The next two weeks passed quickly, and Newkirk finally rejoined roll call. He'd regained most of his strength, and didn't cough quite as often. Hogan watched him like a hawk, ensuring that the Englishman had been telling the truth about his lungs. He saw nothing to contradict what he'd been told, and was immensely relieved.

Winter came to Germany with a vengeance, and Hogan asked Klink if role call could be an hour later in the morning, and if they could have enough firewood to keep the stove lit at night. He reminded Klink of Newkirk's 'best Kommandant a prisoner could have' statement, and within an hour, they had a pile of firewood in the corner of the hut.

Newkirk was relieved about the later roll call—the whole camp was—and it was nice to wake up to the smell of LeBeau's breakfast, instead of the sound of Schultz barging in the door. He was confused though to find a pile of blankets covering him, and realized that the empty bunks weren't just missing their awakened occupants. The same thing continued to happen every morning, and he was inwardly touched.

The nasty pain in Newkirk's broken arm finally diminished, being replaced with a dull ache, especially if he tried to do too much with it. He eventually ditched the sling and was able to do simple things with his hand, but when Wilson caught him making snowballs one day, he'd gone crazy and threatened to leave the cast on for two extra weeks if he didn't immediately stop it.

"Did ya see that?" Newkirk complained to Carter, even as he made another snowball. "I thought 'e would bite me 'ead off! 'e threw an eppy, 'e did!"

Carter blinked. "He threw a…he what?"

"Threw an eppy; means he 'flipped out'," Newkirk said. He then promptly picked up the snowball…in the hand on his good arm…and threw it towards Wilson, who had his back towards them. The medic walked away from his spot a second before the snowball would've hit him, and Carter cracked up laughing.

Finally, the day came when Wilson finally heeded Newkirk's begging to remove the cast. It was a day prior to six weeks, and he followed Wilson around for an hour until he finally agreed.

"All right, all right!" Wilson said. "I'll get my supplies and meet you in your barracks."

"Can we do it somewhere else?" Newkirk said. "I don't want anyone ta know. Let's see 'ow long it takes 'em ta notice."

Wilson nodded. "Fine, fine."

And so, an hour later, Newkirk left the kitchen of the mess hall cast-free, and strutted back towards the barracks, walking inside and taking off his coat.

Most of the men were playing cards, checkers, or eating some of LeBeau's strudel. Schultz was in there, warming up near the stove.

"Newkirk!" the guard exclaimed. "Your cast is gone!"

The Englishman smiled, thinking it hilarious that he was the first one to spot it.

Carter jumped up. "All right! How does it feel? Can I see?"

Everyone crowded around as Newkirk sat at the table and pulled up the sleeve of his sweater. His skin looked dry where the cast had sat, and the bullet scars on both sides of his arm were plainly visible.

"How weak is it?" Hogan asked. "I imagine it'll take some time for your arm to get back to normal?"

Newkirk nodded, putting the sleeve back down and smoothing it. "Wilson told me ta find somethin' that weighs a few pounds an' do exercises with it, ta build the strength back up."

"Here!" said Schultz. "You can use my helmet!" He took it off and put it down in front of Newkirk, making everyone laugh.

"Aw, thanks, Schultzie," the Englishman said. "But I don't think ol' Klink would like that."

"True," said the German, putting his hat back on.

"I'm sure we'll find something," said Hogan.

LeBeau got up from the table and started looking around, followed by Kinch.

Schultz finished drinking his coffee and placed the empty mug on the table. "I should get back to my post before Big Shot finds out how long I've been in here. Newkirk, I am very glad that your arm is okay now!"

"Thanks," Newkirk said with a smile.

Schultz smiled back and left.

Newkirk and Carter were the only ones left sitting at the table, and the American smiled. "Boy must you be relieved."

The Englishman nodded and flexed his arm. "Ya 'ave no idea 'ow good it feels for me arm ta be free!"

"I'll bet!"

Newkirk was quiet for a minute, looking as if he couldn't put his thoughts into words. "Andrew?"

"Yeah?"

"Did I say 'thank you' yet?"

Carter frowned. "For what?"

"For takin' care of me that whole time. I think ya did a better job than me own mum could've done."

Carter smiled. "That's what friends are for, buddy!"

Newkirk smiled back and drank some coffee.

"What happened to the cast?" Carter suddenly asked.

"Wilson 'ad ta soak it in order ta remove it," said Newkirk. "It 'ad ta fall apart in order ta come off."

Carter frowned. "So it's all gone?"

Newkirk nodded.

"Oh," Carter said, seeming upset. "Everyone's signatures were on it! What a shame."

Newkirk picked up his coat, which lay beside him, and stuck his hand into the pocket. "They're not all gone, mate."

Carter's eyebrows shot up and he reached out to take what Newkirk was holding.

It was the piece of the cast with Carter's get-well message.

"That was the one spot that didn't get wet, somehow," said Newkirk, smiling. "I think I might 'ave just enough room for it in me foot locker…"

Carter's face split into a wide grin.

THE END

Thank you, everyone, for your reviews! This story was a blast to write! Stay tuned for more stories by me...I have a bunch of them! LOL! ;)