Mad World

A Hogan's Heroes story by Amy Greenhouse

Disclaimer: I wish I owned the Heroes, the Stalag or the entire world, but I am only a poor artist

Summary: Things aren't going well for Corporal Newkirk.

Peter Newkirk walked was feeling restless. He walked around the compound, chain-smoking and keeping to himself – he was in too dark a mood for small talk.

He hadn't felt like this for a long time, and he was wondering how much more he could take. He had been a POW for a longer time than the others, and while their missions made life more interesting and bearable, he just felt tired and worn out all the time these days.

He shivered. This winter seemed to last forever, as well, and the cold and snow were taking their toll: of course they managed to get their hands on better food than other POWs, but supplies were increasingly difficult to get. By now, even Klink was living on thin broth and stale bread.

He sighed and lit another cigarette. At least, he had something to do now. When he had been captured, he had been hell-bent on escaping. There was nothing he wouldn't try: he had started more tunnels than he cared to remember and had probably survived more cave-ins than anybody else in this camp.

He had lied, stolen and scammed his way out of camps – only to be captured again and returned to his camp. He had been transferred from one camp to another, never caring where he ended up, because all he could think of was his next escape attempt.

Things had changed somewhat when he had met LeBeau: the Frenchman hadn't cared about his bad reputation, and, against all odds, they had become friends.

Of course, everything had changed when Colonel Hogan arrived – and Newkirk was glad that the American Colonel had believed in him and had convinced him to change his ways.

Now, however, the old restlessness was back – and there was nothing he could do to fight it.

It was March now, and he hadn't heard from his sister Mavis for months now. She had always kept him up to date, her letters arriving evey six weeks or so. Ever since she had been informed that her brother had been captured she had written to him.

Her last letter had arrived in October, and while he had written to her every week like he always did, there had been no reply. No letter for his birthday, none for Christmas or the new year, nothing.

The others had noticed, of course, and everybody had told him that there had to be some sort of delay, that the letters would arrive sooner or later, that he shouldn't worry. Even the Colonel had told him not to worry, and reminded him that things were probably very difficult in London right now. Despite all this, fellow Londoners had told him that they were still receiving letters from their friends and families.

He had smiled and made light of the situation for as long as he could, but now he just avoided mail call. Maybe Mavis had left London, or maybe she was dead. He sighed again and returned to his barracks – it was getting too cold to stay outside. Those German winters were really uncomfortably cold, and he wanted to enjoy the relative warmth until it was time for tonight's mission.

The Germans had insisted on building yet another bridge, and it was up to them to blow it to pieces. Carter had built the bombs, and they were going to go out to place them tonight. A routine mission, really, but nothing was ever routine when Carter was involved.

Newkirk smiled as he sat down at the table and gladly accepted a cup of hot, coffee-flavoured water which he sipped while Colonel Hogan went over their mission again.