Remembering
By: AliasCWN
Jack Moffitt slumped against the rope and hung his head. He thought he might have a concussion but he couldn't be sure. Just holding his head up took more energy than he had at the moment. The throbbing in his cheek kept time with the beat of his heart. Idly he watched the blood drip from his broken nose onto the leg of his trousers.
'That's going to leave a stain.' He thought to himself, then he smiled. It really didn't matter because the uniform wasn't his anyway. The German that owned it was on his way to a British POW camp and he would never know about the blood stains. The only people likely to see it wouldn't care one way or the other.
Sort of like him. Would anyone care about him, whether he lived or died? The Germans certainly wouldn't. Not as long as they got their answers before he succumbed to their questioning. He had no doubt that they would get answers if they kept him long enough. Everyone had a breaking point. The Gestapo was very good at finding that point.
So far the commander of the camp had not called them in, but it was only a matter of time. His impersonation of a German officer to steal a secret file would have to be reported. The Gestapo would hear of that report and investigate. Once they got involved things would really start to get messy. He'd been questioned by amateurs plenty of times. They were all slap happy and more than ready to use a solid fist to good advantage, but they lacked the finesse of the Germans' special interrogators. 'Bone crushers' was the nickname that came to mind. Moffitt had seen some of their work. The men more dead than alive, praying for death long before it came. He swallowed the blood in his mouth and tasted it's metallic flavor.
'Better get used to that' he thought sourly. 'No one is coming for you this time.'
He'd been given this assignment while the other members of the Rat Patrol had been sent elsewhere. 'The better to make use of their individual talents,' they'd been told. Troy had protested but to no avail. Troy never liked it when their little group was separated. He said they worked best together and when left alone. The 'brass' hadn't agreed. Moffitt suddenly realized how much he'd come to depend on the other three men. He knew he had their unfailing support for his many clandestine schemes. He thought of them more like brothers than fellow soldiers. They'd pulled him out of so many dangerous situations that he'd lost count. He didn't get shot as often as Hitch, their youngest member, but he did get beat up quite often. He'd always known that when things went wrong, they were close by, waiting for a chance to charge in and rescue him. Suddenly he felt very much alone. He tried to picture them in his mind. Troy, dark, intense, the undisputed leader. It was Troy who usually came up with the sometimes crazy gimmicks that ultimately provided the desired results. Moffitt could almost hear Troy's gruff voice telling him to 'hold on, we're on our way.' Troy always meant what he said. Moffitt considered himself lucky to have met the unorthodox American sergeant. His life had certainly not been dull since he had joined Troy's little band of renegades.
He could picture Tully's long face, a matchstick in his mouth. What was it Troy had said when he had first introduced Tully? It took a moment for his dulled brain to recall the words. 'Best darn kid moonshine runner in Kentucky.' He remembered thinking that running moonshine was a far cry from dodging bullets in the desert. But he'd been wrong. Tully Pettigrew had soon proven to be an outstanding driver and Moffitt had been suitably impressed. In fact, all three of the Americans had impressed him. Tully was quiet, down home wisdom, calm and dependable.
The last member, Tully's fellow driver, had been full of fun and laughter. Sure Hitch liked to complain, but his sunny nature usually won out. His bright smile made up for a lot. Moffitt could picture that smile in his mind. Hitch's biggest problem was that he got hurt quite often. Thinking of Hitch, Moffitt was glad that the younger man was not here. Hitch would probably get himself shot trying to rescue him. He smiled as he realized how much the three of them looked out for Hitch. He was a good soldier and capable of taking care of himself, but he was like a younger brother to them all. It just seemed natural to keep a close eye on him.
Now that he really thought about it , he was honored to be a part of their team. He'd been fortunate to arrive at a time when they'd had an opening in their ranks. They had taken him in and accepted him despite being from different armies. His fellow Brits couldn't believe that he hadn't had any problems being attached to an American outfit. Oh, Troy had been reluctant at first, but not because he was British. Troy didn't trust anyone he didn't know. His greatest strength was knowing his men. Moffitt had to admit that it had worked to their advantage time and time again.
He sighed and lifted his head slowly. His eyes were mere slits in his face, making everything a little blurry. The room spun crazily around him. He hoped Troy found a good replacement for him. Someone who would support him and look out for the younger 'rats'. It certainly looked like they were going to be short a member very soon.
Moffitt hoped they didn't replace him with Andy Peterson. He was surprised to find that the very thought depressed him. Andy was a decent soldier but he wasn't a good fit for the team. He hoped they wouldn't consider Andy on any type of permanent basis. The guy couldn't shoot worth a darn and he broke a jeep or got it stuck on a daily basis.
Moffitt realized that the room was getting darker. There was a definite chill in the air now. The guards hadn't returned in hours. He hoped the reprieve lasted a bit longer. He really wasn't in the mood for any more questions. He tried to lose himself again in memories of happier times.
His family came to mind. He pictured his mother's gentle face. His little brother was harder to remember. Jack really hadn't spent a great deal of time around him. Ian had been so much younger. After his death in a bombing raid by the Germans Moffitt had tried to picture his face. It had been difficult then, but it was much harder now. Just trying made his head hurt. His father's face appeared in his minds' eye. They'd been close when he was growing up. Jack tried to think of the moment when that had changed. He couldn't pinpoint the actual time or event.
As he sat tied to the chair, he remembered the assignment that had brought his father back to the desert. The one that had brought them back together. His father had not approved of his joining the army as an enlisted man. They'd fought more than once over his decision. That mission had changed everything. His father had met his friends, gotten to know them, and found out just what Jack did for the war effort. He finally had his father's blessing for his choices. That thought gave him peace as he waited for the door to open. He may die in this room, but his contributions had made a difference. He'd had loyal friends who accepted him for himself, a father who had given his blessing for his choices, a mother who loved him no matter what, and a cause worth the sacrifice.
Jack Moffitt let the exhaustion that clouded his mind take him away where the pain had no meaning. The Germans would wake him when they came, until then, he could rest and dream happy endings.
He slept through the opening of the door, The two men who entered were in his dreams. Not the nightmares, the happy ones. They draped his arms over their shoulders and carried him out to where the third stood guard. When he opened his eyes next he was bouncing around in the back of a fast moving jeep driven by a quiet private in an American helmet.