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In a base camp behind the Allied lines, an envoy from Intelligence was meeting with a local commander. It was late afternoon, but the lengthening shadows offered little respite from the heat. The tent the general used for an office was sweltering, and he was getting cranky.
"I don’t like this assassination business," grumbled the general.
"It’s been fully approved by HQ," said the representative from intelligence. "Look, Eckersley, the man is a menace. He wins tank battle after tank battle, grossly undermanned, undersupplied, and outgunned, with sheer bloody determination and tactical brilliance. He’s got to be stopped."
"It’s not cricket," General Eckersley argued. "Dash it all, he’s a decent fellow! Sense of honor and all that. He’s not even a Nazi."
The man from intelligence narrowed his eyes. "Don’t you see that’s what makes him so dangerous? Even the men on our side admire him. He’s becoming legendary, and we can’t have that. Our soldiers don’t think they can defeat a legend." He snapped open his briefcase. "We’ve tried to assassinate him once before with an independent commando team and it didn’t work."
"Eh?" said Eckersley. "I didn’t know that."
"It wasn’t publicized. Now, our strategists have studied the situation and come up with a workable plan. We’ve selected one of your commando teams that we think would be particularly effective in this case, and we’ve brought in one of the best snipers in this hemisphere."
"And you think this plan will work?"
The man from intelligence tossed a set of files onto the table. One spilled open, exposing an enlarged photograph of an American soldier in an Australian bush hat. "Oh yes. If anyone has a chance of killing Hauptmann Hans Dietrich, it’s the Rat Patrol."
"Hey, Hitch," said Troy, holding out his cup. "Whatever you do, don’t give me any more of that coffee."
"Sure thing, Sarge," said Hitch, grinning. "How much of it do you not want?"
"About half a cup," said Troy.
Hitch lifted the coffeepot carefully from the fire and half-filled Troy’s cup. "Anybody else want a refill?" the blond driver asked.
"Is that a threat?" asked Moffitt.
"Yeah, what’d we ever do t’you?" demanded Tully.
Hitch chuckled and replaced the pot. It was a clear evening, just starting to turn cold, and they were behind their own lines for once, relaxing after a successful mission and enjoying the luxury of an open fire.
There was a crackling from the RT unit. "B’lieve that’s for me," said Tully, and ambled over to the jeep.
They could hear his voice faintly. "Sugar Daddy, this is Candy Apple. Sugar Daddy, this is Candy Apple. How you doin’, Sugar?" He returned moments later at a much greater rate of speed. "Sarge, it’s HQ. They want to see us yesterday. Some bigshot from intelligence has a special job for us."
"Tell them we’ll be there first thing tomorrow," said Troy. "I’m not going to endanger us all by trying to drive there at night." Tully nodded and went back.
He reappeared a few minutes later. "O.K., Sarge, but they want us to ‘make all due haste.’" The last words were delivered in Tully’s best imitation of an English accent, which set Hitch chuckling again and Moffitt choking on his last sip of coffee.
"I don’t see Troy going for this plan," said Colonel Wilson to General Eckersley and the man from intelligence. "He and Dietrich have built up a mutual respect over the months. I don’t think Troy would consider it fair."
"Really, Colonel, does it matter what a sergeant thinks?" asked the general irritably.
"The colonel is right," said the man from intelligence. "Out there on the desert, a man like Troy has considerable autonomy. He can’t turn down this assignment, but he might sabotage it. Maybe not even consciously. That’s why we’re not going to tell the Rat Patrol the truth about the mission."
"What?" asked Wilson and Eckersley together.
"Dietrich is going to be welcoming an important guest from the German High Command next week. We’ll tell the Rat Patrol that the guest is the target. We’ll have them put the sniper in position to nab the guest when he and Dietrich are shaking hands. Our sniper will have instructions to take them both out."
Wilson shook his head. "It’s ugly. I don’t like it."
"Your approval is irrelevant, Colonel," the intelligence agent said with a smile. "The orders I’ve been given supersede yours, even those of the general here. There’s nothing you can do about it."
Troy paced impatiently outside the general’s tent. Moffitt, his lanky form folded onto a rickety chair nearby, watched him silently. Finally Troy exploded. "They told us to show at oh-nine-hundred hours for this very important briefing with the top brass, and then what? We show up on time and they’re ‘not ready’ for us. And they’ve been ‘not ready’ for the last hour and fifteen minutes!"
"Isn’t that what they say in your Army, Troy?" Moffitt asked. "‘Hurry up and wait?’"
"Yeah, they say that in my Army. But it’s your Army that’s keeping me waiting!"
Moffitt was about to frame a response when there was a rustling sound from the tent. The flap opened and a lieutenant came out. "The general will see you now," he said to Troy. Moffitt began to unfold himself from the chair. "Not you," the lieutenant said. "Just him." Moffitt shrugged and settled back down.
Troy ducked under the flap and entered the tent. Colonel Wilson was sitting there, flanked by two other men: a British general, middle-aged, with a walrus mustache, and a younger, dark-haired man in civilian clothes. "Sergeant Troy, this is General Eckersley," said Wilson. "And this man," he indicated the man on his right, "is from Army Intelligence."
Troy nodded. "Gentlemen," he said, suppressing his irritation.
"We have a very special mission for you," began Eckersley.
The mission, as explained, actually seemed rather ordinary to Troy and he had to wonder what all the fuss was about. The sniper, Walters, was brought in and introduced. A slight, fair man, rather older than Troy, he proffered a trembling handshake and a squeaky greeting, and was obviously relieved to be dismissed a few minutes later.
Finally, Eckersley and the man from intelligence left. Troy rose to leave, but Wilson stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Just a minute, Troy," he said. "There’s something about this mission that you need to know."
When Troy came out, he was not surprised that Moffitt wasn’t there; quite some time had passed during the briefing. Troy wandered over to the enlisted men’s mess where he found Moffitt poking at a plate of indeterminate nutrients.
Troy squinted down at him. "We’ve got our marching orders," he said.
Moffitt looked up. "What’s the story?"
Troy sat down across from Moffitt. "We’ve got a passenger. An expert," he said with disgust. "Another sniper."
"Not like Freebairn!" Moffitt exclaimed, remembering the coldblooded, arrogant sharpshooter they had worked with recently.
Troy cracked a half-smile. "No, not anything like Freebairn," he admitted. "A little rabbity guy who doesn’t look like he can lift a rifle, much less fire it. But I’m told he’s some kind of freak genius with it, I forget the word they used."
"Idiot savant?" Moffitt asked.
"Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. Anyway, some German bigwig is blowing in to visit our old friend Dietrich. We’re gonna sneak up and get close and our little friend is going to take him out." Moffitt looked up sharply and Troy continued. "The bigwig, that is."
"All right," said Moffitt, "when do we leave?"
Troy picked up the tin plate and handed it to him, gesturing toward the bin where used plates were dumped. "Now."
They were seated around a fire again, only this time there were five, and it was morning. Troy eyed Walters curiously. The man sat hunched in on himself, looking like a mouse in a python’s cage. He was polishing the rifle that he always carried with him the way a child carries a beloved blanket.
Hitch finished cleaning up the breakfast mess kits and plunked down in the sand next to Walters, who jumped. "Hey, I hear you’re pretty good with that thing," he said pleasantly.
Troy recognized Hitch’s statement as a friendly offer to open a conversation. Walters, however, looked up warily, suspecting a challenge. Seeing Hitch’s friendly smile, however, he relaxed fractionally and nodded. "Yeah." He turned away from the fire and looked around. "Is it OK to make noise out here?"
Hitch nodded. "We’re still behind our own lines."
Walters pointed to a scrubby little tree on the horizon.
"You going to hit that?" Hitch asked, incredulous.
"The leftmost branch," said Walters. With a smooth movement as elegant as it was abrupt, he brought the rifle up, aimed and fired. All four Rats jumped to their feet and watched as the bullet zinged neatly to its target, hitting and snapping off the leftmost branch of the tree.
"Wow," said Tully.
Hitch grinned and stuck out his hand. "Score one for you!" he said cheerfully.
Walters’ sudden deftness vanished as he reached up awkwardly and shook Hitch’s hand.
Troy’s smile seemed forced, somehow. "All right, guys, let’s shake it," he growled. He clapped Walters on the shoulder, almost knocking him off balance. "Good work." The shy sharpshooter beamed.
"Come on, you can ride with me," said Moffitt, beckoning Walters to follow.
"Troy, may I talk to you?"
"Sure," said Troy, turning as Moffitt approached. They had travelled far that day and were now deep in enemy territory. Troy had taken the first watch and the others were asleep.
Moffitt held a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. "Walters dropped this," he said. "I found it in the jeep."
Troy took the piece of paper and unfolded it. There were two sketches, deceptively crude but done by someone with a knack for conveying a face with a few well-placed lines. One was of an unfamiliar, heavyset man in a German general’s uniform. The other was an impressive likeness of a man who was very familiar indeed.
"That German bigwig isn’t his only target, Troy," Moffitt said very quietly.
Troy met his eyes and spoke reluctantly. "I know," he said. "Wilson told me."
Moffitt was temporarily at a loss for words. "But, but. . . . are you going to let him do this?"
"You want me to sabotage the mission?" Troy asked harshly. "We have our orders."
"But to assassinate Dietrich--it’s wrong. He’s a soldier; he should die in battle."
"Well, so far he hasn’t obliged," snapped Troy.
"But you and he--" Moffitt floundered. "You seem to. . . understand each other."
Troy felt the ache in his chest that he felt every time he thought too hard about the mission. "I know," he said, controlling his voice with an effort. "But we mustn’t forget that Dietrich is the enemy. No matter how honorable he is or how much we respect him, it’s his job to kill us. And it’s our job to kill him."
Moffitt nodded. "It just. . . . somehow I didn’t think it would end this way."
"I don’t like it either," said Troy. "But I understand it."
Moffitt regarded him for a long moment. Troy watched uneasily, almost hearing the wheels turn in the Englishman’s mind. Finally Moffitt spoke. "You’re taking this very calmly, Troy," he said.
"I’ve had a while to get used to the idea," said Troy. "Trust me, it wasn’t easy." He looked away from Moffitt’s perceptive gaze, and after a while the Englishman sighed, shrugged, and turned back toward camp.
Troy made a decision. "Wait, Moffitt," he said. Moffitt turned back and Troy continued. "Come back. There’s something more you should know."
The next morning dawned clear and bright as usual. Troy watched as the members of the Rat Patrol went about their morning routine, and gathered his men together as soon as they had breakfasted. "Now, here’s the plan. Moffitt, Tully, you hold down the fort here. A smaller group will have a better chance. Hitch, you and I are with Walters. It’s on his shoulders now. Our job is to make his job easy. We’ll take him to the spot, help him find a vantage point, watch his back, and then bring him back here."
"Piece of cake," said Hitch.
"Yeah, sure," said Walters a little dubiously.
"Having second thoughts, Walters?" asked Moffitt.
"No, I’m sure I can do the job," said Walters. "I’ve just. . . never been in enemy territory before."
Tully grinned. "Get used to it. Gonna take us a while to get back. 'Sides, it might not be enemy territory much longer."
"Yes, this is the path of our next advance, isn’t it?" said Moffitt. "Who knows, this quiet little camp may be the site of the next major battle." Walters shuddered and began polishing his rifle again.
Troy, Hitch, and Walters waited behind a carefully-chosen pile of rocks. Looking down into the barren valley below, they could see Dietrich’s camp and the temporary airstrip next to it. Walters had covered his precious rifle with cloth so that would not glint in the sun and give away their position.
A buzzing sounded in the sky and Troy looked up. "There’s the plane," he said. "Remember your orders, now."
Walters nodded. "I take out the general first, then the captain. If I cannot get a shot at the general, I do not shoot."
Hitch was agape. "The captain? You mean Dietrich? Does he mean Dietrich, Sarge?"
Troy motioned angrily for Hitch to lower his voice. "Yes, he means Dietrich.
Assuming your big mouth doesn’t bring the whole camp up here before Walters gets a chance to shoot!"
Hitch lowered his voice. "Sorry. But Sarge. . . ."
"These are our orders, Hitch!" Troy hissed, his voice strained.
Hitch opened his mouth to protest again, but Walters waved him down with sudden authority and crouched, bringing his rifle to bear. The plane had landed and the general climbed out. Troy recognized him from the drawing Moffitt had found. Dietrich had come out of one of the tents in the camp and was approaching the airstrip.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Dietrich and the general drew closer and closer together. Dietrich stopped a few feet away and saluted. The general began to raise his arm to return the salute, and jerked back suddenly, caught by Walters’s bullet in his chest. Dietrich began to turn toward the source of the shot as Walters adjusted his aim slightly and fired again. There was no way he could miss.
Just as Walters’ finger squeezed the trigger, Troy lost his balance and steadied himself with a hand on Walters’ shoulder. The sound of the shot ricocheted through the valley. But Dietrich did not fall; he was not hit. The bullet zipped harmlessly past him. Walters tore the rifle from his shoulder, and turned on Troy. "You clumsy oaf!" he hissed. "I had him dead in my sights! You’ve ruined everything!"
Troy looked away. "Sorry."
Hitch was staring at Troy. The intense scrutiny was unnerving and Troy would not look up to meet the accusation in the private’s eyes.
Dietrich’s men had already spotted them by now and it was too late to try to escape. Hitch, Troy, and Walters raised their hands as the German soldiers crowded up the hill.
As they were led back down to the camp, Hitch was spitting fire. Under his breath, so Walters couldn’t hear, he hissed, "Sarge, that was no accident. I saw you. You did that on purpose!"
Defiantly, Troy stared back at Hitch. "Yeah, I did."
Hitch opened his mouth to protest further, but their progress had just carried them to where Dietrich was standing. Hitch closed his mouth and resolved to say nothing. Whatever was going on, Dietrich didn’t need to know about it.
Dietrich was standing erect as always, hands clasped behind his back. There were splatters of blood on his uniform from the fallen general, but Dietrich himself was unhurt. Troy had to admire the way the German had kept his cool. "Well, Sergeant, something seems to have gone wrong with your little plan," said Dietrich.
"Nobody’s perfect," Troy said with a shrug.
"An admirable philosophy, Sergeant," said Dietrich. "But, unfortunately, it may have been the wrong one to follow. I am still alive, and you and your men here are my prisoners." Troy made no answer. Dietrich gestured to the guards. "Take them away," he said. "Put those two in the third tent over there and guard both entrances. I’ll want to question them one at a time in my office, starting with this one." He pointed to Walters, who glared at Troy and said nothing.
The guards hustled Hitch and Troy to the holding tent, taking Walters on to another one farther down the row. Once they were alone in the tent, Troy sat down, staring at the sandy ground that served as a floor.
Finally free to speak, Hitch rounded angrily on Troy. "I can’t believe you did this, Sarge. You violated orders and sabotaged this mission!"
"A few minutes ago you didn’t want to complete this mission," Troy pointed out.
"What you or I want doesn’t matter, Sarge! We had orders!"
"Shut up, Hitch," muttered Troy.
"I’m not gonna shut up! Why should I take orders from you?" Hitch was furious. "Just because you like him doesn’t mean he isn’t one of them! If Command wants him dead, it’s our job to make him dead!"
"Shut up, Hitch!" said Troy again. "You’ll bring the guards in--"
The tent flap opened and one of the guards poked his head in. "Quiet in there!" he barked in a heavy German accent.
"Sorry," said Troy.
"Sorry," said Hitch.
The guard grunted and moved back to his position. The two prisoners waited in silence for a moment.
"Come on, Sarge, what’s this really about?" asked Hitch. Some of his anger had receded, and he was beginning to be curious.
Troy didn’t answer.
"Sarge, Walters isn’t going to hold up under questioning. He’ll spill his guts. You know he knows all about the plans for our next advance!"
"I know."
"So what are we going to do? We gotta do something, Sarge!"
Troy shrugged. Suddenly he looked up and stared Hitch right in the eye. Troy pointed to the end flaps of the tent and the guards silhouetted there, then tapped his finger alongside his nose. "When it’s your turn, Hitch," he said slowly, "whatever you do, be sure not to tell them about those plans you heard."
Hitch began to grin, then quickly stifled it. "Which plans do you not want me to tell them about, Sarge?"
"The ones for the latest advance, Hitch," said Troy.
"Piece of cake, Sarge," said Hitch.
An hour went by. Troy looked at his watch. "I thought they’d be done with Walters half an hour ago," he said. "He must be giving them more trouble than I expected.
"Maybe he grew a backbone," said Hitch. "You never can tell with some people."
Troy checked his watch again. "You may not get your chance for an interview, Hitch," he said. Just then the tent flap was pulled open and Walters was pushed in. He appeared unhurt, but he was unsteady on his feet. Troy caught him by the elbow and Walters looked up at him with bleary eyes.
"What did you tell them?" Troy asked.
Walters sniffed. "Nothing," he said. Troy cursed to himself. They hadn’t counted on this. Walters went on. "Well, nothing voluntarily. I was ready for them to beat me up, but they didn’t even try. They gave me truth serum. It took a long time to work, but once it did, I couldn’t seem to stop talking."
Troy wanted to say, "Thank goodness." Instead, he said, "Did you tell them about the Allied plans?"
"The new advance that’s coming through here next week?" Walters studied the toes of his boots. "Yeah, I think I heard myself blabbing all about it." He kicked the ground. "Damn!"
Troy slapped him on the back. "Don’t worry about it, Walters. You look worn out--go ahead and lie down for a few minutes. Just be ready to move when I give the word."
Walters shot him a puzzled look, but asked no questions and lay down obediently. Troy turned around so Walters couldn’t see and gave Hitch a thumbs-up, then looked at his watch again. "We’ll let him rest for about ten minutes," said Troy. "Then we need a diversion, something to get the guards in here."
"They already think I’m mad enough to kill you, Sarge," said Hitch cheerfully. "Maybe I should try!"
Troy nodded. "Just don’t try too hard now!"
Walters had told Dietrich exactly what he had overheard, and Dietrich believed that Moffitt and Tully were under orders to stay back at their base camp for the day. He was therefore briefly but genuinely surprised when he heard the growl of a jeep engine and the rat-tat-tat of a fifty come roaring through the camp, and scolded himself for believing that any of the Rat Patrol could be counted on to follow orders.
Dietrich rallied his guards and ran outside to intercept the Rats, but somehow Troy’s guards had been incapacitated and the Rat Patrol had a head start. The three prisoners were gone, leaving Dietrich with nothing but the information he had gleaned on the upcoming Allied battle plans, the only positive thing to report about the whole debacle. He made a mental note to reprimand Troy’s guards, if any had survived, and went back to his tent to begin writing up a report.
"All right, Troy," said Moffitt, coming into the tent assigned to the Rat Patrol at the base. "I know what was going on; you told me last night. But I think these two deserve an explanation." Hitch and Tully, who were lying on their bunks, rolled over onto their sides to face Troy. Moffitt sat down on the edge of his bunk and waited.
"We did want that bigwig assassinated," Troy began. "That much of the mission was for real. Originally we were supposed to get Dietrich too."
"Why didn’t we?" asked Hitch.
"We needed some bogus information fed directly to the local Jerry commander by a reliable source. Someone like Dietrich."
"So HQ didn’t want Dietrich dead," said Hitch.
"Well. . . yes and no. Wilson figured we needed him alive to transmit that information. Eckersley agreed, but Intelligence overruled him."
"Huh," said Tully.
"Officially we botched part of our mission," said Troy. "Unofficially, we followed the orders Wilson gave me after the general and the intelligence guy left."
"Kinda squirrelly if you ask me," said Tully.
Troy rolled his eyes. "These people who fly in from HQ with fancy plans don’t always know the situation like the frontline commanders."
"Is Wilson gonna get in trouble?" asked Hitch.
"For what? I made a mistake. We still completed two of our three objectives. And if Eckersley does find out it wasn’t an accident. . . . well, Wilson thinks Eckersley will back him. He didn’t like the plan either."
Moffitt asked, "What if Wilson had concurred with the orders, Troy?"
Troy sat down on his bunk and began taking off his boots. "He isn’t going to want Dietrich assassinated. He’s one of the few Jerries our side can trust. That’s why he handles the truces and exchanges in our area."
"I didn’t ask whether he’d order it, Troy," Moffitt pressed. "I asked, what if he did?"
"Then we do our job," said Troy. "That’s the way it has to be."
Moffitt nodded. "Yes, it is." He regarded Troy for a long moment. "I’m glad it didn’t have to be that way today."
"So am I," Troy admitted. "So am I."