I waited patiently upon the Lord;

He stooped to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and clay;

He set my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure.

-Psalm 40:1-2

The end was near. Not today, nor tomorrow, but it was indeed approaching and approaching rapidly. There was perhaps a week left, at the most a fortnight.

The North African war would then cease for Germany.

There was no realistic possibility for the Afrika Korps to survive longer with what little resources it possessed. The remaining men and supplies were rapidly being depleted for an insane cause that had become unattainable months ago. Unless I was killed in the final days, I would become a prisoner of war, either of the British or the Americans, until this World War came to a blessed end.

I had accepted our inevitable defeat calmly, much in the same way I had accepted our victories. But the heady days of powerful victories in the desert were long gone and it was time to place them firmly in the past. We, the former conquerors were rapidly retreating towards our own defeat.

Rommel had left Africa in March, two months previously. I had been linked with him for years and it was impossible for me not to notice how his health had deteriorated over the last several months His face had been drawn and tight when he departed, looking much older than his years. We both knew the unspoken reality: It was highly unlikely Rommel would be returning to Africa.

A strong part of me believed Rommel had been retained in Europe to avoid the embarrassment of surrender. Or, to be more exact, for Hitler to avoid the embarrassment of having his favorite general captured and placed on display by the Allies. For the remainder of the soldiers, I doubt Hitler gave us little, if any, consideration.

The defeat was something I knew, and something that my fellow officers and my superior officers knew. From the commanding generals to the greenest gefreiter, everyone knew. However, accepting reality and speaking it aloud were completely different things. I never heard it mentioned near the enlisted men by an officer. To do so would set a bad example to the men we were leading.

We all knew about the end, yet it was something rarely discussed even privately, and certainly not openly. To be party to such a discussion would place one in great peril if the Gestapo should hear even the barest of words. There would only be so much that the Wehrmacht could do to protect us before we were taken aside and hung, or if a gallows or a tree were not available, shot.

More and more frequently I asked myself for what purpose had I served. To follow orders issued by insane men? Those same men who cared little of what happened to those they ordered to their deaths in battle?

I had no answer to those questions. But I did know that all my men and I had accomplished and endured through the last two years that it would all be for naught. I felt like the last nine years of my military life, thirteen if one included the time I had spent at the academy receiving my instruction, had been wasted.

But really, it had been even more of a waste than that. I had only known a military life since my earliest memories. First through my father and paternal grandfather, and then experienced through my own life. Even my early education had been received at a preparatory boarding military institute, a logical beginning for my journey. My entire existence had been focused and directed towards a military life. In the past, I had believed I had been bred and born for the sole purpose of continuing my family's tradition of service to Germany. I had originally resented my belief, but later came to embrace it with a passionate fervor

My existence had been dedicated to the art and business of war. I had known little else. Education, training and combat experience had all honed my skills of killing others and claiming territory for the Third Reich.

And now my journey was ending. And I was ready to return home to accept whatever fate awaited me.

With all the turmoil surrounding us, I was surprised to have been granted a rare weekend furlough to visit the neutral town of Ater. A part of me, a strong part I had to admit, felt guilty for receiving it while the remainder of the Afrika Korps was still fighting. Or, more accurately, actively retreating.

"Enjoy yourself, Hauptmann Dietrich." Oberst Siegfried Jabs had been almost fatherly, when he had granted the furlough to me. "You are an excellent officer and you have served me and the Wehrmacht well. I wanted to present you with a token something to recognize your accomplishments and dedicated service. Please enjoy the next few days. It probably will be your last opportunity of normalcy as a man for the unforeseeable future. It is unknown what the future will bring to Germany, and to all of us who have served her."