Work Text:
The British officer in front of Sergeant Troy was new to their camp, but he already looked weary. One could hardly blame him; he’d been transferred from the front lines to North Africa. The war there was fought very differently and Troy’s determination to never accept a promotion only strengthened as he saluted the harried General.
“Sergeant Troy,” he introduced himself, “you asked for me, sir?”
“General Bradshaw.” The officer ushered Troy to his desk. “The mission for your patrol is to steal a supply schedule from the German base in this Arab settlement.” He pointed along a trail on the map he’d spread over his paperwork. “The supply trucks are coming in at 1000 hours and we need you boys to catch a ride into that camp.” Troy pursed his lips, already tracing the route in his mind.
“Sir, one question.” Bradshaw gave a sigh.
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“With all due respect, once the jerries realise that we’ve taken the schedule they’ll just have it changed. We’d be lucky to get even one convoy before it’s useless.” The General was new to this type of warfare, but Troy doubted that this was a rookie mistake.
“Your mission is a decoy, Sergeant. While you and your men are grabbing the maps, one of my men will be conduction the real mission, which is classified. I’ll get you introduced tomorrow; your job is to get him in the camp and back out again safely.”
“Is there a reason that my patrol can’t do both missions? It’s not often a good idea to introduce an unknown to the equation.” The General scowled.
“These are your orders, Sergeant. Dismissed.” Troy frowned but saluted before leaving the tent. He’d have to try and round up the rest of the patrol to debrief them before they met their 5th member tomorrow.
~~~
The man that was waiting at their jeeps the next morning reminded Tully Pettigrew of a mouse. His hair was a wispy brown, blonde colour and he seemed incapable of standing still. Certainly not what Tully had imagined their extra man to be.
“Sergeant Troy? I’m Lieutenant John Brunton.” He even squeaked, Tully thought as Troy shook the man’s hand. He gave the man a nod as Troy introduced them all, watching carefully. He seemed alright, but the oddness of their orders made Tully wary. He focused on Troy as he brought out a map.
“The convoy we’re hijacking is supposed to be going this route-” He traced a path on the map, “-which means that the best spot to make the switch is when it passes through this rock formation here. Now, we’ll target the last vehicle of the convoy. I’ll go with the Lieutenant; you can speak passable German?” The last question was directed to Brunton, who nodded.
“Jawohl!” Tully turned to Moffit, the only one of them who would be able to tell if the man was good enough. The two had a rapid conversation in German that no one else could follow, but that ended with Moffitt nodding. Tully figured that meant the Lieutenant had passed the test.
“Alright, the rest of you will follow at a distance in the jeeps. We want to get in and out undetected if possible; shooting our way out is a last resort. Got it?” He waited until all of them had nodded, “good, now let’s shake it. We’ve got two hours to scout the convoy before it passes those cliffs.”
~~~
“I’ve heard a lot about you and your team.” Lt Brunton yelled over the roar of the jeep. Hitch stayed silent, focused on driving as Troy leant back.
“All good things, I hope.” The lieutenant laughed.
“Well, I’ve heard about the stunts that you’ve pulled, if that helps.” It was Troy’s turn to chuckle.
“So mostly bad then. What about you, Lieutenant? I can’t say I’ve heard your name before.” Not that they ever heard much, Hitch thought to himself. They were too busy being thrown on every available mission to get most of the gossip back at basecamp.
“I’m more of a behind-the-scenes guy. Classified missions and all that.”
“Makes sense then!” Hitch tuned them out as they got into small talk, glancing at the map every now and then to correct their course. They’d gone on plenty of classified missions, but they all refrained from bragging about them – except maybe to the girls – but it seemed that Lieutenant Brunton was the type to boast. Lots of ‘classified mission’ types were, they never got formal recognition, so they tried to make all of the lower-level shmucks worship them. Well, Hitch thought, he wouldn’t get any of that from the Rat Patrol.
Tully slowed the jeep in front, and Hitch hit the brakes as they came up to the canyon that they were going to lay their trap in. A quick look at his watch told Hitch that they were on schedule. He hoped the Germans were as well; sitting around waiting was one of the worst parts of being a commando. He parked, jumped out of the jeep, and looked to Troy for instructions.
“Moffit, Brunton, Tully, you three stay here and keep lookout of the jeeps, Hitch you’re with me.” Hitch snagged his rifle from the jeep and headed up the craggy rocks to scout at the top. Hitch gave Troy a questioning look as he pulled him aside. “What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet the whole trip.”
“It’s nothing, Sarge. I'm focusing on the plan.” Troy sent him a raised eyebrow. Hitch shrugged, “just being on best behaviour. I don’t want him to cause any problems.” He jerked his head in the direction of the jeeps.
“Lieutenant Brunton? He say something?” Hitch shook his head. Brunton hadn’t said anything, but plenty of others had. The various officers and soldiers who’d tagged along with the group over the years had never been short on insults and scepticism about the two privates. They see Tully as stupid and Hitch as too brash, and both being American made it worse. Troy had the benefit of age and rank that saved him from most of the ridicule. Troy gave him a sharp look, “If he does, let me know. I’m the leading officer in this patrol and I won’t have my men disrespected.” Hitch nodded, even though he knew he would never report it. Their conversation over, the two continued to the top of the outcrop.
Troy hit the sand, binoculars already raising to his eyes. Hitch wasn’t far behind, glancing at Troy to gauge his reaction. A cloud of dust was visible in the distance; the German convoy they were tracking.
“How’s it look, Sarge?”
“Got a car, a half-track, and three trucks by the looks of it.” Still looking through the binoculars, he added, “they’re kicking up so much dust it’s hard to tell.” Both of them scrambled down the rocky hill to the waiting jeeps. “They’ll be here in around 30 minutes. Let’s get these jeeps out of sight.”
~~~
Sneaking into a convoy was almost routine by now and Troy trusted his men to pull it off without flaw.
“Bradshaw, Moffitt take the front cab. Tully, Hitch, you’re with me in the back.” The last truck passed their position and they all dashed for the truck. Troy was pulling Tully into the truck when there was a gunshot.
“Shit, Sarge!” Troy snapped around at the panicked yell. He rushed over to Hitch, seeing a familiar body being pushed into the back of truck beside him. His heart lurched in his chest. The panic in his chest lessened only slightly when he realised it was Brunton. A bullet wound on his chest was creating a large red stain on the front of his uniform.
“Moffitt!?”
“I’m fine Troy but the Germans would have heard the shot.” Sure enough, the radio crackled on as he spoke. Moffitt picked up, responding in German. Troy hesitated for a moment, waiting until Moffitt gave him a thumbs up before ducking back to the others. He crouched next to Bradshaw.
“Lieutenant? Can you hear me?” The man’s eyes fluttered open, eyes hazy and unfocused. “What were you sent to retrieve?”
“Classified.” Brunton managed to breathe out. Troy scowled.
“We are too far into this to turn around empty handed, Lieutenant. You aren’t going to be able to retrieve whatever it is you need.” The ‘because you’ll be dead’ went unsaid. Troy was impatient but he refused to be cruel, even if their time was quickly running out. Brunton seemed to struggle with himself, wasting precious minutes as the blood stain grew.
“There are correspondents be—” He coughed and red flecked his face, “—from Rommel…plans for attack…need them.” His breathing became laboured and Troy shot Hitch a knowing look.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. You’ve served your country well.” The man relaxed onto the truck bed and Troy watched as he hacked and coughed his way into death. They wouldn’t be able to bury him, even if the constantly shifting sands would have made it a useless endeavour. It was wrong not to give him a resting place, but they didn’t have much choice. He dug under the man’s shirt collar, gently lifting up his dog tags and stowing them in his vest pocket. Tully and Hitch were watching him.
“Help me cover him.” They hurried to grab a tarp as Troy watched over the body. It never really got easier, he thought, just more tiring.
~~~
Captain Hans Dietrich forced a pleasant smile on his face as he greeted Oberst Müller, who was stepping out of the car. He saluted neatly, not reciprocating the salute to Hitler the Oberst offered.
“Welcome to North Africa, Oberst. I hope you did not have any trouble on the trip.”
“Herr Hauptman.” He received a nod in his direction, “This is the camp?” Dietrich cast a glance at the sprawl of clay buildings and tarps that was currently his base of operations.
“Ja, would you like to have some refreshments?” Dietrich led the company into the building that currently housed his office. It was a nice change from the tent he usually occupied, and he pulled out a chair for the Oberst before taking his own. “You were sent here regarding the recent orders from Field Marshal Rommel, I understand.” Müller took a sip of the whiskey that Dietrich offered him, coughing politely. Dietrich hid a smirk; the alcohol they could get here was either flavoured water or stronger than jeep fuel. Still, he kept a straight face as the Oberst began talking.
“The next attack, yes. I was also sent to ensure that our Fuhrer’s will was being carried out in this campaign.” Dietrich nodded along, unsure of what exactly that entailed. “On our journey I noticed many locals practicing Jewish customs; you have not dealt with those vermin yet?”
“This campaign would be over quickly if we couldn’t gain assistance from the local tribes. If we began targeting their people, we would lose this war in a heartbeat.” Dietrich was sure that some of his fury leaked into his speech, and he forced a deep breath.
“Bah, they are not so important as this. Germany is resilient, we should not rely on foreign aid, especially from people who our Fuhrer detests.” Let Hitler come to North Africa and survive the desert without help then, Dietrich thought. Müller gave him a sly look, the swastika on his armband a stark reminder for Dietrich to hold his tongue. “You do not agree with the Fuhrer on this matter?” In the past, Dietrich wouldn’t have censored himself, and officers like Müller would have been reported and dealt with by the Wehrmacht. Now, the SS had more sway than the old-school officers.
“I did not say that,” Dietrich replied evenly, “merely that I have orders to collaborate with the locals in order to gain the upper hand against the Allied powers. Ostracising them would be counterproductive.”
“I have it on good authority that our Fuhrer has finally begun exterminating them in Germany. We should be emulating his orders in every theatre of this war.” Dietrich’s nails bit into his palms. That was too far. The concept of such an atrocity being conducted in his homeland, sanctioned by his own people… His anger was soon swept away by nausea, however. He was aware that humans were capable of incredible cruelty and violence, but to have it flaunted before him in such a way… The Oberst was watching him closely, and Dietrich realised he’d already given away too much. He forced himself to relax, adopting the most neutral expression he could manage.
“I see.” He gritted out. Müller gave a smile that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the devil’s face.
“I knew you would understand. We’ve been forced to re-evaluate almost all of Field Marshell Rommel’s officers; there’s been a worrying number of traitors to our great country among their rank.” Against Germany or against Hitler? Dietrich remained silent. Perhaps he’d grown too comfortable under Rommel’s protection. He had heard rumours, of course, about the state of Germany. The unspeakable things that were happening right under their noses. Just last week he’d received a letter from his sister, mentioning a friend who’d gone missing, snatched away by gestapo in the middle of night. But it all seemed so far away, and the claims were often so severe that Dietrich had dismissed them. Clearly a mistake, he thought as Müller continued his mad ravings.
~~~
Dietrich was glad to finally be out of the Oberst’s presence, closing the door of his office behind him. Pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, he took a deep inhale, relaxing as the smoke curled around him. The familiar feeling of a gun being poked into his back made him tense.
“Don’t move, Captain.”
“Sergeant Troy.” He turned slowly, hands held up in front of him in front of him, to face the American. He looked uninjured and not particularly harried. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Your supply schedule, I need it.” Dietrich raised an eyebrow at the words. What could the Rat Patrol possibly want with supply schedules? All it would take is one call from Dietrich and they could be changed.
“That is an unusual request, Sergeant. May I know what you intend to do with it?”
“No, you may not.” The gun was jabbed in his direction again, “Now hand ‘em over.” Dietrich gave a sigh but turned to do what Troy had asked.
“One day, I’d like to talk to whoever raised you about your manners.” He muttered as he began leafing through his files. It was more to stall for time than anything else; his desk was extremely well organized. Troy gave a very undignified snort.
“The day I let you meet my mother is the day I give up this hat.” Dietrich eyed said hat curiously. It was clearly not a part of the usual American uniform, and Dietrich had faced enough Australian troops in the desert to recognize the military badge. Yet Sam Troy was basically inseparable from it.
He was pulled out of his musings as Troy nudged him again with his gun. “Enough time-wasting, Captain.” Dietrich scowled but produced his copy of that month’s schedule. The Sergeant snatched them, not taking his eyes off Dietrich as he folded and tucked them into his breast pocket. The doorknob rattled as it turned and both of them snapped to watch it. Troy jumped back into a shadow created by the oil lamp, the flash of metal a reminder of what would happen if Dietrich tried to call for help. It was an all too familiar situation and Dietrich made a mental note to assign a guard to his door.
“Herr Hauptman, I have to report!” His Lieutenant, Karl Weber, rushed out as he entered the room. He was breathing heavily, and Dietrich was instantly on alert.
“Yes, what is it?” The soldier came to attention.
“An intruder has been spotted, one of the Rat Patrol. Two guards were taken out and a third reported a man in a red kepi.”
“Private Hitchcock, then.” Dietrich mused. It was unlikely that Troy would attempt such a simple mission with more than one man, usually with the remaining three somewhere close with those infernal jeeps. This meant Troy’s little mission was even more confusing than before. Perhaps a decoy? Or just a smaller part of a bigger plan. He turned to Lieutenant Weber, specifically moving to block Troy’s view of his Lieutenant. Weber was a good man and Dietrich refused to allow him to become another casualty of the Rat Patrol’s missions. Not when he could prevent it. “Sound the alarm and begin a search. Where one is, the others are not far behind.” He commanded in German before dismissing Weber. As soon as the door closed, Sgt Troy stepped out of the shadows.
“What did you tell him?” The gun was back to being pressed against his ribs.
“You really ought to learn German, Sergeant. Moffitt cannot carry your team forever.” He offered a simpering smile that let the man know that he was done being useful. Perhaps Dietrich should be more cautious when his enemy had a gun to him, but Sgt Troy had proven time and time again that he was unwilling to kill Dietrich. He could hardly be blamed for taking advantage.
Troy gritted his teeth before moving faster than Dietrich could react. There was a spike of pain at the back of his head and then darkness.
~~~
He woke up to gunfire and yelling. He jerked upright or would have if not for the rope tying his hands.
“I told you taking him was a bad idea!” A distinctly English voice yelled from behind him. He blinked through the darkness to try and gauge where he was. There was the roar of a starting engine below him and he was knocked to the side as the vehicle took off. Something swung over him in the darkness and Dietrich realised a second too late exactly where he was. Sgt Troy was concentrated as he fired at Dietrich’s troops from the jeep. Dietrich began to struggle against his restraints with renewed vigour, but it was impossible with the way he was being thrown back and forth by the jeep’s movement. He gritted his teeth in frustration as the gunfire petered out. He’d been successfully kidnaped from his own office! His superiors were going to have a field day with this. If he ever got back, a traitorous part of his mind whispered. He might end up being shipped off to a POW camp to wait out the rest of the war. No, Dietrich decided, he would not give the Rat Patrol the satisfaction.
“It worked, didn’t it? They didn’t start shooting until after we got to the jeeps.” The familiar drawl of Private Hitchcock came over the sound of the engine. “Sarge knows what he’s doing.” Dietrich didn’t hear a response.
They drove in silence for quite some time, not stopping until the sun had begun to rise. In that time, Dietrich had come up with nothing but new bruises from the drive. There was nothing in the jeep that he could use, and the ropes hadn’t loosened despite his struggling.
“Alright, we’ll stop here. We need to radio headquarters with that info as soon as possible.” Troy jumped off the back of the jeep as it rolled to a stop. For a moment, Dietrich considered trying to make a break for it but that was quickly squashed as Sgt Troy turned to him. “Captain, you’re awake.” Dietrich scowled from his awkward position in the jeep. Moffitt approached and gave the Sergeant a meaningful look that Dietrich guessed was about him. Troy sent him a warning look before turning to discuss with Moffitt.
“Don’t bother trying anything, Captain.” Pvt Hitchcock warned as he turned in his seat, gun already trained on him. Dietrich shot him a glare that failed to communicate just how much Dietrich loathed the Rat Patrol.
~~~
Dietrich squinted against the harsh sun. He was riding with Troy’s driver, Private Hitchcock, who seemed to be gaining some sick pleasure through driving the jeep over every bump and rock in the desert. After a particularly large bump, Troy, who was sitting next to Dietrich in the back, was forced to hold onto him from sailing straight out of the jeep. He’d barely had time to figure up some plan for escape, too busy focusing on staying in his seat. Eventually, Troy decided that, for both of their safety, they would untie him. Instead, the sergeant would just have a gun trained on him the entire drive.
They were driving over the lip of a dune when there was a shout from the jeep in front of him. Dietrich squinted, shielding his eyes from the sun to see what had caused it. A German convoy, shimmering in the mid-day heat, was driving down the track a few miles in front of them. This was his chance, Dietrich realised. Troy was already readying the gun on the back of the jeep, and Dietrich could make out Moffitt doing the same ahead. The initial hope was crushed as he realised that the German convoy had very little chance defeating the Rat Patrol. They were still far behind German lines and the convoy had probably been lulled into a sense of security because of it. Besides, Dietrich though a tad bitterly, even prepared convoys with tanks had been unsuccessful against two jeeps and four men.
The loud rapping of gunfire filled the air and Dietrich tucked himself low in the vehicle as bullets hit the sides of the jeep. They were circling the convoy and Dietrich could see the soldiers falling. Lightning shot through Dietrich’s side. He let out a garbled cry that was lost in the gunfire. The Rat Patrol didn’t notice their wounded prisoner and Dietrich grit his teeth as he forced himself lower in the vehicle. Every jolt and swerve cause his side to flare up and it took all of his willpower not to pass out. Once he was as safe as he could be with his own men firing at him, he tried to assess the wound. This was made difficult by the constant movement, and the layers of his uniform that were slowly staining red. He began unbuttoning his shirt with trembling, slippery fingers, trying his best to ignore the woozy feeling in his brain. Once it was open, he pulled up his undershirt, the material rubbing harshly against the pierced skin. It was deep, and Dietrich could tell there was no exit wound. He could feel the bullet still shifting further into his abdomen. He held back a curse as he scanned for something to bind the wound with. Trying to take off any of his clothes to use would result in either being thrown from the jeep or shot again. He glanced around and spotted a rag that the Rats must use for engine work on the jeep. It was filthy, large grease spots covering most of it, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Dietrich would rather suffer infection in hospital than die of blood loss before he could even get there. He folded the rag and pressed it to the wound. His vision went white for a moment as he screwed his eyes shut against the pain. Holding the rag in place with one hand, he struggled to unbuckle his belt. He shifted to pull it off and, as if to spite him, the jeep chose that moment to jolt over a lump in the sand. He collapsed, groaning, onto the sandy floor of the jeep. It took him a minute to reel back his focus and reapply the rag. The blood spot on his undershirt had already doubled in size and judging by the way his head was feeling, he didn’t have long to stop the bleeding before he fainted. Yanking the belt free, he positioned it higher on his torso, over the rag so that it would hold it in place and began the painstaking task of buckling it again. Once it was in place, he began redoing his shirt, mainly out of habit but also due to his reluctance to appear weak in front of the allied patrol. He needed to escape and get back to his own men and he knew that Sgt Troy would immediately take him to an Allied hospital if he knew of the injury. From there it was a short trip to the POW camp. He reached for his discarded officer’s jacket and pulled it on slowly, trying to minimize his movements. During his struggle he noticed that the gun shots had lessened considerable and, when he looked up, he could see that the German soldiers had been decimated. He struggled to keep face as he looked out over the bodies of soldiers formerly under his command. He mentally began writing letters to their families. The jeep rolled to a stop beside a supply truck and Dietrich could see the other jeep doing the same to a different truck further down the convoy.
“Don’t try anything, Captain.” Troy warned, “Hitch, watch him.” Dietrich sent a withering glare to the Private as the young man turned to face him with his gun in his hand. Troy hopped out and began to investigate the truck’s contents. “We’ve struck gold! Both of you, come help me unload this water. I’d bet there’s a few cans of gas in here too somewhere.” Hitchcock shot Dietrich a warning look as they both made to get out of the jeep. Dietrich kept his head down so the American wouldn’t be able to see his pained expression as the bullet reminded him, very forcefully, that it was still there. He leant on the jeep for a second to focus before stumbling over to where Troy was sorting out what they could take. He tried to pull himself to a stop before he reached the Sergeant, but his body wouldn’t listen, and he stumbled straight into Troy. Hitchcock gave a yell that Dietrich couldn’t make out the words of. Troy grabbed his arm, the other hand grabbing his hip to stop him from toppling over. Dietrich hissed out a breath as Hitch pulled him away from Troy.
“What are you playing at?” He growled. Dietrich couldn’t respond, staring blankly as the private swam in and out of focus.
“Captain, what is this?” Troy asked and Dietrich turned towards his voice. Troy had his hand held up, stained red, and Dietrich gave him an unimpressed look.
“I find it hard to believe, Sergeant, that you do not know what blood looks like.” That obviously did nothing to quell Sgt Troy’s concern and the man was quick to rush into Dietrich’s space.
“You’re injured?”
“Of course not.” Dietrich snapped, “I am perfectly alright.”
“Sarge.” Hitchcock called Troy’s attention and, faster than Dietrich’s brain could process, the man was pulling back his jacket to reveal the bloody mess that was Dietrich’s uniform. Dietrich tried to bat the Sergeant’s arm away but found that he couldn’t lift his arm. The world tilted slightly as Troy lowered him to the sand. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He felt his shirt being pulled open and the green blob of a helmet floating across his vision. Private Pettigrew, his mind supplied. Everything was silent, no, everything was drowned out by a strange rushing noise that filled his ears. It sounded a bit like the crashing waves on the beach he’d visited as a child. He remembered his sister being most upset when she realised that German beaches were not at all like the ones she’d read about in her American stories.
~~~
Troy hissed as Dietrich’s eyes slipped closed. Hitch and Moffit were loading supplies onto the jeeps as fast as they could, and Tully was examining the captain’s wound. Troy clenched his jaw; Dietrich knew better than to hide injuries. He prayed that the man would make it, even if it was just so that he could chew him out for being so reckless with his own life. “How is he, Tully?” The Private pursed his lips.
“Not great, Sarge. Needs a doctor as soon as possible or he won’t make it.” Troy spared a glance at Dietrich and grimaced at the large red stain that covered almost his entire undershirt.
“How close is the nearest field hospital?” Another grimace from Tully told him everything. The Sulfa and bandages they had in their jeep were not going to be enough to stop the captain from dying. “What about German hospitals?” Tully gave him a sharp look.
“Might be one about 50 miles from here, but we’re needed in the opposite direction. The General needs that information.” Troy pursed his lips, glancing at where the other two were finishing raiding the German truck.
“Moffitt! I need to talk to you.” Moffitt jogged over grimacing as he caught sight of Dietrich before focusing on Troy.
“Yes, Troy?”
“I’m taking Dietrich to the field hospital.” Moffit frowned for a moment before realisation crossed his features.
“Troy, I can’t let you do that.” He pulled Troy away from Dietrich, a hand on his shoulder. “I know that Dietrich is a good man and that you trust him but this…”
“I can’t just leave him to die.”
“We have a responsibility to our men!”
“I’ll do it alone. I would risk any of you for this anyway.” Moffitt scowled.
“I don’t like this, and I doubt they will either.” He gestured at Hitch and Tully, who’d moved away to give them a semblance of privacy. “Headquarters definitely won’t like it.”
“I need to do this, not as a soldier but as a man.” Dietrich was their enemy, yes, but Troy wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he left the man to die. This was likely why you weren’t supposed to learn your enemies name, Troy thought; It made them too human, and at this point Troy knew a lot more than just Dietrich’s name.
“Fine but be it on your own head.” Moffitt said before turning to the privates. “Hitch, Tully, move everything that you can to one jeep.”
“Thank you.” Troy said, gripping Moffitt’s shoulder. “If it all goes well, I’ll be back soon after you.” Moffitt’s expression showed how likely he thought that was, but he kept silent. “Help me put him in the jeep.”
The two of them managed to lift Dietrich into the back, propping him in place with some empty crates. The captain looked pale, but the blood stain had stopped spreading from under the wadding that Tully had bandaged tightly around the wound.
“Sarge!” Hitch and Tully ran up as Troy climbed into the jeep. He gave them a nod.
“If I don’t come back, don’t come to rescue me.” He narrowed his eyes at each of them in turn. “You’re good soldiers and great men. The Allies can’t afford to lose you.” Hitch and Tully started to protest but Troy had already started driving away. He sent them a wave over his shoulder as he started the trek to the German medical unit that Tully had marked out for him.
~~~
The medical unit was located away from the main paths through the desert. There was a small oasis at the centre of the camp, four large tents surrounding it, a few small ones scattered throughout. From his position – a small rock outcrop a half-mile away – he could guess that the two closest to his position were barracks for the soldiers and nurses respectively. Another appeared to be the mess tent and the largest one, Troy figured, would be the medical tent. The few scattered throughout would be officer’s tents. The guard rotation was small; the Allies were not in the habit of attacking medical units.
Dietrich was worryingly light as Troy heaved him onto his back. He didn’t know whether to blame it on blood loss or rationing, but it made him move faster either way. Leaving his hat and any other identifying uniform markers with the jeep, he walked to the camp. Sneaking past the guards was easy and he pushed through the back of the canvas tent to be greeted with a familiar sight. Rows of beds lined the tent, along with a sectioned off section for more serious patients. A nurse looked up in alarm and, seeing Dietrich and what he hoped she thought was another German soldier, she began speaking in German and motioning to one of the empty beds. He laid down the captain as gently as he could and gestured towards the bandage around his waist. The nurse, seemingly unperturbed by his lack of speech, ushered him away and called out. A doctor appeared from one of the sectioned areas and Troy took that as his que to sneak away. Dietrich was in more experienced hands and Troy’s conscience was clear. He made it a few feet before the doctor spoke in a raised voice. Troy turned and the doctor began talking, presumably asking questions. Troy hesitated, he didn’t know a lick of German and it would be obvious. He turned and kept walking away; the doctor began speaking louder until he was yelling. Corresponding shouts echoed outside the tent and Troy began running. He didn’t get far before a shot whizzed over his head. Realising that it would be fruitless to try and get away, he raised both hands in the air and turned around. He froze as a gun waved dangerously closes to his face.
“Don’t move. I will shoot.” The soldier looked young, barely out of his teens, and his English was heavily accented. Troy slowly raised his hands higher.
“I won’t try anything.” An inexperienced soldier meant trigger happy, which meant that Troy had to be extra careful to avoid being shot. The rest German soldiers were on him in seconds, pushing him into the hot sand and waving more guns in his face. He could already hear Moffitt berating him for being such an idiot. He just sighed and let the soldiers heave him to his feet and bring him back to the camp.
~~~
Dietrich woke slowly. Everything seemed hazy and it took him too long to realise that he’d even fallen asleep in the first place. He forced himself awake, blinking against the light. He was trying to rise when a firm hand pushed him back down.
“You are safe, Hauptman. You’ll pull your stitches if you move.” The German made Dietrich relax. His eyes were adjusting, and he took stock of his surroundings. The familiar beige tent interior was lined with beds. He turned to the nurse and was relieved to recognize the German uniform.
“What happened?” He croaked. The nurse didn’t respond, instead handing him a cup of water. He gulped it greedily and sunk back into his pillows as the pressure behind his eyes lessened. The nurse hesitated for a moment.
“You were brought in by an American sergeant.” The nurse said, busying herself with checking his bandages. Dietrich tensed and the nurse gave him a sly look. “He was immediately apprehended of course. Do you know why he would risk capture to rescue you?” Her unsubtle digging caused a frown on Dietrich’s face, doubled by the confusion of what he could only assume was Sgt Troy’s actions.
“It was just one sergeant?” His mind was already racing. Surely the Rat Patrol would have more honour than to attack a medical unit? The nurse nodded. “I need to see him.”
“Captain, I cannot allow you to move in your condition. If stitches tear and the wound reopens—” Dietrich cut her off before she could start a lecture.
“I know, ma’am, but it is of the utmost urgency.” The nurse folded her arms and stepped back.
“I can request to have him brought here. Urgent or not, if you reopen that wound you will most likely die, Captain. You’ve lost too much blood as it is.” Dietrich frowned but nodded. The nurse left to trail down a soldier, leaving Dietrich to fret. What could the Rat Patrol be planning? Must the American sergeant see him in this state, bedridden and weak? It was unbecoming of a German officer, but he supposed that it was a necessary evil. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it pulled his side. A few minutes passed when he heard a scuffle outside and the tent flap opened to reveal Troy, flanked by two soldiers. They marched him to Dietrich’s bedside and saluted.
“The prisoner, Herr Hauptman.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Dietrich said, eyeing Troy. There was a carefully blank expression on his face that did nothing to alleviate Dietrich’s growing fears. The two soldiers stepped back, allowing Troy to come forward. Dietrich shifted more upright.
“Captain.” Troy said, squinting at him.
“Sergeant Troy.” He responded. Dismissing the guards, who hesitated for a moment before retreating to the door, he focused fully on the American. “I guess I should thank you for saving my life.” Troy scowled back.
“What you did was stupid, captain.” He snapped and Dietrich could only blink uncomprehendingly. “You almost died, and if I didn’t have as much sway with my patrol as I do, we would have left you there.” The Sergeant appeared genuinely angry at Dietrich, and he pursed his lips.
“May I remind you, Sergeant, that doing so would have been a perfectly normal solution when dealing with an enemy.” Before Troy could argue more, Dietrich continued, “I need your assurance that your men will not attack this unit. These are medics, not soldiers.” Troy pursed his lips, examining Dietrich.
“If you let me go—”
“You know that is not an option. I would be shot for fraternizing with the enemy.” He didn’t want to think about the suspicion this situation would already be stirring up.
“I cannot guarantee anything. I don’t know where my men are or what they could be planning.”
“Very well.” Dietrich said, already gesturing for the soldiers to come closer. “Private, please take the prisoner back to his cell. Sergeant, I need to speak to you.” Dietrich watched Troy being led away before turning to the sergeant. “I need you to make sure that man is kept under close guard. I have reason to suspect his patrol will try and break him out; inform the guards to be on watch for anything suspicious. Please send someone to arrange for him to be sent to a prison camp as soon as possible.” The sergeant saluted before hurrying away to complete his orders. Dietrich sunk back into his pillows. All he could do now was wait.
~~~
Sergeant Moffitt shifted on his feet. His commanding officer, General Bradshaw, was glaring at him from behind his desk.
“Can you repeat that for me, Sergeant?”
“I’m formally requesting permission to take Privates’ Pettigrew and Hitchcock on a mission to recover Sergeant Troy.”
“You have a lot of nerve. You just came back from a mission where the soldier assigned to you was killed and you lost the sergeant in charge of the mission. Now you want me to authorize a suicide mission for your patrol to try and get him back?”
“Yes, sir.” Moffitt said, lips pursed to prevent a cocky grin as the General gaped at him. It was moments like these where Moffitt realised exactly how much the rest of the Rat Patrol had influenced him. While he’d never had the greatest respect for authority, he doubted he would have been this brazen two years ago. The general let out a long sigh.
“I suppose you will go regardless, even after I inform you that it would be treason to go against orders?” Moffitt blinked in surprise. “I may be relatively new at this post but officers talk, Sergeant. News of your little group has reached far and wide.” Moffitt grinned, trying to disguise his nervousness. The general fixed him with a hard stare. “I will turn a blind eye this time because I understand that Sam Troy is integral to the Patrol’s success. Understand, Sergeant, that this is not official authorization. If you are caught, I will deny any involvement.” Moffitt nodded. “Good, now get out.” He bid a hasty salute and left the tent.
~~~
Hitch had gone through two squares of bubble-gum and was starting on a third; Tully had been counting.
“You alright?” Hitch shot him an unimpressed look.
“Are you?” He snapped back, “Sarge is out there facing the Germans by himself.” Tully mulled over it for a moment.
“One time, my pa got arrested for moonshinin’.” Hitch snorted, and Tully waited until he looked back over to him before continuing, “they didn’t have any evidence, but old lady Dorris next door ratted on us. Ma put on a brave face, but we could tell she was worried. Me an’ my sister and brother moved everything out the basement and into an abandoned barn we found near the creek. Kept running it and selling. They had to let pa go ‘cause there was no proof.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Moffitt reminds me of ma sometimes.” Hitch’s eyes lit up with understanding and Tully offered him a sly smile.
“We could get court-martialled for something like that.” It wasn’t a protest, but it had to be said before they could continue. Tully shrugged.
“If we get Sarge back, they probably won’t do anything and if we don’t then that’ll be the last of our worries.” As they were talking, Hitch spotted Moffitt walking towards them. He nudged Tully and they both turned to look at him.
“Why do both of you look like I just caught you with your hands in the cookie jar?” They blinked at him, the picture of innocence.
“What on earth do you mean, Sarge?” Moffitt scowled and Hitch muttered a quick sorry. Moffitt sighed.
“Unofficially we have authorization to go rescue Troy. Seems our general disregard for orders has become widespread knowledge.” There was a brief pause before Tully sent him a wide grin. Hitch followed suit before frowning at the sand. Moffitt gave him a pat on the shoulder. “We’ll get him back if we have to fight the whole camp to do it.” He got a tight-lipped smile in response.
“Let’s go, time’s a ‘wasting.” Tully pushed both of them towards the jeep.
“Wait this is already all stocked.” Moffitt turned a suspicious gaze on the two privates. “Were you planning on going without me?”
“Now you’re just being conspiratorial, Sarge, we would never.”
~~~
Troy looked around the small tent that had been repurposed as his cell. He’d been tied up and dumped in the dirt after his brief meeting with Dietrich. Troy couldn’t deny that he’d been relieved to see the captain still alive and hopefully recovering, but it was tinged with the bitter realisation that he was probably a few hours away from being dumped in a prison camp or tortured for information. With Dietrich, the latter was unlikely, but Troy couldn’t discount that any number of German officers higher on the chain would want a crack at him.
The tent had been hurriedly cleared of anything that he could use to get himself out of his restraints, leaving behind only the desk and chair. Even the oil lamp had been taken out. It took him a moment to struggle up onto his feet. Careful not to overbalance, he crept to the side of the tent away from the guards. He pushed aside the tent flap as best he could and stuck his head out. Soldiers were patrolling everywhere. Dietrich must have ordered them to double the guard which made his job a lot harder. There was little chance of him getting out of the camp without being spotted, let alone with his hands tied. He let the canvas drop back down, settling himself against the desk to think.
He guessed about two hours had passed when he heard an all too familiar engine. He couldn’t help the grin that crossed his face, even though his men were disobeying his orders and probably those of their superiors. The German soldiers began shouting and shooting and Troy forced himself through the canvas and into the twilight. It took a few moments for him to gain his bearings, quickly locating the jeep. It was driving around the outskirts of the camp and Troy saw that whoever was on the guns was aiming way too high to be effectual. A hand came around his mouth and he immediately tried to kick out at his assailant.
“It’s me, Troy!” The English accent got through the blood rushing around Troy’s ears, and he went limp. “You pack a mean kick, took it right in my shin.”
“Moffitt,” Troy rasped.
“You didn’t think we’d leave you here, did you?” Troy felt the binds around his wrists loosen and fall away. He spun around.
“I specifically ordered you not to come back for me!” Moffitt sniffed.
“Well, that’s no way to thank the man saving your life.” He took off, weaving between the tents and forcing Troy to follow him. “Besides I got official unofficial authorisation from our new General.” Troy’s eyebrows shot up. A bullet shot passed him and he dived behind a tent.
“Moffitt!”
“Don’t worry, Troy, this is all part of the plan.” Another shot echoed in the darkness and Troy crept to the cover of the next tent. Moffitt was quick to join him.
“Pray tell, how exactly is this ‘all part of the plan’?” Troy hissed. Moffitt sent him a grin before bodily dragging him down as more bullets whizzed over their heads.
“You’ll see!” They crouched in the darkness for a moment before both jeeps came screeching around the tent. The two sergeants scrambled into their respective jeeps, clinging on for dear life to avoid being thrown out as their drivers zoomed off.
“You alright, Sarge?”
“Just peachy. I can't wait for the General to chew me out for this stunt of yours."
"Aww, we love you too, Sarge."
~~~
Dietrich shot up as gunfire sounded outside the medical tent. The nurse rushed over from her place at the door, trying to push him down again.
“Please Herr Hauptman, don’t move!”
“It is not safe here, for either of us. If a stray bullet comes through the tent—” Dietrich broke off to catch his breath. It had to be the rat Patrol, but Dietrich couldn’t picture any of them opening fire on a field hospital. He refused to believe he had misjudged their morals that badly. “Please help me to the door.” The nurse hesitated for a moment, but when Dietrich moved to get out of bed on his own, she rushed to support him. They hobbled to the door the nurse had been peering out of, and Dietrich could see just enough in the moonlight to identify the two jeeps sailing away with four rats on board. He cursed under his breath, ignoring the scandalised look the nurse shot him. A soldier ran past, and he called out, “Private, report! How many wounded?”
“None, sir,” the private said, skidding to a halt and throwing a hasty salute. “Schmitt got a knock to the head when he dived for cover, but no other injuries or casualties.”
“Thank you, you may continue.” Dietrich turned back into the tent, head feeling awfully light. The nurse left to check on the others once he was safely back on his bed. No one injured? He pursed his lips; The Rat Patrol didn’t have poor aim, not even in the dark. They had purposely avoided shooting the soldiers. Dietrich closed his eyes, sank back into his pillows, and sent a prayer of thanks for Sam Troy and his patrol’s absurd sense of honour.