Chapter Text
“The water. I’m ninety percent certain it is the local water.” The battalion doctor sighed wearily.
Dietrich belatedly remembered the man’s name was Weigle. He was competent, but unimaginative.
“You’ll have to move your unit, Herr Hauptman, find a place with clean water, and wait until the infection burns itself out,” said Weigle.
“I don’t like that phrase, Doctor,” said Dietrich with a scowl. “If the illness derives from the town water supply everyone in my unit could fall ill.” He thought a moment. “As well as everyone in the town.” I have friends there, he thought. Doctor MacLlyr being one of them. They must know the danger.
The doctor waved a dismissive hand. “The locals are probably immune, Hauptman, I’d save my worries for your men.” Backing away from Dietrich, he gestured toward the desert beyond his tent. “Do not bring your company here, either. If I’m incorrect about the water being the sole vector of transmission, that leaves person to person. I will write up the orders for your quarantine. Get yourselves lost and return when you are all well, understand?”
“Yes,” said Dietrich shortly. He saluted and left, grinding his teeth. When we are well, or dead, damn him, he thought.
After arranging for as large a stockpile of supplies as he could manage, Dietrich left the larger encampment and returned to his own as quickly as possible.
---
“I am sorry, our doctor was adamant. The water here has been contaminated with some contagion. He said everyone must abandon the town until they can figure out a way to purify the water and stop the illness.” Dietrich paced around the room Shannon MacLlyr used for a study, skimming past the spines of the books on her shelves without seeing the titles. Dusty artifacts, most of them bits of old pottery or stonework, sat high above the books, out of the reach of her cat.
“Do you know where you will go?” asked MacLlyr. One of the traits Dietrich appreciated most in his ethnologist friend was her ability to simply take his statements at face value and not waste time in useless argument or questions.
“No,” he said flatly. “That is a problem for now.” He drew a map from his jacket and spread it open on her table. The German army had fine maps, but MacLlyr had years of experience living and traveling through northern Africa. Her knowledge of water sources had saved his life before.
“My company currently has but sixty men, ten of whom are ill. I have been ordered to find a ‘spot out of the way’ and wait for the sickness to pass… or not.”
MacLlyr gave a snort at that, but said nothing, so Dietrich continued.
“My entire company has been using the water from this town. Potentially, everyone could become sick. We need to find a secluded place with clean water where we can recover.” He met her worried eyes. “Your knowledge helped me once to survive a long trek across the interior desert with Sekhmet, the mare you gave me. Can you help again?” He did not bring up the risk inherent in a supposedly neutral Irish national helping the German army.
MacLlyr looked down at his map, pulled up a chair and leaned closer, frowning at the details showing the interior, or rather, the lack of details. Finally, she rose and pulled down a book, which when opened proved to be a handwritten manuscript in flowing Arabic script. She read in silence for a time, then nodded.
“Yes. I know of a place where you and yours should be safe.” Before Dietrich could say anything, MacLlyr raised a finger. “One condition however, my friend.”
“Only one?” Dietrich smiled at her, feeling a little of the burden on his shoulders ease.
“Yes. Years ago I found an oasis in the plateaus of the interior, it is several day’s journey by horse or camel, faster with trucks to assist. The water is good, but not plentiful enough to supply a large army. However, it will support several hundred people if everyone is careful, and not wasteful.”
“That sounds reasonable, and just what we require. What is the condition?”
“The town goes with us.”
“What?!”
“They must, Hans. If some bacteria or other disease has infiltrated the water supply, we need to abandon it until it purifies itself, which it will do. The water here is from a rock-spring, nature will clean it in time. We can’t leave the people here to sicken and die without aid.”
Dietrich rubbed his temples. “My company is not a medical organization like the Red Cross.”
“The villagers are all from nomadic clans. They know how to travel. And the elders have their own treatments for illness. It is better if we care for one other as a group. Each of us has unique skills and can help in their own way.”
“The entire town?” He paced the room again. Even considering the logistics set a headache simmering. “Most of the young men are away. There will be women and children, and all the animals…” He stared at the dusty town’s adobe buildings. “They’d pack up the entire souk!”
MacLlyr laughed softly. “I dare say they would. The town is not SO very large, my friend, perhaps one hundred souls at the most.” She smiled. “Including all the livestock.”
Dietrich sighed.
“I suppose we had best get started, then.”
---
Three days later Dietrich and MacLlyr watched the last of the Captain’s trucks rumble out of town, loaded with three families, nomad tents, whatever gear and food the people had packed up, six goats, and a random number of chickens. The town stood empty under the setting sun, the windows already taking on that vacant look of abandonment with no lights in them to give them life.
“That’s the last of them,” said MacLlyr. “Those who were away will receive messages from traveling merchants. They should be able to rendezvous with us later when everyone is well.”
“As long as they do not stay here and start the cycle of illness over again,” said Dietrich. “I have posted warnings at all the town entrances, but…”
“Warnings from their relatives will work best,” said MacLlyr. “News of this sort travels fast.” She looked toward the west, where the sun was starting to sink behind the distant mountains. “Time for us to be following the caravan.”
“Yes,” said Dietrich. “And none too soon, I am starting to feel feverish.”
“Hans! You should have said something! Ridden in the truck!”
He shook his head stubbornly. “I’d rather ride behind the column with you. I want to be sure we leave no stragglers. The truck is moving so slowly we can catch it and use their radio if necessary.”
“Then let’s not tarry,” said MacLlyr. “I’ll get our horses.” She ran off toward the nearby stable.
Considering the circumstances, I suppose everything is proceeding as smoothly as possible, Dietrich thought. Trying to ignore the giddy fever-flush, he turned to take one last look at the town, when from behind he heard the all-too-familiar sound of jeep engines. Ach, du lieber Gott, of course. The crowning glory of an upside-down day. Taking a deep breath, he turned around to watch the Rat Patrol drive up.
In the clearing of the market square the jeeps were able to turn in opposite directions and came to a halt in a V formation with his body at the center of the widest point.
“Good evening, Sergeant Troy,” said Dietrich, keeping his hand well away from his sidearm.
“Evening, Captain,” said Troy with a grin. He had not pulled out a weapon, but he had no need to do so since Sergeant Moffitt stood next to the .50 mounted on the second jeep. “Tell me something, was that one of your trucks loaded down with civilians we just passed coming in?”
“Please tell me you did not shoot at them,” said Dietrich. He hadn’t heard any gunfire, but sounds could travel strangely in the morning and evening. “They are civilians from this town, yes.”
“They are fine,” said Moffitt. “They started waving at us as soon as they saw the jeeps, and I recognized some of the old ladies who sell bread in the souk.” The Englishman looked at the town and frowned. “Why have you emptied out the town? Is this some order from higher up?”
“No, not exactly. There has been an outbreak of illness and everyone has to leave for their own safety.” As succinctly as possible, Dietrich described why they had packed up and moved everyone out. He did not say where they were going, although if he bothered to think about it, he knew Troy and his friends could follow them easily.
“Bad water?” Troy shook his head. “I can’t believe it, Captain. We’ve been running on the water here for the better part of a week.”
“Uh, Sarge, I didn’t want to tell you while we were so busy, but I’m starting to feel kind’a bad,” said Hitch. He leaned against the steering wheel of their jeep, looking very much off-color.
“Same,” said Tully.
“Well, that’s just great,” said Troy, glaring at Dietrich as if his mentioning of the illness had brought it on.
“You cannot go back to your side, Sergeant,” said Dietrich, trying not to let his teeth chatter as the fever-heat flipped over into a sudden chill. “Our doctor thinks it may be contagious beyond simply drinking the water.”
“Bad form to bring a disease back and spread it,” said Moffitt dryly. “You could have left that part out, Captain, and let us share the sickness with our side.”
Dietrich shook his head, his expression grim. “Absolutely not. We deal with enough of the Four Horsemen already.”
“Four Horsemen?” Troy squinted at the Captain curiously.
“I believe he means the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse,” said Moffitt. “That would be War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death.”
“Exactly,” said Dietrich. “We have War and Death with us all the time, and that is enough. We do not need their foul sibling also.”
“So, what do you recommend, Captain?” Troy would have preferred to hole up in the town and radio headquarters their situation as soon as possible, but the town was empty and stripped of anything useful. If Dietrich was correct, the water here was unsafe. Seeing the place so completely abandoned gave him a sensation of lurking menace.
Dietrich looked at the men, and then at MacLlyr, who smiled at him as she walked up with their two horses. The animals were tacked up for a desert trek.
“Good evening, gentlemen. They may as well join us. We are better off together than apart,” said MacLlyr.
Taking the reins of his mare, Dietrich wiped his forehead on his sleeve and tried to order his thoughts. The fever was making concentration more difficult and Sergeant Troy and his men wavered in his vision like heat mirages. His mare snorted and he felt like doing the same. The situation was ridiculous.
“Why not? Let us pack them up and take them along! Already I have the entire barking mob on the road, what matters a few more?”
Pulling himself into the saddle, he turned away with MacLlyr, completely ignoring their guns. Making a ‘follow me’ gesture with one arm, he called over his shoulder.
“Easy terms Sergeant, do not murder or harass my men or blow anything up at camp and we will do what we can for you.”
“What do you want in return?” Troy shouted after him.
Dietrich circled his horse so he could meet the American’s eyes for a brief moment.
“I will think of something.”
“Damn. Why did I know he was gonna say that?” asked Hitch.
“Come on, let’s move out after them,” said Troy. He cast a quick glance down at his driver. “You up to drive for a while, Hitch?”
“Yeah, I’m not seeing double yet, Sarge.”
“From the look of him, I suspect Dietrich was already doing so,” said Moffitt.
"Barking mob, huh?" said Tully as he turned the jeep.
"He must have picked that up from the Australians," said Moffitt. "I'm sure he didn't hear it from us."