"We have," General Barker told the room, "vested interested in getting Captain Dietrich out of Germany without arousing the suspicion of OKW or the Gestapo. We don't want him to be branded as a traitor, but we'll need him here in London soon enough."

"Why, sir?" Sam Troy asked. It took every bit of control for Captain Scamander not to squirm from joy at Troy's casual insubordination.

"According to you and your men, he's a good man, and they're in short supply in Germany. We'd like to...put him on ice for after the war."

"An investment," another general added, "in Germany's future, and a chance to make sure he can't double-cross us."

"The captain might defect to bring down Hitler," Troy's voice was as steady as ever, "but I'm not sure he'd cooperate with us after the war."

"That's something we'll handle later, but our agents in Germany seem to think you can devise a scheme to get him out without losing the operation he's joined up with."

The sight of generals, colonels, and a major leaning forward to catch every word of a 1st Lieutenant, sent spasms of amusement down Scamander's spine that he refused to show on his face.

"The Germans think I'm dead?"

"Yes." There was a moment of breathless silence that caught Scamander's eyes as it heralded a slow grin that the commando didn't bother to hide.

"I think...we'll have to adopt him." Sam Troy was met with dead silence, and given that these men were used to dealing with Colonel Hogan, it was impressive.

"I...beg your pardon?"

"Did I ever disclose the fact that my youngest brother….joined the French Foreign Legion?" He blinked innocently at the officers.

"Oh," General Barker beamed, "Oh, damn clever, tell us your scheme then."

Troy leaned forward slightly, and Scamander was treated to the front row seat to some of the best schemings he'd ever Rat would mesh well with the Heroes.

#$#$#

"MAIL!" A pale-faced Private Zimmer entered the barracks, frantically tossing the bundle of letters at Sergeant Thomas before ducking out the door.

"Boy! A letter from my sister!" Private Tenner crowed, "she still can't write shit." The man laughed as he turned his letter outside to show off a page full of scribbles. "Aw, but she loves me."

"Isn't she a year old?"

"She's doing her best, and I'm pinning this up." The man did just that, making good his threat by covering the pin-up of Rita Hayworth with a page of scribbles. "Captain? Anything?"

The conversion and drama had gone past Dietrich; his eyes were focused and intent on the page in front of him. He had been caught in the middle of Rat Patrol schemes before; he'd felt the world upend around himself as they out-conned him, out-paced him, and made their daring escapes. Sudden vertigo now threatening to upend his stomach was familiar and unfamiliar and completely damning.

"Captain?" Sergeant Thomas asked, and he blinked a few times. "News?"

"Yes," he didn't bother to elaborate; folding the letter into his pocket, he excused himself. When he reached Barracks 2, it was full of equally happy men reading letters from home, including a bemused Colonel Hogan who was holding up a page that had been so severely cupping up, only a few dozen words could be made out.

"I wouldn't put it past that rat fink," Hogan said, gesturing Dietrich into his office and shutting the door behind him. "To cut up my letters for the sick joy of it." Dietrich wouldn't either, and it was exactly the sort of thing someone like Hochstetter would do. "Speaking of letters, you're here about yours."

"Sir, Sergeant Troy is scheming."

"Yeah?" Leaning against his desk, he gestured for Dietrich to continue. "Tell me about it."

"He is, as David Troy, posing a question about a sibling I have never heard of. A...Hank Troy, who, from what the letter implies, joined the Legion many years ago. A younger sibling of whom I have never heard."

"Hank Troy...the long-lost Troy sibling...just...vanished off the face of the Earth?"

"What is the meaning of this, Colonel Hogan?"

"We're setting up your story; by the time you've gotten this, Hochstetter and his goons will have read it and drawn the same conclusion."

"I would be sent to London, posing as another Troy sibling?" A double agent, feeding his people the wrong information while...protecting his family and his reputation. "Group Captain David Troy is in London, Colonel Hogan. Doubtless, he would demand to be reunited with his brother."

"Maybe, but we'll deal with it as we go. For now, you're going to write about Hank Troy...the reckless runaway of the Troy family who joined up with the Legion...and you're going to create this person because you might have to be this person."

The very real possibility he could end up in London yawned before him, and he would have staggered if he hadn't bolted his feet to the floor. This would protect his family if the transfer was instigated by the Gestapo or the Abwehr, but why would they go through the effort to even do this? Surely the Allies had more important things on their plate.

"Colonel Hogan, with all due respect, this will not work." He gestured with his letter. "This is too obvious."

"Is it?"

"How could it work?" Taking in a slow, steadying breath, he held out the letter. "Would they not suspect a trap?"

"They might, but they won't." The infuriatingly calm smile did nothing for his nerves, and he waited for the colonel to continue. "What does Hochstetter want most?"

"All of Stalag 13, dead."

"Including Klink and the guards, he wants all of us dead. What does he want from you?"

"My death."

"No," the word cut across Dietrich's idea, and he observed the man for any sign of derision. "That's only partly what he wants; what he wants is you to be humiliated and publicly shamed, along with a big fat helping of public execution. You dying isn't going to be enough for him, and if he thinks he can maneuver you into a situation where you could easily be killed in a messy or public way, he's going to do it."

Swallowing down his anger, he raised his chin under Colonel Hogan's amused eyes. "And baiting this trap would include….making a record of Hank Troy that Fraulein Bauer might look for."

"It's handled," Hogan assured him with a worryingly calm smile. "Trust me."

#$#$#

Group Captain David Troy ducked around a busy nurse, focusing on the petite brunette stacking linens on the shelves. She was just his type, short, brunette, with brains and a willingness to use them.

"Excuse me," she turned, eyes going wide as she caught his name tag. "Are you Lt. Baker?"

"Yes?" Setting her hands on her hips, she stared up at him. "What can I help you with?"

"My name is Group Captain David Troy," he affected awkwardness he hadn't felt in years. "I...heard you're the person I can talk to about my brother."

"Your brother?" She blinked a few times.

"Sam," he lowered his voice. "Look, can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

"I have," she looked around at the quiet ward. "Just a small one." Relief untangled itself in his chest, and together they escaped to the mess hall and then out into the courtyard. Sequestered away from the hospital base staff, they sat in silence for a minute, nursing their coffee.

"I heard," he turned as if to see someone peeking over their shoulders. "That you were in Germany."

"I can't really talk about it."

"I understand," he said sympathetically, "but...did you see my brother?"

"Sam?"

"So you did recognize me?" She blinked.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Sam and I were nearly identical when we were growing up. He got the muscles; I got the height. No idea what... never mind. But., you saw him?" He tried to inject as much desperation as he dared. "Sam, I mean?"

"I saw him," she admitted softly.

"How is he? He doesn't tell me much in his letters, but," running a hand through his hair, he sighed. "That's Sam for you. I thought he'd been killed in North Africa...but he's alive?"

"When I saw him, he was fine."

"Oh," he sagged inward. "Thank God."

"Captain Troy," she set a hand on his arm. He smiled.

"Call me David."

"David," she acquiesced, "he was fine...he mentioned, well."

"Well? What did he say?"

"He said that." She looked away, "he mentioned someone named Hank."

"Hank," he deflated. " Yeah ...I asked him. It doesn't matter. "

"Who is Hank?" From beneath thick eyelashes, a pair of soulful brown eyes settled on David's face, every curve in her body was tilted alluringly at him, and he turned away. "David? Please? Maybe I can help. I've been all over...maybe I know him."

"Hank," David shrugged, peering into the depth of his teacup. "Was our younger brother. He...well...he took off when he was just a kid, and we haven't seen him since then. A postcard now and then, but before the war broke out...we got a letter saying he'd joined up with the legion….I guess as a lark. Then the krauts go into France...and we haven't heard from him since then."

" Oh , I'm so sorry, David." Pressing close to his arm with the utmost propriety, she patted his knee. "That's...awful."

"Yeah," David leaned to the side, drawing close to her warmth. "He was...he is a good kid, but I...I have no idea what the army could do to him...and the legion? What if the Krauts capture him? He's an American in an FFL uniform."

"What if they mistake him for Sam?"

"That?" Snorting, he shook his head. "Would be hard to do. He doesn't look like Sam," he explained at her bemused expression. "Me and Sam look like our mother, Hank, and our sister.., look like our dad. Besides, I haven't seen Hank in years...I've got no idea what he looks like now."

"I couldn't not knowing what my brother looked like," her voice was as soft and commiserating as he expected it to be.

"I remember one time," he tilted his head up, staring at the iron-gray sky. "He put polish in his hair because he wanted to look like Sam."

"Shoe polish?"

"Shoe polish," he confirmed. "It was ages ago. I thought Pa was going to spank him then and there for wasting the polish, but dad just fell over laughing. Had to fill up the outside tub and scrub him down."

"How old was he?" Looking delighted, she dropped her voice an octave.

"Maybe seven or so. He was skinny as anything too; I bet he's just as scrawny now."

"What didn't he like about his hair?"

"It wasn't black," David shrugged, "it was brown . It made him so mad until we told him that Pops was a real handsome fellow, and it wasn't a shame to look like him."

"He sounds sweet."

"He was... was . I don't...even remember what his eyes were like. Hey, is he getting enough to eat out there? I'd send him snacks, but I'm afraid some guard is going to steal them."

"He's eating plenty," she lied, "and I don't think the guards would stoop to stealing food from prisoners."

"Thank God." He resolved to test the theory with some of the snacks Helen had sent over. "I have to go," pausing, he squeezed her hands. "Thank you for talking with me, Lt. Baker."

"Well," she winked. "You know where to find me."

"I do," he agreed. "For the future."

"For the future," Lt. Baker smiled, and David Troy excused himself.

Twenty minutes later, he was sliding into an office with his brother with a grin that made the Luftwaffe cower in their planes. "You sure know how to pick 'em." He told his brother. Sam was calmly smoking a cigarette. "I did it. "I have to say; I figured the next person joining the family would be someone we married. Hey, can we legally adopt him at that age?"

"Certainly," Scamander nodded, "lost officer, free to a good home?"

Sam nodded, but the humor wasn't reaching him.

"What's eating you?" David wondered. He knew his brother well. He'd seen him pick up the pieces after their father's death; he'd damn near raised Helen.

"Helen."

"Oh."

"Have you gotten any letters from her recently?"

"A few; sounds like the farm is running fine."

"It's not."

"What?" Fear, fear of being sent home for a deferral, fear of his sister's death or forced marriage, fear of the loss of his family home, all wound into his stomach. "What do you mean?"

"Her letters are too perfect," Sam told him, "it reads like fiction. She's never unhappy; she's soldiering on, she's got perfect things coming out of the garden, there's staff on the ranch, she's getting along. David, something isn't right."

"She's...too perfect?"

"Yes."

"You think she's lying to us to make us feel better?"

"Yes," Sam pulled angrily on his cigarette. "She should know better than to lie to me."

"She's lying; then it has to be for a good reason."

"It'd better be," the dark reply reminded David that it had been Sam who'd taken care of Helen while their world collapsed around them. Sam had taught her how to ride a bike, throw a punch, knot a lasso, and to give as good as she got.

"How do you think she's going to feel about the adoption?"

"The last thing she needs is another brother," Sam muttered, "but you got everything to Baker?

"Everything, she bought it, hook, line, and sinker."

"Did you get to ask about my hat?"

"No, but she says he's eating well." They looked at each other. "She's lying." They agreed in unison.

"We'll send some snacks," Sam muttered, "something only he would eat."

"You know where to find something like that?"

"Yeah," his older brother smiled for the first time that day. "I do."