It was approaching 3 a.m. when the trapdoor in barracks 2 opened up to allow an excited Carter – in a brandnew uniform – to jump over the bunk's sideboard. He carried a big duffel bag over his shoulder. "Hi guys, I'm back," he said quietly, while Hogan and LeBeau climbed out of the tunnel as well.

Apparently, most of his mates had stayed awake to welcome him home, for immediately, from nearly all the bunkbeds the men jumped down to welcome their friend. Carter shook hands, was patted on the back, inundated with questions... and that's when he saw it. Slowly emerging from his own bunk was... he himself.

He blinked two times, and then looked questioningly back at Hogan. "You got a replacement in for me that quickly, Colonel? Gee..."

Hogan grinned. "Carter, may I introduce your kidnapper and co-Hitler – Oskar Danzig."

Carter's jaw instantly dropped. "Oskar... who?"

"Oskar Danzig, remember?" Newkirk ruffled Carter's hair. "The Master of Disguises and all that. Your Hitler impersonation was so convincing that it fooled even him, so he decided to kidnap you and take your place as Hitler. We never knew the difference until only a few hours ago!"

"Gee..." Carter was clearly at a loss for words. "I suppose I should be honoured, shouldn't I? I mean, if even the Master of Disguises didn't see through it...?"

Danzig took a step forward. "I am really sorry for what happened. I hope they did not treat you too badly?"

"Nah, don't worry about it. In fact, once I finally got it through to them that I wasn't Hitler, I had a pretty good time." His voice went up a few notches in enthusiasm. "The Pop general gave me a pass for a few hours, and I went to the stores and brought back some goodies for you guys. Look!" He opened the duffel bag, and began to unload three bags of potato chips, a bag of marshmellows, a packet of cold pork pies, a bag full of mini sausage rolls, three large bottles of cider, two bags of salted peanuts, a pound of cheese, three packs of crackers, a box of chocolates ("That's for Schultz.") and a large bag of vanilla fudge. "I thought we could have a slumber party!" he beamed.

The men laughed and snickered; Hogan instead closed his eyes and shuddered in mock horror. "Are we back in the boy-scouts now?" But his warm grin muted the reproach of it completely. After all, how many men would have gone out of their way to organize something fun for their buddies when given the chance of a few hours in London before being dumped right back in this rotten prison-camp? He knew himself well enough to know that – had he been in Carter's shoes – he would have spent those hours in a totally different manner.

And Carter grinned from ear to ear. "I got you guys some presents, too. Look, LeBeau, I got a whole bunch of herbs and spices for you. And a novel for you, Kinch – I hope you don't know it yet. And a new deck of cards for Newkirk – at least we can rest assured for a few days that he hasn't marked the cards yet."

"Don't bet on it." Newkirk grinned.

"And a bunch of assorted magazines for everyone, and for you, Colonel..." Carter groped deep down in his bag. "A plate stating the rules in this camp!"

They all crowded around as Hogan read out loud, "Rule number one: I am the Boss. Figures," he commented before continuing, "Rule number two: The Boss is always right."

"He'd sure like to," Newkirk chuckled.

"And rule number three: In the unlikely event that the Boss is wrong, rule number two will automatically come into force."

Sniggers all around, and Kinch asked innocently, "Hey Carter, are you sure you had the right Colonel in mind? It sounds like one of those self-help courses in self-esteem for the Kommandant."

A general eruption of laughter drowned out Carter's answer – and suddenly the door barged open and Schultz came in. "What is going on here? It is long after lights out, so you should all be in bed and... Mmm!" His eye fell on the food displayed on the table. "Yummy, this looks gooood!" he cheered. "Potato chips and cheese and peanuts and... Wait a minute, where does this come from? Colonel Hogan?"

But Carter blocked his way. "Hi Schultz. Good to see you again!"

Schultz paled as he descried that there was another Carter right behind the Carter who had just addressed him. "Colonel Hogan...!" he moaned. "Please don't tell me that Carter exists of triple twins as well?"

"No Schultz, don't worry. There's only two of them: Andrew and John. His mother was a decent lady – she never slept with Winston Churchill."

"What?" was Carter's indignified reaction. "Hey, don't you dare talk about my...!"

But Hogan waved his protests away and picked up the box of chocolates Carter had said were for Schultz. "Now Andrew here has just returned from his holiday in London. And he's got a lot of news to tell us, Schultz. So why don't you take this present he brought especially for you, and then you leave this barracks alone for the rest of the night and you know nothing?"

It was shortly after daybreak when a lone figure stepped out of the woods and began to follow the road into Hamelburg. In a paper bag he carried his share of pies and cheese and sausage rolls. Upon being asked, good-hearted Carter had had no objection against his taking such rare goodies home to share with his 'family'.

He smiled as he thought back at the private little chat he had had with the man just now. Sitting back on Carter's bunk, each nibbling from a handful of peanuts, he had once more apologized for what he'd put Carter through these past days.

In a way, he was probably lucky that it had been Carter he'd kidnapped. He was quite sure that – had it been a hothead like Newkirk or the little Frenchman – they would easily have lynched him. Genial Carter however took it all in stride, and confessed that after having read dozens of pulp detectives as a boy, he had always secretly wished to be kidnapped himself one day.

He knew the sentiment from his own youth, and he had grinned. "Glad I could be of service then. Was it anything like in the books?"

Carter had chuckled. "I don't know. I believe I slept through most of it." A sigh. "But the most frustrating part was when they finally gave me a chance to explain things, and they didn't believe me."

"I can imagine." He had kept silence for a moment, before asking, "So what did the General Staff say when they learned that you really weren't Hitler?"

Carter had shrugged. "I wasn't there when General Walters told them. But he said they were pretty peeved."

He had heaved a sigh. "That, too, I can imagine."

"They just have no sense of humour," Carter had shrugged as an extenuation. "I suppose they don't have time for humour with the war and all, but the whole thing was actually pretty funny, wasn't it?" A quiet burst of laughter. "I mean, you kidnapping a fake Hitler because you think it's the real one, and then take my place impersonating the Führer, and nobody notices...!"

He had chuckled, too. "And then that other Hitler popping up, and the Engländer pretending to be yet another Hitler...! Although I understand that lots of your people did notice a difference between us, but they didn't realize it was because it wasn't you anymore."

"Which makes it even funnier." Suddenly Carter had sat up. "You know, you and I should get together after the war and make a play out of this whole adventure! You know, one of those slapstick comedies with all those mistaken identities. I reckon people could do with a good laugh after the war. And you're an actor – surely you know how to put together a play?"

"I'm an actor, not a playwright," he had pointed out – and paused as he realized how tempting the idea was nonetheless. Their combined story certainly had all the ingredients of a good old-fashioned theatre farce. And was there really any harm in trying to write a play himself after having performed them for so many years?

A sudden glitter had come to his eyes as he held out his hand to his identical counterpart. "You're right, we can always try. See you after the war?"

Carter had reciprocated with a broad grin that immediately became mutual as they shook hands on it. "After the war!"

It certainly promised to be an interesting enterprise...

The town was just beginning to stir when he reached Richterstraβe 18 and rang the modest bell. After a moment, the door was opened ajar. "Ja?"

A wink as he held out the bag to her. "Delivery for Fräulein Gotthardt."

Instantly, her eyes grew wide with recognition. She didn't say a word, but the door was opened wide, he was pulled inside, and before the door was entirely shut behind him, he already found himself in her arms. "Thank God you're alive..."

For a long while they just stood there, holding each other tight in the dark little hall. He began to rub her back – he knew how tense she got whenever she knew him to be out on a mission. Especially the more crazy ones, like this one.

And finally, with a long sigh, she let go of him – if only to take a proper look at who she was hugging this time.

Having the proclaimed Master of Disguises for a boy-friend (practically fiancé by now) had taught her over the years not to be overly fastidious when it came to his appearance. Today she was hugging a lean middle aged man with a weathered face, a fringe beard and scruffy puffs of grey hair – tomorrow it could be a handsome young adonis, or an old grandmother, a long-legged beauty queen, or the fat Hermann Göring himself. She – and she alone – knew that underneath all those fake people was the one man she truly loved: Karl Langenscheidt with his baby-blue eyes, his thick golden brown hair, his slender body and his shy smile.

He smiled that sweet smile of his as he cupped her face in his hands to kiss her. (True – even after all these years of practice, she still preferred him to do so in male form...) But he already returned to business. "How are the others – did they make it back alright?"

"Yep. They got back early last night. With a bucket full of fresh fish." She chuckled at the memory. "And Franz had gotten seasick, but for the rest things had gone well enough." She put her arms around his neck. "And how about you? You're back sooner than I expected."

Langenscheidt grimaced. "That's because it was all a big mistake. It turned out it wasn't Hitler after all."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "So it was one of Colonel Hogan's men after all? You little fool..." She slapped him playfully in the chest. "Well, at least none of you got caught over it. Why don't you come in for breakfast and tell me the whole story? I've got some of that fish left."

Langenscheidt retrieved his paper bag from the floor. "And our mistaken Führer brought back some delicacies from London. Pork and sausage rolls and cheese – and fish. Perfect for breakfast, don't you think?"

She grimaced. "Weird combination, but I'm not one to object." She snuggled up to him one more time before resuming the proper distance from this 'stranger' once they'd enter the living-room with its street facing window. And it didn't take much to lure him into a long, loving kiss.

It sure was the perfect ending to a big mistake.

Or was it?

For about a week afterwards, the telephone of Hitler's private line in Berlin rang. With an angry snarl, the Führer picked up the receiver. "Ja?"

"Mein Führer, this is Rüdiger Braun, in Berchtesgaden. Heil Hitler, mein Führer!"

"Ja, ja. Heil. Was ist los?"

"Mein Führer, I was just wondering if the keys I sent you arrived. Since you never showed up here, I thought..."

"What keys? What are you talking about?"

"The keys to Berchtesgaden, mein Führer."

"The keys to B... Bist du verrückt? What are you babbling about?"

The voice on the other end hesitated a little. "Didn't you call me Tuesday a week ago, telling me that you were on your way to Berchtesgaden, but that you had left your keys in Berlin?"

Hitler's eyes narrowed. "Rüdiger, have you been drinking again?"

"Nein, mein Führer. I mean – only a little."

"I never called you last week, so you must have imagined it."

"Jawohl, mein Führer."

A short silence. Then, "Rüdiger, did you just ask me if the keys arrived here?"

"Jawohl, mein Führer."

"You idiot! Sending my keys through the mail – heaven only knows who's got hold of them now!"

"Jawohl, mein Führer," Rüdiger cowered.

"If you weren't Eva's brother, I would send you to the eastern front right now, you fool! But I'll spare you for now – for her sake only."

A trembling, "Jawohl, mein Führer. Danke, mein Führer."

"Now I want you to get a locksmith and get every lock in my country-home replaced. All of them – today! Understood?"

"Jawohl, mein Führer."

"And don't do anything so stupid again, or you will find yourself on the next train to Moscow – Eva's brother or not!"

The phone was slammed down before the next "Jawohl, mein Führer" had travelled all the way from Berchtesgaden to Berlin, and Hitler was left muttering to himself about the ridiculous sacrifices one had to make, just to please the other sex.

.

So the entire hunt for the key to Berchtesgaden had been a fool's errand after all...

.

The End

.

.

Author's note: That's all, folks! I hope you enjoyed it – the reviews certainly seem to indicate so! Thank you so much, all of you who took the trouble to review – it's been a delight to read and reread your comments on how things were progressing. And a very special thank you to those of you who followed the story day by day and let me know their thoughts!

Oh, and one last translation: Bist du verrückt? – Are you out of your mind?

.

And now a fun quiz question for everyone.

Exactly how many Hitlers did we come across altogether in this story? (Yes: real, fake and look-alike!)

And you may assume that all the currently available residents of barracks 2 participated in the contest.

The correct answer (which is a distinct number!) will be published in the reviews in a week's time, and the winner(s) may look forward (or not...) to a blitz visit to Stalag 13 within the compass of the boys' infamous Mary Sue Project – once I get writing on that again... ;-P