I looked up from the bowl to see a man standing before me. Big surprise. It's not like this entire camp was full of men or anything. He stood there casually, hands in the pockets of his brown bomber jacket. I gave him a cursory once-over, then returned to my meal. It wasn't more interesting than he was, but I didn't want to be the one who began speaking first. I just hoped it didn't contain any meat.

"You know," he began conversationally, almost to himself, "tables weren't invented to be sat on."

I grinned, tongue stuck out of one side, kept in place by my teeth. Evil Peter called it my 'someone's gonna get it' face. "I suppose. But I don't really feel like dancing. No shimmy show tonight. My apologies." Taking a sip from my mug, I held it up for a moment longer than necessary to hide my smirk.

"I wasn't asking for a show." He frowned.

"Well, sitting on tables and dancing on them are about the only things I know how to do with them. Well, there's cards, but I didn't think that's what you meant."

He gave me a wary look, probably wondering why I would dismiss card playing and not dancing. "Maybe I should start again. I'm the ranking officer here. You have a problem, I'm the one who takes it to Klink."

"The middle man becomes a glorified position?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Seriously, that's what it sounded like. The middleman is supposed to profit, though, right? Yes, that's right. Like Nike and child labour. The first man, the impoverished children, get zip. Nike, the middle, gets millions of dollars a year. The final man, ignorant consumers, ends up paying Nike millions. Nice system.

"No, it's just the way things work in the army."

"Aye, aye, Skipper," I saluted with my hard-as-rock dinner roll. I noticed that slowly, the other prisoners were keeping their own noises down to listen. "Let's be friends. I'm Corporal Penn Boyd."

"Colonel Hogan." He emphasized the Colonel part, seemingly waiting for some type of reaction.

I stared at him for a moment. "Is that supposed to inspire hero worship or something?" Obviously, it was. Nearly all the men—including those that had been at least civil before were now looking at me with disbelief and something akin to horror. With eight words, I had become the enemy. So be it.

"Well, no," the Colonel said, almost reluctant to continue the matter, "but a little respect would be nice. I am your new commanding officer, Corporal."

I shrugged. "Oops, my bad." I noticed a frown of either confusion or consternation appear on his forehead. Odd, I could almost hear him thinking, he doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact I am his commanding officer. No respect. He would be wrong. I had plenty of respect for those who earned it. Others received sarcasm.

"You shouldn't alienate people on your first day here. For a long term stay, it's nice to have people you can talk to." He said, trying to stare me down.

"I'm not planning on staying long," I picked my roll back up and bit a tiny piece off. I couldn't chew. It was Chevy bread—like a rock.

"An escape?" He raised a single eyebrow.

"Nah," I said, "I'll probably just die trying to chew this bread." I spit it out and aimed for one of the guards' helmets. The Colonel frowned like a disapproving father.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat further on the benefits of a disciplinarian society, but I have to go burn things." I smiled and slid off the table, pressing the tray into his hands. Sauntering off out of the makeshift "mess hall," I bumped into the badly accented Englishman on my way out. Leaving for a quiet spot to kick-box, I couldn't prevent the devious grin on my lips. Luckily, no one could see.

-

"What'd you get, Newkirk?" Carter asked as the pickpocket returned to their table.

"A letter," he said, unfolding it. "Let's see what our latest addition has in correspondence…

"My dearest Adolf," Newkirk began, then stopped. He looked at the paper again, oblivious to the others' urging to continue.

Colonel Hogan sat back down at the table. "A letter, Newkirk?"

"Aye, sir, from Boyd. But it's…" He paused, unsure of how to phrase it.

"Well, don't describe it, just read it!"

Newkirk nodded and began again. "My dearest Adolf,

"This is your sister, Hillary. How are things in wondrous Germany? I think ruling countries is in our blood. Of course, you rule for yourself, I must rule through my husband. Can you believe that dummkopf?

This morning, I was having this most wondrous dream about finally being able to take over another country and uniting the Americas once and forever, when I wake suddenly. He'd turned off the alarm! I slept in this morning, and I had to be…well, he reminded me then that he'd not been president for a while, and that meant I didn't need to make him my puppet. Of course, he didn't mention the puppet thing. Again, it runs in family, the puppets. None of your loyal soldiers truly realize what you're up to.

"Thatsa is getting…bigger. Oh, I hope you remember her. She's…well; I suppose I can divulge my secret to you. Thatsa is not my daughter. She is the illegitimate love child of my husband, Unibill and Nastiella Grossage. You remember her, she was at our birthday party? She dressed up as Winston Churchill. Oh, the look on your face! Actually, there is quite the resemblance. She's the cousin of Monika Shrewhinsky, the one who nearly got dear Unibill impeached? Well, she seduced him, and this is what happened. Thatsa. She's a darling child, ugly as sin, but lovely all the same. She doesn't have her mother's fashion sense, I've taught her all about the potential of the swastika as an accessory.

"I suppose I have gone on long enough, Adolf. I still can't believe how we're identical twins. Unibill says he can see the resemblance more now that I have the moustache. Dear, here I go again! I shall go. Really, I shall. Oh, one more thing. I have legally changed my name back to what it was before I was adopted.

"Your dear sister, Hitlery."

The five prisoners of war sat silently around the table for a moment. Hogan was the first to break the silence. "There is something very suspicious about that Corporal."