(no subject)
Hey everyone! Here's a new story I just wrote! Enjoy!
Something to Live For
A Hogan's Heroes story by Deana Lisi
Disclaimer: I don't own any Hogan's Heroes characters.
Newkirk didn't resist as two German soldiers dragged him-literally-through the woods and back to the Stalag. He barely heard anything that Klink yelled at him, until the Kommandant mentioned transferring him to Stalag Eight…the Stalag that every allied prisoner feared.
Blinking, Newkirk just stared, thinking he'd heard wrong. "Transferred? Stalag Eight?"
Klink smiled and clasped his hands behind his back. "I knew that would get your attention! Yes, Corporal, you will be transferred to Stalag Eight in the morning, never to be a thorn in my side again!"
Newkirk said nothing, shocked to the core. He made no sound when the guards yanked him out of Klink's office and brought him to the cooler, roughly throwing him inside.
Stunned, Newkirk remained where he'd landed; body aching all over…but his heart was aching even more. The last year had been hell…everyone knew the risk of being captured and thrown into a prison camp, but Newkirk never thought that his plane would be one that would get shot down. He flew many missions without even a scratch, and perhaps became overconfident. The day that his plane had been hit and crashed was the scariest day of his life. As the plane went down, he tried to parachute out, but the hatch was stuck and refused to open. He panicked, sure that he was going to die, and the next thing he knew, he'd woken up in one of Stalag Thirteen's cells.
At first, he was relieved to have survived…but that relief didn't last very long.
Klink had tried to interrogate him, to gain whatever information he could, but Newkirk had sustained a head injury in the crash and used it to his advantage, pretending to have trouble remembering and then faking a faint. Once he was assigned to a barracks, he purposely chose a top bunk and hardly ever came down from it. Some of the other prisoners tried to befriend him, knowing what he was going through, but he didn't respond very much, even when they tried to coax him with food.
But Newkirk wasn't hungry. He didn't think he'd be hungry ever again.
Eventually, some of the shock and despondency wore off as he began to realize that he had no choice but to accept life at Stalag Thirteen, possibly for however long the war lasted…but that didn't mean he had to like it. From then on, Newkirk tried to escape…again, and again, and again, and again…
This last time, he'd almost made it! He'd gotten through the wire and bolted, but a searchlight got lucky and flashed directly on him, and guards had fired. A bullet deeply grazed his left arm, but he kept running…until he passed out from blood loss. Naturally, the guards caught up with him, and that was the end of that escape attempt.
Newkirk groaned and threw his uninjured arm across his eyes. What good was he now? He was supposed to be defending his country…helping to keep England safe from their enemies…helping to protect his family, his friends…his people. What good could he do while locked up in a German prison camp? No good, he thought. Ya can't do any good because you're no good, Peter, he told himself.
Suddenly, he felt someone trying to lift him off the floor, and he gave a cry of shock, badly startled.
"Take it easy, don't move," he heard.
The voice sounded familiar, and Newkirk stilled, feeling himself lifted and placed on the cell's cot. He winced from the pain in his arm, and the voice said something else to him. Sudden recognition slammed into his fuzzy brain, and his eyes popped open as he tried to sit up. "Colonel Hogan!"
The American pilot smiled at him, holding his shoulders to keep him lying flat. "Hey," he said. "Long time no see."
Newkirk was speechless. Colonel Hogan, here in Stalag Thirteen? His battered mind and body couldn't handle the sudden surge of adrenaline, and he felt his head plop back down to the cot under its own power.
Hogan's smile faded as he watched the corporal. The first time they'd met, Newkirk had been a healthy twenty-five-year-old who only looked about nineteen. Now, five years later, Newkirk was thinner, to the point of being scrawny, and looked somewhat older than his thirty years. When Hogan had entered the cell and seen the man lying bloody and passed out on the floor, he barely believed that it was really his young friend.
The past year had obviously not been kind to Peter Newkirk.
Hogan sighed and reached up with a wet towel, wiping blood off the corporal's forehead. He unexpectedly found that his skin felt feverish, but he wasn't surprised. Illnesses often spread quickly in camps full of malnourished and abused prisoners. "Newkirk?" he said. "Are you awake?"
It took a minute, but the Englishman opened his eyes again and coughed, weakly. "Guv'nor?" he said, sounding dazed. "Is it really you, or am I dreamin'?" He grabbed the colonel's arm, as if making sure he was real.
Hogan smiled again, squeezing the Englishman's shoulder in an effort to reassure him. "It's really me, Newkirk."
Newkirk shook his head, genuinely thrilled to see him. "When did ya get 'ere?"
"Today," Hogan told him. "Imagine my shock when I heard that a prisoner had escaped, and that it was you."
Newkirk smiled slightly at that, before his face unexpectedly fell.
Hogan frowned. The corporal suddenly seemed to be on the verge of tears…and he knew Newkirk; he wasn't the type to show that kind of emotion easily. "What's wrong?"
Newkirk seemed unable to speak for a minute, and closed his eyes. "Klink is gonna…gonna transfer me tomorrow…" Now he felt worse than ever. Colonel Hogan was here…the one person outside his family that Newkirk really trusted…and now he was going to a different Stalag.
Hogan shook his head. "No he isn't."
Newkirk's eyes popped open. "What?"
Hogan shrugged. "I talked him out of it."
Newkirk's mouth opened and closed twice, and he tried to sit up again.
Hogan helped him this time, grabbing a blanket from the floor and wrapping it around him before leaning him back against the wall.
Newkirk looked at the blanket in shock as he pulled it closed, wondering where Hogan had gotten it. He saw that his arm had been bandaged, and he wondered where Hogan had gotten the medical supplies, too. He coughed again, before saying, "Whatcha mean ya talked 'im outta it?"
Hogan smiled and sat next to him on the cot. "I just have a way with people, I guess."
Newkirk blinked.
Hogan could see that the corporal was too battered to handle mental games at the moment. "I told him that I would straighten you out. No more escapes, no more causing trouble. I told him that I would make you a 'model prisoner', and his answer to that was, 'this I have to see'."
Newkirk's eyebrows shot up. "No more escapes! Colonel!"
Hogan held up a hand. "No, listen." He looked outside the cell to ensure that no guards could hear him. "I was sent here," he whispered. "On a mission."
"A mission? In a POW camp?!"
"Shh!" Hogan said. "I've come to establish a…" He shrugged. "A traveler's aid society, if you wanna call it that. We're gonna help downed fliers get out of Germany, and do everything possible to sabotage the krauts."
Newkirk's mind was in a whirl. "But 'ow?"
"I assume tunnels are being dug?"
"Of course."
"That'll be the start of it," Hogan said. "I'll explain it all to you later in my quarters."
"Which barracks did 'e assign ya to?" Newkirk asked.
"Barracks Two."
Newkirk's eyebrows shot up. "That's the one I'm in!"
"I know," Hogan said, with a smile.
Newkirk smiled back…his first real smile in a long time. "Sabotage missions, eh?"
Hogan nodded. "We'll have to build an espionage team. That is, if you plan to join me."
Newkirk's eyebrows rose. "Of course I do, guv!" He suddenly coughed again, longer this time.
Hogan again felt the corporal's forehead, confirming that he did indeed have a fever. "First we have to get you healthy again, and then there'll be plenty to do to get rid of your stir-craziness." He took Newkirk's good arm to help him up. "Come on, let's go."
"Go?" Newkirk said, confused. "Ya mean ya got Klink ta let me outta the cooler, too?!"
Hogan nodded, pulling him to his feet.
Newkirk was rendered speechless again. Too much had happened in the past hour, and his brain was having trouble accepting it all. He wavered on his feet, feeling lightheaded.
Hogan quickly pulled one of Newkirk's arms around his own shoulders. "Easy, I got you." He slowly led the Englishman out, and helped him back to Barracks Two. The door opened before they got there, and Hogan led him to the closest bottom bunk and sat him on it.
Newkirk leaned back against the wall, his arm and head throbbing. Eyes closed, he could hear people moving about, and he suddenly caught the scent of a cup of tea under his nose. Opening his eyes, he found Hogan sitting on the bunk holding it before his face, and he took it, sending a smile of thanks to the short Frenchman who he knew had prepared it for him.
"Are you all right, mon ami?"
Newkirk nodded. "I'm fine, Louis." He drank the whole thing down and handed him the empty cup. He looked up at the concerned faces that were all staring at him, and he suddenly felt guilty for keeping to himself so much. Everyone here was in the same situation as he was.
Everyone.
With shock, Newkirk suddenly realized that he wasn't alone…he hadn't been alone at all, the past year. And now that Colonel Hogan had arrived, he finally felt hope.
"Listen 'ere," he suddenly said. "I dunno if ya met this man yet," he said, gesturing towards Hogan. "But even if ya did, I'm gonna introduce 'im ta ya anyway. This is Colonel Hogan, the finest officer you'll ever meet."
Hogan looked surprised at that.
"I know 'ow most enlisted men like us feel towards officers," Newkirk continued. "That so many of 'em are power 'ungry an' full of 'ot air."
"Hey!" Hogan joked.
Some of the men laughed.
Newkirk smiled and shook his head. "But no one need be wary of ol' Colonel Hogan…'e's the gov'nor, an' that's all there is to it."
Hogan smiled at that.
"Wow," one of the men replied. "I think that's the most you've ever spoken at one time."
"Did you hear that?" another man said. "I didn't even know he was British!"
Everyone laughed at that one, including Newkirk. It made him cough again, and he tiredly closed his eyes.
Hogan stood from the bunk, pushing him to lie flat. "Get some rest," he said. "We'll discuss our mission later."
The corporal was eagerly looking forward to it. "Thanks, Colonel."
"For what?"
Newkirk reopened his eyes and smiled. "For givin' me somethin' ta live for again."
(And the rest, as they say, is history!)
THE END