"Your first mission outside the wire," Colonel Hogan said, and he passed a shiny invitation to Dietrich. "Is to go as Major Hans Buser, just returned from France and waiting for re-assignment. This party is being held in honor of Field Marshall Klempner, and you're going to get the information from our contact."

"The contact will use this recognition code," Hogan nodded at Kinch, who slid him a piece of paper. "And you'll have to work out a hand-off there because parties like this can go a little crazy. Newkirk is going to set you up with a uniform, and Carter is going to walk you through the information we've got from our friends in Paris."

"And me, mon Colonel ?"

"Louisa gets to make a comeback," Hogan said, and Lebeau's face twisted into a despairing frown.

" Non ! It is an insult to French womanhood!"

"She's the best bet we've got, and Major Buser can't show up alone; it'll be suspicious."

"Louisa?" He was missing something, and the dossier on his cover was thicker than he expected. Truly Hogan's men could work miracles.

"Lebau's best cover," Newkirk snickered, "the loveliest bird in all of Paris."

"You are Louisa?" He paused, "my...wife?"

"Fiance," Hogan interjected with a truly wicked smile. "And you're both madly in love. He'll be going to cover any slip-ups you make and to help with the trade-off."

"But the heels pinch my feet! Can't Carter go?"

"Nu, huh, Hochstetter is still looking for Frauline Gertrude," Carter grinned at the Frenchman, "remember?"

"She did rush out on their date," Hogan agreed, "which is almost treason these days."

"He has bad table manners," the tall American sniffed, "and that other fella was too handsy."

"Other?"

"A colonel," Carter said eagerly, "heck, Frauline Berta is engaged to him!"

"Carter," Newkirk said with a roll of his eyes. "Makes a pretty dame and a too-pretty dame if you ask me."

"You're just jealous because you can only play an old woman," the sergeant made a face at the Englishman. "And no one wants to dance with you."

"I don't want to dance with Gestapo men."

"Does it not seem strange that I will be attending this party with a man as my fiance?" Dietrich wondered if he had fallen through the looking glass. Did they not care? Did they expect him to...flirt with a man? To flirt with Lebeau?

"It's only strange if you think too hard about it," Carter assured him, "and Lebeau is a really good woman."

"This is a test, then?" He glared pointedly at Hogan, who nodded.

"You're going to have to learn to work with crazy ideas. You already know Lebeau, which means you're familiar enough; the rest is just acting."

"Do you intend for?" He paused, glancing sideways at Lebeau.

"You can kiss my hand or my cheek, not my lips," the cook scoffed, "I do not kiss officers."

Flushing from emotions he couldn't particularly place, Dietrich glared around the table at the conspirators and then at the men lounging on the nearby bunks. "If this is an attempt to mock me, Colonel Hogan."

"That's not it!" Hogan said, a little surprised, "this is necessary! We couldn't get someone from the underground to come in, not someone with the necessary skills and training."

"And if we are found out?"

"They'll be more concerned about your defection and spy-work than anything else, I guarantee you. But you won't get found out; you're going to be great because this was the part you were born for! And since you're an officer and a gentleman, you're not about to smooch your fiance in front of a crowd. You just have to make it look like you want to. Another thing is that Klink is going to be at this party."

Now the entire mission seemed impossible. He tried not to visibly despair, but Hogan only moved on with the conversation.

"We'll need to give him a haircut if you want to make him a mustache!" Olsen called, "and we'll have to do it tonight because making those things take a while."

"Right," Hogan snapped a hand at Dietrich, "You're going to get a mustache, and Carter is going to make some putty prosthetics to go on your face to help disguise yourself."

When he glanced at Carter, the man waved cheerfully, utterly ignorant of Dietrich's complete and total shock.

"You'll both have a week to prepare. Newkirk, make sure you and Lebeau get his dress designed properly. We don't want a repeat of last time."

"Righto!" Newkirk grinned, "Well, Cap, think you can manage this?"

"This is madness," he said instead, thinking longingly of breaking and enterings, pickpocketing, and sleights of hand usually employed by the Rat Patrol. He couldn't imagine any of them pretending to be a woman. "And only true madness heralds success," he nodded decisively. "Fraulein Lousia, can you dance?"

"Of course!"

"We shall have to practice," he nodded and decided that he would do his absolute best. "What else is there, Colonel Hogan?"

"The night of the party, you're both going to catch a ride into town from a local. Since Gruber is on leave, it's Shultz who is going to be in charge of bed checks. You'll be going out at 2100 hours, and you have to be back at 0200 hours."

"Do we know who this agent is? Are there any descriptors?"

"No, just the recognition code. I'll be here to cover for all of us. Any questions?"

The men shook their heads, and Dietrich glanced down at the file he'd been given. "Does my fiance have jewelry?"

"Jewelry?"

"No officer would allow his fiance to venture out without jewelry." He smirked at the Frenchman. "And I consider it wise to show off my excellent taste."

"Bah," the corporal made a face at him, and he was too amused to be annoyed. It was like the trick sometimes pulled in the desert. Two vehicles speeding toward each other, both refusing to swerve, and a head-on collision was nearly guaranteed. He had lost that trick once or twice, and he didn't intend to lose now.

"We'll arrange something," Colonel Hogan was grinning if he was amused by the by-play or by Dietrich's faint discomfort. "Right now, your focus is to train and practice and hash things out with Lebeau."

"Very well," he would do his best and prove that he was capable. "Do we know if General Burkhalter will be in attendance?"

"Not sure on that one yet. He hasn't sent a reply, and this is why we practice and let Private Mineer do his work. Carter, get on those prosthetics."

"Sure thing, Colonel."

"And you two can practice, the party is in a week, and I want everything to be perfect . Alright, get to it."

Dietrich, despite every instinct telling him not to, submitted to a haircut and was both impressed and faintly uncomfortable with the fact that they could manage such things in the camp. He shouldn't have been too surprised; they could seemingly pull off all sorts of miracles.

He wondered how the party would go.

#$#

Klink fluttered nervously around his office, fussing with his uniform and his monocle before turning to Colonel Hogan. The American was eyeing him with the usual amount of insolence and mocking and didn't seem at all concerned when he smacked his desk.

"Colonel Hogan, what are you doing here?"

"Hope your party goes well," the man answered cheerfully. "Besides, when was the last time you really got out?"

"I honestly can't remember." Klink sighed. "I couldn't say myself, but I am looking forward to this. I want nothing to go wrong."

"You'll be fine," the American crooned, "you spiffed up your uniform, you got the car polished, and I'm sure you've got a lot of clever and funny stories about re-capturing escaped prisoners that's going to be excellent conversation fodder."

"Colonel Hogan," he sat down and tried to breathe a few times. "How….are the prisoners?"

"Cowed, of course."

Klink scoffed; he'd seen the man interact with Hochstetter and with generals and princes; Hogan would never be cowed.

"And Captain Troy? Is he doing well?"

"He's a little strange," Hogan admitted, and Klink paused. His hands stilled over his gloves, and he watched the American closely. "You know these commando types, though. Not much to talk about with someone who isn't a pilot."

"Ah." That would help create a difference between Dietrich and the others, although Klink had to admit that he was doing an excellent job of hiding in plain sight. None of the guards had figured out he wasn't American, and Shultz was terrified of him. "Well, I suppose that would make a difference. He is a little more cowboy-like than the rest of you."

"I'm not enough of a cowboy?" Hogan demanded, faintly annoyed.

"Well, you have to admit he does have that….cowboy...swagger."

"Cowboy swagger?"

"Yes," Klink nodded because Dietrich did have a certain amount of American swagger and occasional glimpses of a German officer that peaked through. It did make him feel better about the entire situation because Hogan was one of the most clever men that Klink had ever met, and he hadn't thought that someone would ever be able to match wits with him.

"Well, I'm not John Wayne."

"No," Klink smiled faintly, "Did Captain Troy attend the John Wayne School of Cowboy Charm?" It was so rare to get one over on Hogan; he almost giggled at the frown aimed his way. "A pilot is perfectly charming, but I have heard that a cowboy is more intriguing."

"Huh," Hogan sighed, "well, there won't be any cowboys where you're going. Just cold, officious men without a sense of humor."

"Hogan! You should not insult other officers!"

"I'm right," the man scoffed, "so have fun, don't drink too much, and don't let any of the officer's wives get fresh."

" HOOOGAN!" He waved a hand at the American, who soundly ignored him. "I intend to enjoy my evening! If you attempt any foolish escape attempts, you will be severely punished."

"Relax, it's just a meeting of the escape committee. Nothing to get too excited over."

Escape committee meeting. No other camp commandants had to deal with this sort of nonsense. Rather, he didn't want to deal with the alternatives, which were to be as brutal as possible and marinate in fear. American sarcasm and flippancy, combined with dry British humor, now made him second-guess any conversation he had with people outside of camp. Hogan and his men wreaked havoc on his peace of mind.

"Hmph, no funny business, Colonel Hogan. I will punish any rulebreakers severely."

"Maybe you'll meet a nice girl."

"Huh, I doubt it. All of the nice girls are married or uninterested." He paused, wishing he hadn't said that part out loud.

"Did I get an invite?"

"Don't be absurd! Why would they invite a prisoner?"

"I don't know, the usual reasons." Klink paused in his perusal of his reflection, catching Hogan's eyes in the mirror.

"Colonel...If I recall, the General's party went very well."

"If you think so." Hogan stood up, pulling his hat on. "Have a nice party, Colonel Klink. Don't stay out too late; you know how your father and I worry."

"Bah!" Recalling the amusing, if baffling conversation from the last party with Captain Dietrich, Whatever retort he didn't want to fling at, the man died away as he left his office and the door shut with a sharp snap. He could only hope it wasn't a total disaster.

Corporal Langenscheidt seemed pleased to have driving duty; it was an opportunity to escape the prison for a night, even if he was going to be sitting with the other drivers and doing very little.

As he pulled to a stop and exited to open Klink's door, the flier caught attention to another officer exiting his vehicle just behind Klink. From the vehicle emerged a tall, lean major with striking features and a meticulously groomed mustache. His uniform was perfectly pressed, and he assisted a beautiful young woman out of their car. A delicate hand, clad in a perfectly white evening glove, was attached to a slender, short frame that stepped into the early evening chill with visible trepidation. She was small, dark, wearing the latest in French fashion and an enviable pair of diamond earrings.

Perhaps his stare was too bold because she turned, and Klink was arrested by the brilliant dark eyes that peered out at him from beneath long lashes. Something stirred in the back of his mind, and he almost wondered if he recognized her until she turned away and her husband's torso hid her from view.

Straightening his cap, Klink marched up the steps and into the beautiful mansion.

It was beautiful , almost like the parties he remembered as a young man. The dresses were exquisite, jewelry glittering on every woman, buttons bright as brass, and the food was enough to tempt a saint. He was so pleased he didn't know where to start first and was quite taken aback when a horribly familiar face appeared from the crowd.

"Colonel Klink!"

"Frau...Frau Linkmeyer!" He bowed shortly, doing his best to hide his grimace. Catching sight of the mystery major and his darling, Klink watched them disappear into the crowd. "What can I do for you?"

"Colonel Klink, no need to be so formal," she smiled, "we are old friends after all."

"Of course," grimacing, he offered her his arm. "How are you, Frau Linkmeyer?"

"Wonderful, Albert invited me to this party, and I am thrilled ! I heard," she leaned close, "that Field Marshal Rommel was going to come!"

"Field Marshal Rommel?" He paused, " really ?"

Captain Dietrich. Captain Troy. The fall of North Africa. The Rat Patrol.

"Colonel Klink, you've become so pale. Perhaps you should sit down."

"It is nothing, Frau Linkmeyer. I am doing perfectly well." He hoped that nothing went wrong. He tried to extract himself from the woman, but she insisted on clinging to his arm, which put off the few young prospects in attendance. When they reached a small knot in an alcove, he recognized the major and the young woman from just outside.

"Herr Oberst," the man greeted him, "gnädige Frau, good evening. How are you enjoying the party?" His manners were excellent, impressing Klink significantly, and he bowed properly over Frau Linkmeyer's hand with every appearance of politeness.

"Very well, thank you, who might we have the pleasure of meeting?"

"Major Hans Buser, gnadige Frau. This is my fiance, Frauline Louisa Pierre."

"Congratulations," Klink bowed to the beautiful young woman, admiring the exquisite brooch on her shawl.

" Danke ," her German was heavily accented but feather-light. An utterly charming combination of coy and beautiful, and he resented the young major for having found her first. "My...husband."

"Fiance," Major Buser corrected gently, nothing but sheer affection in his eyes. He squeezed her hand and lifted it to his mouth, never taking his eyes off her.

"Fiance, ah...I am pleased," Louisa giggled faintly, "I...learn...Germany for Hans."

"How admirable," Klink nodded, slipping into his rather poor French as both a consolation and to brag a little. Frau Linkmeyer seemed impressed, and he rather wished he hadn't tried that avenue.

"Of course, what a handsome young couple you make."

"And you, Herr Oberst, there is nothing so wonderful as the affection of a good woman." Major Buser nodded at Frau Linkmeyer. "You are well-matched as well."

"Ah, Frau Linkmeyer is a friend." He scrambled to salvage the conversation. "I am certain that." A commotion caught their attention, a small scattering of the crowd, and the colonel caught a glimpse of desert tan and blinked rapidly.

"Who could this be?" Major Hans wondered.

"I think it's the Desert Fox," Frau Linkmeyer thrilled, trying to stand on her toe and nearly bowling Klink over. "My goodness! A real soldier!" She blinked as Klink and Hans turned her direction. "You are a jailer," she scoffed, smacking Klink's arm. "My apologies, Herr Major."

"I understand your meaning perfectly," he replied graciously.

"I must have Alfred introduce us," she seized Klink's arm and forcefully steered him through the ballroom. Klink most assuredly did not want to meet the Field marshall. Not while he had his best captain locked up in his camp with little to no escape, the man relying entirely on his ability to pretend to be American. Not when he knew Frau Linkmeyer was about to put her foot in his mouth and drag him down as well.

#$#$#

"The colonel does not look happy," Leabeau muttered under the guise of giving Dietrich a kiss on his cheek. "The woman does that."

"I see," his whisper was lost in the excitement. "Plans?"

"Move around the room," Lebeau was the picture of grace and beauty and his side, giving a demure nod to another officer.

It was beautiful, almost enough to distract from the tragedy that was the rest of the town. How tired people were, how unhappy and quiet the streets happened to be, how people shrank away from SS men, and even from the evidence of bombing that lay scattered everywhere.

Doing his best not to seethe visibly, he availed himself and Lebeau to the host and returned to the crowd as he watched his former commanding officer through the crowd.

Klink, he could fool; the man had hardly noticed him and Lebeau, seemingly taken in by their disguise; but he had known Rommel for far longer. He had served with him, in France and in North Africa. It was possible that his disguise would be noticed, and they would be shot before midnight.

Meaningless small talk with officers, the cleverly dropped code-phrase, and he had a headache within an hour of the party beginning. It wasn't until he and Lebeau were taking a break, and he had to marvel at the skill displayed by the short Frenchman. For such a loyal man, he was doing amazingly well at not ripping the throats out of the men and women in attendance.

"And Albert!" Frau Linkmeyer seemed to be doing the rounds again, this time with General Burkhalter, and it was only Lebeau's furiously tight grip on his arm that kept him from reacting to the man. "This is Major Buser! Just returned from France, and his darling fiance!"

"General," he greeted the General. "It is an honor ."

"Yeah." He was spending too much time around Americans. His ja sounded more like a yeah . "How is France these days? I imagine noisier than it should be."

"There were very few changes when I left, but I imagine that it has gotten noisier in the past month." He sighed, affecting sorrow. "I cannot imagine why when we do so much for France." He would be paying for that later; practically hearing the curses Lebeau was hurling at him, he ushered the man forward. "Sir, allow me to introduce my fiance, Frauline Louisa." The general gave a polite bow, completely missing the fact that an Allied pilot was standing right in front of him, next to a defected Panzer commander. "We are only here shortly before I leave for my next posting."

"Ah, where are you going?"

"I am supposed to get my orders next week," he sighed, remembering the days when he'd been pleased to go to North Africa when he'd been the envy of the men and women in the ballroom. When his sister was at his side, teasing him. "I am pleased to see the Fatherland before I leave again. I have missed home."

"A soldier's talk," Frau Linkmeyer scoffed, and she pulled on Lebeau, "let's leave them to their soldiering, my dear. We shall find better conversations elsewhere."

" Ja ," Lebeau smiled awkwardly, and as he moved to step away, Dietrich brought a gloved hand toward his chest, attention focused on the shorter man in a manner he hoped resembled heartbroken. "Hans?"

"Ah," he glanced briefly at Burkhalter, who seemed more amused than anything. "Be well, beloved." With great reluctance, he released his partner in crime and watched the man swan over to the gaggle of women in the corner. He caught a brief glimpse of the Field Marshal and his wife off, surrounded by other soldiers.

"Young long," Burkhalter commiserated, "it is so nice to see these days." He glanced significantly at his sister.

"Ah, as sweet in temperament as she is beautiful," he sighed, watching Lebeau meld perfectly with the women, amazed at the sheer competence on display. It was marvelous, and the awe on his face must have translated into something very different for the general.

"She is a very fine young woman," The general eyed him, and then Lebeau with a truly disgusting amount of lust. "You chose well, even if she is French."

Perhaps he had been around Americans too long, or perhaps he had been around Lebeau for too long, or maybe it was the fact that he was one of the men who had helped invaded France in the beginning, and he had a deep and abiding respect for the country, or maybe he was simply sick of the unearned arrange of the men around him, but he fumbled for words with a sudden tongue suddenly thick with rage.

"Do not worry. I am certain your record will speak for itself."

They made meaningless conversation for several minutes before Dietrich could extract himself and carry a plate of pastries to Lebeau.

"Excuse me, ladies," he nodded to the collection of beautifully dressed officers' wives. If Hogan were here, he'd be slobbering all over them. Gracefully as he could, he knelt beside the chair Lebeau was perched on and passed him the plate. "Are you well?"

"You worry," Lebeau crooned, tapping the end of his nose with a gloved fingertip.

"I certainly hope you are treating my fiance well," he said, "she has been so nervous to come to Germany."

"You do not need to watch her every moment." someone chided, and they sounded more jealous than annoyed.

"No, I do not need to." He watched Lebeau glanced at his knees in the perfect imitation of a coy, shy woman. "I simply wish to."

"Han," Lebeau whispered, "stop."

"The waiter did not have the champagne you wanted." Which meant he hadn't been able to find the contact yet.

"I will find some," he answered, "find me when the dancing begins."

"I will." With a smile, he kissed the back of his hand and retreated carefully and re-integrated himself into the conversation with officers, laughing at tasteless jokes, making idle, boring conversation, and even doing his best to avoid looking at his former CO. It wasn't just that he'd betrayed the man, but that he'd been betrayed by men higher than him. He'd lost his faith in slow, painful corrosion that wore down his convictions until there was nothing left to do but face the truth.

There is something rotten in the state of Germany . He thought, taking a drink and ducking back toward Lebeau as the quartet took their places. The man looked relieved to be rescued, and the iron grip on his sleeve told him all he needed to know. They had practiced their dancing in the tunnels of Stalag 13 and even a few times in the rec hall. Dancing to scratched records under the watchful eyes of the core group of troublemakers as they called advice and jokes. If he could withstand the juvenile taunting of spies, then the idle gossip of obnoxious men would make no difference.

It wasn't a surprise to learn that the man could dance with the best of them. If Louis Lebeau flew as well as he could dance, it was a wonder he had been shot down at all.

"We've managed to avoid Klink and the general," Lebeau muttered, "I see the fox, and we need to find the contact before he might see you and recognize you."

"You don't think I can fool him?" Dietrich asked, and Lebeau scoffed.

If the man was dead, he would feel that much better about his defection, but he was still alive, and Dietrich would rather die than reveal the truth of his situation to the man he respected. He watched Frau Linkmeyer haul a reluctant Colonel Klink into the man's airspace and wondered what the hell was going on.

#$#

Klink would never admit, even under Allied Interrogation, that he wanted to meet the famous, seemingly dashing figure of the Desert Fox ever since the North Africa campaign had started. The man was almost a living legend, and that was enough for anyone, even officers. Except that if Klink obeyed protocol and propriety, he might have to extend an invitation for the man to visit. An invitation he might accept, but then Dietrich was there, and Klink had heard enough of the man's reputation that he wanted to spare him some of the humiliation of having his commanding officer see him so low.

"Field Marshal!" Frau Linkmeyer dragged him, very politely, over to the man where he seemed to be getting a tension headache. Klink knew the feeling; he got those from Hogan and his men almost every day, usually when they were scheming an escape attempt. "This is Colonel Klink." Klink clicked his heels and bowed to the pair. "He is the kommandant of Stalag 13. It is in the area."

"It is an honor to meet you, sir." He felt his tongue tying in his mouth. The man looked tired and a little worn out, but he was polite. "I can only hope to."

"Stalag 13 has never had a successful escape," Frau Linkmeyer put in, and Klink knew he probably looked like the dying cod-fish Corporal Smith had compared him to, right before spending three days in solitary confinement. "In all of the years, it has been open."

"An impressive record."

"Thank you, sir." He glanced at Mrs. Linkmeyer, she was smiling, but it was tinged with confusion. Normally, he would be happy to proclaim his record, but he truly didn't want the attention at the moment. "I am simply doing my duty."

"Certainly, they had attempted escapes."

"Over 200 escape attempts," he smiled faintly. Some of them were ingenious, and some were perfectly sloppy. "None of them successful, ah. Major Buser!" He called, despite the fact that the man was a good distance away and in the process of leading his fiance off the dance floor. "Major Buser has just returned from France. I believe you two should have."

"Sirs," Major Buser bowed, his manners almost as exact as Klinks. "Ladies."

"MAjor Buser," Klink almost felt bad for throwing the man under the bus. "Field Marshal Rommel. Sir, Major Buser has been recently stationed in France, and I believe you two will have much to discuss."

"France?" The Desert Fox mused. "Certainly beautiful this time of year."

Major Buser glanced down at his fiance. "I am fortunate to have some of that beauty for myself. They are certainly more polite than any of the others we have been fighting."

"Americans can be very rude," Frau Linkmeyer input in a bad stage whisper. "But I find that the French were perhaps worst." Her only exposure to Americans and the French came from her frequent visit to Stalag 13, where no one really liked her since she was related to Burkhalter. Klink didn't think that this was a fair assessment of manners.

"I have always wanted to meet a cowboy," Buser mused. "I imagine fighting Americans is very different from fighting the French. Perhaps more exciting."

"There is a difference," the Field Marshal sighed. "The Americans do not read their manuals, and insubordination is apt to get them promoted as much as obedience."

"Preposterous," Klink blustered, but he could very easily imagine. The camp malcontent, Private Wendy, had been made one of the primary spokesmen for the men in camp and reported directly to Hogan on the petty matters bothering the men. Private Wendy could whine and complain against Klink and Hogan in the same breath, and he had never figured out why Hogan allowed or tolerated such insubordination or gave him any authority at all, official or unofficial.

"There is a cowboy in Stalag 13," Frau Linkmeyer put in, never noticing the abject horror that spilled through Klink's insides as she spoke. "Recently transferred in, Albert was telling me about him. I think you know him, Herr Rommel."

"Oh?" He exchanged a glance with his wife. "I am."

"Yes!" Absolutely thrilled with the information, she cut him off and leaned close. "Yes, the cowboy….a captain. Albert was telling me that he was in Stalag 13 because he had escaped every other camp." An aide had approached, a young major with a deep desert tan like the one Klink had seen on Dietrich. His unobtrusive arrival went ignored by Frau Linkmeyer. "Yes, a captain...Troy."

The name visibly sparked interest in both the majors and the Field Marshal's eyes. They glanced at each other and then at Klink.

"Captain Troy?" The major gave a faint laugh, amazed.

"A cowboy," Frau Linkmeyer proclaimed, pleased by the reaction she'd gotten with her somewhat classified news. "He even has the hat."

"It isn't regulation," Klink put in what he liked least of Dietrich's disguise, and he glanced at Major Buser. "I am not even certain it is an American hat."

"I cannot say that I know him," the Field Marshal lied, and Klink hoped that would be the end of it. "Excuse me; it has been far too long since I've danced with my wife." With a polite nod, he extracted himself and his wife and moved toward the dance floor.

Frau Linkmeyer looked distinctly displeased by his departure, and Klink nearly heaved a sigh of relief.

"I think I should like to visit my grandmother," Buser said, out of the blue. Klink sighed as he tried to think of anything to turn the woman off the conversation of cowboys.

"Then you should visit soon," the as-of-yet- unintroduced major said, "she could be ill."

"I certainly hope not," Major Buser said, and they broke off into a small cluster, leaving Klink at the tender mercies of Frau Linkmeyer.

#$#$#

Dietrich could hardly contain both his relief, shock, and utter confusion of meeting his former commanding officer, not being recognized, being gossiped about by Gertude Linkmeyer, and discovering that one of the Field Marshall's own aides was their contact. He was pleased with the way he managed to keep a cool head and slowly guide the man into a corner where they discussed their 'grandmothers,' and something was dropping into his pocket when he turned his back to the crowd to grab a drink off a passing tray.

"You are doing wonderfully," Lebeau said through gritted teeth, and to outsiders, it looked as if they were caught in a desperate-to-be passionate embrace. Not suited for polite company, but the darkness of the corner gave them plausible deniability. He wouldn't dwell on the fact that he was locked into the embrace with a man. Apparently, spies played fast and loose with these sorts of concerns.

"I am amazed you haven't tried to shoot anyone."

"I couldn't fit a pistol into my girdle," the man answered. "I would love to. These women are wretched. If they insult France one more time, I will poison their food."

"Poison later, the drop-off is complete, and we have only a few hours until we need to be back."

Lebeau eyed him curiously, seeing something, but saying nothing. "Alright, we'll make our goodbye's soon."

"May I have this dance, Frauline Louisa?" He asked, holding out his hand for the man to accept. Lebeau simpered, and he guided the man onto the dance floor, sweeping him into a waltz, much to the awe of everyone in attendance.

#$#$3

"So," Hogan paced the length of Barracks 2, eyeballing his watch and then glancing at Newkirk. The Englishman was smoking furiously and working on his newest creation while doing his best to avoid Hogan's eyes. He never liked it when Lebeau went on missions without him and considering he was breaking in Captain Dietrich, he'd been tetchy and irritable all week.

"How do you think it's going?" Kinch wondered, he was nominally playing chess, but he hadn't moved in an hour.

"If the captain's track record is right, and Lebeau plays his part, it'll go perfectly." Hogan let out a breathy sigh.

"That never really happens," Carter muttered, his attention still on his book. "But they'll be okay."

"I wish I 'ad your confidence, mate." Newkirk scoffed, "that krauts out there with my pal. He best bring him back."

"They're going to see Klink, probably Burkhalter, and who knows if Hochstetter shows up." The barracks froze as the bunk rolled upward, and Olsen poked his head out.

"Colonel! They're back and waiting to debrief you downstairs!"

"Excellent!" Clapping his hands, he led the rush down the ladder and grinned at the sight of Dietrich and Lebeau in the middle of the tunnel.

"Colonel Hogan," flipping off his hat, Dietrich pulled a roll of microfilm out and tossed it across the room. "Your information."

"How was the party?" He asked, hefting the microfilm and smirking as Lebeau yanked off his wig.

"It was marvelous," he scoffed and then softened. "The captain made me the most enviable woman in the room. He was a perfect gentleman."

The laughter and rush of a job well done was ruined when Dietrich opened his mouth. "Field Marshal Rommel is in the area and believes that Sergeant Troy is here."

"What?" Hogan held up a hand, stalling the rest of the conversation. Dietrich continued to undress, refusing to make eye contact.

"Frau Linkmeyer told him. I believe that General Burkhalter has not briefed her on the situation, so she genuinely believes that I am Captain Troy."

"He recognized the name," Lebeau put in, glancing from Deitrich to Hogan. "He knew the name, Troy."

"He should," Dietrich scoffed, removing his jacket with a stunning amount of calm and patience despite his furious tone. "We discussed the issue of the Rat Patrol often enough."

"Really? He knew the name of a single sergeant?"

"He knew all of their names," he pulled off his shirt, throwing it carelessly to the side. "How effective of a unit should they be for him to know the names of the privates?" Hogan sucked in a short breath, the single implication stunning him into a momentary silence. "If he had met them, he could have identified them by their hats ." Dietrich struggled for a shallow breath. "It is possible he will come here."

"If he comes for a visit, we'll handle it then. Did anyone recognize you?"

"No."

"I danced with Klink," Lebeau said, pulling out the earrings and setting them in their box. "And Mrs. Linkmeyer had me with the other women."

"Whatever else information you picked up, I want it written down so we can verify it before sending it off to London. Captain...did you hear anything that could be useful?"

"A few things," the man paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I will write them down for you."

"Then we get this off to Londontown, and we'll deal with the Desert Fox when the time comes. Him being in the area is important enough as it is. Did you glean anything else from him?"

"Just that Klink didn't want him to know that Troy was here," Lebeau put in as he wiped lipstick away. "He was acting strange."

"It's Klink," Carter added.

"I think Klink wants to protect you." At the sound of Kinch's voice, all eyes turned toward the radioman.

"Protect me? Colonel Klink is a coward." Dietrich snapped, paused, took a breath, and continued. "Apologies, Sergeant Kicnhloe. Please continue."

"Klink is a coward, and he hides a lot, but he also is an old-school officer. He doesn't tend to like the new breed of soldier, and I think he does care about what happens to you, but his hands are tied."

"Perhaps," the former Panzer commander rubbed at his chin. "That would explain his hesitance."

"I'll grill him tomorrow," Hogan promised. "Get changed and hit the sack, you two; roll call is in a few hours, and I have a feeling we're going to need to be well-rested."

"Yes, sir." the captain was changed and out of the tunnel in record time, and all eyes turned to Lebeau as he began to dismantle his disguise.

"So?" Hogan asked, and Lebeau grinned.

"He was perfect , Colonel. He danced beautifully, he brought a plate of pastries, and he was the perfect fiance. If I were a woman, I would marry him in a heartbeat." The corporal grinned. "A general's wife was jealous."

"Not surprising. He played the love-struck fool well?"

"He didn't even flinch when Klink came up or when we met the Desert Fox." Lebeau sighed. " Mon colonel , I think he will be one of our best."

"No signs of giving up the game?"

"No," the Frenchman leaned toward Newkirk, using the taller man to steady him as he began undoing his outfit. Shedding the disguise of Louisa Pierre in a few sharp movements. "If the Field Marshal's presence didn't sway him, then we have our captain."

"Then keep an eye on him if the Fox does show up to our little vacation home. Kinch, good job on Klink. If he cares about Dietrich, that's an angle we could potentially use. Like I said, I'll get Klink to spill at the party and see if he suspects anything. Good job, Lebeau." He went to leave but paused just long enough to ask. "He's a good dancer?"

"Excellent."

"That's going to be useful." without explaining himself, he hopped up the ladder and back into his office.

#$#$

Sergeant Thomas was awake when Dietrich emerged from the tunnel, perched at Dietrich's desk and reading the novel Mrs. Troy had smuggled him with a faintly alarmed expression on his face.

Robber's Delight had that effect.

"Do not lose my bookmark," he ordered and set the handkerchief of stolen pastries on the desk.

"I won't," Thomas glanced at the page and closed the book. "How was it?" He paused at the sight of pastries.

"Take one," the captain ordered, "the rest are for the men."

"They'll love that," he perked up. "So?"

"It was a gaudy mess," he watched the New Yorker, bemused by the line of questions. "I already debriefed Colonel Hogan."

"I know, sir." Thomas shrugged. "I'm just."

"This is hardly my first espionage mission," he answered, not sure if the American was being soft or suspicious. It could either or.

"It's your first one in Germany," Thomas pointed out, "But I'll take your point. You're fine, and I'm going to take these to the men. Have a good night."

As he left, Dietrich watched the door shut and wondered when he had become more comfortable around his enemies than people who should have been his allies.