Author's note: Sorry the update took a while, but both real life and the PBA interfered big time. I hope you'll enjoy my take on the first contact between the local underground and Hogan's team!
By the way, will you believe that so short after my writing that story about Udo, my Mum went ahead and broke her leg, too? Almost spooky – as if I predicted it in the story... ;-)

.

Hamelburg was just the right size of town for this work, Karl reflected as he watched a squirrel hurry across his lawn. It was small enough to be familiar with most of its inhabitants' faces, yet big enough for a new face not to attract attention. It was a commodity they frequently put to good use by going around in disguise on some mission themselves. Without anyone wondering who they were and what they were doing here.

But this was different. If he'd follow Udo's advice – and the advice certainly made sense – then either he himself had to go in dressed as a lady, or they'd have to send one of the girls indeed.

His instinctive reaction was for him to dress up and go in himself. He hadn't done any female impersonating since the outbreak of the war, and to be honest, he was every so happy to have left that episode of his life behind him. Still, for the good cause?

But he had to consider Maryse as well. Up until now, he had run his resistance group here along the same lines he (and Schattner before him) had done in Berlin. In short, that meant the men went out risking to get caught or shot any moment (as Maryse so eloquently put it), and the women provided the necessary services behind the scenes: fake papers, fake orders, fitting, fixing and cleaning uniforms, distributing the seized ration books, running messages and the likes. Dangerous enough if they'd get caught, but not nearly as provocatively dangerous as going out stealing and sabotaging in commando black or Nazi uniform. After all, they are women.

But his girl-friend had revolted against this division of labour from the very beginning, and her insisting on applying for that secretary job in the prison-camp had only been the most recent example. It wasn't so much that she resented his trying to protect her; no, it was much more her continuous fear for his life that made her so rebellious and – in her own words – drove her half insane. In a way, she was as protective of him as he was of her, and he was sure that deep down, she would very much prefer to take over all his missions if she could – if only to keep him safe.

Alright, and there was the matter of her simply being too smart to be content to sit back and let others (e.g. men) solve all the problems. It certainly was one of the things that made her so special, but it did come at a price: he did have to deal with her sometimes almost feministic arguments.

He raked his fingers through his hair as he looked out over his small garden where the squirrel was back, juggling a few beechnuts. Juggling a love-life with perilous resistance work sure wasn't easy. Maybe that's why the spies in the books were always bachelors. Or perhaps they retired as soon as they found the girl of their dreams?

But he had no intention of giving up the fight yet. And giving up Maryse simply was not an option. He had been miserable enough those few weeks when she had jilted him because of his resistance work – it would take an awful lot for him to even consider risking that again.

It did mean however that he had to try and keep her happy, and this might just be an occasion to let her have a share in the 'real' work. Not too dangerous for his own peace of mind, and at the Hofbrau he could easily keep an eye on her. More than one even, if they were to put the other plan into action right away.

Upon being asked, Maryse immediately agreed to do it. (Not that Karl had expected any different.) "But with all those other people at the Hofbrau, I don't want to do it as myself. You know how people talk."

"Of course. I was thinking of going in as a shady blackmarketeer myself. Then you could be my glamorous sister who gets bored with the business talk and goes in search of other entertainment."

She grimaced. "Glamorous, you say? Karl, I don't have anything glamorous."

"But I do. Come." He led her down into the cellar under his house, where large boxes were piled up to the ceiling.

"What's this?" Maryse inquired.

"My play-clothes, so to speak." He pulled down one of the top boxes in the corner and opened it for her. "I'm not that much taller than you, so I don't think they'd need much altering to fit you."

Wide-eyed, Maryse touched the expensive dark green silk. A myriad of glitters shifted as the material moved in the light of the bare bulb. "Karl..." she breathed. "How... Where did you get this?"

He smiled a little. "I've got a few dozen of them. And they'll all be yours one day, I hope."

With delicate fingers, Maryse lifted the dress out of the box. It had a few creases and folds from being stored so long, but still... "It's beautiful," she whispered, her eyes feasting on the elegant cut.

"And I bet it'll be even more beautiful with you in it. Why don't you try it on?"

"What – here?"

"You can use my bedroom." He already pushed her towards the stairs.

But, "Your bedroom? Karl, I don't think that's..."

He grinned. "Well, at least it has a full length mirror. Don't you want to see yourself in this? And I promise I won't peek until you let me in yourself."

"But where did you get these beautiful dresses? Did you use them for Danzig's show?"

"Some of them, yes. But most of the real expensive stuff is Marya's."

"Who is that? No." She sighed. "Don't tell me. She's another one of those female impersonator acts."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "You said it. Marya was a Russian astrologer who was quite a success with the big brass in Berlin. And they kept showering her with dresses and furs and jewelry and I know not what – both to entice her to stay with them, and to poke out the eyes of their envious colleagues."

Maryse nodded. "I get the picture. And apart from the dresses, you got a lot of useful information out of them, too, I bet."

"Of course. That was the whole idea."

With a resigned shake of the head, Maryse went upstairs with the dark green dress, and Karl whistled appreciatively when she came down to the living-room again.

She smiled hesitantly. "Isn't it a little too short?"

"Of course not. You've got lovely legs, so use them to your advantage. With a bit of luck, he'll be so engrossed in looking at your legs that he'll answer any question you ask him without realizing it."

Maryse grimaced. "I'd rather you men would notice more of me than just my legs."

"That's your personal pride as Maryse Gotthardt speaking. But she's not going to the Hofbrau this week – Tatiana Bülow is. And her job is to get that mystery prisoner to talk. And I don't care whether it's her legs, her dress, her conversation, her laugh, her smile, her eyes, her décolleté or anything that does it, as long as you can lure him into talking."

She smiled. "I get the picture."

"So how is the dress? Do you need to alter it?"

"It's perfect." She chuckled mischievously. "I've always wanted a man whose clothes I could borrow."

"And shoes – do you have shoes to go with this? I don't think we have the same size there."

"No, I've got shoes." She made a coquettish twirl for him. "So how do I look?"

"Lovely." He caught her in his arms and kissed her. "Far too lovely in fact to let you go out of the house. But I promise you – I'm personally going to deck any male who pays undue attention to you!"

She grinned. "Except our mystery man of course."

A chuckle. "Except him, yes. I may defer that till later."

The next time Udo noticed the mystery man having disappeared from the camp, he had unfortunately only just come on duty, and there was no way he could warn his friends that night. And before his shift was over, the guy was back in camp.

But a few days later, Udo's shift ended shortly after an impromptu roll call in honour of the newly promoted General Burkhalter – a roll call where the mystery man's place was occupied by a young guy in blue RAF uniform!

So he went straight to Maryse's once he was off-duty, and within fifteen minutes the threesome was together, preparing for their night out. They had already brought their play-clothes (as Oskar called them) here a few days back, and it didn't take long for them to get changed.

"By the way, I found that part of the fence you were talking about," Udo told Oskar as they changed into their somewhat gaudy blackmarketeer outfits in the kitchen.

Oskar sighed. "You couldn't resist, could you? I hope you didn't draw attention to it?"

"Of course not. I simply swapped my nightshift from the watchtower to the compound. Most guards like to be up on the watchtower and play with the searchlight, you know. But Sergeant Schultz is still favouring me with standing duties instead of walking duties. But it's nice to be able to walk around sometimes. And in the dark I can even let go of my limp – they can't tell us apart from up the towers anyway."

"So what did you find out?"

"It's definitely new – much newer than the fence itself. And you can't lift it entirely – only maybe half a meter. Enough for a person to roll under it."

"And its location?"

"Behind barracks 6. Which is indeed pretty close to barracks 2 where Colonel Hogan and our mystery man are housed."

"I can't say I'm surprised. Well, perhaps he can shed some light on it tonight."

They went back to the living-room where the light was better to do Udo's make-up, and Udo whistled when Maryse joined them again wearing the dark green dress. "Hey, Herr Bülow, you didn't tell me your sister was that pretty. Can I ask her out for a date?"

Maryse gave him a tense little smile, but Oskar warned him in mock stern to watch it. "I vowed I would deck anyone who paid undue attention to her tonight, and I have every intention of keeping that promise!"

Udo flashed Maryse a grin, and once his make-up was taken care of, he left the house by the back door to go and keep an eye on the situation at the Hofbrau.

"Come on, your turn." Karl gestured to the chair, and hesitantly, Maryse sat down. She didn't have all that much experience with the result of Karl's magic fingers on her own face, and it was with some trepidation that she left her appearance at his mercy. Who knows what she'd look like in fifteen minutes time? Different of course, but how different? In what way?

She felt Karl's soft fingers rubbing something into her cheeks, and suddenly he asked, "Scared? You're so tense."

She shook her head. "Not scared. Nervous maybe. I'm not exactly a born flirt."

"I know." He smiled. "It's one of the things I love about you. So just talk to him like you would to any young man. Don't overdo it. You'll be fine, I'm sure."

He finished the job in mutual silence, and then sat back on his heels to view the result. "It's not you – it's a piece of art," he observed. "But a lovely piece of art you are..."

Maryse picked up the small handmirror – and her jaw dropped at the sight of her reflection. Mysterious, exotic, excessively beautiful... Looking back at her from the mirror was the kind of seductive young lady that would win a beauty pageant in America. Was this really her – thirty-plus year old Maryse Gotthardt from Duisburg?

Then perhaps those girls in the beauty contests had rather plain faces, too, and were merely 'made' beautiful by a make-up artist?

"Like it?" Karl asked.

She nodded, and shook her head – and nodded again. "It's beautiful. But as you said, it's not me. It'll be rather awkward to go around looking like this, I think. As if my face doesn't match me."

He smiled. "You'll get used to it. And I promise you it will be easier than you think. People will treat you based on what they see, and your reactions will almost automatically adapt to their approach. So..." He got up and extended his hand to her. "Shall we go, my dear sister?"

Karl recalled how apprehensive he had been that first time he had walked through his hometown dressed as Katinka Kordeva. And how Peter's continuous advice and reassurances that everything would be fine only had made him more nervous – right until the moment the curtain rose as they entered the café.

So instead of pushing it with Maryse (who was far less of a natural actor to begin with), he just left her to her own thoughts as they walked along the narrow streets of the town center, and limited his reassuring her to an occasional wink or a squeeze of her hand.

She sure did attract attention though. Heads turned, men stared, women appraised her... And when some officer even tipped his hat for her, she finally found her smile.

"That's the spirit," Karl whispered. "And there is the Hofbrau. Are you ready, Tatiana?"

She took a deep breath. "I hope so."

"Then go get him!" He pushed open the door and let her enter first.

There was not an eye in the room that did not instantly turn to her, and Maryse felt a fiery blush creeping up to her cheeks under the layers of make-up. Suddenly she felt terribly awkward in this glamorous charade, and wooden and uncertain under all this attention, and she was sure she was going to trip or wrench her ankle or...

But there was Karl's hand at her elbow, casually guiding her to the back of the room where the disguised Udo raised his hand.

Udo stood when they approached his table. "Herr Bülow. Fräulein," he bowed formally, as if they hadn't parted less than an hour ago.

"Herr Elsner," Maryse said quietly in return as she made a slight curtsey, and she extended her hand to him as she had seen the grand ladies in the movies do.

Udo pressed a gallant kiss on it, and couldn't keep his eyes off her as Karl took her (his) fur cape and pulled out a chair for her to sit.

"You look absolutely wonderful tonight, Fräulein," Udo said with clear admiration in his voice.

"Thank you, Herr Elsner." Maryse folded her hands on the table and furtively looked around. It was around dinnertime, and quite a few tables were occupied. "So who is it?"

"He's not here yet."

"What? You mean we...?"

"Calm down – it's still early," Karl admonished her.

"Easy for you to say," she hissed. "I had myself all worked up to have a go at him – and now he's not here?"

"We'll just be ordinary customers and have some dinner first."

"I didn't bring my ration book. But I don't think I could eat anyway."

"Are you sure? I can cover for your rations – no problem."

"Thanks, but my stomach is one big knot. I'm sure I couldn't eat a bite anyway."

So the two men ordered, and while Maryse filched some small bits and pieces from their plates after all, Herr Bülow and Herr Elsner kept up a lively conversation about – of all things – cars. She had no idea either of them was so knowledgeable on the subject – or were they? But boring it certainly was, and it made Udo's sudden nudge, "There he is!" all the more welcome.

Maryse (or Tatiana) followed the young man with her eyes as he made his way to one of the empty tables by the wall. An old man stopped him for a moment, and their talk ended in a hearty laugh before the mystery man continued towards the table he had chosen for tonight.

She turned a bit in her chair to have a better view of him. And found he was actually rather cute. Mid twenties by the looks of it, with a pleasant, open face and a ready smile.

She waited till he had placed his order with the waitress, and then she slowly rose to her feet.

Immediately all the eyes in the room were upon her again, but now that her task was tangible, she saw only one man.

And he saw her, too...

With slightly swinging hips she approached his table, and struck the provocative pose Karl had taught her. "Hello gorgeous."

The mystery man quickly let his eyes wander from her top to toe and back before replying, "Hello gorgeous yourself."

Maryse fluttered her eyelashes at him, but it felt totally unnatural, so she quickly amended it with a smile. "Mind if I join you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Weren't you with those guys over there?"

A careless wave. "Just my brother and his associate." She rolled her eyes and gracefully sat down across from him without a real invitation. "They've been talking business all night. And business is so boring..."

He flashed her a smile. "You're so right."

So far his German was perfect. Perhaps if she'd draw him out a bit more...? He really looked way too nice to be linked to the Gestapo. "So what brings you to town?"

A grin was her reply. "Business."

She sighed with exaggerated suffering. "Men... All they talk about is business... Business and war and cars!"

He rested his elbows on the table and whispered conspirationally, "I wouldn't mind talking about something else with you, Fräulein...?"

"Tatiana," Maryse supplied. "Tatiana Bülow. And the one with that awful orange tie over there is my brother – Louis. And you are...?"

"Tappert," the mystery man said. "Hugo Tappert, at your service, Fräulein."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Herr Tappert," she murmured formally.

"Likewise." He half stood and bowed for her.

After that, they both were silent for a while. It was obvious that Herr Tappert was feasting on her fake features. But no matter what Karl said, she was simply not accustomed to such attention, and she found his overt interest in her rather disconcerting. True – she could really bask herself in Karl looking at her like that. But a total stranger? Was that something the real pretty girls had to put up with all the time?

So she shyly looked away, doing her best to make it look like aloofness.

But her task was to get him to talk, so... "Could it be that I've seen you here before?"

He shook his head. "Impossible. Someone as pretty as you... I would have remembered."

"But you do come here more often, don't you? I saw you greet that old man when you came in."

He shrugged. "An old friend. I'm a travelling salesman – I've got friends and acquaintances in every town in this area."

She played a bit with her bracelet, then picked up a beerspill and twirled it between her fingers. "Girl-friends, too, I suppose? A good-looking guy like you..."

He grinned. "I've been saving myself for someone real special."

She raised her eyebrows in fake ignorance. "Who might that be?" This was finally becoming a little easier.

"Someone like you, for example," he replied.

"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "My brother would never allow it. He lets me talk to men – but no more than that. Unless..." She shrugged, and glanced back at Karl and Udo. "Unless I can get a business deal out of it of course." She gave him an innocent look. "So what is your business?"

"Pencils," he deadpanned.

"Pencils?" She shook her head. "Peanuts. My brother is in cars. Now that's real business. One sale and you're comfortably off for months." But she was quickly running out of inspiration here, so she made the sign for Karl to come and rescue her: tugging her hair behind her ears.

He was at her side before Herr Tappert had even concluded his counterargument about selling pencils.

"Tatiana, is this man bothering you?"

"Louis! What are you doing? This is none of your business!" This part at least had been properly rehearsed...

"It is my business. I will not have my sister being trifled with by some shady stranger. Come." He took her by the arm and forced her to get up.

"Sorry. Nice talking to you," Maryse still said over her shoulder to Herr Tappert as she was dragged back to her own table.

"Keep it up a little longer – people are watching," Karl hissed as he dropped her unceremoniously on her chair.

So instead of heaving the sigh of relief that begged to be released, she pouted. "I'll never find a husband if you keep dragging me away from men."

"You don't need a husband – you've got me," he retorted.

"That's not the same."

They kept up the brother-sister bickering for quite a while, occasionally with Herr Elsner adding his two cents as well. But hand over hand it petered out, and once their volume was down far enough not to attract attention anymore, Karl whispered, "What did you find out?"

"He says his name is Hugo Tappert, a travelling salesman in pencils – though I'm not sure if he was serious about those pencils. His German is flawless, with a strong Düsseldorf accent. And the German way of introducing oneself comes entirely natural to him. I'm fairly sure he is German."

Udo and Oskar exchanged a glance.

"Plan B?"

"Plan B."

Udo disappeared to make a phonecall, and when it looked like Herr Tappert was nearly done with his meal, Herr Bülow asked for the check, and a few minutes later they stood outside in the quickly cooling evening.

"There's Hasso." Karl nodded to the trees at the shorter side of the square, where their friend the miller was waiting in the car. "You know what to do, sis."

Maryse nodded. "But you two be careful, okay?"

A few minutes later she sat in the front seat next to the driver, and Udo and Oskar had taken up their respective places in the shadows close to the Hofbrau. The waiting game could start...

It was around the same hour as last time – shortly after dark – that the mystery man left the tavern.

But this time, Oskar and Udo were immediately on his heels. "Herr Tappert, I believe?" Oskar inquired with a threatening edge to his voice.

The man made a move as to turn around, but the sudden sensation of a revolver pressing against his back clearly made him reconsider.

"Good. Now if you would be so kind as to come with us for a moment? We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Herr Tappert didn't say a word, but obediently went as he was directed. Until they were in the shadow of the trees, when... A sudden turn, a fist connecting with his assailant's jaw, a gun scattering over the cobblestones... And a soundless sigh as Udo hit him over the head with his gun.

"Oof..." Oskar picked up his revolver and quickly bent over their fallen hostage. "Is he out?"

"I think so."

"Quick then."

Together they carried the young man the last few meters to the waiting car, and manoeuvered their unconscious prisoner onto the back seat. They both took their place on either side of him, and off they went, blindfolding and tying him on the way.

Hasso deliberately made a bit of a detour, but in the end he stopped by the windmill. "I'll get him," he said, and under the watchful eyes of his comrades, he threw Herr Tappert over his shoulder and carried him into the woodshed.

He was placed on a straight-backed chair and – unconscious or not – held at gunpoint as they freed his hands and tied them again behind the back of the chair. A thorough body-search produced a small gun, a pocket-knife, and papers in the name of Hugo Anton Tappert that, according to Oskar, looked real enough to leave open the option of them being fake.

Udo had lit the paraffinlamp in the corner, making sure to keep the light low so it wouldn't give away human presence in the shed, and in the half-light the three men studied their sagging prisoner.

"I hope I didn't hit him too hard," Udo muttered with a hint of worry in his voice.

"He'll be alright," Oskar assured him. "He might well be faking it now, to learn as much about us as he can. So..."

Udo nodded. 'No talking', was his motto tonight. For unlike Oskar, he wasn't very adept at disguising his voice, and they certainly couldn't risk this so-called POW to recognize the voice of one of the guards.

"He's a feisty one," Hasso agreed. "Maybe we should tie his ankles to the legs of the chair, too. To avoid him pulling a stunt like the one he did back there."

Oskar nodded, and once that was taken care of, Hasso took his leave. "Good luck with him. I'll go and get the lady home. You guys just shout if there's trouble, okay?"

Once Hasso had left, Oskar removed the mystery man's blindfold. After all, he had already seen them at the Hofbrau, and soon the man began to show signs of coming around. A few moans, a few vigorous shakes of the head, a jerk as he realized he was tied to something, and Herr Tappert opened his eyes.

"Guten Abend, Herr Tappert," Oskar drawled. "I'm sorry we had to knock you out, but we really wanted to talk to you in private."

The guy gave him a blurred look. "What... About your sister? I didn't even touch her – honest!"

"Good for you, but that's not what we want to talk about."

"What then?"

Oskar leaned in on him. "We'd like to ask you a few things about your business with Stalag 13."

The prisoner raised his eyebrows. "Stalag 13? Where is that? Oh, wait... Isn't that the prison-camp just outside town here?"

"Exactly. We know that you belong there, and yet you don't belong there. Do I make myself clear?"

"Not really," the guy muttered.

"Then let me spell it out for you." Oskar began to circle him – slowly, like a beast of prey. "Witnesses have seen you leaving the camp and going back into the camp through the wire. And without being bothered by the guards. And we would like to know: what is a German civilian doing, posing as an Allied prisoner-of-war, and going in and out of the local prison-camp several times a week?"

.

Author's note: And with this, my dear readers, unfortunately the publishing has caught up with my writing: the next chapter is only halfway! Still, I hope we'll soon be able to continue, to see whether our friend Olsen will be able to convince Karl he's one of the good guys instead!