Home

Scared

Here's the much-belated part three! With Captain Marvel and Endgame coming out, my focus switched to Marvel, but I'm back with this! Let me know what you think of Newkirk :)

God bless,
Trekkiehood

~TH~

He wasn't afraid. He wasn't.

Colonel Hogan would be okay. He had to be. 

Newkirk and Kinch moved in silence, carrying the limp body between them.

He had to be okay. He couldn't lose another... friend. He gave a small, inward laugh. Calling an officer a friend? He never thought he'd see the day. 

Watching the barely moving chest, Newkirk thought that maybe it had been a mistake. This was war. They were spies. He couldn't afford to get attached to people. All people ever did was leave. 

But he wasn't scared. He wasn't.

He had no reason to be. The colonel had pulled through much worse. He had. When the Govoner was first brought to Stalag 13 he had been in rough condition. Worse than now. And he'd recovered. He'd recovered and started one of the most successful espionage groups the Allies had. A measly bullet wound couldn't stop the colonel! He'd bounce right back. He always did. 

 The sound of one of Carter's bombs going off nearly made Newkirk lose his grip. Even with the slight jostling, the Yank Officer remained unresponsive.

But he would be fine. He was always fine.

More gun shot's fired behind him. 

He tensed, but he wasn't scared. He couldn't be scared. Fear was a weakness. It was a weakness he couldn't afford. He had never been able to afford it on the streets of London and he couldn't afford it now. 

He would be fine. The colonel would be fine. Carter would be fine. They would all be fine. 

The shots were getting further away, not closer. Andrew had done his job. Now the young sergeant would return to Stalag 13 before roll call. They would all return before roll call. They would all make it back safe and the colonel would survive.  

When they reached the Stump, Newkirk was sent down first. Kinch passed down the unconscious man and the Englander attempted not to panic as the blood began to coat his hands.

The colonel would be fine. He was always fine.

Newkirk wasn't scared. He refused to be. Not when he was a kid. Not when he was shot down. Certainly not now. 

Everyone would be okay. Everyone was always okay. 

Kinch helped carry the unconscious man through the tunnel. When they reached the main room, Lebeau was sitting on the bunk looking ill. The Frenchman stood when he saw his friends. "Wilson is ready." He said simply, leading them to one of the back rooms. 

The field medic was waiting quietly, an assortment of medical tools sitting on a small stool. A medium sized table had been cleared off in the centre of the room. The colonel was quickly placed on it. 

"Out." Wilson commanded with a grim look towards his patient.

Newkirk began to protest until he saw Lebue swaying on his feet. As he helped his friend to the radio room, he heard the medic whisper, "This is bad, Kinch. I don't know if-"

"You have to try." The staff sergeant answered back forcefully. "Just do... something."

The two Europeans could hear the slight desperation before they were out of earshot. Newkirk sat Lebeau back on the bed, helping him lie down. He then occupied Kinch's chair behind the control desk.