"What in…?" Skipper began in sheer disbelief, but Kowalski shushed him, instead listening intently to the radio. It then occurred to him to turn the volume up.

"So, I heard you started flying again." The voice spoke with more than a note of mocking, "Crashed, right? You really have gotten rusty."

"No thanks to you." Blowhole growled in a tone usually reserved for Skipper. "Don't think I've forgotten how I lost my eye and who I've got to thank for it."

"Glad to be of service." The other voice replied cheerily.

"Have you got a death wish, pen-gu-in?"

"Nah, I just know you're not gonna kill me." the other voice chuckled, "Paperwork and stuff. And your sister, so I'm told." Whoever he was, he had good information on things not many people outside camp were aware of, "Y'know, I'm gonna enjoy this, standin' here right in your own camp without a thing you can do about it…."

"So no escape attempts?" Blowhole asked cautiously.

"Why? You losin' a lot of prisoners?"

"The guy's completely crazy." Maurice spoke, shaking his head disbelievingly, "And I've only ever said that one other time in my life, when Skipper arrived."

"Don't push your luck…"

"Hey Doc!" Blowhole was cut off by Kazoo's voice, "The other ones are here."

The team raced out of the barracks as the new prisoner stepped out. Immediately he spotted them, seemed to recognize at least one of them and started in their direction.

"You recognize him, Kowalski?" Skipper asked. He didn't recognise the newcomer.

"No, sir." Kowalski replied. Nobody else seemed to know him either, "He appears to be an American airman, between eighteen and twenty five years of age, 0.234 give or take a thousandth of a centimetre off average male height, black hair, blue eyes…"

"I can see that much, Kowalski, tell me something I don't know." Skipper cut him off. Apparently Kowalski didn't know anything Skipper likely didn't already know, since he didn't say anything else.

The newcomer jogged up to the group and stood smartly before Skipper as if he expected Skipper to know him. It was now obvious now that Skipper was the one he'd recognized, but it was equally clear Skipper still either couldn't remember him or had been mistaken for someone else.

"It's great to see you again, Skipper." He grinned. Skipper returned the cheerful salute with a slightly mystified expression, "Don't you recognise me, sir?" the newcomer looked more than a little disappointed, possibly even hurt by Skipper's blank expression, "Sure, maybe I was a little optimistic to expect you to be over the moon to see me, but, well…" Then he paused, and his expression fell further, "You really don't remember me at all?"

"Who are you?" Skipper demanded, which effectively answered the question.

"Gosh, they said you might not remember – they said you might not remember a lot of things that happened before Denmark… I guess I just never thought I'd be one of them." He spoke. He stood almost as if standing to attention, but that pained expression was still there, "Captain Blake Grant, Penguin division, sir." He introduced himself formally. Slowly, a faint hint of recognition crossed Skipper's face as he heard the name.

"At ease, Pri… Captain." Skipper spoke, his expression unreadable.

"Yes sir." Skipper continued to study the younger man.

"Who is he?" Kowalski asked.

"He was my protégé." Skipper replied. Grant's expression flinched slightly, "Nigel ordered me to train someone in case something ever happened to me."

"But I'm guessin' something happened between you two." Maurice deduced, "Judgin' by the way you two look at each other." Skipper nodded.

"He was too impulsive, reckless." Skipper explained. He glanced at Grant, "Never obeyed orders."

"Sound familiar?" Kowalski muttered. Skipper didn't seem to pick up on this. He resumed studying his once-protégé suspiciously, as if trying to determine if these traits were still present. Skipper shook his head.

"No matter what I taught you, you always seemed determined to find a riskier way to do it." Skipper accused, "I figured Nigel was just wasting my life – I figured it was only a matter of time before you got yourself killed."

"I like to think I've changed, sir." Grant replied hopefully, "Still, we completed some pretty good operations together, sir. And Blowhole still doesn't know which one of us shot his eye out." Skipper nodded reluctantly. He gave Grant one last suspicious look before he seemed to come to the decision to bury the hatchet.

"So, I can see you've 'graduated'." Skipper finally spoke. "Captain already, now?" Grant nodded.

"Yes sir. I had a good teacher…"

"Skipper!" One of the two other prisoners who'd been brought in with Grant called breathlessly, moving towards the group, and he didn't appear to be referring to Skipper. "Blowhole let you go within ten minutes?"

"You guessed right again, Kowalski." Grant sighed.

"Guess, sir." 'Kowalski' scoffed, "That was not guesswork, sir, that was a combination of good intelligence, excellent deductive work and…"

"Who are you?" Skipper demanded, but he had a feeling he already knew. The kid was calling himself Skipper? The olive branch he'd previously begun to extend was now gone.

"This is my team," He spoke proudly, "This is Lieutenant Peter Kowalski, and Sergeant Alexander Enrico, we just call him Rico." Then he noticed Skipper wasn't smiling, "I know what you're thinking, but I didn't want to do it, sir." Skipper's student added quickly, "Nigel heard rumours were going around that Skipper had been captured, and of course if they find you, they find Kowalski and a lot of classified technology ends up in the hands of the enemy. Nigel couldn't have the fact you've been here the past year discovered so he sent us over here to keep the legend of Skipper alive." Skipper just nodded stonily.

"I don't suppose there's one of me, too?" Private asked excitedly, "Goodness, I haven't seen Timmy in ages!" Skipper's opinion of Grant seemed to sink even further.

"You didn't…"

"I've got no idea who he's talking about." Grant replied blankly.

"My cousin." Private added unnecessarily.

"It's just the three of us." Grant confirmed. Skipper seemed to relax significantly.

"Kowalski, is it?" Kowalski sniffed. "What's your real name?"

"Just that, sir." The other Kowalski replied, eying the other as if he might try to steal his data, "Considering the fact it's the second most common surname in Poland, it's not entirely impossible for us to share a surname." He countered. "I've heard about your work. And your laboratory practices. Especially Dale…"

"Are you trying to blackmail me?" The other Kowalski countered suspiciously, "Because that's common knowledge, and the fire was an accident."

"Not at all. Just giving my opinion on what I've read of your questionable methodology and laboratory practices."

"Oh, and may I ask about your reputation, since I've never heard of you?" Kowalski replied sharply to the counterpart he feared Skipper would see as Kowalski 2.0. They weren't getting off to a good start, the two watching each other like hawks, occasionally glancing at their respective Skippers, "And just who was your alma mater, since I anticipate you were about to insult mine?"

"If you were in the field of applied chemistry you probably would have heard of me." The newcomer replied in a similar tone, hoping his Skipper wasn't concerned by the other Kowalski's seniority and greater media presence, "and by the way, I'm flattered you're pre-preparing degrading remarks for the top twenty chemistry faculties, but I highly doubt you anticipated that I'm about to tell you I'm self-taught." Both Kowalskis gave each other scathing looks.

"You do realize that when you boil it down that chemistry is just a lesser subcategory of physics…"

"Perhaps only to those of us who feel the need to put the other sciences down to sooth their own ego…" The scientists' voices were becoming more and more raised.

"Was it just me, or in that last sentence did you get your numbers confused? 'Those of us' is plural and 'ego' is singular…"

"Grammar? Really…?"

"Ugh, 'Walski." The newly arrived Rico groaned. "a' now 'ere two a them."

"'ell me 'bout it." Rico groaned, glancing dismissively at the two scientists who were gripping their clipboards like they were about to start an all-out clipboard fight, "We stop 'em?"

"Nah, no much poin', they ain' near 'ny chem'cals." Both Ricos seemed to agree on this, "'Ey, wha' thi' I 'ere 'bout 'Ipper's Fourth 'a July in Se'tember?" The other Rico grinned as the two started in the direction of the barracks.

"'tween tha' 'n Julian, you ain' see' nothin' 'et, 'iddo."