At least it would be a white Christmas that year. Sergeant Carter completely ignored Colonel Klink's usual ramblings about no escapes during the holidays, along with his stating that the only gift he wanted was the maintaining of his perfect record. Carter recalled that was what he wanted last year, too, and he imagined that would be what Klink wanted next year as well. If the war wasn't over by then.

Carter breathed a quiet sigh, looking up the gently falling cold, white flakes from the dreary gray sky. They landed and melted quickly in the stiff fabric of his cap visor. He was briefly pulled from his admiration of the snow by Corporal Newkirk calling that Santa Claus was probably going to leave Klink a lump of coal on Christmas morning. The other prisoners joined in with laughs and additional jokes, then Sergeant Schultz futilely trying to quiet them down.

Even though it was Christmas Eve, Klink promised there would be roll call later that night, and the following morning. That had been the case last year, too. And probably would be next year as well.

Second Christmas here. Swell, Carter thought as he followed everyone back to the barracks. They made the most of what they had last year, but it wasn't hard to see that everyone would much rather be home. He tried not to think too hard about the fact that spending Christmas in a prisoner-of-war camp was less than ideal, but that was difficult when reminders were everywhere. Carter wasn't immune to the stresses of being in camp, even though as one of Colonel Hogan's men, he had some freedoms in regards to going outside the wire. He had his fair share of outbursts, like everyone else, but he was much slower to anger compared to Newkirk and especially Corporal LeBeau. Not nearly as slowly as Sergeant Kinchloe, though, who was very much the voice of reason and mediator when it came to arguments. Kinch had his bad days, though, and the other prisoners knew something was really wrong when Kinch was in a foul mood.

It was supposed to snow for the rest of the day and into tomorrow. Christmas Eve technically wasn't the shortest day of the year, but that particular one felt strangely short. As lovely as autumn and winter were, Carter didn't like the short days. It was funny, really—the coldest time of year felt like it dragged for way too long, but there wasn't enough daylight to really enjoy the beauty it could bring.

It was close to noon when Carter volunteered to take a new codebook into Hammelburg to an agent at a Hofbrau. It was a simple drop, nothing overly complicated, but Carter decided that he would stay for a little while—with permission from Hogan—to meet with a friend. Hogan did tell him to be back before midnight, though, as he said "something special" was being planned in the barracks. By the time Carter had to go out, dressed in civilian clothes, it was dark, and it was only a little after four in the afternoon. That was something to expect this time of year, but it would always feel strange.

Carter went into town just as the sun went down. He was still a little dismayed at being somewhere that wasn't home for Christmas, but while looking around at the old houses and farms that made up Hammelburg, some of which were older than the United States itself, he told himself that this was home for people. There was some comfort being in a place he knew ordinary people were happy in. In the Christmas Eve snow, Hammelburg looked quite cozy, like an old holiday card painting come to life.

He knew looking calm and somewhat happy would make him look ordinary when he stepped into the tavern. There were a few men in uniform, mostly Luftwaffe, but a handful of Heer men as well. They were with their friends and loved ones, smiling and laughing. Some even looked at Carter and bid him a merry Christmas, which Carter returned as gleefully as he could. He then approached the counter, being as subtle as possible when passing the codebook to the gray-haired man pouring drinks into waiting mugs.

Normally, he would head back to camp, but now he was waiting for someone. He could hear the sound of a motorcycle's engine above the laughter of the people in the Hofbrau, then the sound abruptly stopped. A minute passed before a thin, blond-haired man entered the tavern, also in civilian clothes. He looked around for a moment before spotting Carter, and a big smile crossed his face.

"It is good to see you again, my friend," Kurt Veidt said, giving Carter a brief hug and a firm handshake.

"It's good to see you, too. Glad to see you got my message," Carter replied.

"I had no other plans," Veidt said. "And I knew it would be good for you to, ah, enjoy a night away from your job."

"Oh, yes, work has been… imprisoning." Carter smirked a little.

The two sat down, both ordering hot drinks. Veidt pulled his gloves off and warmed his hands on the mug of his cider. "In weather like this, I wish I had a car. I love my motorcycle, though." He lowered his voice. "My own work has kept me busy. A great deal of success, though. I will give it that."

"Same here. Everyone's a bit more miserable with it being Christmas and all. My… boss told me something special was planned for tonight, so I can't spend too much time here." Carter thought for a moment. "You're welcome to join us, if you want."

"Really? I do not want to intrude."

"Yeah."

Veidt's smile was a little weak. "Thank you. I… greatly appreciate it."

"It'll be fun—hopefully. Hogan said no drinking. Some of the guys don't always listen. Either they make their own stuff or they steal it from Klink. Earlier this fall, I threatened to tell Klink exactly who took his wine, but Kinch took me aside and told me that most of them aren't drinking because they think it's fun—they're doing it as an escape. It's not a very good one, so instead of getting mad at what they're doing, I should just listen and try to find ways to help them cope with the situation."

"It sounds like Kinch knows what he is talking about."

"He said he knew a few people with drinking problems. Wouldn't go into details, though."

"I also know of people who fell into the trap of drinking their problems away. It is difficult to help them, but not something you want to give up on, otherwise… it will not lead to a good outcome." Veidt sighed, but he tried to smile again. "Fortunately, everyone I am close to now is sober. I can only hope the same for Kinch."

"Yeah. I hope so, too." Carter looked at his watch. "We should probably start heading back… home."

"Yes. Do you need a lift?"

"I do. Thanks."

The snow was coming down heavier now. Veidt handed Carter a helmet before they climbed onto his motorcycle. They stuck to the main roads, and most of the side roads were now completely buried in snow. In the dark, it was far colder, especially riding a motorcycle. Carter had Veidt blocking him from most of the wind, but he still pulled his scarf over his face in a futile attempt to keep warm.

They parked a good distance away from Stalag 13, and tried to hide Veidt's motorcycle somewhere it wouldn't get buried in the snow, or seen by any nosy Gestapo officers passing through. Carter led Veidt all the way to the tree stump tunnel entrance. A sense of relief came over Carter as he climbed down the ladder. In a weird way, the tunnels, and Stalag 13 as a whole, had become home. He didn't always like that he had gotten used to it, as he feared how that would affect him when he went home. He knew there would be questions from his family about what it was like. A lot of questions, and he didn't know how to answer any of them.

"Merry Christmas, Veidt!" Newkirk crowed. "Almost didn't recognize you without the uniform."

"Sorry. I am off-duty, fortunately," Veidt said. "Merry Christmas to you, too."

"Hope you don't mind he joins us," Carter said.

Newkirk shook his head. "Not at all. It's Christmas, after all. Go say 'hello' to the colonel and get yourself warmed up." He turned to Carter. "Got that codebook delivered?"

"Yep. No problems at all." Carter followed Veidt up to the barracks. It was warm with the steam of LeBeau's cooking and the hot drinks, as well as the smoke from the cigarettes of the men who smoked. It was also warm in the sense of atmosphere, as much like the tavern, there was laughter and a sense of happiness despite the less-than-favorable circumstances.

Veidt was a bit shy at first, but was eventually dragged into a card game with Newkirk, Olsen, Baker, and a few others. Carter was glad to see his friend enjoying himself, instead of hiding in a corner and questioning if he really deserved to be happy. Veidt had secretly betrayed the SS, and worked hard to prove how much he had changed, but he struggled with his view of himself sometimes. It was nice to see that, at least for now, Veidt was happy and not questioning a moment of it.

Hogan clapped Carter on the shoulder, startling him a little. "Colonel," Carter said.

"Carter," Hogan replied. "You delivered the codebook?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good work. Go enjoy your Christmas. You earned it. Everyone has."

"Thank you, sir. I… I hope you don't mind Veidt—"

"He's welcome whenever he wants to drop by. Don't worry about it."

"Thanks." Carter smiled broadly. "Merry Christmas, Colonel."

"Merry Christmas, Carter."