Disclaimer: The Rat Patrol is not my property. They come out to play sometimes, then I send them home.

The Need to Breathe

By Suzie2b

After a successful mission to destroy a British ammo dump before the Germans were able to find it, the Rat Patrol pulled into Abu Qir to take a break before heading back to their base at Ras Tanura. They were assigned quarters, showered, and had dinner before they parted company for the evening.

Hitch said, "I think I'll go have a beer or two before turning in."

Tully smiled. "Sounds good. Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all."

Troy nodded. "All right. Moffitt and I are going to start our reports. You two stay out of trouble."

Tully said, "Aah, sarge, I was hoping to have some fun."

Troy gave the two privates a warning look and Moffitt grinned as he said, "Just remember who you have to go home to, Tully."

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Hitch and Tully quickly found a café full of soldiers and locals and went inside. They were standing at the bar with beer in hand when the bartender said in broken English, "Game … back room."

Hitch looked at him questioningly. "What kinda game?"

The bartender pretended to be dealing cards.

"Card game?"

Tully said, "Poker maybe?"

The bartender nodded with a smile. "Yes. Poker. Back room."

Hitch grinned. "I'm up for a few hands. How 'bout you?"

Tully replied, "I don't have enough money to play, but I'm willing to watch."

"Let's go then."

They found the smoky room in the back with three men sitting at a table playing cards. Hitch sat down in a vacant chair and produced some money. "Deal me in."

One of the men said with a slight accent that neither Hitch nor Tully could place, "Twenty bucks to get started."

Hitch tossed a twenty on the table and was given the appropriate chips. The man looked up at Tully and asked, "Are you playing?"

Tully shook his head with a grin. "I'm just here to watch my friend lose his shirt." He pushed himself up onto a small cabinet behind Hitch's chair and silently drank his beer.

After several hands were played, the bartender brought in a tray loaded with drinks … including two more beers for Hitch and Tully.

Tully was watching Hitch play while sipping his second beer. After a while he noticed a buzzing in his ears and his vision began to blur slightly. He looked at the glass he was holding and thought, "Oh no." Tully set the glass down, then slid off the cabinet only to discover that his legs couldn't hold him upright and he crumpled to the floor. Before he lost consciousness he looked up and saw Hitch slumped forward onto the table and heard a voice say, "You are sure they are part of the Rat Patrol?"

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When Hitch woke up he found himself on a cot in medical. His ears were still ringing a little, but he heard Moffitt quietly say, "Welcome back, Hitch."

He blinked and asked, "How long was I out?"

"Most of the night it would appear. Do you know what happened?"

Hitch thought for a moment, then said, "Tully and I were at a bar..." He suddenly looked worried. "Where's Tully?"

Moffitt said, "I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."

"The bartender told us there was a poker game in the back, so we went to check it out. The last thing I remember was starting to feel kind of woozy … I must've passed out."

"You were drugged. Troy and I were notified early this morning that you'd been dropped off here by a couple of locals."

Hitch started to sit up. "And no Tully?"

Moffitt shook his head as he steadied the private. "No Tully. A note addressed to Troy was given to the nurse before the two men left."

"What did it say?"

"He was to go meet a man named Emilio Rossi in the Arab quarter. That's where he is now."

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Troy went to the location that was indicated in the note. The man he saw sitting on the bench was definitely not Arab and was dressed like a civilian. Troy stood next to him and asked, "Are you Rossi?"

The man nodded and said in a slightly accented voice, "Yes, Emilio Rossi. Are you Sergeant Troy?" Troy gave a curt nod. "Please have a seat, sergeant."

Troy sat down. "Where's my private, Rossi?"

"You will have him back soon … if you do as I request."

"What do you want?"

Rossi replied, "Two months ago, in Italy, Nazis came and confiscated over two hundred pieces of art from our museums. They said it was all for Hitler."

Troy glowered, realizing the accent he was hearing was Italian. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Two days ago it was reported that a small German convoy arrived in Rafah and was seen loading a portion of that artwork into a truck. It left yesterday and is on its way to an installation near Batna. I want you and your men to go after it and bring that artwork back before it can be loaded on a plane bound for Germany."

"Why not just come and ask us? You didn't have to drug my men and kidnap one of them."

Rossi gave the sergeant a hard look. "Italy is fighting the war alongside the Germans. You and your Rat Patrol are well known. It is felt that you are the only ones capable of doing this and we were unsure of your willingness to help without a little incentive. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to just ask for allied help without being arrested or executed."

Troy's eyes narrowed as he said, "I don't know what you've heard, but the allied forces don't execute civilians … if they're innocent."

"Be that as it may, we will be holding your man until the artwork is returned. If I do not have the paintings back within ten hours, he will die." Rossi handed Troy a map. "After you have procured the merchandise, this is where you will take it."

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Tully awoke in pitch blackness. His head throbbed and he was disorientated. He reached out, only to have his hands hit solid wood. He blinked confusedly, then put his hands out to either side and again they were stopped by wood. Slowly Tully realized that he was in a box approximately eight feet long, four feet wide, and two feet high. He tried to push the lid up, but it wouldn't move and something sifted down onto him through a crack. Tully started to panic when he realized it was sand and he'd been buried alive.

He pounded on the wood above him and screamed until his throat hurt. But then he stopped and panted to himself, "Don't waste air." Tully started to take slow even breaths and calm down. "Okay, no need to panic. Hitch will have…" Then he remembered that Hitch had been drugged too. "Hope he's okay."

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Troy met Moffitt and Hitch outside medical. He eyed the private and asked, "How are you feeling?"

Hitch replied, "Still have a headache, but the doctor says I'll be okay. What did you find out about Tully?"

"Not much." Troy explained what Rossi had told him.

Moffitt was incredulous. "He can't be serious!"

"Oh, he's serious all right. If we don't hand those painting over within ten hours, Tully will be dead."

Hitch frowned. "We don't have much time then."

Troy nodded. "We need to head off that convoy before it gets to that installation near Batna."

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Tully wondered how long he'd been in the box—he refused to call it a coffin. It felt like hours since he'd woken up. He found a match in his shirt pocket and lit it just long enough to read his watch. It said it was ten o'clock. "But is that AM or PM?" He put the unburnt end of the matchstick between his teeth and sighed. "I sure hope someone's lookin' for me."

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Three hours passed before Troy, Moffitt, and Hitch caught up with the four truck German convoy.

Hitch questioned, "How do we know this is the right convoy?"

Troy said, "Rossi said it was a small convoy … and that's the road to Batna."

Moffitt said, "We're going to have to be careful. We don't want to damage the paintings and we don't know which truck they're in."

Troy stared through the binoculars and said, "Wait a minute. Take a look at that second truck."

Moffitt looked through his own binoculars. "There's an armed guard riding on the cab."

"Yeah, and I saw another one open the flap at the back to take a look around. What do you think?"

"I think we've found our ransom."

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Tully's back ached. He rolled onto his side and wedged his shoulder against the top of the box. "The least they could've done is give me a pillow." He sighed. "Wonder what Charley's doing." Tully let his mind wander. "If it's still morning, she'd be making deliveries. Or maybe she's done and having lunch." His stomach rumbled and he decided she was probably having lunch. "She's partial to fried spam sandwiches with mayo, mustard, and cheese. Add a piece a fruit. I know there was a fresh shipment of oranges before we left base. A glass of milk and she'd be happy. Or if it's evening, she'd be home by now. Probably showered and relaxing in one of my shirts since we aren't expected back for a couple more days. She could be coloring … or reading. Charley loves to read. I swear she could go through two or three books a week if it was left up to her."

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Hitch drove hell bent for leather at the convoy with Troy in the back manning the 50 caliber and Moffitt's machine gun blazing as they worked to disable or destroy each truck one at a time starting at the back.

50 caliber bullets tore through the guard on the roof of the cab, knocking him off. Moffitt shot the driver and the truck slowly started to roll to a stop. However, while the jeep went after the lead truck, the passenger in the other opened the driver's side door, pushed the dead man out, and got behind the wheel.

Troy saw their truck speeding away and yelled at Hitch, "Let this guy go! We need to head off that truck."

The jeep again pull alongside and Moffitt was able to kill the second driver. The truck finally came to a halt. Hitch circled and stopped to the side of the back of the truck. Troy stayed behind the 50 as Hitch grabbed a machine gun and Moffitt set his aside and took up his sidearm.

The sergeant and private walked cautiously up to one side of the flap and Moffitt called, "Werfen Sie Ihre Pistole raus und kommen von dort!"

After a tense few seconds, a rifle dropped out of the back as the flap was pulled aside. A lone German soldier climbed out of the back of the truck and put his hands up.

Hitch kept his machine gun on the German as Moffitt went to check the contents of the truck. "The artwork is here, Troy."

"Good." Troy looked at Hitch and indicated the prisoner. "Tie him up tight and put him in the back. Moffitt, you drive."

After three and a half hours, they reached the rendezvous point. Emilio Rossi was there waiting with several other men. In Italian he immediately ordered the truck's contents checked. "Assicuratevi che i dipinti sono lì."

Two men went into the back of the truck and after thirty seconds or so, one called, "I dipinti sono qui Signor Rossi. Inoltre c'è un legame tedesco."

Rossi looked at Troy. "What would you like done with the prisoner, sergeant?"

Troy shrugged. "You do whatever you want with him. We don't have time for him."

Having the confirmation that the artwork was in the truck, Rossi said, "Your task has been completed. Thank you for your help." He stepped up to Troy and handed him another map. "This is where you will find your man. If you hurry, he may still be alive."

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Tully was on his back again. He had noticed the air changing as time passed. It was becoming heavy and stale, and he had started to sweat. It was getting hard to keep his breathing under control and his chest ached. Tully knew he was running out of oxygen and wondered how much longer he had.

He felt anger build up inside him. He wasn't ready to die. Tully had a wife he loved dearly and a family to raise in the future. He had friends he cared about a lot. Tully felt tears trickle from the corners of his eyes. "I won't blame you, sarge, if you can't find me in time. This isn't your fault … or Moffitt's, or Hitch's. Just take care of yourselves and watch over Charley."

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Hitch kept his foot to the floor until they got to the spot marked on the map. They looked around, but the only thing they saw was a mound of sand with a GI issue helmet on top.

Moffitt gasped. "Oh my God! They've buried him alive!"

He and Hitch grabbed shovels out of the back of the jeep and started to dig frantically. Troy used Tully's helmet to help them. They dug about four feet down before they hit the wooden top of the box.

Troy, Moffitt, and Hitch quickly uncovered the box and reached down to lift the heavy lid out of the hole. Tully was there, unconscious, lips and finger tips blue, and he didn't appear to be breathing.

Without a word between them, Hitch and Moffitt jumped down and lifted Tully out of the box. Troy grabbed the private under the arms and moved him a few feet away from the hole before he checked for a pulse. He thought he felt something, but wasn't sure. He tore open Tully's shirt and put his ear to the private's chest. Troy looked up as Moffitt and Hitch dropped down next to him. "There's a heartbeat, but he's not breathing."

Moffitt quickly reached down and began to rub Tully's sternum with his knuckles. "Tully! Breathe, Tully!" No response. Moffitt kept trying, rubbing harder. "Damn it, Tully, breathe!"

After what seemed like an eternity, Tully took a gasping breath and started coughing. They rolled him onto his side as he tried to suck in air between coughing fits. After a short time, Tully fell unconscious again. He was loaded into the back of the jeep with Troy there to support him and they sped off back to Abu Qir.

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The next time Tully opened his eyes he was propped up by a couple of pillows and there was a mask over his nose and mouth pumping life-giving oxygen into his lungs. An IV let fluid flow into his dehydrated body. His head and chest still ached with every breath, but he was alive.

Troy leaned forward and looked at his friend. "How're you doing, Tully." He managed to give a shaky thumbs up and Troy smiled. "Just take it easy. You gave us a bit of a scare, but the doctor says you're gonna be okay. You just need to rest." He shifted back on the chair and Tully grabbed his arm. Troy patted the hand and said, "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."

Twelve long hours later Tully awoke without the mask. Moffitt was there this time and smiled as he said, "You're looking better. How do you feel?"

Tully took a sighing breath. "Better. Headache's gone and my chest doesn't hurt anymore when I breathe. Can I get some water?"

"Certainly." Moffitt held the glass as Tully took several sips.

It suddenly dawned on Tully that he didn't about Hitch. "Is Hitch okay?"

"He's fine. He was able to sleep off the drug after being brought to medical. He was here earlier, but you were sleeping. Do you remember what happened?"

"Some … I guess. Hope you guys can fill in the blanks."

"We will, after you've had a chance to recover."

Tully noticed a bruise in the center of his chest. "How'd I get that?"

Moffitt smiled guiltily. "I'm afraid I did that when I was trying to get you to breathe."

"Oh. I guess there's more blanks than I thought there was." They fell silent for a few minutes. Then Tully quietly asked, "Sarge, did I die?"

Moffitt put his hand on Tully's shoulder and replied gently, "No, you didn't die. Your heart never stopped."

"It was close though, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it was." Moffitt noticed a rather concerning look in Tully's eyes. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

Tully nodded slowly. "Just tired."

"You should rest. Would you like me to read? I found a western in your pack."

Tully smiled. "That'd be nice, sarge. Thanks."

As Moffitt read, Tully relaxed and closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him. And then he found himself wondering why cowboys with British accents seemed so normal to him.