A Thousand may Fall at your Side,

And Ten Thousand at your Right Hand,

But it Shall not Come Near You.

-Psalms 91:7

Troy gripped the .50 caliber machine gun as the Jeep jolted over the gutted road. Ahead of him was a box ambulance. Troy couldn't help mentally urging the ambulance's driver to drive faster, even though he knew Tully was already pushing the vehicle beyond its designed capabilities. The ambulance's canvas sides swayed as it took the turns too fast, and it had almost tipped over as it had swerved to avoid a crater.

Troy had wanted a smaller ambulance, one which was more maneuverable, but this was the only one he had been able to requisition.

Well, he hadn't quite requisitioned the ambulance. He had "borrowed" it.

Okay, so he had stolen it when it was left with the engine running.

Troy hadn't cared about this small technicality, given that in the end, he had gotten possession of the ambulance and had managed to leave without being questioned. Used to accomplishing things on his own terms, Troy had dismissed the act without a second thought. Any potential consequences could be dealt with later.

It would have been more practical, not to mention faster, to search with just the Jeeps. The Jeeps could have advanced over the gutted terrain easily, and a second Jeep would have provided additional firepower. But two Jeeps would not have been able to carry six men, one of them probably near death.

And, the option of having the thief drive the ambulance alone and lead the way? Troy didn't trust him for a New York second. The thief would take the first chance he saw to escape.

Troy had been forced to split his team: Hitch with him, Tully driving the ambulance with Moffitt accompanying him. Troy had placed the thief between them as insurance. If the guy was smart, he'd stay right where he was.

Running with only one .50 caliber this late in the day was reckless, or foolhardy. Or both, depending on how one viewed it. Moffitt had raised a single eyebrow when Troy had given the order, leaving no doubt he believed it to be the latter. Tully and Hitch had glanced at each other, silently agreeing with Moffitt. Troy gave his team credit, though, for accepting his order while keeping their wisdom to themselves.

He could admit the need for the ambulance was a gamble. The bastard private, the thief, had insisted the German officer had been dead when the lighter was stolen. And, even if Dietrich had still been alive then, he likely had been mortally wounded. If Dietrich hadn't been dead, or very near it, Troy knew the private wouldn't have gotten the lighter at all. Or even survived the encounter himself, period.

Though, despite all he "knew", there was a part of Troy, a big part, which couldn't accept the German officer's death. He was willing to put all his money on one number and roll the dice to prove himself right.

If Dietrich was indeed dead, Troy could sleep well with the knowledge he had attempted to save the officer and repay the life debt he owed him. At the end of it, Troy would hoist a beer and toast Dietrich. Then, he could shove his memories of the German aside. Just as he had done with so many fallen others during the war.

On high alert, Troy scanned the forest, constantly sweeping from the sides, and then to the sides and to the back. They were going deeper into former German territory. The Allies had sped through the area. There was the strong possibility it had not been completely cleared of Germans. Troy knew well enough how one lone German could have a lethal impact on his small team. He had lost one man when he had first encountered Dietrich in the desert. With the war down to its final days, he was unwilling to lose another team member.

Four men were not enough for this mission. Troy discounted the thief. He would be useful as tits on a bull in a fight. His only value was of knowing Dietrich's location. Troy could have tried to recruit more men, but the task would have been laughable. What other American soldier would have willingly accompanied them to search a "hot" area for a probably dead German officer?

He could have ordered them on the mission, but Troy hadn't bothered. Used to skirting the limits of authority, he knew where the lines were. And, he knew he had already crossed them. His superior officers would hardly support the inherent risks of a mission they would have considered Troy's own personal folly.

Troy scanned the darkening forest for any movement, any clue, any unlikely sign of life. The farther they drove, the more exasperated he became. They had already stopped twice. Both times had proven to be dead ends. He suspected the thief was deliberately misleading them, stalling until darkness fell when he mistakenly believed they would abandon the search.

Troy's frustration finally exploded.

He rapped Hitch on the shoulder and indicated for him to pull up alongside the ambulance. The more nimble Jeep accelerated quickly, and Troy waved for Tully to halt.

Tully did as he was ordered and before the ambulance had even jerked to a full stop, Troy was at its side. He climbed up on the running board and leaned in.

"This is the last time I'm going to ask you: Where is he?" Troy growled.

The thief didn't make eye contact. Instead, he stared out the windshield and said nothing.

Troy reached in and grabbed the outsider by his uniform collar, almost pulling him across Tully.

"I'm running out of patience and you're running out of time. Do I need to provide you with a little inspiration?"

The man's eyes grew wide.

"I'm doing the best I can! I was there hours ago, and then only for a few minutes. Everything looks different now that it's getting darker, and we're coming from a different direction. Maybe we should try tomorrow when it's lighter?"

Troy ignored the suggestion. "How far of a march was it from there to the operations center?"

"I dunno. Maybe a two-three hour slow march?" the thief responded slowly, as if wary of how much factual information he should provide.

Troy thought for a moment. "Tully, turn around and head back the other way. We've gone too far. The guy's perspective is backwards. He should recognize it coming from this direction." Troy looked at the thief, his eyes narrowing. "In case you're trying to stall, I've already told you: We're not stopping until we find him. I don't care if it takes all night."

Troy jumped down and resumed his spot at the .50 and indicated for Tully to continue driving.

The ambulance lurched forward, nearly throwing the two passengers against the dashboard.

"Tully?" Moffitt asked once he had pushed himself back into his seat.

Tully bit down hard on his matchstick and grunted. "Sorry, Sarge. This thing drives like she's got sand in her gearbox."

"Doubtful, but I appreciate the analogy. Not the finest vehicle you've ever driven, I'm sure."

Tully grunted again, his eyes on the road.

"Ah, well. I'd wager it's not the worst either." Moffitt grinned. "Best Troy could do on short notice for his impromptu mission of mercy, I'm sure."

Tully took one eye from the road and turned it Moffitt's way. "Is that what we're calling this?"

Moffitt paused. He suspected even Troy wouldn't know quite what to call their current endeavor.

"I suppose it's as good of a thing to title this little adventure as any," he said, finally. "You can't always quite put a name to everything, you know."

Tully nodded his agreement and said nothing else.

There was nothing else to be said. They all knew it. Troy had always had an odd affinity for Dietrich, one which Moffitt would freely admit he didn't understand. However, understood or not, if something was important to one of them, it was important to all of them. Over the years they had all been together it was the way things had always had been.

Why should it be any different at the end of it all?

Moffitt settled back in his seat and once again took up his watch on the darkening forest. Troy was likely also keeping watch, for any signs of Dietrich, and for any signs of danger. Moffitt's attention was primarily on looking for danger.

If he had to bet, he had a good idea of which they were going to find first.

"Sarge, isn't there anything ya can do? He's gone nuts. He's gonna get us all killed. And for what? Some dead Kraut officer he believes is still alive. How many times do I hafta tell ya? The guy was dead when I left him. This is nothing but a wild goose chase!"

Mindful he was being addressed, Moffitt slowly moved his gaze from the forest to the thief. He was feeling languid, still feeling the unfortunate effect of one too many whiskey and sodas at the beer garden. The mind numbing, mostly silent, journey hadn't helped, and with the rocking of the ambulance over the rutted road he had found it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

Moffitt looked at their passenger and yawned in the face of his agitation. Tully predictably said nothing.

"What's wrong with you all?" The thief's voice rose, incredulous as he looked from Moffitt to Tully. "Don't you care that he's going to get you killed? For nothing?"

Moffitt stifled another yawn. "Sorry old man. Troy gets like this when he's focused. Much like a dog worrying a bone. So it's best we find Dietrich, sooner rather than later. There's not much I can do." He gave the man a pointed look. "Actually it all seems rather dependent upon you, doesn't it?"

"I'll tell you what I told your nutso sergeant: I'm doing the best I can!"

"Oh, I'm sure," Moffitt said, dryly. "But a word of advice? You may wish to do it a little faster. Then, we can all get back to our original plans for the evening."

Moffitt allowed his mind to wander for just a moment to how wished his night would have gone. He curtailed the thoughts quickly. It hardly seemed worthwhile to dwell on it too much, seeing as how was crammed into the cab of the ambulance with two other men for what seemed to be the foreseeable future.

"Is that the Kraut's name? Dietrich?" the thief asked.

"Yes."

"What's so special about him?"

Moffitt forced himself not to sigh. He had asked Troy the same question countless times when they were in the desert. Not once had he received an adequate answer. "You would need to ask Troy. I can assure you, though, he means what he says about locating him, no matter what the cost."

"Yeah," the thief uttered darkly. "It's gonna cost us our lives."

"Personally, I have little desire to pay such a high price. There's a lovely woman named Jane waiting for me to return to the beer garden, so I suggest you find the German officer in question. If not, it's going to be a rather long evening and we'll all end up frustrated." Moffitt gave a sideways look. "And in more ways than one."

The thief balled his hands into fists and glared out the window.

If Moffitt had cared, he would have offered a penny for the man's thoughts. Though he doubted if they were worth anything near it. He imagined the man was thinking the lighter had become more trouble than it was worth, particularly since Troy now had possession of it.

The thief suddenly leaned forward and stared off to the right. He reached out and grabbed the steering wheel. "Stop!"

Tully slammed on the brakes, again throwing them against the dash. No apology followed the impact. Moffitt didn't ask for one. Instead, he looked to the thief.

"This is the place! He should be off the road, less than a hundred yards, under a tree, next to another dead Kraut officer."

"For your sake, and all of ours, I do hope you're right this time." Moffitt tightened his grip on a rifle. "We'll fan out to search. Tully, keep him within your sight."

"Will do, Doc," Tully responded, as he gave a reassuring pat to his own rifle while looking at the thief. "Come on, you. Let's get moving."

The Jeep pulled up alongside. Troy looked at Moffitt. Moffitt gave him a short nod of confirmation.

Troy jumped down and took a rifle from the Jeep's scabbard. He was soon joined by Hitch.

The thief wandered off, looking around intently. Tully was close behind, with his rifle ready.

Moffitt surveyed their surroundings. The earth had been shredded by tank treads and it was still littered with the bodies of fallen Allied soldiers. If this was where Dietrich's unit had made a stand, they had made the Allies pay a high price, even if they had forfeited their commanding officer.

Moffitt winced as he passed the bodies and went to Troy.

Troy barely gave him a look. "See any sign of Dietrich?"

"No, I didn't." Moffitt took a deep breath and forced the truth out with it. "And, I'm not sure we're going to."

"We'll just have to keep looking then."

Moffitt was not surprised at the stubbornness of Troy's response. It was exactly as he had told the private, there was nothing to be done about Troy when he got like this. But still, Moffitt felt someone must at least try to be the voice of reason.

He let out a breath that was a half sigh and half an exasperated huff. "Seriously, Troy, how long are you going to pursue this madness? This area hasn't been secured. We're about to lose any semblance of daylight. It will be impossible to search for Dietrich in the dark. For all we know, we might not even be in the correct sector."

"Then we'll keep looing until we find the right one."

Despite the glare Troy was giving him, Moffitt continued. "I agree Dietrich was a decent enough enemy and he saved your life. But, it's time to be realistic.

"Moffitt-"

"At least tell me why you'd return for him, and not for any one of the other scores of Germans we've fought against?"

Troy gave him the piercing look he knew all too well. Moffitt already knew Troy's response even before he delivered it.

"We've staying out until we find him."

Moffitt squinted off into the distance and shook his head. The war was almost over, and Troy had remained unchanged until the end.

Knowing there was nothing to be gained by continuing to try and reason with Troy, Moffitt turned his attention to the thief. The man was wandering around, calling out his thoughts. The whole thing could have been comical, thought Moffitt.

If it had been happening to someone else.

"I think he was over here. No, wait! I think he was here." The man stopped and scratched his head, flummoxed. "I dunno, Sarge. It all looks the same. I can't remember!"

"You better start remembering!" Troy warned.

The thief stopped and squinted. "There he is! It's him! Over there, under the tree! There should be a big wound down his side. And, there's the other guy next to him."

Troy could see two crumpled forms next to a large tree. Even from the distance, he recognized the gray wool of the German field uniforms.

The thief took off running towards the area. Tully and Hitch brought up their rifles on instinct.

"Hold your fire!" Troy ordered.

They raced to the area. Troy pushed himself to catch up with the thief. His chest heaving and his feet screaming in agony the entire time, Troy reached the area and shoved the thief aside. He stared at the two mangled bodies lying on a bloody patch of snow.

"Jesus," was all Troy could mutter.

The nearest body was of a young German lieutenant. He was on his stomach, exposing a major wound to his lower torso. His head was facing away and he had lost his cover, exposing blonde hair streaked with dirt and blood. Near him was a thin wallet which had been tossed aside. No doubt the bastard thief had also robbed this German officer.

Troy shook his head in disgust.

Knowing the guy wasn't Dietrich, Troy turned his attention to the other man.

The man was older and taller and was, indeed, a major as the thief had claimed. The officer was lying on his back, his head to the side with his eyes closed. One hand was clasping a hand of the lieutenant, the other fallen by his side. His coat had been buttoned up as if to keep him warm, with the fabric smoothed of creases.

There was a neat bullet hole on the left shoulder encircled by a small amount of blood. Painful, but not serious enough to kill him. No, what had killed the major was a massive wound down his left side, raw and open, filth embedded in it. Black congealed blood drenched the snow around him. The heavy stench of iron filled the air, and the all too familiar smell of the loss of life made Troy's stomach churn.

It was Hitch who broke the silence. "Sarge, he can't be Dietrich. I know it's been a couple of years, but this scarecrow looks nothing like him."

Troy took a closer look at the gaunt man. He was pale, with the same pasty whiteness Troy had grown to expect of Europeans. Tans, even from years of exposure from the desert sun didn't last long in the continental gloom. The man's dark hair was grimy and matted with sweat, but the filth didn't cover the occasional gray. And, upon closer inspection, there was plenty of white in the straggly hair which lack of a razor had allowed to cover his cheeks and shin. While the rags he wore had obviously been a once sharp uniform, now they were frayed and threadbare, the fabric soaked through by massive blood stains.

What Hitch had said was true. No one who had known Dietrich in Africa would have disagreed with him.

However, Troy didn't need to think twice. "No, it's Dietrich alright."

He knelt beside the body and ripped off one of his gloves with his teeth. He found the skin under his fingers nearly as cold as the air as he checked for a pulse.