If it had been Hogan asking for a meeting with Nurse Baker, Langendshiedt would have taken much longer to cave to the Americans offer of cigarettes and some suspiciously decent coffee. Since it was Captain Troy, he only a few sentences before being prodded out of the way, and the man slipped past him.

Inside, Dietrich found Fraulein Bauer re-arranging her meager possessions with the despondent air of a prisoner. Leaving her to cool for a few days had been a stroke of genius on Hogan's part, and he was increasingly understanding why the Stalag 13 operation persisted despite heavy opposition.

"Hauptmann Dietrich," Bauer stirred, looking up. "You're."

"I apologize for taking so long to visit, Fraulein Bauer," he removed his hat and bowed. "It takes some time to convince the guards to let me see you." He waited as the spy looked him up and down, doubtless taking in the mud on his boots and his waning complexion. "Kommandant Klink is very particular about your safety."

"That is a good thing," she admitted after a moment. "I can't imagine how you stay sane here. It looks very dull."

"It is very dull," he agreed. "Has Colonel Hogan been in to see you?"

"A few times, but only long enough to ask how I am doing." Her face twisted about. "I was under the impression that he is a ladies' man."

"He is," Dietrich agreed, "and he isn't. You are a soldier under his command. Naturally he would not consider any romantic entanglements."

" Really ," heavy with disbelief, Dietrich decided to ignore the unspoken question. Pushing a hand through his hair, he sat in the lonely chair while the spy perched on the edge of the bed.

"He is a peculiar man, certainly more than a little mad."

"You think he's crazy?"

"He must be." Adopting an American disguise, altering his voice, mannerisms, and habits kept the men from rioting, the guards from getting suspicious, but Fraulein Bauer eyed him with justified suspicion. His disguise was sinking into his skin, becoming a part of him as each day passed.

"Do they suspect you?"

"No," he shook his head. "Not at all."

"Incredible; you must have learned something from Sergeant Troy." Fraulein Bauer scoffed. "You're very convincing, you know. I've been watching you."

"Have you?"

"You don't partake in any games, but you do laundry?"

"It is the largest collection of water that I've seen since being sent to North Africa," he told her. "I have little else to do. As you see, prison is not stimulating for either mind or body."

"No, I guess it isn't. Though that volleyball game did look rather intense."

"Was it?" He hadn't noticed; he'd been covering for Sergeant Kinchloe on the radio. "I was reading. You do know that Colonel Klink and Hogan have been pushing for the Red Cross to send you to London, don't you?"

"That wouldn't do me any good," Bauer turned her head sharply, mouth turning downward. "Sergeant Troy would have reported me to his superiors, and there is no way to."

"Sergeant Troy only heard your voice, and what he saw must have been too blurry for identification. Furthermore, he was a man of great pride. Do you really consider that he would admit to his superiors that he has been had so thoroughly?"

Her eyebrows rose, mouth opening slightly as she considered his words. "He was a soldier."

"He was a man," Dietrich scoffed, "he very easily could have lied to his superior with a few clever words and concealments. Telling them that he escaped capture, with no details of the encounter, would be the simplest way to do it."

"You knew him best," the pointed words nearly pained him. "Didn't you, Herr Hauptmann?"

"One must know your enemy," he replied. "He is dead now, baked under North Africa's sun and buried beneath a sand dune. He is not your concern."

" No ?" She chewed on her bottom lip momentarily, a thoughtful gesture that would have prompted Dietrich to smile if he weren't in the middle of acting for his very life.

"The Allies are too unorganized not to take you." His chuckle was far less forced than it should have been. "I imagine that you will be whisked off to London and put straight into a hospital."

" Oh ?"

"I remember the state of their offices," he mused, thinking back on the British officers he'd captured as well as the Americans. Some of them had been tidy, others had been a mess, but somehow...somehow, they persevered. "Always a mess."

Fraulein Bauer said nothing for a moment. "What do you think of these Americans?"

"They are pilots," he sighed. "Enlisted pilots, it is exactly how one might imagine it." Giving the woman a firm stare, he continued. "I intend to instill them with the vigor and training of a German officer." A beat of silence passed before the woman burst into laughter.

"What do you do?" She wondered, "Besides wash laundry of your enemies?"

"Scold the pickpockets and tell increasingly ridiculous tales of ranching in America."

"You know nothing of ranching."

"I can pretend," he waved a hand. "And they also know nothing of ranching or of North Africa."

"Then they don't suspect?"

"If they suspected, Fraulein Bauer, they would have killed me by now. If they suspected you." He offered and watched understanding dawn in her eyes. There was too much credit given to many at most times, and Dietrich knew better than to really trust several hundred men who hadn't seen a woman in some time. "I imagine your danger would be far greater."

"Are you threatening me?" Her voice trembled, and she looked both terrified and furious.

"No," he shook his head. "I am merely stating that the keys to our destruction lie in each other's hands. If you denounce me to Colonel Hogan, he will not believe you."

"Really?"

"Major Hochstetter tried," he mused, "and failed."

"The prisoners did not believe that one of the most fearsome men in the Afrika Korps was in their barracks?"

"It sounds absurd, and even Americans must be realistic at some point."

"Then you must have gained some intelligence from them."

"Nothing that we do not already know about America or England, or even France. Most of these pilots have been out of active duty for some time. I imagine that they have forgotten anything that could be pertinent." Bored, he lit a cigarette.

"What about Papa Bear?"

"What about Papa Bear?"

"Major Hochstetter is convinced that Colonel Hogan is Papa Bear." Fraulein Bauer blushed as she spoke, embarrassment visible in her eyes as she relayed her commanding officer's idea.

"I know." He allowed himself an eye roll, mostly on principle. "The Papa Bear, a saboteur with unparalleled skills and capabilities...operating out of a POW camp and commanded by a man who cannot speak German."

"He cannot speak German?"

"Not a word; very few of them do. Only Corporal Bell does, and it is with a heavy Pennsylvania Dutch accent." He'd never known German to sound so ridiculous , and he had a special fondness for conversations with Bell.

"Well," Bauer mused, "I remember how capable you were in North Africa."

"And here I am, rotting in prison and unable to fight for the Fatherland." He blew out a ring of smoke. "There is one piece of information that Major Hochsetter might use."

"Yes?" Bauer perked up.

"The Reds won the World Series in 1940," he smiled, and to his surprise, Bauer scoffed.

"Go on before the guard gets suspicious."

"Very well," he stood, clicked his heels, and bowed. "Good evening, Fraulein Bauer. Rest well." He excused himself, returned to Barracks 5 aboveground, and made his way to the tunnel to find Colonel Hogan grinning. "Sir?"

"Good job, Dietrich." Hogan told him, "we just need for her to take the bait. How is she?"

"Bored."

"Well, it's always good to let a spy sit on ice for a bit," Hogan told him.

"You must be mad, tangling with the Gestapo like this." Corporal Newkirk sauntered up, cigarette dangling from his lips and holding a black SS uniform. "Try this on for size, Captain."

"It is hideous," Dietrich muttered but obeyed the Englishman. The black coat over his American uniform made him feel ridiculous.

"Good enough to shoot," Newkirk remarked. "Alright, we'll keep this one for you. Here's what you need to know," the man passed him a slim booklet. "From the local Gestapo. Names, ranks, and relations with each man, and about as much gossip as we could pick up."

"Thank you, Corporal."

"When Hochstetter blows into Stalag 13, just let the information you've dropped run its natural course," Hogan advised as Kinchoe tapped out a message. "Spy work can be like baking a souffle. Too much fiddling, and the whole thing collapses."

"Do I hear the eternal wisdom of Corporal Lebeau?"

"Yes," Hogan grinned, but he was always grinning. "You do. Tonight you have dance lessons with Carter."

"Dance lessons? I am."

"You need to know how to swing," the American put in. "And properly."

"Swing dancing," affronted, Dietrich stared at his commanding officer before straightening as much as he dared and gave the nod. He was not a coward, and the spy's attempt to trip him up with embarrassing tasks and things he would consider beneath his notice were not enough to deter him. "Yes, sir."

"Be there or be square," Hogan ordered cheerfully. "1800 hours."

"Yes, sir." Shrugging off the Gestapo coat, he passed it back to Newkirk before retreating back down the tunnel.

E#$#$#

"I say," Major Dudley looked displeased with the newest message from Papa Bear, passing it to General Barker as he did so. "Your boy's gone 'round the bend."

"He's a...huh." Whatever the American was about to say was cut off. "This is interesting...for sure."

"We're already aware that Patricia Bauer is a spy," Dudley sniffed, "but Hogan wants us to swing her into London via the Red Cross."

"It would put a spy out of commission," Barker mused, "and we might have to falsify a few records to convince jerry that we're going to accept her."

"You want to go through with it?" Major Dudley used to working with Americans, and their right turns, and sudden lefts still confused him. "Sir, wouldn't that be more dangerous?"

"Leaving here in Germany is dangerous. She's been digging information out of our boys, so if Hogan thinks we can get her here and put her out of commission, then we need to."

"Not the strangest thing he's done," Dudley offered slowly. He knew Barker wasn't likely to get offended on Hogan's behalf. He hadn't before, and Dudley wondered if the American realized that he had a very long leash on an utterly wild horse...or whatever cowboy analogy would fit for this situation. "Then again, he did convince one of Rommel's best to defect."

"That's Hogan, stealing spies and seducing captains," Barker favored him with a friendly, toothy smile that Dudley returned weakly. "It'll be a hell of a coup."

"A hen into a den of foxes," Major Dudley grinned, buoyed by the insanity of it. "By all means, let's lay a trail of breadcrumbs."

#$#$#

Major Hochstetter paced from one side of Colonel Klink's office and then back again, his face turning redder the longer he paced before he whirled on Fraulein Bauer and slapped a piece of paper into her lap. "This," he growled, "is from the Red Cross, agreeing to arrange your return to London."

" Hook, line, and sinker! " Carter crowed in Hogan's office.

"Then what should we do?" Frauline Bauer asked.

"We have a rare opportunity," Hochstetter smirked, "to plant you in London and give you a chance to find any information you can and send it back.

"I would be honored to do so," Bauer said firmly.

"And Dietrich? What of him?"

"He is...I cannot imagine that he would miss anything as obvious as an espionage ring right in front of him," Bauer said slowly. "I knew him in North Africa."

" And ?" Dangerously close to violence, Hochstetter stomped up to the woman. "Unless he has defected."

"He cannot have defected. Where would he go?"

"And you have seen no unusual signs?"

"Not one, sir. I have observed as much as possible, but I am afraid that there is nothing to see. As much as I can see, there is nothing. Klink a little slip-shod, but really. The most exciting thing was Dietrich's visit."

" How exciting was that? " Hogan wondered.

"You must be mistaken!" Hochstetter exclaimed. "You have missed something! I know Hogan is Papa Bear!" Bauer wisely stayed silent. "You will go to London. I will observe the situation in Stalag 13."

" 'Ope she likes prison food in England ," Newkirk smirked.

"Yes, sir."

"You will be met with the necessary contact in England," Hochstetter went on, "and from there, you will establish your identity and get whatever information you can."

"Yes, sir."

"Good, they will never suspect a woman. We will remove you from Stalag 13 in a day, Fraulein Bauer."

"Yes, sir," the woman had to be smiling. With that, Colonel Hogan unplugged the coffee pot and eyed the six men in his office.

"Gentlemen, we're going to throw a party."

"A party?" Lebeau exclaimed.

"A going away party for our little minx," he grinned, "we have to get her set up with some friends, don't we?"

#$#$#

"Captain!" Sergeant Thomas knocked on his door before opening it anyway. "Hope your dancing lessons paid off; we're having a party!"

"A what?" Sitting up and setting his book aside, the German glared at his subordinate.

"Colonel Hogan's orders," Thomas relayed, "Rec Hall at 1900 hours. Nurse Baker leaves for London tomorrow, and you're supposed to go."

"It is 1900 hours," he remarked, utterly dismayed. The man nodded, and he stood. "Very well."

"You're the only fella here who is going to complain about dancing."

He chose not to remark on that, and when he entered the Rec Hall, he found it filled with a surprising amount of liveliness and joy. The mean stealing a few moments for laughter and amusement as Carter spun Sergeant Olsen around the impromptu dance floor. Carter, despite previous impressions, was a masterful dancer, and despite being led, Olsen looked like he was having a good time. Newkirk was slouching over a cigarette and excitedly telling Bauer where to go in London and who to see.

Which, if Dietrich was reading the scene correctly, meant that Newkirk was doing the heavy lifting. Hogan was slouched against the wall, arms folded around his chest, and Sergeant Shultz looked broken-hearted next to him. Even the cookie in his hand didn't seem to cheer him up.

Jazz, a wonky record probably played to death, spun on a battered record player. He paused, it was bright, bold, and utterly American, and it was his favorite thing that the entire country of cowboys and lunatics had produced.

"Captain!" Hogan called him over, and he went. "A going away party for our little nurse." They looked over, and the sight of two spies grappling verbally was as visually impressive as it ought to be. "It's a nice day for a party."

"Any excuse to party," Dietrich observed, and Hogan didn't bother denying it. "She's heading to Londontown, and we're sucked in Germany." He leaned against the wall, trying for casual as Shultz blanched.

"Any advice for her?" Hogan asked.

"Visit the museums if they're still standing." The droll reply netted him an unamused stare from the American and a deeply miserable look from Shultz that Dietrich ignored. Newkirk had pulled Bauer into a dance, the excited Englishman filling her in on friends that could only be MI6 or OSS agents. She would never guess that she was being led into an artificial world designed solely for her.

God . Hogan was a devious bastard of the highest order. Both a compliment and an insult.

A good soldier learned from his enemies, and a good soldier learned from his commanding officer. Even given their nebulous relationship, Dietrich hoped to learn a lot from Hogan.

"Captain!" He braced himself against the near sulfuric burn of Bauers's hands on his elbow. "Newkirk has bet me that he is a better dancer than you! Care to take that bet?" She was grinning, doubtless expecting him to flounder. Taking great pleasure in hoisting her into the air and spinning her onto the dance floor. Someone whooped, and the song changed to the same jumpy, jaunty tune he'd learned to dance to. Bauer was good, following his lead and laughing when she stumbled, yelping when he spun her a little too fast, and when the song came to an end, they came to a halt to thunderous applause from the other men.

He could see the disappointment in Bauer's eyes as she was traded off to a beaming Lebeau. At this point, they were just rubbing these things in her face. Proving that Dietrich was good at blending in and affirming his identity as an American captain while subsequently testing Dietrich's training.

After a few more dances, the party broke up, and the men returned to their barracks. Dietrich escorted her across the compound to her quarter.

"Will you write me?" He asked, and she turned a disbelieving gaze on him and smiled.

"You can't be serious, Captain."

"I don't see why not."

"Hm? Shall I send you a postcard?"

"Anything to tell me that you are alright," he said for the benefit of Langenscheidt. The young man was a decent soldier, a so-so guard, and a good man. As they reached the door to Bauers room, they faced each other. A parody of intimacy and affection in her smile that sent nausea rising in his stomach crossed her face.

"I will write," she promised, and standing on the tips of her toes, pressed a quick kiss to his mouth before darting inside. Blinking at the suddenness, he stared at the door and cut a glance at the corporal, who was pretending not to smile. Knowing the man would suspect if he reacted any other way, he smiled and tucked his hands into his pockets as he moved back into Barracks 5. It wasn't until after lights out did he manage to confer with Colonel Hogan.

The man was in the tunnels, listening to someone on the radio over. He gestured for a moment, and Dietrich moved down the tunnel to find Newkirk fixing up a uniform for a pilot who looked equal parts shaken and awed.

"Captain!" Newkirk crowed around a mouthful of needles and pinned the fabric on the pilot. "What do you think? Good enough to blend in?"

"It is excellent work, Corporal." It was a nice enough suit, clearly made from worn fabric and not nearly as handsome as it ought to be. It would blend in with the tired suits around the country.

"All in a day's work," Newkirk nodded, "alright, go down to Carter and get your papers. I'll 'ave this fixed up in two shakes." He pulled the suit jacket off, and the pilot vanished.

"You are more skilled than I initially gave you credit for," he told the Englander. He should have learned his lesson about underestimating people considered to be juvenile delinquents by now. "I apologize." Newkirk paused his work, eventually lifting his eyes toward Dietrich as he processed the apology. "You have managed to outsmart one of the German Intelligence's best agents." He paused.

"Not just a thief," Newkirk shot him a smug grin.

"I cannot imagine that it will be pleasant for her when the realization strikes." He wondered if he would ever get even a second-hand report of the event.

"No doubt," Newkirk answered. "Guvna!"

"Everything is set for tomorrow," Hogan told them, "how is Lt. Marvins suit coming?"

"Just need to finish a few seams, sir."

"Good, they're ready for our little viper in London," Hogan nodded at Dietrich. "With her out of our way, we can get back to work."

"What sort of work?"

"We are going to blow up an airfield." Hogan nodded victoriously.

"Summat easy for once," Newkirk muttered, "bombs is easy. Did you put in your order with Carter?"

"All ready," he nodded to Dietrich. "We won't be needing you on this one. You'll be spelling Kinch for the early morning shift on the radio; make sure you fall out in time to say goodbye to our little friend."

"Yes, sir." The American left, and he turned to Newkirk. "Blowing up an airfield is easy?"

"Compared to some of the jobs," the man nodded, "yes."