Troy pulled on his boots, carefully smoothing down the fabric of his khakis into the tops. Satisfied, he stood up and tucked his shirt into his trousers. Then, he picked up a comb and slicked his still damp hair back.

"Big plans, Troy?" Moffitt had an eyebrow cocked in Troy's direction.

"Nah, I'm just going to have a few drinks and play some poker. They're some guys in camp that I know from a while back. We thought that getting together sounded like fun." Troy looked down at Moffitt. "What are you up to?"

"I have a date with Nefertiti."

"Huh?" Troy tried to think if the girl sounded familiar. Local girl, from the sound of the name. He wondered if the lady had a friend. Maybe he didn't need to play cards after all . . .

"Queen of the Nile." Laughing, Moffitt tapped the cover of his book. "This is what I'm doing, Troy. You're looking at it."

There was a part of Troy that knew that Moffitt would have just as much fun lying on his bunk and reading as Troy would sitting around the card table with a bottle of whiskey at one elbow and hopefully, a mound of loot at the other.

But there was also a part of Troy that believed that staying in with a book was a hell of a way to waste a free Saturday night.

Troy cleared his throat. "Moffitt?"

Moffitt placed the book back on his chest. "Yes, Troy?"

"You want to join us? Hitch and Tully are going to be playing, too," Troy offered. He doubted that he would get an affirmative answer, but he felt like it would have been rude not to ask.

"Poker, eh? The American kind, I assume?" Moffitt frowned.

Troy blinked. "Is there another kind?"

"Hey, Sarge? You ready?" came Hitch's voice from outside of the tent. "Tully and I sure are ready to go take your friends' money."

"Yeah, just a sec," Troy yelled back. He looked back at Moffitt who had already started reading again. "Should be a good time. You sure that you don't want to play?"

"I don't know much about what you would consider to be poker." Moffitt turned a page. "I doubt how skilled I'd be."

Hitch poked his head inside of the tent. "You should definitely play then, Moffitt." Troy had to grin at the gleam in the kid's eye. Hitch looked at Troy. "I'll teach him." Hitch then looked at Moffitt. "I'll make you a card sharp in no time."

Despite Hitch's bravado, Moffitt's expression was still skeptical.

"Come on, Moffitt," Hitch said. "It's really all about luck. The rest is pretty easy."

Troy couldn't argue. He'd had nights where he couldn't catch a good hand. And then he'd had nights where nearly every hand was a winner. As long as Moffitt knew the basic rules of the game, and some of the strategy, he'd have as much of a chance as any of them.

Lighting a cigarette, Troy looked at Moffitt. "How lucky are you feeling, Moffitt?"

As an answer, Moffitt sat up and carefully marked his place before putting it on the trunk that sat beside of his cot. "I feel fairly lucky that I'm getting a reprieve from that book. It's bloody awful." He got up and stretched. "Do I need to bring anything?"

Hitch gave a wicked smile. "Yeah. Your wallet."

They walked the half mile or so to the local watering hole where Troy's friends were waiting. It was a short walk, but by the time that they'd reached the place, Hitch had done a fairly decent job of educating Moffitt on the finer points of stud and draw poker.

To his credit, Moffitt seemed to have picked it up pretty quickly, Troy thought. At least he was asking all the right questions and nodding at the appropriate times.

Troy led the way through the dark bar and to the back room. He parted the beaded curtain and was greeted by a chorus of yells. The room only had a few tiny windows and though the night was young the smoke was already pretty thick.

However, Troy had no trouble making out all of the guys that were already seated around the table.

An older man got up and was the first to shake Troy's hand. "Sam! It's good to see you, you old son of gun!"

Troy returned the hearty handshake. "John, it's great to see you!" He turned back to where Moffitt, Hitch, and Tully stood. "This is John Twofish. Otherwise known as the Chief. John, this Jack Moffitt, Mark Hitchcock, and Tully Pettigrew."

John shook all of their hands in turn. Then he looked at Troy. "So, these are the poor bastards that are stuck with you now, huh, Sam?"

"Yep. We're all stuck with each other." Troy grinned at Hitch. "And if I had to be stuck in this god forsaken desert, there's no one else I'd rather be here with. Present company included, of course."

"Well, that's good to hear. Surviving the war is all about the company that you keep." John shook his head and pulled a face as he looked at his men. "God help us all." He raised his glass to them and grinned.

Good natured cries of protest went up from those assembled in the room before they all toasted.

John nodded around the table. "The usual suspects."

Troy went around the group, greeting everyone in turn and introducing his team to Corporals and Privates Jones, McAfferty, Adams, and Lewis.

Troy couldn't help but to feel like his face was going to split from grinning. With a war on, he felt incredibly lucky to be able to see old friends again. To have them all present and accounted for, still alive and whole, seemed like more than a minor miracle.

John pulled out a chair for Troy. "Well, gentleman, have a seat. We'll get started. Let me just get some clean glasses and some more booze from the barkeep while you get your money out. Hope you brought plenty." John disappeared through the curtain.

Troy, Tully, Hitch and Moffitt took their seats around the table. It wasn't lost on Troy that Moffitt made an effort to sit next to Hitch. Troy wasn't sure how wise that was. He hoped Moffitt had enough sense to keep his cards to himself. Troy knew that Hitch wouldn't be above using any advantage that was presented to supplement his own naturally good luck in order to take the pot.

Everyone settled in, and as instructed, they all got their wallets out. Troy noticed Moffitt's looked fuller than usual. He remembered that Moffitt was on a different pay schedule.

It was pretty obvious to him that Hitch had not forgotten. The kid had a predatory look on his face as he too watched Moffitt. Shaking his head, Troy hoped that he didn't end up feeling bad about insisting that Moffitt come along.

John reappeared and Troy took the glass that John offered him. He took a drink, taste buds tensed for the worst. Troy was pleasantly surprised to find that what was in his glass was actually whiskey.

He leaned back and lit a cigarette. He looked around the table at his friends, old and new, all talking and laughing, as they watched with anticipation as the first hand was dealt. Troy wasn't sure how good he was going to do with the cards, but he sure felt lucky.

It was going to be a good night.

There were some good hands, and there were some bad hands. Most of the bad hands belonged to Moffitt.

So much for beginner's luck, thought Troy, as he watched Moffitt lose again.

"Chief, may I ask you question?" Moffitt asked, as they were waiting for the next deal.

"Sure, Moffitt." John sucked on his cigar. "What?"

Moffitt, head on his hand, was looking at John with intense curiosity. "Are you an American Indian?"

John gave Troy a look that clearly said "Are you kidding me?"

Troy shrugged. "He's English," he said by way of explanation. It was as good of an answer as any. And as Troy had found by experience, it really was the reason for most of the odd things that Moffitt said and did.

"Well, I guess that I really don't look like the white guys in the movies that they got wearing the war paint and scalping folks, do I?"

"No," agreed Troy. He gestured to his head. "Might help if you wore the big feathered bonnet, though."

"Well, I would, but it seems like someone else already has the crazy hat thing covered in this war, Sam." John gave an obvious glance to where Troy's bush hat lay.

Troy laughed. "Watch it, Chief."

John winked at Troy before he turned his attention back to Moffitt. "Yep. I'm a member of a tribe that belongs to the Iroquois Nation, Moffitt."

"Oh, that is fantastic! I am very interested in the history and traditions of your people. If you're going to be around for the next fortnight or so, I would very much like to discuss your culture with you." Moffitt stopped, obviously checking his excitement with effort. Seeming to remember his manners and the need for fine English restraint, Moffitt cleared his throat. "That is, if you wouldn't mind, Sergeant Twofish?"

"Nah, I wouldn't mind at all. I'd be happy to talk to you about my people. Always nice to meet someone who's interested."

"I am very interested indeed." Moffitt picked up his cards. "You know, you're the first actual American that I've ever had the pleasure to meet."

Hitch looked up in surprise. "Hey! What are we, Moffitt?"

Moffitt finished his whiskey before answering. "An amalgamation of criminals, opportunists, and strays from God knows what countries with nowhere else to go? A rather large group of what amounts to trespassers and squatters whom were never rousted from where they landed?"

"Amen to that!" John raised his glass with a grin. When it obvious that no one else was going to return his toast but Moffitt, John shrugged and drank anyway. He elbowed Troy. "I like this guy. Bring him around any time."

"Be careful what you ask for." Troy shook his head. "After he asks you a million questions, and then he starts in on one of his lectures about how similar your culture is to some ancient desert tribe's, you might just change your mind."

"Lectures?" John raised an eyebrow as he sorted his hand.

"Moffitt's a professor. PhD in anthropology from Cambridge. His dad's a pretty famous anthropologist, and Moffitt was an anthropologist, too. Before the War."

"Really?" John sighed. "Seems like a shameful waste of all of that education, just to have him come out here and let the German's shoot at him."

"I couldn't believe it when they sent him to me," Troy said honestly. "But he knows the desert like the back of his hand. Actually knows a lot of other stuff, too. All of which he's not afraid to tell you about it."

"Sounds educational, to say the least. Good guy, though, I can tell."

"Yeah, he is." Troy took another look at his hand and then threw his money in the pot. "And he's pretty good at giving the Germans hell, to boot."

"Well, he's obviously done his part to keep you alive." John opened another bottle of whiskey and refilled Troy's glass before he refilled his. He then passed the bottle off to his left. "And that's no small feat, Sam. Ask me, I know."

Troy smiled as he thought about that. "We all keep each other alive," he said, finally.

John nodded. "Now, that's something that the boys will all drink to." He raised his glass again. "To being alive!"

"To being alive!" the men chorused.

"And to staying that way!" John returned, as he raised his glass again.

Looking around the table, Hitch seemed to be the big winner, with John not far behind him. Troy thought that Tully looked to be doing well, too.

Moffitt, unfortunately, seemed to be the biggest loser.

Though, Troy couldn't judge Moffitt's losing streak too harshly. Troy's game hadn't exactly been hot, either. But, he was comfortably certain that he wasn't down more than a dollar. And that was fine with him.

It was a small price to pay for a night of good company, good booze, and even better stories.

It brought Troy no small sense of amusement that the conversation around the table had developed into everyone trying to outdo each other with their war stories. Troy let them do all of the talking. After all, he'd been there first hand for most of it. And if some of the accounts of their adventures seemed a little more fantastical than they had when he had lived them, well, that was neither here or there.

The hours passed pleasantly, measured easily in the constant turn of the hands and the ever growing pile of empty bottles.

However, all good things came to an end. Troy realized that the end was near when John finally returned from the bar empty handed.

"I have some very bad news, gentlemen," John said, his tone grave.

"What, Chief?" McAfferty asked, concerned. "What happened?"

"The worst thing that could have happened." Looking appropriately sorrowful, John shook his head. "We drank all of the whiskey. And all of the gin. And all of the bourbon. And, I'm sorry to report, all of the scotch."

"Beer?" Tully asked, hopefully.

"The barkeep is going to bring us some. And let me just warn you, it's probably going to be pretty bad." John sat down at the table. He watched as Hitch yawned. "I think that this might be a sign, fellows. It's probably time to call it a night." John looked around the table. "We've had our fun and we all have a big few weeks coming up. Lots of work to do."

Troy nodded and caught Moffitt's eye. "Yeah."

Moffitt looked suddenly sober and returned Troy's nod.

They'd all been to the same briefings. "Big" was one word for what was ahead for all of them. So was "dangerous" and so was "tough." But, if all went to plan, the events of the next few weeks would turn the tide in the favor of the Allied forces. Permanently. Troy could live with whatever it took to accomplish that.

The beer was served. Troy noticed a few more yawns among the men. He looked at John. "One more hand?"

"Sounds like a plan, Sam." John took the cards. "And I hope it's a good one. Baby needs new shoes and grandma needs new teeth."

After John had dealt the first three cards, the guys at the table made their first bets. Troy knew that it was doubtful that he was going to be adding to his winnings with the cards that he was holding. If it hadn't been the last hand, he would have folded. Instead, he let John deal him two more cards and hoped for the best.

When the best, or anything even remotely approaching it, didn't appear Troy decided to cut his losses and folded. He was surprised to see most of the table doing the same thing.

Troy cocked an eyebrow at John. "That was a hell of a deal, Chief. Did you even shuffle those cards?"

John snorted. He pushed his own cards to the center of the table. "I didn't do myself any favors, either, Sam. If that makes you feel any better about it."

"Actually, it does make me feel better." Troy lit a cigarette and offered one to John.

They settled back to watch how the final hand was going to unfold.

When all was said and done, only Hitch and Moffitt still remained in the game.

It was Hitch's bet. Hitch looked at his hand. Then he looked at Moffitt.

Moffitt merely raised his eyebrows. "What's it going to be, Hitch?"

With another look at his cards and a cocky tilt of his head, Hitch pushed a sizeable pile of currency towards the pot. "That. What's it going to be, Moffitt?"

Moffitt took a drink of his beer and made a face. "Christ. That is bloody awful."

Hitch grinned. "The beer? Or your hand?"

"The beer. I suppose we'll see about my cards." Slowly and precisely, Moffitt began counting funds to match Hitch's bet. "I'll accept your bet. And raise you."

"You're doing what?" Hitch narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "You sure about that, Moffitt?"

"Quite."

"Well . . ." Hitch looked at what remained of his winnings. "Why don't we just bet all of it?"

"Erm, well, I don't know." Moffitt frowned deeply and it was obvious to Troy that Moffitt was trying to mentally calculate the potential return on his investment. Or, the potential damage of a loss.

Troy had to believe if future results were a reflection of past performance that it wouldn't be good. "Moffitt . . ." Troy started. But then, he shut his mouth. Moffitt was a big boy. He could make his own mistakes, Troy decided.

Moffitt made his decision. "All right. So be it."

"Are you sure? Last chance, Moffitt. I don't really want to take all of your money. We can just leave it the way that it was," Hitch offered.

"Yes, absolutely certain. I accepted your bet and I intend to follow through. It wouldn't be cricket to do otherwise."

"It's okay, really, Moffitt."

"No really, I insist, Hitch. Let's play through."

John leaned over to Troy until their shoulders touched. "Good thing that this is the last hand. We might be here until sun up," he murmured.

Troy couldn't disagree. "Well, let's get on it with, you two. Hitch, you heard Moffitt. He's up to the bet. Show 'em."

Hitch hesitated and looked at Moffitt. "Two pair." He turned over his hand, never breaking eye contact with his opponent.

Troy looked at cards. Hitch had the pair of nines that had been showing, his hole cards had been a pair of deuces and he had picked up an ace kicker on the river. It wasn't a bad hand, but it wasn't a great one either. Troy decided Hitch had been betting on Moffitt's lack of sobriety and skill, and not on his own hand.

Moffitt smiled. "Well, that is a coincidence." He turned his hole cards, showing that he, too, held two pair. "But I think that mine are better."

Troy couldn't help but to laugh. Only his two knuckleheads would bet a pile of cash on those hands.

"Gents, I think," John proclaimed, "that Sergeant Moffitt takes it!"

"God damn it." Hitch threw his cards down. "I can't believe it."

"Beginner's luck, surely, Hitch. And I had an excellent teacher, you know." Moffitt, barely hiding a triumphant grin, began to rake the spoils of his victory his way.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Hitch crossed his arms against his chest and appeared to sulk.

Troy had to bet that Hitch's attitude was hardly helped by Tully's quiet snickering. He stifled his own grin at the turn of events.

"Moffitt?" Jones asked suddenly. "Can I see your hand real quick?"

"Certainly." Moffitt handed the cards to the kid.

Jones spread them out on the table and let out a low whistle. "Black aces over black eights. With a queen of hearts kicker." He looked at John and then at the rest of the table. "You all know what that is, don't you?"

John leaned across the table to get a better look. "Well, I'll be damned. I didn't even think about that."

Moffitt stopped trying to stuff his winnings into his wallet and looked up. "What is it?"

"It's the Dead Man's Hand," Tully said in a hushed voice.

John nodded. "Sure is, kid. I haven't seen one of those in a long time. And I played a lot of poker before the War. And during it, for what it's worth."

"I ain't never seen no one ever draw that hand for real, Sarge," said Jones. He looked around. The rest of the table shook their heads in agreement.

"Dead Man's hand?" Moffitt looked puzzled. "And what precisely does that mean?"

"The Dead Man's hand is the poker hand that Wild Bill Hitchcock was holding when he got shot in the back of the head. Aces over eights," John explained. "Two black aces and two black eights. There's some disagreement over the hole card, but lots of folks say that it was the queen of hearts. Exactly what you were holding, Moffitt."

"Oh." Moffitt looked at the cards and was quiet.

The rest of the table was quiet with him.

"So does this mean that I should watch my back?" Moffitt asked finally. He gave Troy a crooked grin.

Troy shrugged and returned the grin. "We'll all do that, Moffitt. If you return the favor."