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The Rat Patrol was a half-hour drama loosely based on the exploits of the Long Range Desert Groups, special commando forces that operated behind the German lines in North Africa during World War II. The program ran from 1966-1968, spanning 58 episodes; its cancellation was due not to low ratings but rather to the same concerns about TV violence that also felled the Wild Wild West.
The series featured a maverick group of four Allied soldiers, three American and one British, riding around the desert in two jeeps with Browning 50-millimeter machine guns swivel-mounted on the backs. Their missions generally involved shooting up German convoys, blowing up German supplies, or obtaining secret information. The easiest way to tell them apart was by their individual headgear. They were led by Sergeant Sam Troy, a tough and capable leader; his men followed him more out of personal loyalty than any respect for military decorum. Played by actor Christopher George, Troy was ruggedly handsome, with brown hair and blue eyes, and easily distinguished by his Australian bush hat. Troy's driver, Private Mark Hitchcock, was an Ivy League college student who had dropped out to join the army. He argued frequently with Troy but would always back him up when the chips were down. "Hitch," as he was called, was a blue-eyed blond with steel-rimmed spectacles, a perpetual wad of bubble gum, and a red French Foreign Legion cap. The other jeep was driven by Private Tully Pettigrew, a fair-haired young Kentucky moonshiner with a deceptively mild drawl. He wore a standard GI helmet and usually chewed matchsticks. In the first episode, these three were presented as a unit that had already been working together for some time; they were joined by a new member, Sergeant Jack Moffitt of the British Army. Moffitt had a Ph.D. in anthropology with a specialty in North African geology; he had spent a large part of his childhood tramping around the Sahara with his archaeologist father, and another part of it living in Germany. He spoke fluent German and Arabic as well as several other languages (none of the others spoke anything but English) and knew his way around the desert. Troy recognized his usefulness to the group immediately but it took some time before Troy and Moffitt got along. Moffitt was tall, thin, and dark-haired and wore a British uniform with a black beret.
The fifth major character on the program was their perpetual enemy, Hauptmann (Captain) Hans Dietrich of the Afrika Korps, who appeared in 27 of the 58 episodes. Dietrich was intended to resemble the Desert Fox, Field-Marshall Erwin Rommel; as such, he was resourceful, clever, and honorable. Rommel disdained the Gestapo and the S.S. and did not belong to the National Socialist party (the Nazis); under his command, the army used a traditional military salute instead of a "Heil Hitler." A brilliant military commander, Rommel was frustrated by the Führer's strategic blunders; he was eventually implicated in the conspiracy to assassinate Hitler and forced to commit suicide. Dietrich's loyalty was never questioned, but he criticized Hitler (The Hide-and-Go-Seek Raid), protested the treatment of Jews (The Death Do Us Part Raid), insulted the Gestapo (The Street Urchin Raid) and on one occasion killed an S.S. officer to prevent a typhus epidemic (The Decoy Raid; the officer, who was insanely paranoid, had impounded the only supply of vaccine and was about to kill the nurse who would distribute it). Although the Rat Patrol was Dietrich's constant nemesis, he respected Troy and his men and a number of episodes had them working together under some kind of truce.
This story takes place in early 1943, near the end of the war in North Africa.
It had not been a good day for the Rat Patrol, thought Sergeant Sam Troy as he raised his hands in the air. And it had just gotten a hell of a lot worse.
The Rat Patrol had completed their latest mission safely and were going on to a new assignment when Moffitt, their British desert expert, had taken sick. It was Moffitt who had spent the most time actually dealing with the natives during this assignment, so it was he who caught some kind of desert 'flu that a number of them had. Over Moffitt's weak protests, Troy had radioed HQ, gotten permission to scrub the new assignment, and begun taking his men back to base. It was about a three day trek, most of it behind enemy lines, which were fluctuating daily.
Earlier that morning during a rest stop Troy had had a short argument with Moffitt, who wanted to spell his driver, Tully Pettigrew. "Troy, he's been driving nonstop, and you know he won't complain."
This was true enough, thought Troy; unlike Troy's driver, Mark Hitchcock, who loved to argue about everything and anything, Tully hardly ever opened his mouth.
Troy shook his head. "You're not well enough to drive."
"I haven't thrown up in two days!"
"That's because you haven't eaten in three." Troy put his hand to Moffitt's forehead. It wasn't as hot as it had been, but it was still too warm. "I appreciate your trying to help, but if you lose concentration at the wheel we could be out one jeep." To say nothing of one annoying and indispensible British sergeant, he thought.
"It's nice to know you care," said Moffitt with a ghost of a smile. He swayed slightly and Troy took his arm and steered him back to the jeep. Troy would never admit how worried he was, but he caught Tully and Hitch carefully not watching him and had the nagging suspicion that everyone could tell.
Then early in the afternoon, they had driven right into an ambush. The ridge along the side of the path they had chosen didn't look big enough to hide a German unit, but it did. Troy and his men were surrounded before they had a chance to fight back. It was a compliment, Troy thought, how much in the way of armored transport was sent to capture them. Five half-tracks, four armored trucks, three tanks, two kubelwagens and one gloating colonel in a staff car.
And now Troy and his men climbed out of their jeeps, hands in the air, in response to the orders shouted in passable English. They were quickly surrounded by armed guards who relieved them of their sidearms. The colonel got out of his car and swaggered over to face Troy. "So, we meet at last, Sergeant," he said, obviously pleased. "I am Colonel Traeger."
Troy stared at him. The colonel was middle-aged, with thinning gray hair and cold gray eyes. He wore a conventional Wehrmacht uniform, but with the swastika armband that was rare among members of the Afrika Korps. A Nazi, then. The man was unfamiliar to Troy. . . . no, wait. He'd been at the head of a convoy the Rat Patrol had taken out a few weeks ago. The loss of that convoy had dealt a crippling blow to the German offensive at a site nearby. And come to think of it, he might have been the same officer who was in charge of a supply dump that the Rat Patrol had blown up last month; Troy had only gotten a glimpse of him in passing. "Funny, I feel as if I know you already," Troy said with an ironic smile.
"Perhaps, perhaps," said the colonel. "But I certainly know you. You have caused me a great deal of embarrassment with my superiors, Sergeant. Four months ago I was in line for a promotion and a transfer out of this hellhole. Now I count myself lucky that I am digging sand and not snow."
Troy shrugged. "Nothing personal."
Traeger's eyes narrowed. "That's your opinion," he said. He gestured to the nearest truck. "Move!" he said. He motioned to the guards and they prodded the prisoners in its direction.
Tully, bringing up the rear just behind Moffitt as they were marched the short distance to the truck, noticed his sergeant was struggling to keep up. "You all right, Sarge?" he whispered.
Moffitt nodded. One of the guards glared at Tully but took no action. When they reached the truck, Troy and Hitch climbed up easily inside. Moffitt tried to haul himself up and slid back down. He stood, leaning against the tailgate, gathering himself for another try. The same guard who had glared at Tully pushed Moffitt to the ground and said something rude in German. Furious, Tully jumped for the guard and grappled with him.
"Tully, no!" shouted Troy. To his surprise, the guards were apparently under orders not to shoot; instead, another guard came up and was about to hit Tully with his rifle.
"Halt!" shouted Traeger. Tully and the two guards froze. Traeger spoke several sentences to the guards in German; they saluted and stepped back. Tully brushed himself off, helped Moffitt to his feet and boosted him into the truck, then climbed in after him.
Traeger surveyed the little group of defeated Rats, sitting in the truck with guards all around them, and smiled. "I'm sorry if my men are a trifle uncivilized, gentlemen, but I do hope you'll avoid antagonizing them in the future." He stepped to the side and gestured to the driver. As the truck pulled away, he waved cheerily to his prisoners. "See you back at the base!" he called as he headed back to his staff car.
Troy turned to Moffitt. "What did he tell the guards?" Moffitt frowned and looked away. "Something nasty, wasn't it."
Moffitt nodded wearily, drawing his knees up and resting his head and arms on them. "He said not to hit either of us if they could help it, because interrogation sessions go better when you start with uninjured subjects. They last longer and scream louder."
The Rat Patrol was silent for some time. "Kinda makes you miss Dietrich," said Tully after a while.
Troy thought that one over. "Yeah, it does. Where's he been lately, anyway?"
"Somewhere east of here," volunteered Hitch. "Where the major fighting is." The Allies were slowly winning back the Libyan coast and beating the Germans back to Tripoli.
Troy sighed. "I can't wish him success," he said. "But. . . . "
Hitch completed the thought. "Hope he's out of the worst of it."
The late afternoon sunlight streamed into Colonel Traeger's office, touching it with orange and gold. The panzer Captain he had sent for stood stiffly in front of his desk, no doubt puzzling over the hasty summons calling him here. He was in his early thirties, a young man for so responsible a position, tall and thin, with light brown hair and brown eyes. It was just a day after his release from the hospital for a concussion suffered in a recent battle, and he had no doubt expected to be ordered right back to the front lines. Traeger, however, had something else in mind for him.
"Heil Hitler," said the colonel, raising his arm. The captain responded with a crisp, traditional military salute; he did not return the greeting. "You will be pleased to hear that I have captured the Rat Patrol," said the colonel.
"I congratulate you, Herr Oberst," said Hans Dietrich.
"Thank you," said Traeger. "I have been working for this for some time. We even managed to capture them uninjured--though one of them is sick--and with those damned jeeps intact. Troy and his men have made a fool of me for the last time." A strange light of madness and hatred gleamed in Traeger's eyes for a moment and he pounded the desk once with his fist. Then the light faded and he went on calmly. "I sent for you to obtain your insight. You have dealt with them a number of times, under a variety of circumstances, and I could use your expertise."
Dietrich realized that, implicit in the colonel's apparent compliment, was the fact that Dietrich had failed to capture and keep the Rat Patrol, whereas the colonel had succeeded. He decided against addressing the unstated criticism--qui s'excuse, s'accuse--and answered politely. "I would be honored to be of assistance."
"Thank you," said the colonel, waving him to a chair. "You see, I must have certain strategic information that they possess, and I realize that ordinary methods of interrogation have proven ineffective in the past. I'm hoping to try some kind of psychological manipulation, and to do so I need to understand their group dynamics." Dietrich nodded, and the colonel continued. "Which of the men would you say is personally closest to Troy?"
"Personally, sir?" Dietrich considered the question for no more than a moment. "Hitchcock."
"Interesting," said the colonel. "I would have expected you to name the other sergeant."
"If you'd asked me whose advice Troy is likeliest to follow, or whose knowledge Troy most depends on, I would have said Moffitt," said Dietrich. "And I imagine they have gotten used to each other over the last year or so. But Moffitt hasn't been with Troy as long as the others, and he's definitely a different personality type; foreign to him in more ways than one. On the other hand, while Troy doesn't play favorites, I'd say that Hitchcock reminds him of himself at a younger age. Despite the differences in their backgrounds, they share a sense of adventure and a robust dislike of authority. During their attacks they work together on that jeep like one man. And when I only see two of them, it's usually those two."
Traeger nodded. "Thank you for your explanation," he said. "You may have saved me from making a grievous miscalculation in my approach. You are dismissed." Dietrich rose, saluted, and left.
The colonel turned to his aide, who had been quietly taking notes during the discussion. "Tell the men to have Hitchcock brought to my office," he said. "For questioning."
The aide grinned wolfishly. "Yes, sir!"
Dietrich had a solitary meal in the officers' mess, and was returning to his assigned quarters when he heard the unmistakable sound of a beating from the Colonel's office suite. He could hear the thump of flesh against flesh and the muffled groans of someone trying not to scream from all the way down the corridor. He went to the door, paused for a moment, then knocked and went in. Two of the colonel's men were working over Private Hitchcock in the back room while Traeger watched from the main office. "May I help you, Captain?" asked the colonel smoothly, nudging the door to the back room shut.
Too angry to be circumspect, Dietrich gestured to the closed door. "Is this what you call psychological manipulation, sir?" he asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep contempt from showing in his voice.
"Do you have a problem with that, Herr Hauptmann?" asked Traeger. His eyes flashed dangerously as he added, "I thought it was only sailors who kept pet rats."
There was no answer Dietrich could think of that would not get him court-martialled. He gathered his composure and forced himself to calm down. Finally he answered, "I thought you had some innovative new method of interrogation, but this appears to be. . . traditional."
"Ah, yes," said the Colonel. "I understand your confusion. But appearances can be deceiving. You see, I'm not interrogating Hitchcock. I haven't even asked him any questions." He laughed. "I'm not trying to break him, I'm going to break Troy. I'll return Hitchcock to him overnight so he can see the results of his silence. If Troy doesn't talk tomorrow, these sessions will continue until Hitchcock is dead. Shouldn't take long. Then we shall start on. . . Moffitt next, I think. But I doubt it will be necessary once Troy realizes I mean business. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your information; it's been very helpful."
Too angry to reply, Dietrich saluted, turned on his heel, and left. He just managed to avoid slamming the door behind him. His thoughts in a whirl, he went back to his quarters not to rest, but to think.
Dietrich was in no hurry to turn in for the night. He had been knocked out by the concussion from a nearby shell early in that last battle, and he had a dim recollection of one of his lieutenants dragging him to the shelter of an overturned half-track. Then everything had gone black. When he came to it was night and the moon had risen. The fighting was over, the enemy was gone. He had sat up and listened to the desert night and heard. . . . nothing. He had staggered to his feet and gone around the wreckage. Wisps of smoke still rose from some of the burned-out transports. There were dead men everywhere, Allied and German, far more of the latter. Perhaps some were just knocked out, as he was, he thought, and painstakingly checked every man. They were all dead. The lieutenant who had saved him was reduced to a charred mass over by one of the tanks, inside of which he could just recognize the bodies of several fresh-faced young privates who had just joined his command. He was the only survivor of his entire unit.
Now he preferred to sleep where it was noisy, because when he woke in the middle of the night and heard nothing, he found himself back in the desert moonlight with the bodies of his men lying scattered around, waiting for him to check them, recognize them, mourn them, all over again.
Dietrich paced his quarters for nearly an hour, unwilling to go to bed, troubled by what he had seen in the Colonel's office. Finally, he decided to go check on the prisoners and made his way down to the detention area. The guard saluted as Dietrich peered through the tiny barred window in the door. The prisoners were in an unheated, unfurnished cell in the basement, dimly lit by a single bare bulb. Troy sat on the floor with his back against the wall, Hitchcock's head propped up in his lap. Dietrich couldn't tell if the young driver was asleep or unconscious. Moffitt and Pettigrew were sharing a blanket, lying back to back on the floor, both apparently asleep. Dietrich nodded to the guard and let himself in quietly. Troy had been dozing with his head against the wall; his head snapped forward as Dietrich entered.
"I should have known you'd be here," Troy grated, glaring up at the German captain.
Dietrich ignored the warning in the American's eyes and knelt beside him. "Troy. Colonel Traeger is insanely vindictive. He's going to kill your men one at a time until you tell him what he wants to know. He's not asking them any questions--he wants you to talk." He looked down at Hitchcock's bruised and battered form, reached out hesitantly to touch the boy's shoulder. "He's going to kill Hitchcock tomorrow and then he'll start on Moffitt. Then Pettigrew. . . . He wants you to watch them die."
"Tough luck for us," said Moffitt's voice softly. He crawled out from under the blanket, tucking it carefully around the sleeping Tully, and came over to sit beside Troy.
Troy scowled at him. "I told you to sleep."
"Couldn't," said Moffitt simply. Dietrich eyed him. Traeger had mentioned that one of the prisoners was sick; now it was evident which one. The British sergeant looked gaunt, his face strained and white, with dark smudges under the eyes. For once, thought Dietrich, he didn't envy Troy his close-knit relationship with his men. That was no stranger half-dead in Troy's arms, no casual acquaintance turning into a hollow-eyed ghost by his side. Of his three men, only Pettigrew was whole and well, and the worry showed in Troy's eyes.
"You've got to talk, Troy," he said, knowing even as he said it that it was useless. Troy's eyes flickered down to Hitchcock and Dietrich's followed. Even with his head propped up, the young man's breathing sounded raspy and painful. Internal injuries, thought Dietrich. It wouldn't take much to finish him off tomorrow--assuming he survived the night. Troy looked back up at the German with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "No," he said.
Dietrich threw up his hands in frustration.
On a sudden impulse, Moffitt said, "Do you know what questions they are asking, Herr Hauptmann? Do you know what they're looking for?"
"As a matter of fact, I don't," Dietrich confessed. "I was called in just this afternoon."
It was Troy who spoke next. "You know that your people are advancing on a town which has a large Jewish settlement. The captain in charge of the occupation forces made it clear what the fate of the Jews in the town would be. We managed to get a couple of trucks in to evacuate the women and children and we escorted it until a certain point, where another group took over. Your colonel wants to know which way they went so he can send his men to capture and murder them. Civilians. Women and children. Now you see why we can't talk?"
Dietrich was horrified. Rumors of such things going on in Europe had been filtering through for some time, but no one really believed them; at any rate, such things didn't happen here in North Africa. "We are supposed to be fighting a clean war here," he stammered. "I can hardly believe--"
Moffitt interrupted him. "You thought such atrocities were confined to your homeland, didn't you?" he asked with such bitterness that Troy and Dietrich were both reminded that Germany had once been Moffitt's home too. "How many times are you willing to keep apologizing for your countrymen? For your entire country? How long can you--"
Dietrich slapped him. Moffitt recoiled, more startled than hurt. Troy made as if to move forward; Dietrich drew his Luger and locked eyes with the American. After a moment, Troy settled back but did not drop his gaze. There was a long moment of silence. Dietrich broke it. "I have just struck a sick prisoner who threatened me with nothing more than the truth," he said, thinking aloud. "It is one thing to be ashamed of my country. It is another to be ashamed of myself." He put his gun away. "I'm sorry," he said.
"So am I," said Moffitt. If he and Troy were surprised by Dietrich's apology they were even more astonished by his next words.
"A year ago," said Dietrich, "were we in this situation, I would have reported Colonel Traeger and he would have been reprimanded. Now, it is I who would be punished for daring to question him. His kind have become the rule, rather than the exception. A year ago I might have found a way to help you escape, come up with some plausible story to exonerate myself, and gone back to join my unit." He shook his head. "I have no unit to return to. On the orders of my superiors I led my men into a carefully planned and executed suicide attack on a fortified position. We were to be sacrificed as a diversion so that another division might move forward, but their advance failed and my men died for nothing. Since the Führer began second-guessing Rommel this war has gone from bad to worse." He stared at the floor. "A year ago I was proud to serve in the Wehrmacht, proud to serve my country. Now I feel it has betrayed me; to be more precise, I feel that Hitler has betrayed my country. I can only ask you: if I help you to escape, will you take me with you?"
Troy and Moffitt exchanged stunned glances. Moffitt recovered first. "From any other German officer," he said slowly, "I would suspect a trick. But. . . ."
Troy picked up the thought. "You've always been square with us, Captain. Even at your own expense." He hesitated, looking at Moffitt, who nodded, and down at Hitch, who would die if Troy didn't do something. "All right, Dietrich. You've got yourself a deal."
Dietrich looked around the cell. "It should be now," he said slowly. "They're going to start on Hitchcock again first thing in the morning. I know where the jeeps are; they're guarded, of course, but I might be able to get you past. I can tell them. . . . you've hidden some microfilm in the vehicles somewhere and you've finally agreed to show me where it is."
Moffitt shook Tully's shoulder. The young private sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What's up?" he asked, staring at Dietrich.
"Dietrich's going to help us escape," said Moffitt simply.
"Okay," said Tully. Dietrich was secretly pleased by Pettigrew's calm acceptance; it was a measure of the respect he had earned from these men that Pettigrew didn't question the wisdom of accepting Dietrich's help.
It also struck him that he could have predicted the laconic response; and that even before, he had not been surprised by Moffitt's perceptive remarks or Troy's fierce determination. He had come to know these men better than he had known any of his own. He remembered a conversation he had once had with a cocky lieutenant who had managed to capture Troy for a short period of time. Dietrich had warned him that capturing only one of the group was a dangerous position to be in, but his colleague had scoffed at the notion. "This whole mystique you've built up around them is grossly overrated," the young man had said. "I'll grant you the leader of the Rat Patrol is a man to be reckoned with. But take him away, and what do they have? Two juvenile delinquents and a bookworm." Dietrich couldn't say he was happy, exactly, that Troy was rescued, but he was pleased that the lieutenant survived; Dietrich enjoyed visiting him in the hospital--where one of the "juvenile delinquents" had put him--and saying, "I told you so."
Tully knelt beside Troy, gathered Hitchcock carefully into his arms, and stood. Troy, relieved of his burden, stretched and began to get stiffly to his feet; Dietrich tentatively extended a hand and was pleased when Troy accepted it. Dietrich turned and helped Moffitt up as well, not letting go until he was sure the British sergeant was steady on his feet. "We don't want to risk our story on the guard at this door," said Dietrich softly to Troy. "He may wish to call for verification. Do you think you could help me get him in here?"
Troy's answer was a low growl. "Not a chance, you son-of-a-bitch KRAUT!" he shouted. He winked at Dietrich and continued even louder. "Get out of here before they have to scrape you up with a spoon!"
"Help!" shouted Dietrich in German. "Guard!" The guard came rushing in; Dietrich tripped him up and Troy knocked him out. We work rather well together, thought Dietrich, bemused. "Come on," he said to his new allies. He poked his head into the corridor and made sure it was deserted, then gestured to them to come out, locking the door behind the unconscious guard.
Dietrich was as good as his word; he not only got them to see the jeeps, but even managed to send the guard on a lengthy errand. Tully laid Hitch carefully in the back of Troy's jeep and began making him as comfortable as he could with blankets. Troy leapt up to the Browning 50 and inspected it. "They haven't tampered with it," he said, turning it carefully back and forth. "In fact, it's still loaded."
"I'll check mine," offered Moffitt, and swung himself up to the gun on the back of the other jeep. Once up, however, he found himself clinging to the Browning for support as dizziness from the sudden movement overtook him. Someone took him by the shoulders and gently but firmly pushed him down into a sitting position. He looked up as the gray mists cleared and saw Dietrich perched calmly on the spare tire, inspecting the gun as if he'd done so every day of his life.
"This one looks good, too, Sergeant," said Dietrich, and had the pleasure of seeing Troy's jaw drop.
A sound from nearby made every head turn.
"So. . . . it is just as I suspected." Colonel Traeger came swaggering casually up to the jeeps, a couple of guards behind him. "All the rats are deserting the sinking ship, hmm?" He stopped and put his hands on his hips. "Did you really think I was after this pitiful band of riffraff? This was a test of you, Hauptmann Dietrich, and you've failed it. As I suspected you would."
Dietrich's heart was pounding, but he kept his tone casual. "Really, Herr Oberst?"
"Really, Herr Hauptmann. I was frankly astonished that you survived that most recent battle. You have a most incredible lucky streak when it comes to walking away from encounters with the enemy, encounters that are fatal to our loyal soldiers." Seeing that he had struck a nerve, Traeger continued. "When the Rat Patrol first began plaguing me, I looked up their history. They would never have made it this far if it weren't for you."
Dietrich was staring at the Colonel. "You blame me for the havoc they've wreaked on your command, don't you? Your name was on that last set of battle orders I received. . . . "
Traeger nodded. "Someone had to draw that particularly unpleasant duty, and I was delighted to assign it to you. I'm only sorry that you didn't share the fate of your men. And now look at you, ready to run away at the first sign of trouble. You're a fair-weather officer, Dietrich, loyal only as long as we're winning. Isn't that so?"
Dietrich went very pale, controlling his anger with difficulty, still leaning on the Browning. "Our victories or losses have nothing to do with my loyalty, Herr Oberst. It is men like you that have sapped my belief in what we are doing here. It's not even your glee at inflicting pain on your enemies that horrifies me the most. It's your apathy toward your own men." He allowed the anger to show in his voice now, raising it just a fraction. "You're willing to throw away German lives to appease a madman who is leading us all into ruin and trying to drag the whole world with him."
"Enough!" snapped the Colonel. "You disgust me. You're no better than any of these."
Dietrich eyed him coldly. "I'd rather be like him," he said, pointing to Troy, "than you."
Traeger smiled. "When I'm done with you," he said, "you'll wish you looked like him." He pointed to Hitch.
"I don't think so," said Dietrich. Abruptly he swung the heavy machine gun and fired, stitching a line of lead and blood across both guards and the colonel. Caught by surprise, they fell without firing back. He looked down to see Troy, Moffitt, and Tully staring at him. He leaped lightly down and faced Troy. "Sergeant," he said, "I respectfully suggest that we shake it."
That broke the spell, and everyone jumped. Tully and Troy took their places behind the wheels of their respective jeeps, and Troy directed Dietrich to the front seat next to Tully. The jeeps roared off.
Troy climbed wearily out of the jeep from HQ, thanked the driver and dismissed him. He hesitated for a moment in front of the hospital where he'd dropped his team off yesterday afternoon. It was almost noon; he'd been up all night and part of the morning with Captain Boggs being debriefed about the original mission, the Rat Patrol's capture by Traeger, and their escape with Dietrich. What To Do With Dietrich was a major topic of conversation--Troy almost got the impression that Boggs was so irritated with the paperwork involved that he would just as soon send the German captain back. Dietrich had spent several hours being questioned and had eventually been let go. Boggs allowed Dietrich the run of the camp, but insisted on a guard for escort. The American captain was concerned that Dietrich's defection was some kind of ploy; Troy was indignant, Dietrich, understanding. Troy wanted to hear how his men were doing, and asked periodically, until Boggs simply snapped, "None of them is dead or the hospital would have told us. The sooner we get through this, the sooner you can go see them. Now, look at the map again and show me your position as of last Monday at 0800 hours."
Free at last, Troy ducked under the tent flap and looked around the field hospital. The place was deserted, he'd been told, except for his people. He spotted Moffitt right away. The British sergeant was sitting up in bed, propped up on pillows, playing chess with Dietrich, who sat on the empty cot next to Moffitt's. Dietrich's guard was sitting nearby, looking miserably bored.
Troy went over to them. Moffitt looked up and smiled. "Hallo, Troy," he said softly.
Troy kept his voice low in response. "Hello yourself." He eyed his friend closely. He had lost that peaked look and seemed to be getting some color back. "How've you been?"
"Slept for fifteen straight hours and woke up absolutely ravenous," said Moffitt. "They tell me that's good. Dietrich's been keeping me company." He gestured at the board.
Troy nodded to Dietrich. "Captain," he said.
Dietrich inclined his head. "Sergeant."
Moffitt continued. "They haven't let me see Hitch yet, but I gather he had a difficult night. Tully wouldn't leave him--they finally gave in and rigged him a cot nearby." He pointed to a curtained area at the end of the room. "They're over there."
Troy nodded and headed over. A nurse was on duty nearby, and came up to intercept him. "That's our ICU right now, sir," she said.
"I'm that man's commanding officer," Troy said. "I want to see him." It was hard to keep up the tough façade; his voice gave him away as he asked hesitantly, "How is he?"
"He's much better," she said. "He had some internal injuries and we were afraid we might have to operate, but it looks like he'll pull through on his own." She pushed the curtain aside. "I guess you can see him for a few minutes."
Troy's eyes were drawn first to Hitch; for a moment that was all he could focus on. Private Mark Hitchcock lay quietly, eyes closed, breathing evenly. Bandages covered the worst of his injuries. He was hooked up to an IV and a tangle of monitors; still, the nurse went over and lifted his wrist to take his pulse the old-fashioned way. She felt his forehead, lifted an eyelid, made some notes on his chart, then smiled and turned back to Troy, who stood at the foot of the bed. "It was touch and go for a while last night, but he's past the danger," she whispered. "He's asleep, not unconscious."
Relieved, Troy began to take in the rest of the alcove. There was another cot off to the side. Tully was stretched out on it, fully dressed and fast asleep. The nurse followed Troy's gaze and shook her head in mock reproach. "That young man was quite a nuisance last night. That is, until his friend woke up delirious and he was the only one who could calm him down. Then he was worth his weight in gold." Her gaze softened perceptibly as she looked down at Tully, and Troy found himself wondering whether the young man had made a conquest without even trying. With Hitch, their official ladykiller, in the same room yet! It was a day for marvels.
Troy went quietly back out into the main ward. Dietrich stared intently at the board, but Troy noticed that he was listening as Moffitt called softly, "How is Hitch?"
Troy came over to them, smiling. "He'll be okay."
Moffitt glanced at Dietrich and asked a question that the former Wehrmacht captain probably didn't feel comfortable asking for himself. "What does HQ want to do with this one?"
Troy shrugged. "They have no idea. I was sorta hoping he might join up with us."
"Well," said Moffitt, "he does seem pretty handy with the Browning."
"Mm-hmm," agreed Troy. "But until Hitch gets better, what we really need is a driver. How do you think Dietrich would look in a French Foreign Legion cap?"
Dietrich glared at them both. "Gentlemen," he said icily, "I very much doubt that your headquarters would permit me to take such an assignment. And in the unlikely event that they did, I want one thing made perfectly clear." He looked from Troy to Moffitt and back. "Under no circumstances will I ever consent to chew bubble gum."
It took a moment for them to react, and Dietrich enjoyed their double-takes enormously. Troy finally slapped him on the back and said, "Welcome to our side, Captain. We're glad to have you. Wherever you wind up."
After exchanging a hesitant glance with Troy, Moffitt added, "One way or another, I hope you wind up working with us."
Dietrich surprised them both by saying quietly, "So do I."