A Deserved Gift

After existing in what felt like a state of perpetual winter for so, so long, the arrival of spring at Stalag 13 was greeted with cheers and relief by the prisoners.

It had been a long, tedious winter cooped up in the barracks, and they all had a lot of energy to release.

Which, naturally, meant that as soon as those first tender blossoms of springtime flora began popping up over the thawed land, the Heroes were ready for mischief.

Well, more or less.

Kinch had refused to participate, citing a book he'd only read twenty times and the radio that needed a little TLC after the harsh winter. Baker too used the radio repairs as his excuse, refusing to be swayed by Newkirk's enthusiastic recruitment speech.

The Guv'nor had looked briefly tempted. But when Newkirk had refused to elaborate as to the particulars, the Colonel's considering grin had transformed into his "already planning twenty contingencies for when this inevitably goes south" frown. And, Newkirk would walk through fire for his Colonel, but he wasn't having that kind of negativity and expectation of him actually thinking things through ruining his fun.

As for LeBeau... Well, his little mate had chased him away with a wooden spoon, muttering choice profanities in French and insulting everything he could think of about Newkirk's beloved homeland. Perhaps he could have waited to recruit the touchy Frenchman until he'd cooled down, but how was Newkirk supposed to know that particular bottle of wine was being saved for a special occasion?

At least Newkirk could always rely on Carter. His partner in crime was always up for a good lark. And the one that Newkirk had barely planned (the obligation to wing it came with his RAF enlistment) was guaranteed to be fun.

So, while he and Carter were ostensibly tucked up all snug and warm like in the Colonel's drafty office - recovering from a pair of nasty migraines - they sneakily snuck out the tunnel and into Hammelburg. They had a rendezvous they couldn't afford to miss.

.

Their underground contact (insisting on remaining nameless in case Papa Bear wanted to hold someone to account) met them on a deserted road on the outskirts of town. The handoff was quick and quiet, a mutual exchange of information and other things, and they were on their merry ways.

Newkirk doffed his hat as their contact pushed a cart down the road, closing his eyes a mo' to breathe in the unique scent of springtime; the scent of pollen and heady floral notes dancing on the breeze.

"You okay, Newkirk?" Carter asked in concern, his frown greeting Newkirk's opening eyes.

"Never better, Andrew," Newkirk agreed brightly, rubbing his hands together.

They had everything they needed. It was time to see the plan through to the end.

.

Sneaking into Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg was a little risky. Okay, it was the kind of suicidal thing Newkirk would have vehemently refused to do if the Colonel volunteered him for it. But needs must as his old mam used to say. And, Hans swore blind that the recipient of their springtime ... gift was in Berlin for the weekend. Hans's intelligence was the best, especially when it came to their squirrelly friends in black. He'd never steered them wrong and Newkirk didn't think he would now. And, thinking like the Guv'nor, Newkirk had called ahead, just to make absolutely sure.

Handing over the perfectly forged papers he'd worked hard on over the last few weeks of winter, Newkirk held his breath. This was the tricky bit and, if it went wrong, it was Carter's skin he was risking too.

But, like the Colonel always told them, he had faith in his abilities and his half thought through plan. And, if worst came to worst, he'd make sure Carter got out before things went belly up.

Beside Newkirk, Carter held his breath, guileless smile beaming in the grim HQ.

With a suspicious glare and a dismissive grunt, Newkirk and Carter were cleared to proceed. A soft rustling followed them on their quick but calm stroll through Gestapo HQ.

Glancing up and down the empty corridor, they entered the office, sharing conspiratorial grins.

"We have to be quick," Newkirk muttered, setting his burden down on the desk. The scent of flowers filled the office, bright and cheerful and completely at odds with the interior.

Carter was already working, arranging his flowers with a pride in his work Newkirk had always envied.

Shaking his head, Newkirk began tossing blooms everywhere; hiding them in desks, between books, behind picture frames, even in between couch cushions.

He only had one shot at this and he'd never dishonor the good name of Peter Newkirk by messing it up.

Carter grinned at him, finished rubbing the pollen rich blooms over every conceivable surface. The sergeant moved past Newkirk, displaying the largest arrangement proudly in the middle of the desk.

The card in the arrangement read, in perfect cursive German: 'For all that you do, you deserve this'.

Newkirk paused by the door, ushering Carter out before him. His critical, theatrical eye made sure everything looked just right. He doffed his cap again, breathing in the floral scent. Then, he turned and walked out, leaving spring's present to do what it did best.

.

That Wednesday, a familiar black car pulled through the gates of the Stalag. Hochstetter, even less pleasant than usual, came bursting out. He strode into the Kommandantur, yelling for all the stalag to hear.

Newkirk, helpfully cleaning the office, was greeted with the sight of Hochstetter; his eyes red and streaming, nose bright and stuffy. He sneezed violently, beady eyes glaring daggers at the springtime arrangement on Hilda's desk.

Summarily dismissed by the major, Newkirk strolled back to the hut, whistling a jaunty tune.

Spring flowers; a gift that kept on giving.