Author's note: sorry, not much time for answering messages and reviews tonight. Hopefully tomorrow - keep them coming, I love reading and rereading your comments!

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Both Hogan and Little Red Ridinghood had simply acknowledged the news of the VIP prisoner having been picked up by the sub.

But now, as the shivering POW's were lined up in the early morninglight for morning roll call, everyone was in for a dubious surprise. For just as Klink came striding down the compound, hollering for Schultz's report, the door to the Kommandant's private quarters opened and out came their very own Mr. Hitler and his three helpers.

Hogan raised his eyebrows. What on earth was Carter up to now?

But some of his men couldn't resist a chuckle as they watched the four of them brushing past the Kommandant and heading straight for their formation.

"Keep a straight face," Hogan warned his men, and swiftly the message was passed on.

Klink hurried after the little group. "Mein Führer! What a pleasure to see you this morning! Haben Sie gut geschlafen?"

"Shut up, Klink," Hitler snarled.

A happy whinny was his reply. "Oh, mein Führer – you finally remember my name! Thank you, mein Führer. I am honoured! Thank you!"

There was a barely visible frown as Oskar Danzig assimilated the fact that the Führer apparently either had had trouble remembering the Kommandant's name, or else had continually corrupted it on purpose. Like so many of the visiting top brass did. Well, it wouldn't hurt to continue with that.

In the meantime, he had reached Schultz, took the clipboard from him and let his eyes wander over the names. "These are your prisoners?"

Klink deftly intervened. "Ha ha... Actually, mein Führer, they are my prisoners. I am the Kommandant; he is but a Sergeant."

Hitler thrusted the clipboard back at Schultz. "You are mistaken, Bink – they are prisoners of the Third Reich. Therefore, they are my prisoners." He looked them over. "And I will inspect them personally this morning."

Hogan raised his eyebrows at him, trying to catch his eye as to say, "Carter, what are you doing?"

But Hitler ignored him completely, and ordered his lieutenant, "Search them."

"Was?" That was an order Addison certainly hadn't expected.

"You heard me – search them!"

"Jawohl, mein Führer." Better keep up the charade for the Germans, no matter how crazy Carter was getting... So he stepped forward and gave Colonel Hogan a cursory body search. "Sorry, Colonel," he mouthed under his breath.

But Hitler wasn't exactly satisfied. "You call that a search? You nincompoop! Speidel, you do it! And be thorough about it!"

So Kruse got to give each and every one of the inmates of barracks 2 a thorough body search, and once he was through – to Danzig's relief with nothing possibly life-threatening to show his superior – Hitler began to parade slowly up and down the line, between and behind the prisoners. And although many of them felt a laugh tickling their cheeks, they couldn't help but be impressed by the menacing authority bordering on paranoia that radiated from their friend's every pore. He wasn't just pretending to be Adolf Hitler – he practically was Adolf Hitler!

When he finally reached Hogan, the Colonel mumbled from out of the corner of his mouth, "What are you doing?"

But their Hitler completely ignored him as if he hadn't heard. And perhaps he hadn't, for instead he was just about to address Schultz. "Sergeant, who is this Amerikaner."

Schultz paled. "Um... das ist... um..."

"Na?"

"Das ist... um... Colonel Hogan, mein Führer."

"He is the senior prisoner here, mein Führer," Klink cut in, happy to be of service. "The one I told you about: the witty one. Hihihi. I think you will like him."

Hitler looked Hogan over from top to toe and back. And wrinkled his nose in disdain. "Never. I hate Amerikaner. They are ignorant fools who ride around on horseback all day and eat nothing but popcorn and pommes frites. No wonder they're losing the war."

Hogan rolled his eyes. Alright, Carter, he thought. That's enough. Go back inside and don't come out until that stupid key arrives.

But the fool didn't go back inside. On the contrary: he began one of his long-winded shrieky speeches proclaiming the superiority of the German people, and after ten minutes, there was hardly a man among the prisoners who was still interested, let alone amused by his performance. All he was ventilating was plain crappy Nazi propaganda, and once again, Hogan felt the worry popping up if perhaps this prolonged charade had pushed his sergeant over the edge.

So when their pseudo Führer finally concluded his shrieking soliloquy, and was awarded by devoted applause from the real and fake Germans around him, as well as harrumphing and booing from the prisoners' side, Hogan quickly gathered his team around him as soon as roll call was dismissed. "Impressions?" he invited.

"The guy's gone nuts," was Kinch's uncommonly harsh comment. "Did you hear all that crap about other races? Sickening!"

LeBeau agreed wholeheartedly, but Newkirk cut in with glittering eyes. "That's because he simply isn't our Carter anymore. That's what you call 'method acting' – you're so into a role that you're not playing a part anymore; no, you really are that person! Only truly great actors ever fully master it. And believe me, I had no idea Carter had it in him! Blimey, I'm going to ask him if I can be his agent after the war. He's going to make me rich!"

The other three regarded him with doubt written all over their faces. "You mean the Carter we know is still in there somewhere?" LeBeau inquired. "Because if he is, I'm going to punch him in the nose as soon as he is himself again. The things he said about the French just now... C'est abominable!"

Hogan sighed. "I don't like it one bit either, but what Newkirk says coincides with what Addison said last night when I was thrown out of Mr. Hitler's quarters. Apparently Carter doesn't break character for a second anymore – he pretends he's Hitler 24/7. I don't know – maybe he thinks it's easier that way."

Newkirk beamed. "That's my man. Believe me, he's going to be a big star after the war. You guys better make sure you get his autograph while we're still stationed here – you'll never get another chance."

"Fine." Hogan crossed his arms. "But the sooner this is over, the better. It's getting creepy."

"Yeah. If that key was dispatched by express, shouldn't it be here by now?"

Hogan heaved a sigh. "Normally, yes. But in case you forgot, Kinch: there's a war on."

Carter was jerked awake out of an uncomfortable slumber when he felt someone working on the ropes around his ankles. He wanted to say something, but before he had thought of what to say, he realized he still wouldn't be able to get out anything but muffled mm-sounds.

Anyway, if they were untying his bonds, then perhaps they had finally realized who he was. Or better: who he was not. Or else they were about to go ashore in England, where Colonel Hogan sure would have raised the alarm by now and all would be well in the twinkling of an eye. Boy, he could already taste the juicy texture of a medium rare steak in his mouth...

He moaned a little as the rope around his ankles was loosened enough to allow normal circulation again. Boy, that hurt...

But the sailor who had untied him merely retreated to the door half a foot away from him, and watched him wriggle his toes and stretching his calves with a wary eye. Clearly, he had no intention of freeing him from his other bonds.

Once the worst of the pins and needles in his feet had subsided, Carter struggled to sit up in the cramped space between the bunks. Stiff and cramped as he was, with his hands still tied behind his back, it took him a few attempts to succeed, and the sailor by the door didn't lift a finger to assist him. Neither glares nor pleading puppy looks had any effect on the stoic guy, and with a sigh, Carter decided it was best to be grateful for small mercies right now: his feet were freed, and his headache was almost gone. And the moment they'd go ashore, they'd free him for sure.

He tried to stretch his back in the narrow space between the bunks, but it only resulted in his bumping his head.

And there was the long awaited knock at the door. Carter looked up, his eyes full of hope. Was it Colonel Hogan perhaps?

But no, it was that posh British Commandant. He came in, and together with the guy who had untied the rope around his ankles, he pulled their prisoner on his feet, blindfolded him again and began to lead him through the narrow corridors of the ship.

Carter tripped at every other step – especially when there were steep slippery ladders and stairs to be climbed. But in the end, his nose finally recognized the scent of fresh sea air, and a moment later, the gentle movement of the ground under his feet miraculously stopped. He was in England!

So far, things weren't exactly improving for him. A gunpoint made itself felt between his shoulderblades, and he was pulled along by his upper arms over a rough pavement. But soon he heard a heavy door being opened, and he smelled that they entered a building.

"We need to see General Hodges right away," he heard the Commander say in his posh accent. "It's urgent. Very urgent."

And Carter sighed. Very urgent indeed... When would these guys realize that he was just plain old Andrew Carter from Bullfrog, North Dakota?

The receptionist or whoever had been addressed gave no verbal answer, but apparently the General was free, for Carter was pulled along into a stuffy elevator, and once they got out, led into a room that smelled of peppermint and pipe tobacco.

He heard people saluting, and then the Commandant's explanation. "Sir, the German Underground delivered this package to us last night. A very special package if you please, sir."

Suddenly the blindfold was ripped away, and as he blinked against the bright light in the room, he heard the General's breath catch in his throat.

"Well, well, well..." was all the corpulent man said. He got up and slowly began to walk around Carter and his two captors. "A very special package indeed!"

Carter shook his head with flourish. "Mm ng hmm-m! Ng mm mm!"

The old man gave him a sharp glance. "Sorry, sir. I don't speak German."

"Ng-ng hm mmm! Mm-hm!"

The General shook his head. "Never had I thought I'd see the day that I'd look the bloody Führer in the eye..."

Once again, Carter tried to make clear that he was not the 'bloody Führer', but no one paid any attention to his limited strings of consonants.

Instead, General Hodges looked up at the Commander. "This is too big for me, Bingham Carter. I'll have him sent on to Headquarters in London right away. It's more in their line to negotiate surrender and such." He nodded. "But at least you may rest assured that you've played a vital part in bringing this war to an end. Congratulations!"

With that, three other men were called in, an armoured car was ordered, and within ten minutes of his setting foot on British soil, Carter found himself on the way to London at gunpoint of no less than three machine guns. He barely dared to breathe.

So much for his steak...

Hogan had chosen a lounging place against the wall of barracks 2 from where he could oversee most of the compound.

And it was necessary. Overseeing most of the compound meant he could keep an eye on Carter – Carter, who was making a mighty nuisance of himself today: harassing prisoners, bawling out guards and throwing a tantrum at anyone who dared to get in his way.

Hogan was worried. Sure – the guards were too petrified to do anything. But every minute out there was an extra minute in danger of exposure. On top of that, would Carter know when he was going too far? When to stop?

If only that stupid key would arrive...

Three times had he tried to address Carter himself. To talk some sense into him, to warn him not to push his luck too far.

But he hadn't gotten anywhere of course. Carter deftly avoided him, and whenever he would allow him to get near, it was always in the company of at least a handful of German guards. And with the necessity to keep up the charade in front of the Germans, he could hardly call him to order in front of such an audience. Instead, he got to swallow insults and derogatory remarks – from his Sergeant! Method acting or not, there was no need to revel so much in putting down his senior officer... But what could he do about it as long as Carter was supposed to be Hitler?

At the moment, Carter was speed-ambling across the compound with Addison in his wake. He had ditched Kruse and Schwarz a few minutes ago, with orders to go and prepare lunch, and the two had retreated to the Kommandant's quarters.

Addison of course kept up his perfect pokerface, but there was something in his manner that told Hogan he was getting heartily fed up with Carter's act.

Carter made a sudden turn and began to head towards the dog pound.

And that's when it happened: a staff car drove up to the gate, and the guards – jumpy as they were today – hurried to let the visitors in.

Hogan's heart jumped to his throat.

In the back seat of the car, flanked by two of his officers, sat Adolf Hitler...