Peter Newkirk – of the Royal Air Force, not the British Expeditionary Force, thank you very much – had never had what one would call a good or easy life. To begin with, he had a terrible relationship with his father. The old man often beat him for the slightest infraction. Whenever he was there, of course. It wasn't unusual for his father to periodically disappear for months at a time before showing up again. Then there was the fact his family had always been dirt poor, which came with its own issues. Newkirk had been hassled more times than he could shake a stick at over the raggedy clothes he wore. In turn, he had quickly learned that the best way to make bullies leave him alone was to fight them. Fighting and stealing, although enjoyable, had landed him behind bars so often the guards knew him by name.

Upon being released for the umpteenth time, Newkirk had decided to try and make a go of earning an honest living. He felt certain it couldn't be any worse than being a jailbird. With Mavis getting older, he was well aware it was his job as her big brother to set a good example, just as his own older brother had attempted to do for him. Newkirk wound up traveling with a circus and learned a variety of skills. Eventually, he became a somewhat famous magician, performing in such places as the Palladium Theater. His goal to be seen for who he was rather than his background had finally been achieved…until he was drafted into the military.

There, Newkirk encountered classist gits who only saw a poor lad from the East End of London. It infuriated him to no end. The treatment he received led to Newkirk despising anyone who was an officer on principle. No matter what nationality they were or what rank they wore, they were all the same – a bunch of pompous know-it-alls. Heaven forbid they listen to an enlisted man who had (quite happily, mind you) pointed out the flaws in their logic. 'If you weren't an officer, you were a clueless idiot' had appeared to be the RAF's motto. It'd taken everything Newkirk had to keep from being outright insubordinate with the snootier ones. Self-control had never been his strong suit. He hadn't asked for this war, nor ever had a desire to be in the military. Newkirk had figured since England wanted him to serve, people around him could bloody well deal with his snark.

He wasn't stupid. Newkirk had been fully aware the RAF needed him more than he needed them, so he knew they wouldn't transfer him to another branch. What else were they going to do, kick him out? That was fine…Newkirk hadn't wanted to be there anyway. Throw him in jail? He'd been a regular there at one point; he already knew how to game the system in his favor. The prospect of being behind bars again hadn't concerned him in the slightest. Kill him? Well, Newkirk couldn't say he was thrilled about the idea of death, but he'd assumed he'd probably be killed at some point during the war anyhow. From his point of view, it was better to go out on his terms with a smart remark than be taken by surprise.

After being captured as a prisoner of war and placed at Stalag 13, Newkirk's situation got a tiny bit better. Having only enlisted men around helped get rid of the bulk of his problems. But now he had a new set in their place. Namely, awful food and the ungodly hour of the morning that the first roll call was set at. Newkirk was fully convinced the Jerries in Berlin timed these roll calls solely to create more misery for the POWs. He was of the opinion that if they would let the men sleep in, there would be less escape attempts. Being rousted up at the crack of dawn and forced to stand in the cold until everyone was counted tended to fuel that desire.

Then came the day an American colonel by the name of Robert Hogan arrived. Why an officer was being housed at a camp for enlisted men was beyond Newkirk, but he didn't like it. His mood had took a sharp downward turn at that point. If Hogan made any demands of him, Newkirk had already decided he'd tell the man in no uncertain terms where to go. He was already a POW, one who wasn't staying in the military once the war ended anyhow. Newkirk had felt he had nothing left to lose. He'd been certain this Yank would be no different from all the arrogant and condescending other officers that had come before him.

But that hadn't been the case. If Newkirk lived to be a hundred years old, he would never forget the way Hogan had personally introduced himself to every prisoner at Stalag 13, from private to sergeant. Following the normal exchange of salutes, each man had received a firm handshake accompanied by eye contact and a warm smile. Newkirk mentally admitted he'd been thrown for a loop when it'd been his turn. Hogan hadn't seemed to care he was Cockney, or that he liked to fight for various reasons. The Yank had actually appeared to be intrigued by him! Him, the poor scrapper from the East End of London. That had boggled Newkirk's mind.

It had immediately become obvious Hogan wasn't like any officer Newkirk had ever encountered. Oh sure, Hogan had his own private quarters, but he'd quickly made it clear his men were welcome to approach him at any time, no matter if they had a question or just needed to talk. He ate with them, joked with them…even spent a good chunk of time out in the common area to socialize with everyone. Hogan had clearly never gotten the handbook regarding rules about fraternization, nor expected behavior from an officer. Had no concept of personal space either; Hogan constantly had his hands on someone or rested an arm on them. Usually, that someone was Newkirk. It was a shocking, yet pleasant, change.

Several lingering touches and a visit to Hogan's quarters a week later, Newkirk had felt rather confused. Hogan – who'd apparently done some digging into his past – had made what Newkirk had been was certain was a joke offer. What man in their right mind decided to run a sabotage and escape operation out of a POW camp? Nobody, that's who. The key words there had, of course, been 'in their right mind'. Newkirk had felt Hogan was madder than a March hare for even proposing the idea. Having his criminal past be seen as an asset had been intriguing, though. Newkirk had ended up saying yes in the end.

Hogan had eventually recruited three other men to join what would become known as the Unsung Heroes. Newkirk had to admit Hogan was rather eccentric. The man might have been mad, but he was also brilliant. He had – and continued to – lead the team on seemingly impossible missions that always worked out. Newkirk didn't understand how Hogan did it, although he admired his CO nonetheless. They were a ragtag crew, but Newkirk was proud to be a part of the group. These men were his brothers. No matter how much Newkirk complained, he would have their backs until he took his last breath.

~~HH~~

"Earth to Newkirk!"

"Eh, what?" Newkirk shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. "Yah say somethin', Kinch?"

"I didn't, but Colonel Hogan did," Kinch told him. "You might want to pay attention."

"Oh, it's fine. I'm only planning the next part of a mission that involves all of our lives being at stake," Hogan deadpanned. "Nothing serious or anything."

Newkirk smirked. "Just a normal day for us, eh?"

"Exactly," Hogan chuckled. His tone shifted to one of concern. "It's not like you to tune me out unless it's something you don't wanna hear, though. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Newkirk answered, a small smile crossing his face. "Just thinkin' about…birds. Yah know 'ow it is."

"Uh-huh," Hogan said skeptically. He raised an eyebrow at the lame excuse, but decided not to press the subject. "Well, I need your head in the game, so do that on your own time."

"Right-o, Guv'nor," Newkirk cheerfully replied. "No daydreamin' about birds until later on. Got it. What's the latest madness then?"

"For one thing, I'm gonna need someone to go out as a woman tonight. Gotta get Hochstetter's attention somehow." Hogan clapped his corporal on the shoulder. "And who better than the one man here who looks good in basic black?"

"Yah want me ta flirt with Hochstetter?!"

"Thank you for volunteering, Newkirk," Hogan said brightly. His usual pleased smile crossed his face. "Knew I could count on you."

"You've finally gone 'round the bend if yah think I'm goin' anywhere near that loony Jerry ," Newkirk announced. "What you're suggestin'…that's a war crime, that is. Has ta be somethin' against it in the ruddy Geneva Convention somewhere. And if there ain't, there should be!"

"You know, Colonel, I'm inclined to agree with Newkirk on this one," Kinch said slowly. "I could maybe understand your run-of-the-mill kraut; some of 'em look pretty feminine if you squint hard enough. But Hochstetter doesn't."

Hogan put a fist on his hip. "Do either of you have a better way to seduce him?"

"Barmy. Absolutely, positively barmy," Newkirk breathed. "With all due respect, Guv, I ain't doin' it. No."

"Be reasonable, Newkirk."

"No."

"We need you to do this."

"No."

"Look, it won't be that difficult."

"Let me introduce yah ta me good friend no," Newkirk said stubbornly. "If this'll be so bloody easy, why don't yah do it then?"

"Because I'm the first person Hochstetter's gonna look for as soon as the chaos starts," Hogan patiently explained. He was used to the Englishman's objections by now and took them in stride. If Newkirk hadn't objected, Hogan would have known he was sick. "You know he's obsessed with me."

"It's kind of creepy, to be honest," Kinch mused. "Hochstetter's like your own personal stalker."

"Newkirk, I promise you won't have to do anything like kiss him. I just want you to wear something nice while you bat your eyelashes and be mysterious. You know, like Mayra does." Hogan shuddered at the very thought of the White Russian. "I'd send LeBeau, but he doesn't have the temperament to pull off this job without blowing it. I'd rather not end my day in front of a firing squad if that's alright with you."

Newkirk let out an resigned sigh. "Don't s'ppose I 'ave a choice, now do I?"

"I can make it an order if that'd help," Hogan offered with a cheeky grin.

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll do it on me own," Newkirk grumbled. Under his breath, he added, "Bleedin' officers."

Hogan clapped his corporal on the shoulder twice. "Glad to hear it, old bean."

"Very funny, sir." Newkirk's smile belayed his words, however. "At least yore accent's decent enough."

"Funny? You wound me, Newkirk," Hogan said, his tone dripping with faux hurt. "I always thought I was hilarious."

"The only thing hilarious about yah is yore inability ta not snog every bird that visits us," Newkirk quipped. "I'm still waitin' for yah ta try and chat up Frau Linkmeyer. Take 'er on a nice stroll, maybe behind the delousing station to show 'er a nice time. Not like ol' Klink would stop yah. Come ta think of it, 'e'd probably give yah extra rations as a reward."

"To quote what you once told me, Colonel: write to your congressman," Kinch added, drawing a small chuckle from both Newkirk and Hogan.

"You two are a pair of comedians today," Hogan commented, shaking his head in amusement. "Okay, enough horsing around. Time to get down to business. Newkirk, watch the door while I talk to Kinch about his part in this plan."

"I remember me first door," Newkirk began. "She was the love of me life, she was."

"Dammit, I shouldn't have said that," Hogan grumbled. "I really, really shouldn't have."

"Oi, she was a right beauty too."

"Here we go again," Kinch muttered to his commanding officer. "You set him off, Colonel."

"Don't I know it," Hogan sighed. "Sometimes I talk too much."

"The prettiest bit of mahogany I've ever seen in me life," Newkirk added. "She had lovely streaks of redwood running through 'er, like 'ighlights in a bird's 'air."

Sometimes, Hogan felt like a tired father trying to wrangle a bunch of children. LeBeau just wanted to kill every Nazi he stumbled across without asking any questions. Newkirk wasn't happy unless he was committing some kind of violence. Carter was a loveable, overly eager pyromaniac who became entirely too excited about the prospect of blowing things up. And then there was Kinch. The 'golden child', as it were. He had his violent moments, but for the most part, he was the voice of reason within the team. Hogan didn't know what he'd do without his second-in-command. He mentally admitted that he himself could get a little wild too, although he tried his best to be responsible. It was his job as the one in charge.

Hogan blew out a breath of air. Even since the day he'd instructed Newkirk to watch the door so LeBeau could have a chance to flirt with a pretty girl – and hopefully get over his obsession with Marya – Newkirk had brought the subject up whenever he got the opportunity. Unfortunately, there were plenty of those. Hogan did his best to limit them, but as the local leader of the Underground, he had a lot on his plate. Preventing his corporal from complaining was at the bottom of the list…especially since Newkirk often did so. It didn't help he was the person Hogan had usually instructed to play lookout before The Incident™ had occurred. Certain things just required capital letters (and occasionally the trademark symbol) for emphasis. Currently, the only thing that was about to be emphasized was the American officer's temper. He knew Newkirk had a valid right to be upset, but that didn't mean Hogan had to like it.

"Even 'er hinges was beautiful. Their gleam drew me like a moth ta a ruddy flame, they did," Newkirk continued on, completely oblivious to his CO's internal struggle. "I knew I loved 'er from the start, even though we only knew each other for a short time. There's been a string of doors since, but none like 'er. She was the only one for me."

"What other doors? That was just the one time!" Hogan exclaimed in frustration. "Besides, I already apologized to you for it."

"The two of us was gonna get married after the war, yah know. Already 'ad the perfect spot picked out for 'er and everything." Newkirk wistfully stared off into space, deliberately ignoring the question. He would ensure nobody ever forgot how offended he was about the outcome of that mission. "We was gonna be together forever. Might've even had a little door of me own, one with me skin or hair color. But I never got a chance ta ask 'er 'ow she felt about nippers."

"You might want to apologize again, sir," Kinch whispered after Hogan face-palmed. "Otherwise, Newkirk's liable to carry on about this for hours…again."

"Good idea, Kinch," Hogan murmured. He cleared his throat. "Newkirk, I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you wanna hear? I'm sorry!"

"A cruel twist of fate ripped us apart, ya know," Newkirk said sadly, struggling not to laugh out loud at how frustrated Hogan sounded. He made a show of wiping away a tear. "Guess some things just ain't meant ta be."

"Jeez, what a hambone," Hogan remarked, rolling his eyes at the Englishman's theatrics. "When are you gonna let this go, huh?"

"Never, Guv'nor. Yah can't expect a lad ta forget 'is first love," Newkirk said dramatically. "It's immoral, indecent, and…and inhuman!"

"So was forcing me to listen to all of that. If I wanted to have my ears bleed, I could've stayed in the Kommandantur and listened to Burkhalter speak," Hogan quipped. "Kinch, you think you can keep an eye on the door? Without being overdramatic?"

"Sure, Colonel."

"Good man." Hogan got up, then slapped open the tunnel entrance. "Newkirk, go get changed."

"Right, sir." Newkirk paused once he'd climbed down a few steps. "Guv?"

Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off a headache. "What is it now?"

"You won't 'elp any more RAF pilots escape while I'm gone, will yah? That was bleedin' rude," Newkirk remarked. "Last time we 'ad some 'ere, yah left me in the ruddy cooler instead of lettin' me 'elp. Made a lad feel unwanted, yah did."

"And I'm about to have Klink toss you in there again too," Hogan muttered to himself. He looked up at the sky, praying for patience. "Why me, God? Why?"

"Because you's an officer," Newkirk replied. He internally laughed when Hogan's eye twitched, enjoying his payback for some of the more insane things he'd 'volunteered' for. "According ta yah, that's an excuse for ev –"

"GET GOING!"

"There's no need ta shout, Guv'nor," Newkirk faux huffed, giving Hogan a slight smirk. "I'm goin', I'm goin'."

Hogan slammed the bunk shut once Newkirk had disappeared. He sank down onto it and buried his face in his hands. Some days, he just couldn't win. This was one of them. A few minutes later, Hogan felt a light touch on his shoulder. He glanced up to find Kinch staring down at him with a concerned look.

"I'm fine," Hogan said, recognizing the familiar expression his second-in-command often wore. "This just isn't my day, that's all."

"If you say so, sir," Kinch said in a doubtful voice. He had a feeling Hogan was lying, but he knew the man well enough to realize further probing on the subject would be futile. "Do you need anything, like a glass of water?"

"Yeah, a time machine so I can go back and not tell Newkirk to watch the stupid door. Worst non-fatal decision I ever made," Hogan griped. "Don't suppose you know how to build one, do ya?"

"Afraid not," Kinch told him apologetically. "You know I'd do it if I had the knowledge, Colonel, but my specialties are phones and radios. Physics is out of my league."

"Figures," Hogan sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. "Alright, let's get this show on the road. This is my plan…"

~~HH~~

A half hour passed. Carter and LeBeau had long since come back from handling the tasks Hogan had given them, but Newkirk had yet to reappear from the tunnels. It concerned Hogan. After telling Carter to let him know if anything came up, the American officer opened the bunk once more. He made his way down into the tunnels, walking through them in search of Stalag 13's friendly neighborhood pickpocket. The sight of Kinch shaking with laughter piqued Hogan's curiosity. Business came first, however.

"Kinch, have you seen Newkirk lately?" Hogan inquired. "It's not like him to take this long getting ready."

"Oh, I've seen him, all right," Kinch wheezed. "Just wait until you get a load of his new get-up, Colonel. He's never looked better!"

"I'm getting a strong feeling I should be concerned here," Hogan muttered. "Newkirk didn't pluck his eyebrows in the name of aesthetic again, did he?"

"Negative, sir," Kinch managed to say, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Even better than that."

"Yep, I should definitely be concerned," Hogan said, blowing out a breath of air. "Not even sure if I even wanna know now."

"You want me to send him off without your approval then, Colonel?"

"No, no. Might as well see what he's done this time." Hogan raised his voice. "Come on out, Newkirk. I wanna see what had Kinch in stitches over here."

"He ain't 'ere right now," Newkirk called out in a falsetto voice. "Somebody else is."

Hogan's mouth fell open the instant Newkirk stepped into the room. The Englishman had shaved his sideburns for his latest costume, along with slightly curling his hair to create a little flip in the front. That was paired with a pale pink lipstick. He wore a long brown skirt, coupled with some shiny brown sensible shoes. A tan long-sleeved button up shirt covered his torso. Around his neck, there was a broach with an eagle…the same kind that was on an AAF officer's crush cap. Newkirk was, essentially, dressed like a female version of him. Hogan didn't know whether to get mad, laugh, cry or turn and walk away without saying a word. All of the above choices had their merits.

"I knew it," Hogan groaned. "I just knew you were gone too long not to be up to something."

"I've decided ta create meself a new persona," Newkirk casually said. "Name's Roberta. She's a quick-witted bird with loads of charisma. Got a bit of a sharp tongue, yet everyone still loves 'er."

"You're dressed like a female version of me," Hogan pointed out, ignoring how Newkirk had feminized his first name for an alias. "How exactly is that gonna be helpful?"

"It works for Mayra," Kinch pointed out.

Hogan snapped his gaze to the smiling radioman. "Newkirk's not Russian, though."

"That doesn't matter, sir. We all know she's basically you in a dress," Kinch joked. "You can tell by the way she comes up with crazy ideas and manages to run the show when she's not supposed to be."

"Mayra's the secret love of 'is life, she is," Newkirk teased. "Why else do yah think 'e protests so much when she comes 'round? Guv'nor's jealous of 'ow much attention she pays LeBeau. Snog and get it over with, I say."

"You might be right, Newkirk…I mean, Roberta." Kinch stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, flashing his commander a playful smile. "As long as Colonel Hogan doesn't start wearing a fur coat everywhere, we're fine."

"Very funny, fellas," Hogan said. He raised an eyebrow. "You two through razzing me yet? Because I was hoping to get in some light sabotaging of the German war effort before dinner, but both of ya are too busy yukking it up."

"Sorry about that," Kinch apologized. "We just have to give you a hard time every once in a while, Colonel. It's good for our morale."

"No, I'm only getting started," Newkirk answered. "I still 'ave loads more jokes."

"You're gonna have to save 'em for later then," Hogan ordered. He let out another heavy sigh, unable to get over how off-putting he found a feminine version of himself. Newkirk had done entirely too good a job for his liking! "Out of all the things you could've gone with, you just had to pick this one. What was wrong with your old persona, huh?"

"Guv, she didn't 'ave any personality," Newkirk explained. "No interests, any real likes or dislikes…she was two-dimensional. Fake, even."

"Newkirk –"

"Roberta, sir."

"Fine, Roberta. My point is, it's supposed to be fake," Hogan told him. "You're not actually a woman. Kinda missing a few important parts, if you catch my drift."

"See, that's the problem," Newkirk told him. "I'm a method actor. When I'm dressed up as a woman, it ain't fake for me. I am who I'm pretending ta be. Why, I even came up with a whole backstory for 'er!"

"Of course you did."

"Besides, yah want me ta seduce Hochstetter." Newkirk shuddered. "Me new persona should do the trick. With any luck, using yore old uniform for me costume will 'elp me succeed."

"If you mean the one I wore on our last mission, it was reduced to scraps," Hogan pointed out. "How could you make anything from it?"

"I'm a tailor, remember? I mended it," Newkirk cheerfully responded. "Nothing these magic fingers of mine couldn't 'andle."

Hogan waved his hands. "Wait, wait. Hold on. You're telling me you took one of my old uniforms, somehow repaired it, then turned it into a skirt and blouse?"

"A dress, actually…but yes," Newkirk confirmed. "I look beautiful, if I do say so meself. A pretty bird to match a pretty name."

"You're calling yourself Roberta, how is that pretty?" Hogan asked incredulously. "It doesn't even sound German!"

"Still a lot better than Hoganhiemer, innit? Or Hogan Hoople, for that matter," Newkirk remarked. He studied his commanding officer's face for a second or two. "Oh good, I got the little hair flip right. Details are important."

"Kinch," Hogan began. He looked from the smirking radioman to Newkirk and back again, unable to find the words he wanted for once. "Do something."

"Not my circus, not my monkeys," Kinch chuckled, clearly hearing the plea for help in Hogan's voice. Much as he cared about his commanding officer, he felt Newkirk's antics were a nice form of retribution for all the times Hogan had made them think he'd lost it. "If you need me, Colonel, I'll be in the radio room coding our latest requests for Mama Bear."

"Would you like ta hear me backstory for Roberta, Guv?" Newkirk offered once the two of them were alone.

"Not right now." Hogan massaged his temples, feeling the utmost sympathy for Schultz. Claiming 'I see nothing, I was not here, I did not even get up this morning!' sounded awfully appealing right about now. "Listen, Newkirk –"

"Roberta," Newkirk corrected.

"Whatever," Hogan gritted out. "Just get going before the war ends, will ya? I gotta get back upstairs to do my part."

"Yes sir."

As Newkirk started climbing the ladder, Hogan wrapped his arms around himself. That last remark had been kind of harsh. His job was to lead, not make his men feel bad. Hogan was well aware of his corporal's background. He knew how hard it must've been for Newkirk to trust him, an officer. Hogan knew he asked the impossible of his team all the time, and they always delivered. Putting up with them making a few jokes at his expense was a small price to pay for such loyal friends.

If nothing else, the stiff salute Newkirk had given was an indicator of his mood. So was the way his expression had quickly gone from hurt to emotionless. Hogan knew he owed Newkirk an apology. Kinch too, for that matter. All of them were just trying to make it through the war alive and with their sanity intact – humor was a good tool to help them achieve that. Hogan didn't want to be one of those officers whose men felt uncomfortable around him. He'd served under a few like that back in the day; he had no desire to go down that path.

"Hey, Roberta?" Hogan called out.

"Yeah?" Newkirk asked warily.

"Come back for a second, please."

"Alright." He climbed back down, then stood further away from Hogan than he usually did. "Sir?"

"Look, I didn't mean to snap at you and Kinch like that," Hogan began. "I just – things have been rough lately. Kinda got a lot on my plate as the guy running this outfit. That's no excuse to take it out on you fellas, though, especially not when all of you are the heart of the operation. But even officers blow it sometimes." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry."

"Thank yah, Guv'nor," Newkirk said softly. "But we couldn't do any of it without yah. You're the brains, the leader.

"And you know what a leader is without a team? Worthless. Little hard to lead people if you alienate all of them," Hogan softly responded. "Can you forgive me?"

"Ain't nothin' ta forgive, sir. We all 'ave those days," Newkirk said, looked down at his feet. He figured if Hogan was humble enough to apologize, he could do the same. "I'm sorry too. I…I shouldn't 'ave taken things as far as I did. Was just tryin' ta 'ave a few laughs, that's all."

"It's fine, Ne – Roberta. Heaven forbid you deprive us all of your wit," Hogan commented, his tone light. He placed a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "When we get a chance to breathe – and if the offer's still open – I wanna hear this backstory you came up with. I'm sure it's a doozy."

"Could there be any doubt?"

"With you? Never," Hogan told him. A small smile crossed his lips. "We good now?"

"Always, Guv. Yah can't get rid of me that easily," Newkirk chuckled. "I'd be 'appy to share it with yah later on."

"I look forward to it." Hogan clapped his corporal on the shoulder. "Good luck, by the way. I'm counting on you to gather the intel we need tonight."

"Thank yah, Guv'nor," Newkirk said. "I won't let yah down!"

"Oh, I already know that. You never do," Hogan replied. He jerked his head toward the ladder. "I'll see you upstairs. Gotta go talk to Kinch, let him know I'm not mad at him."

"Right-o, sir."

Newkirk beamed while he climbed up the wooden slats. No, his life had never been easy. Maybe it never would be. It certainly wouldn't happen while the war ranged, that was for sure. But at least he had friends here at Stalag 13. A found family. Men he would gladly kill for, with or without prompting. Between them and a commanding officer he'd follow into Hades itself, Newkirk felt his life was pretty good after all.