Chapter Text
The sound of the Storch’s engine coughing to life shattered the predawn stillness in the oasis, jolting Dietrich awake in an instant. Pulling on his boots and uniform jacket against the chill, he emerged from the tent. Von Hammer was walking around his aircraft, checking the tires and wings as the engine warmed up. The pilot had chocked the front wheels with stones to keep it in position while the engine idled. He touched the machine with his hands in the same way a master horseman would a favorite steed, nodding to himself as he stepped through a mental list of preparations. He looked up as the Captain approached and smiled. He raised his voice to be heard over the engine.
“Good morning, I apologize for the early awakening, but now is the best time for takeoff, given the short runway.”
Dietrich eyed the sand along the edge of the pool. There was little room to spare, and the brief stretch of packed damp sand was both narrow and curved as well.
“How will you manage it?” he asked.
“You will see very soon,” said Von Hammer. “If I may have the help of some of your strong men.”
“Of course. How many do you require?” Soldiers were poking their heads from their tents. The fastest were already trotting toward them and Dietrich gestured them closer. Gunther was the first to arrive and saluted.
“Eight, three to hold each wing,” said Von Hammer. “Two to hold the tail. They need to be well-coordinated, if possible. They must hold onto the wings while I open the throttle, and then release when I give the signal.”
“I know just the person to attend to that,” said Dietrich, nodding at Gunther.
Only the most durable sleepers and the sick were managing to rest through the racket and all the children and youths of the civilian camp were heading in their direction, agog at the novelty of the Storch preparing to fly. Even the camels had gotten up and were giving the noisy aircraft suspicious stares.
In short order, Sergeant Gunther had a team picked out and ready, all of them stalwart youths. Satisfied with his preflight, Von Hammer walked a short distance from the Storch to bid them farewell.
The Rat Patrol walked up, bleary-eyed from the noisy wake-up, but cheerful nevertheless.
“Good morning, Major, Captain,” said Troy, saluting them nicely. He nodded at the aircraft. “Goats didn’t eat your tires?”
“They tried,” said Von Hammer. “If I were to stay too long they might succeed, but for now everything looks and feels intact.”
Leaving Gunther in charge of the hasty ground crew, Dietrich had left them to run to the civilian camp. A minute later he returned with a small bottle, stoppered with a strong cork and sealed with wax. This he held out to the ace.
“We are very grateful for your aid, Major, and we are in your debt. While we have little to offer beyond gratitude, Frau Waffiah insisted I give you this.”
“Thank you,” said Von Hammer, accepting the bottle. He looked at it curiously.
“Kräuterlikör?”
“Not exactly,” said Dietrich. “It is traditional medicine for the illness we have been fighting the past four, no, five days.”
“Ugh,” muttered Tully. Hitch nodded in agreement.
“It should be useful should you ever suffer anything similar. The water here is clean, that is one of the primary reasons we selected this oasis for our quarantine. I do not expect you to come down with our illness, but it does pay to be prudent and have a supply of medicine on hand. Instructions for use are on the label.”
“Will it go bad?” asked Von Hammer as he tucked the bottle into his flight bag.
“How could it, Sir? It’s already bad!” Hitch grinned at him.
“It should be fine for months, perhaps a year,” said Dietrich. “After which you may want to dispose of it.”
“Whatever you do, don’t drink it,” said Hitch.
Dietrich shook his head at that.
“I, and we, Private Hitchcock included, can vouch for the medicine’s effectiveness, but as the Private implies, it is not for casual consumption.”
“How do you know when to take it, then?” asked Von Hammer.
“If you’re so sick your granny can make you swallow it, that’s when you need it,” said Tully.
“He is quite correct,” said Dietrich, an affirmation that made Tully smile.
The Storch’s engine shifted into a smoother register and Von Hammer tipped his head toward the aircraft. “It is ready, time to take to the air. Thank you for your hospitality and good company.”
Dietrich saluted him, as did the Rat Patrol. Von Hammer returned the courtesy.
“Don’t die up there, Major,” said Troy as the ace climbed into the Storch. “Don’t die, period, OK?”
“I will do my best,” Von Hammer replied, smiling. “And my orders to all of you are the same. Stay alive.”
Dietrich nodded at that command. Stepping back from the Storch, he left it to Gunther to space his men out to hold the wings and tail of the plane. Von Hammer sat down inside, then sprang up and vanished into the interior of the aircraft. A moment later, he popped the door open and tossed out a chicken. It fluttered about for a bit, then trotted away toward the tents, shaking its feathers, and cackling in annoyance. Dietrich put a hand over his mouth to control the laughter that fought to escape.
The door safely closed, from the interior, they could see the ace hold up a closed fist.
“Hold on,” commanded Gunther as the engine revved up into full power.
The Storch strained against the grips of the men. They dug in their heels to keep from being dragged forward. Troy grabbed his men and ran ahead to clear away a cluster of kids who had decided to stand in the middle of the postage stamp of a ‘runway’ for a better view. They herded them off to the side. That task completed, and everyone safely out of the way, Von Hammer opened his hand. Gunther pulled away the chocks and shouted.
“Now!”
The men let go at once. The Storch surged forward, bouncing a little on the hard sand. Its wings bit into the cool morning air and it soared upward. The children cheered and waved as it circled the wadi to gain height. Turning toward the distant sea, it arrowed away over the plateau toward the faint predawn glow of the sun.
Dietrich watched it go with a sharp sense of loss. Troy approached him while the rest of the men headed toward the common cooking area, probably to brew coffee.
“Well, he’s away safe at least,” said the Sergeant.
“Yes. I hope…” Dietrich found he could not quite articulate the complicated set of ideas in his mind. Loyalty to his country warred with the simple thought that honorable people should not be sent to die for no good reason.
“He’ll be all right,” said Troy. “He’s smart, and tougher than nails.”
“Good qualities to have,” said Dietrich. He took a deep breath. “In any soldier.”
---
“Well, thanks for the hospitality, but now that Tully and Hitch are on the mend, we’ll be leaving you, Captain.” Troy grinned at Dietrich.
The Captain was seated on one of their very battered camp chairs in the shade of the date palms, watching the semi-orderly bustle of their combined camp as the morning advanced. He had a cup of strong coffee in hand and looked almost fully human again.
“If that is what you wish,” said Dietrich. “Doctor MacLlyr can guide you out in such a way that will conceal you from unfriendly eyes.”
“That’s very generous of you,” said Troy.
“Not at all, Sergeant,” said Dietrich. “Aside from the tribe of Ibn Ali, with whom we now have good ties, many of the tribes occupying lands between here and the coast are unfriendly to everyone unless passage is negotiated with all the proper gifts and protocols. We do not need to attract their attention, and neither do you.”
He did not belabor the point that his own company, while recovering, was still only at two thirds-strength, and that was a generous estimate.
The other unspoken worry was that Troy and his friends would immediately betray their position to the Allies. Troy’s word was good, and he did not think the American would want to break his promise, but nothing was certain, especially once the Rat Patrol got within range of their chain of command. Such a scenario would have many potentially ugly outcomes. The Captain did not like to contemplate them too deeply at this moment.
He looked across the oasis, which was amazingly quiet given the time of day. Children tended goats around the eastern arc of the wadi, townspeople were laying out and planting a vegetable garden on the other side of their tents, obviously planning to stay on for some time. His men were working on the battered company trucks and halftracks. Some were gathered around an Alfa Romeo 800 that had been a maintenance nightmare, trying to decide if the thing could make it back to their lines, or if it should be cannibalized for parts and left to rot in the wilds somewhere. From their gestures, Dietrich suspected the desert would soon claim another victim. Too bad we cannot leave the people who designed those trucks out here with their worthless vehicles. He turned his attention back to Troy.
“I will say you should stay another three days here,” he said aloud.
“What? Why?” The Sergeant narrowed his eyes.
“Because this disease progresses in stages. We are still having new cases among my men and the townspeople. Fewer, to be sure, but some.” He looked at Troy, his face sober.
“You drank that contaminated water the same as the rest of us, and yourself and Sergeant Moffitt may yet be harboring the illness. From our current experience, it looks as if the incubation period is three to seven days.”
“I’m fine, Captain.” Troy waved the concern away.
“If Moffitt and I haven’t gotten it yet, we should be…” Troy stopped as a sudden surge of warmth enveloped his body.
“What the--?” He stood up and nearly fell over as the horizon tilted alarmingly in a wave of fever.
“Hey, where did those lights come from?” He turned around slowly, staring in astonishment. “Damn, you were right about them.”
“Seven days, Sergeant,” said Dietrich with genuine sympathy.
Standing, he offered an arm, which Troy grabbed at once, reeling like a drunken sailor. At least he was strong enough now to provide good support. Two days ago he would have simply collapsed along with the American.
Well, that is one worry temporarily off my mind, he thought, sternly resisting the urge to thank whatever gods were out there. The gods, as he had come to realize, had a fickle sense of humor that cut both ways.
“You can have my cot in the sick tent,” said Dietrich, bending their steps in that direction. “And I will send someone around with both medicine and ammo.”
“Ammo?” Troy squinted at him. “For what?”
“The chicken,” the Captain replied, unable to suppress his smile.
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