And all things must come to an end... the last chapter(hey, at least it's a little extra long!).

Chapter 17

"Ow."

"Hold still."

"Ow."

"I said... hold still. What were you thinking, running into the barbed wire that way?" Medic Wilson was not amused. His lack of amusement didn't mean that he wasn't being very careful to find and clean every one of the little cuts on Newkirk.

"I wasn't thinking... I was sleepwalking again." Newkirk winced away from the latest dab from the medic. "Ow!"

"For the last time! Hold! Still!" Wilson glared at him. "Do you want to have these get infected? It would serve you right. Let them get infected and then I'll have to scrub all of that nastiness out and then you'll be saying more than just 'ow', believe me!" He dabbed the cloth wet with iodine onto another little inch-long slash. "You look like someone went at you with a miniature switchblade."

A laugh bubbled up from inside Newkirk. "It was the wee folk. They attacked me!"

"Not funny." Wilson held out for a moment but then laughed softly. "Okay, that's a little funny."

"It's bloody 'ysterical." said Newkirk. He twisted to look as someone entered, his hand grabbing for his pullover automatically. When he noticed it was Hogan, he relaxed again. "Colonel Hogan, sir... ow! Would you leave off, Wilson!"

Hogan shook his head, frowning as he took in the sight. "Wilson is doing his job." He nodded as the medic thanked him with a smug tone. "Will he be all right?"

"He's never going to be alright. Newkirk is damaged in the head somewhere." Wilson checked over Newkirk's torso one more time, pushing one leg aside to look at his thigh briefly. "But these cuts from the fence won't be what takes him down. Not unless he gets tetanus." Wilson smiled with a suddenly absent expression. "You know, that would be lovely."

Newkirk looked annoyed as he began getting dressed. "Wot? Me getting tetanus?"

Wilson turned the smile on him. "Yes. You... with lockjaw. For once I could treat you and not have to listen to all the complaining." He gathered up his supplies and left while Newkirk was still grumbling.

Hogan was chuckling as the Englishman finished dressing. The man was splotched all over with the orangish stains of iodine, each one framing a small cut from the barbed wire fence. He hid his concern over the ribby state of his Corporal. Carter and Newkirk both had a tendency towards thinness and Hogan made himself a mental note to get more in the way of extra rations soon. "Well, I didn't quite expect so much theater when I asked for a distraction, but it worked nicely." His voice was low as he spoke.

They exited the infirmary and headed across the compound towards the barracks. By the time the dogs had been corralled, the errant prisoner disentangled from the fallen wire of the fence, the fencing repaired and everything set back to order, it had been time for roll call. Newkirk had been hustled to the infirmary without having a chance to talk to anyone. As soon as roll call was finished, Klink had given a long winded speech about how humane he was allowing medical treatment of prisoners and not harming even the most stupid of prisoners who ran into fences in their sleep. Now the compound was busy with POWs going to the messhall to eat and returning to the barracks from breakfast, such as it was.

Newkirk looked towards the messhall with some longing but Hogan nudged him towards the barracks instead. "LeBeau has oatmeal for us this morning."

"Oh marvelous." Newkirk tried to put a note of displeasure into that but he was hungry and still cold and a warm dish for breakfast sounded like the heights of luxury. "Did my running into the fence 'elp the cause enough?"

"Oh yes... LeBeau had the codebook safely inside the barracks about two minutes after you left. We were sort of wondering what was taking so long out here." Hogan smiled pleasantly as he needled the corporal. "I didn't expect the full scale riot scene though."

"Neither did I!" Newkirk grimaced at him. "As long as the package is in the right 'ands, it doesn't matter." He sighed. "If I 'ave to be a bother, at least I was useful too."

"You're never a bother, Newkirk." Hogan put a hand onto his back as they entered the barracks. "Well, that's a lie... you're often a bother, but not because of the sleepwalking. You couldn't help that."

"Ow." Newkirk winced and pulled away from the hand on his back. "That's bloody nice, sir. I go out into mortal danger to 'elp the Allied cause, in me sock feet in the snow and you make fun." His mock outrage and hurt made Hogan smile although he was trying to put on an expression of sympathy. "Throwing meself into the vicious guards..."

"It was Langenscheidt... he's hardly vicious." interjected Carter from the table.

Newkirk continued, ignoring the commentary. "... into the dark and cold of the enemy territory..."

LeBeau waved a spoon vaguely at him. "I don't think you can call the camp 'enemy territory' considering that Colonel Hogan runs this place..."

Frowning at LeBeau's contribution, Newkirk loftily ignored that as well. "AND... forthrightly did me duty, distracting all the guards and sacrificing meself in a most unselfish and heroic manner." He mock-glared around daring anyone else to speak up.

Kinch accepted his little plate of oatmeal from LeBeau and raised an eyebrow at Newkirk. "Langenscheidt told me that you screamed like a girl and ran face-first into the fence."

Sighing and giving up, Newkirk motioned at the stove. "Can a bloke at least get a bowl of porridge for all the effort he put out?"

There were chuckles from all around. Hogan wrapped his arms around his middle as he watched his crew settling to eat. "Oh give him an extra scoop, LeBeau." He waited until Newkirk brightened and sat up happily. "Maybe that will keep the whining to a minimum for a while."

"Oh that's just bloody marvelous of you, sir." Despite his protests, Newkirk still looked pleased with himself and his friends made a fuss over both his actions and his many cuts.

Hogan was handed a bowl of oatmeal and settled at the table himself. The chatter ranged from teasing at the Englishman to speculation on the first missions they would be assigned. Even as his eyes assessed his men, he could see the hints of stress and unease on Newkirk's face, hidden behind the careless expression and weariness. When Hogan talked to London later in the day, he resolved to ask again about Newkirk's sister. The strain of worry would continue to affect him until he knew, one way or the other.

It was late afternoon before Newkirk saw Schultz. The English POW was sitting at the community table in the barracks trying to pretend to be distracted by Carter's attempts to play gin and LeBeau's banter over whatever atrocity he had in the cooking pot. As much as Newkirk appreciated the care, his mates' efforts weren't helping much. The late night hours and drama from his incident meant they should all have been catching naps. But when Newkirk couldn't lie still without his thoughts going to London, LeBeau and Carter chose to keep him company.

Now he was holding a hand of mismatched cards, trying to pretend he was playing. Any other time, he would have been amused at Carter's attempts to lose deliberately.

"Oh oops!" Carter dropped a card to the floor on purpose and bent to pick it up. As he did, his hand of cards turned towards Newkirk for several seconds. Carter took his time getting back upright and then glanced to see if his friend had taken advantage of his 'mistake'.

Newkirk met his eyes squarely. "I'm okay, Carter. Really."

"Oh I know!" Carter looked away guiltily. "I just... well you know. I'm clumsy and just, you know, dropped it." He began meticulously arranging his cards.

"Thanks Carter." Newkirk sighed lightly. "I just wish London would send me word that she's gone. Not knowing and waiting..." He inhaled and then swallowed hard. "Anyway. There's that. Nothing for it, right?"

LeBeau spoke up quietly from the stove. "Non. Do not give up hope. Maybe she is just busy."

Snorting, Newkirk avoided LeBeau's gaze."Too busy to write her brother?" He folded and then re-spread the cards in his hand. "Not bloody likely."

"It does not have to be likely in order to be possible." LeBeau stirred his pot and sniffed it a little. "I wish we had chives. Parsnips are so bland."

"Next trip into the officer's mess, I'll look for chives, mate." Newkirk waited while LeBeau brightened and thanked him. "What are chives, anyway?"

"You are such a barbarian." Before LeBeau could elaborate on the insult, the barracks' door opened to let Schultz in. "Hello Schultzie."

Schultz smiled widely. "Guten tag, LeBeau." He trundled his way over to Newkirk's side of the table. "Newkirk... I brought you something. Do you want to guess what it is that I brought for you?"

Sighing, Newkirk resigned himself to days of everyone trying to cheer him up. He did feel a bit guilty over how he'd snapped at Schultz though. So he bit back the annoyed comment and instead looked up at the chubby guard. "I really 'ave no idea, Schultzie. Is it a platoon of Sherman tanks manned by armed American cowboys?"

Carter perked up. "Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"Nein." Schultz continued to smile like the world's largest cherub. "Would you like to guess again?" He even chuckled to himself.

Newkirk had been trying to play along but the laughter was just too much for his frayed nerves. "I don't know and I'm not much in the mood for games." He glanced up at Schultz and softened his tone. "Sorry Schultz."

"Maybe this will make you be in a better mood." Schultz pulled a battered wad of envelopes from inside his coat and set them in front of the Englishman. "I called to all of the stalags that are nearby and I asked them if they had your mail by accident. And finally Stalag 5 said that they did have it. Someone made a mistake and they have been sending all of your mail to the wrong camp. So I went there and picked it up for you." He beamed happily.

Newkirk sat staring at the bundle looking stunned. "My... my... my wot?"

LeBeau lunged to pull the string off the pile and spread out at least a dozen envelopes. "Your mail! Look... look Pierre!" He held up an envelope and snatched more from the bundle. "Look! From your sister! From Mavis! See?"

For just a moment, Newkirk's eyes fluttered but he inhaled deeply and managed to push the darkness back and focus. His hand shook but he picked through the letters gingerly until he found the most recent letter. "Mavis is alive." He jumped up suddenly and wrapped both arms as far around Schultz's bulk as possible and then kissed him soundly on the cheek. "Thank you Schultz! Whatever you want! It's yours, anything!" He turned loose but put his hands on either side of the guard's face. "Thankee much, Feldwebel Schultz."

Smiling, Schultz stepped back. "You are welcome. And all I want is for you to not walk in your sleep any more. Too many strange things happen when you sleepwalk." Schultz's gaze went around to the POWs and for that fleeting moment, everyone could see that Schultz did indeed 'know something'. But then the look disappeared and the old jovial guard assumed his normal mien. "But of course, a bar of your English chocolate would also be nice."

"It's yours, Schultz. Two bars. Promise." assured Newkirk.

"Gut. "Schultz turned to leave. "Also..." He looked back at them. "Do not mention this to the kommandant, ja? I did not have a pass to go on a personal errand and I had to pay Stalag 5's sergeant of the guard two packs of cigarettes to keep him from reporting me."

Newkirk reached up into his bunk and pulled out two packs of cigarettes. "Oi... 'ere. I can replace your smokes at least. And mum's the word, right mates?" he looked to the others.

On cue, they all smiled at the guard and answered in chorus. "We know nothing... nothing!"

"Jolly jokers." mumbled Schultz amiably, leaving before the prisoners decided to do anything they shouldn't... or kiss him again.

As the door closed behind the guard, Carter beamed at Newkirk. "Well? Aren't you going to read them?"

Newkirk went through the pile, carefully arranging them in order. Then he picked up the oldest one and looked at the envelope carefully. "Yeah. I am."

By evening, everyone knew of Newkirk's good news. Hogan came to admire the stash. Newkirk had beamed down from his bunk at his commanding officer. He had been rereading the letters from Mavis for the fifth time.

Hogan walked away, pausing to fill a mug of what passed for coffee. He glanced back at the happy Englishman relating something from a letter to Carter. Kinch was leaning against a bunk and smirked at Hogan. "I don't think Newkirk has stopped grinning for the last four hours."

"Let him smile." Hogan sipped the hot brown water and grimaced at it. "It's been long enough since he had anything to smile over. And..." He lowered his voice a bit. "...we need him to cheer the camp up. Wasn't the same around here."

"You got that right, sir." Kinch's face broke into a grin as Newkirk absently moved over to make room for Carter who heaved himself up to sit on the upper bunk with him. The clumsy American missed his grab at the edge of the bunk and Newkirk's arm shot out to push Carter the rest of the way up onto the bunk safely. Neither of them seemed to even notice, both still paying attention to something in the letter held carefully in Newkirk's fingers.

As Carter began telling some story of Bullfrog, North Dakota that involved making cawing noises like a crow and waving his arms about, Hogan sighed and turned a contented look on Kinch. "Home sweet home, huh Kinch?" Heading to his office, Hogan spoke absently over one shoulder. "Keep an eye on the kids, Kinch?"

"Yes sir." Kinch's grin widened as LeBeau tried to get Newkirk to taste something. Seating himself at the table to watch the resulting theatrics, Kinch relaxed.

Things really were back to normal finally. Or, he mused, as close to what passed for normal in a POW camp in the heart of Germany that held a group of the oddest saboteurs, spies and troublemakers that ever lived.

He'd take it.

End

That's all folks! I hope it was pleasing and satisfying and huge thanks for all of you who stuck with it to the end. As always, special thanks to TinySprite.