decided he needed to be dressed like a toddler as well. Waiting, he raised a protest when he was taken by an arm to leave. "Wait... I can't bloody well go walking around in just me skivvies!" His repeated protests annoyed the guard and Newkirk fell back on his abilities to use a few words of common German by repeating 'frauliens' and pointing up towards the upper levels of the hotel, indicating his lack of dress.

"Nein! Raus, Englander!" Complaining over his shoulder to the older man, his guard took him by one bruised arm and forced him up the stairs. Apparently battered POWs weren't going to embarrass anyone even if they were nearly naked. Newkirk huddled in on himself as they moved through the hotel, just hoping they didn't meet anyone on the walk that his guard wanted to chat with.

The long walk became blurry. The guard seemed to be using a back way that didn't cross into the public lobby, which Newkirk was grateful for. He didn't care how tired and beaten he was, he certainly did not want to be paraded through a crowd in just his shorts. They did keep going up stairs and he really could do without any more climbing. All of the adrenalin in his body was draining away and leaving him feeling wrung out and exhausted. Entering one of the upper floor rooms, he was pushed to a corner of the sitting room and the guard indicated the floor by pointing and shouting that he was to stay there and if he didn't do as he was told, he'd add to his collection of bruises. Newkirk was pleased to comply, the thick rugs on the floor were padding enough for his knees. At this point, being able to sit in a room with only one Kraut seemed like a safe haven, even if his guard was disgruntled about the whole thing.

The room was cold and despite his exhaustion, Newkirk was shivering. True to his nature, despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, despite his guard being antagonistic towards him, Newkirk decided to at least try to make friends with the single guard. "Oi! Hey... you, grumpy!"

The guard frowned at him. "Nein! Quiet Englander!"

"Hey! Come on, at least tell me your name." Newkirk pointed at himself. "Newkirk." He pointed at the guard and deliberately mispronounced the German word. "Nommen."

"Nein!" His guard seemed uninterested in being friendly.

Newkirk was nothing if not stubborn though. "Come on. What's it 'urt to at least be able to call you something other than 'ey you'? Nommen?" He waited while the guard looked at the far wall in a bored fashion. "If you don't give me a name, I'm going to name you meself." Newkirk waited again for a moment. "Okay then. You're going to be..." He hummed to himself while thinking. "Let's go with Herman." He pointed firmly to himself. "Newkirk." He pointed at the guard. "Herman."

"Nein." The newly named Herman frowned at him.

Newkirk pressed his lips together and then frowned right back. "Ja. Newkirk. Herman."

Herman finally had enough of his mouthy prisoner and stomped over to grab him by the hair on top of his head. "Nein!" He pointed at Newkirk. "Englander!" He pointed at himself . "Heer Unteroffizier."

"Ow! Ow! Okay! Okay!" Newkirk held up both hands carefully. He was shaken anyway and he moaned softly as his head began to swim. "Okay! Englander! Englander!"

"Heer Unteroffizier!" Herman wasn't about to let up until he was satisfied.

"Here Under-officer!" slurred Newkirk. He was released to scoot backwards into his corner. Reaching up, he rubbed his newest sore spot and glared at Herman. The guard looked as if he were contemplating Newkirk's bruises for the best one to hit and the prisoner cringed backwards, huddling in on himself and trying to look as beaten and pitiful as possible.

It wasn't that much of a stretch of his acting abilities at the moment.

Evidently his fear satisfied Herman who returned to the door to go back to staring grumpily at the wall. Newkirk swallowed hard and tried to shift his kneeling position to ease the weight on his knees as best he could. Aches and pains and exhaustion were easy to bear if he reminded himself what his situation had been only an hour ago. Burkhalter had ordered 'good care' and that was far better than anything Hendrich had promised.

End Chapter.

Rescued! Finally. Many thanks to all of you for reading.