A/N: I don't own The Rat Patrol and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love.
Epilogue to the "Hickory Dickory Dock Raid" episode.
It had been another close call for the Rats, but the mission had been successful. Sergeant Troy arranged for pickup of the fifty prisoners held at the repair depot, and the next priority was to get treatment for Tully's leg wound. The four men got into their jeeps to head for the nearest medical unit.
Tully, stoic as ever, had insisted that he was fine, but Sergeant Moffitt felt worried and not a little guilty for the private getting injured in the first place. Now his erstwhile driver slouched in the passenger seat, clutching his thigh over the hastily applied bandage. Out of the corner of his eye Moffitt could see redness seeping between Tully's fingers, and sand flew as he gunned the jeep's engine.
The British sergeant cast frequent glances at his silent passenger as the jeep bounced along the rough road to the Allied field hospital at Awbari. As he fretted that the injured private might bounce right out of the jeep at the next bump, Moffitt thought back on all the times Tully had roared up in this very same jeep to pluck him from one dangerous situation or another. Somehow Tully always managed to rescue him in the nick of time.
For the first time since he had received his mother's letter, Moffitt was feeling something besides the overwhelming rush of rage and hatred that had accompanied the news of his young brother's death in an air raid. His one objective in life right now was to get Tully to safety.
A few hours later Tully was handed over to the staff at the field hospital, and the next day Moffitt and Troy returned to the hospital to check on their teammate's condition. Hitch's jeep was already parked out front and they found him inside, supporting Tully's leg as a nurse applied a dressing.
Hitch looked up as they came in, the usual cocky grin absent from his face. "Hey, Sarge...Doc." His anxious eyes telegraphed a message to the sergeants and they both tensed as they approached the cot on which their injured friend was lying.
The nurse finished her task and gave Tully a smile before turning to attend to another patient.
"How's it going, Tully?" Troy's hearty greeting did not disguise his concern. The pallor beneath the tan and the strain on Tully's face told its own tale.
"It's goin', Sarge," Tully muttered, turning his head away.
Troy caught Hitch's eye and indicated the doorway with a slight movement of his head.
Hitch nodded and turned to Tully. "See you later, pal." He awkwardly patted Tully's shoulder and quickly left the tent.
Tully lifted a hand in farewell and let it drop to his side. Moffitt and Troy exchanged glances and then Troy said quietly, "Hang in there, buddy. You'll be back with us soon enough."
Tully nodded with dull acceptance but did not speak.
As Troy turned to go, he glanced inquiringly at Moffitt, who shook his head.
Troy watched as Moffitt pulled up a camp stool beside Tully's cot. Hope he doesn't think Tully's up for a game of chess, he thought. Moffitt and Tully normally spent their downtime together discussing archeology, conducting lessons in German and Arabic, and playing that damned never-ending chess game.
But this situation was far from normal; Troy knew it in his gut. He was accustomed to visiting his men in hospitals—they had all been wounded more than once—but this was the first time he had experienced a feeling of dread regarding one of his men. After one last look he sighed and turned to go outside.
In front of the hospital tent he met Hitch. "All right, Hitch. Give."
Hitch said grimly, "It's not good, Sarge. That leg wound—it looks bad and smells bad. The docs are worried about gangrene."
"Gangrene! But that means—"
"Tully could lose his leg. You can see why the guy is feeling pretty low. They've given him sulfa but..." Hitch looked away.
"The sulfa isn't working," Troy finished the sentence, and his shoulders slumped. How do you fight an enemy you can't even see?
Tully and Moffitt had indeed played many a game of chess together, but right now chess was the last thing on Moffitt's mind. He watched Tully for a moment and said diffidently, "I'm sorry, Tully."
Tully turned his head in surprise. "What for?"
"For losing control and jeopardizing our mission. For risking your life, and the others', because I was blind with anger. You might never have been shot if I hadn't let my emotions cloud my judgment." Moffitt clasped his hands together as he leaned toward the cot, intense hazel eyes fixed on Tully's face.
Tully pushed himself up on his elbows and glowered at his sergeant. "Wait just a doggone minute, Doc. I seem to remember you carrying me out of that hellhole on your back. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here right now. So you stop beating yourself up over it, you hear?"
Moffiit pondered that for a bit and then gave him a lopsided smile. "All right, Tully. Thanks."
Tully was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Did I ever tell you I'm the oldest of six?"
"I believe you have mentioned it, yes."
Tully shook his head reminiscently. "My younger brothers and sisters—they're a handful, all right. 'Bout drove me crazy before I enlisted. Seems like it took all my time tryin' to keep 'em out of trouble—and to keep Pa from finding out about it."
Moffitt smiled slightly. "I must say I had the same difficulty with my brother. A headstrong lad: my mother always said she could never anticipate what he would be up to next."
"I reckon you bailed him out of trouble a time or two."
"I did, yes. I was so much older, I felt somehow responsible for him. And I never felt he had the same closeness with our father that I enjoyed. I tried to make up for that, as much as I was able." The British sergeant's voice trailed off, as he thought about his inability to protect his young brother from the bombs the Germans had dropped from the sky.
Tully searched his friend's face for a moment and said slowly, "Seems to me I never really understood how hard it's been for you, until now. I know my folks are safe and the young 'uns are getting enough to eat, but you've had to live with knowing that your folks are dealing with danger and hardship every day. And when the worst possible news came, I didn't know what to say to you, or how to help you. All I know is I feel terrible about your losing your brother like that, Doc. I'm real sorry it happened—we all are." There was a glitter in his eyes that had nothing to do with his fever.
Moffitt drew his sleeve across his own eyes. "Thanks, Tully. I believe you do understand." He got to his feet and grasped his friend's hand briefly, concealing his dismay at how hot and dry Tully's skin was. "I'll be back later."
"Auf Wiedersehen, mein Feldwebel." Tully lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes.
As Moffitt emerged from the hospital tent, he found Troy and Hitch hovering near the entrance.
"Tully's burning up with fever," he said abruptly. He had no doubt that the private was seriously ill.
Troy looked away and sighed. "Hitch says the docs are worried about gangrene, and the sulfa they've been giving him isn't working."
Moffitt frowned and started toward the jeeps, with the others trailing behind. Then he stopped in his tracks.
"Alexander Fleming!"
Hitch and Troy looked at each other. Tully hadn't been delirious, but they were beginning to have their doubts about Moffitt.
"Okay," said Troy politely.
"Don't you see? Alexander Fleming—the chap who discovered penicillin!" Moffitt's tone was urgent. "Sulfa's not working for Tully, but penicillin might!"
"Penicillin?" Troy was mystified.
Hitch said doubtfully, "I've heard of penicillin, but I'm not sure that they're using it in our field hospitals yet. At least, the docs here didn't mention it."
"Perhaps not. The stuff is devilishly difficult to produce, I believe. But I have heard a rumor from my Arab contacts that Jerry has it."
"Where?" Troy's question cracked like a whip.
"Field hospital near Al Qaryah. But we must hurry, before the gangrene sets in." Moffitt was already climbing into the driver's seat of his jeep.
"Right," said Troy. "Lead the way."
The three Rats lay prone at the crest of a sand dune overlooking the German field hospital far below. Troy scanned the scene briefly but thoroughly, and then handed the binoculars to Moffitt.
"How are we gonna get the stuff, Sarge?" asked Hitch. "We can't go blowing up a hospital, even if it is a Jerry hospital."
"No," Troy said regretfully. "No, I guess we can't."
"Perhaps you could spread a little alarm without the despondency, Sergeant," Moffitt suggested. "Then I'll sneak into the tents. Neither of you reads German, so I'm the logical one to find the drug."
"All right," Troy said. He pointed toward the northern end of the encampment. "Hitch and I will create a diversion over there. You get the stuff, and we'll meet back at the jeeps."
Moffitt half-slid, half-ran down the slope of the dune and came to a slithering stop behind a rock outcropping near the bottom. He waited for a few moments until the familiar sound of explosions hit his ears. Peering around the edge of the rocks he could see that the effect of the smoke grenades was very convincing. During the confusion and noise he made his way to the back of the first tent. Slitting the canvas with his knife, he looked inside, but it was just a mess tent.
Moffitt crept over to the next tent and used his knife again. Yes! Medical equipment and boxes were everywhere. He slipped inside and quickly scanned the room, spotting a stack of boxes with drug names stamped on the sides. Novocain, Morphium, Adrenalin...Penicillin zur Injektion. There were only two small boxes of vials, and Moffitt grabbed one and headed back out of the rear of the tent.
He made it back to the jeeps to find Hitch and Troy already there. Hitch was grinning.
"No problems, Doc. We had 'em running around in circles. Not a shot fired, nobody got hurt, us or them."
"For once," Troy muttered. "Okay, let's shake it." The two jeeps roared off back towards Awbari.
They lost no time in delivering the precious medication to a startled nurse at the Allied field hospital, and two days later the Rats returned to the hospital. They were met at the door by Tully's nurse, who had a wide smile on her face.
Moffitt smiled too. "Looks like the penicillin was effective."
She nodded. "There's been a tremendous improvement in your friend. The doctor prepared some of the penicillin to be injected, and some of it we have been applying directly to his dressings. He's healing rapidly, and the fever is gone."
She turned and the three men followed her inside. Tully was sitting up on his cot, his injured leg stretched out with a pristine white bandage covering his thigh.
His rare grin lit up his face as he spotted his friends. "Howdy, boys. Things are lookin' up." He wiggled his toes to demonstrate the truth of his statement. "The doctors say I can bust outta here soon, Sarge."
Hitch shook his head. "Bet they can't wait to get rid of you, pal."
"Then it'll be our turn to put up with you, I guess," Troy grumbled, but he shook Tully's hand in congratulation.
Moffitt stood by quietly. He felt quite weak with relief to see the miraculous turnaround in Tully's condition, but he mustn't reveal that weakness to his friends. Stiff upper lip and all that.
As Tully's three visitors turned to go, Tully called after them.
"Hey, Doc."
Moffitt nodded to the others and went back to Tully's bedside.
"Yes, Tully?"
Tully looked at him with a solemn expression. "Thanks for saving my leg, Doc."
Moffitt smiled wryly. "You should thank Alexander Fleming."
"Who the heck is Alexander Fleming?" Tully demanded. Then he closed his eyes briefly in resignation; he knew his sergeant only too well. "Don't tell me—must be the guy who invented this penicillin stuff, right? Still, you're the guy who brought it here in the nick of time. So, thanks. And don't say it—"
"But it's true, nevertheless," Moffitt said. "Piece of cake."