There's another reference to "Hidden Depths" in here; namely to the chapter "Devoted Grandson," which is in turn an allusion to M. Vernet's "The Dig." How's that for meta writing?

Newkirk opened his eyes with a slight sigh.

Carter was whimpering in his sleep again.

Wilson was being careful about how much morphine he gave him (because the last thing they wanted was for him to become an addict), and the slight lessening of the drug appeared to bring an increase in nightmares.

Just like during the others, Carter began muttering the same thing in Lakota-ese, over and over.

He could guess what it was: probably I have nothing to say to you.

Newkirk sat up slowly, and peered around.

Everyone else seemed to be deeply asleep; either that, or they were very good at acting.

He hoped it was the latter, for the sake of what he was about to do.

Climbing out of bed, the Brit got to the floor, and pulled up a chair next to Carter's bunk. Then, slowly, he began running his fingers through the younger man's hair, accompanying the action with a song.

He hadn't been able to remember the exact tune of the lullaby that Carter's grandpa used to sing to him, and didn't think he would've been able to pronounce the original lyrics properly if he'd tried. So he'd had to change the lyrics into his own (literally) Anglicized version, and just follow the tune as best he could:

Run, little deer,

Don't be a hunter's stew.

Hide, little deer,

So Foxy can't see you.

Fly, little deer,

And see the eagle's view.

Eat, little deer.

Eat more than rabbits do.

It was a little silly, and he found himself cringing at some of the rhymes, but it worked. Carter settled down, and his breathing evened out into a more peaceful sleep. With a relieved smile, Newkirk patted his head, then put the chair back in place and climbed up into his own bunk.

He really, really hoped nobody knew about him doing this; he'd probably never live it down.

At least if they did, nobody had said anything yet.

"No no no no NO!" Carter screamed, waving his hands back and forth frantically. "Not that one! Use the black wire!"

"Carter," said Newkirk, looking back at him and speaking through extremely gritted teeth, "you realize that you nearly gave me an 'eart attack just now?"

Carter shrugged awkwardly, wincing as it jostled his ribs.

"Sorry. Just don't want you, you know."

"Blowing everyone up?"

He nodded.

Breathing out through his nose, Newkirk turned back to the bomb he was assembling under Carter's supervision.

It was maddening to Carter that he was still not capable of using his fingers the way he wanted to. They still had to be in splints, making his daily chores all the more difficult even if he hadn't been wearing gloves anytime he wasn't in the barracks, and Fischer was substituting for him as much as they could get away with. It also meant, however, that he couldn't make the bombs himself-instead he had to teach Newkirk how to do it.

This first lesson was proving to be difficult indeed.

"Okay, now add a little more powdered aluminum-not too much, please, yeah, that's good-maybe just a drop more of ammonium-no, not that one, the one next to it-okay, and begin closing it up. Okay, good. To set it you wind the clock-"

"I think I know how to do that part," Newkirk said drily.

Carter looked sheepish again. "Right, sorry."

Newkirk held out the completed bomb. "Live up to your standards, inspector?"

Carter examined it critically, running his left pointer finger over the side...and then finally gave it his smile of approval.

"Good job, boy."

A throat cleared behind them.

It turned out to be Heidegger, who was standing with his hands clasped behind him.

"Sergeant Carter?" he asked.

Carter nodded, looking a little uncertain (as opposed to Newkirk, who looked a little bit murderous).

"I have something for you."

Without further ado, Heidegger reached into his pocket and produced...a medal.

Not just any medal-an Iron Cross.

"This was once mine, but-" he took on Carter's habit of anthropomorphizing inanimate objects- "I think it wants to belong to you now."

"M-me?" Carter squeaked.

Heidegger nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up a little. "For extreme bravery and valor." And he handed it to Carter, who took it eagerly.

It wasn't exactly an apology for leaving him behind, but it was enough to make Newkirk stop glaring like an English bulldog.

Using his left hand and the edges of his right fingers, Carter undid the pin, pinned it onto the inside of his coat (because it might be a little awkward to explain to Schultz), and redid the clasp.

"Wow, thanks. I've never gotten a German medal before. I hope the colonel won't mind."

Newkirk patted his shoulder. "Trust me, he won't."

About two weeks after the incident, Kinch came up the ladder into the barracks wearing an unusually devious grin.

"Got news about Hochstetter," he said.

Instantly he was surrounded by curious faces.

"They haven't killed him. Or sent him to Russia."

Several people looked disappointed.

"However, he apparently has a lot to answer for, considering that he claimed he was taking Carter to Berlin for further questioning, then appeared to somehow lose him on the way and can't give a satisfactory answer for it."

People were now wearing expressions of undisguised glee.

"Of course, he does have General Burkhalter vouching for him, because they were driving here at the same time as Hochstetter was allegedly retrieving Carter-"

Disappointment again.

"-but he's been given orders to stay away from Stalag 13 for a while due to his unhealthy obsession with it interfering with his duties."

Glee again.

It wasn't a perfect ending-they'd have to deal with Hochstetter again on some other day-and he'd probably be chomping at the bit to prove his claims once and for all.

But it was a start.

I thought about ending this with them having a toast to Carter for indirectly getting rid of Hochstetter for a while, but decided against it for a few reasons.

1. There was a chance it was kind of cheesy.

2. I didn't want to overdo their good opinions of Carter and turn him into a Scrappy (look it up on TV Tropes if you don't understand the phrase).

3. It seemed kind of morbid, considering that it would be kind of celebrating his getting tortured.

So I hope that you like what I have as the ending instead, even if it is kind of abrupt.

Thank you to all those loyal reviewers who patiently bore with me through this little tale, and also left me plenty of excited, encouraging reviews.