Okay, a request from Tullyfan so long ago, and the fact that I owed this to everyone anyway (including myself) has prompted me to finally write this thing. So this happens to be the companion piece to Pettigrew, Tully Pettigrew, which happens to be the first story I ever posted on here anyway. I mean, wow. I've been part of this site for years now, and I guess this story will kinda celebrate that, and the characters that inspired me to join in the first place.
So, without further ado, let's see just what was going on from the POV of the coherent people (my writing style and ability has changed since the first fic all those years ago, and I can only hope it's been for the better, since that one was pretty terrible).
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing except the characters that weren't on the show.
Enjoy.
It wasn't anything new.
They'd done it hundreds of times before and succeeded without a problem. The German column hardly even counted as one, being almost the smallest that they'd ever taken out, and the Patrol caught them by surprise in the perfect ambushing area, leaving the enemy nowhere to run. It should have been a piece of cake!
Yet they weren't even a minute into the firefight before it all went to hell.
Troy's first thought as he watched Moffitt's limp form slip off the other jeep was that the man couldn't have survived. Hitch automatically changed direction anyway, heading straight for the Brit's still rolling body. Troy felt relief wash through him when the man pulled himself to his feet, staggering slightly as he curled in on his left side.
Troy focused only on his swaying comrade; hanging onto the machine-gun he'd been firing only moments before for insurance as he leaned out, stretching his hand. Hitch gunned it, fighting to beat the Germans to their exposed teammate.
The Germans themselves seemed awfully distracted, and Troy felt the wave of heat when an explosion took out one of their tanks. He didn't dare take his eyes off of his own target, knowing that Tully was drawing their fire, and also knowing that the private wouldn't be able to do it indefinitely.
"Hitch! Get closer!" Troy yelled hoarsely over the sounds of gunfire and the whipping wind, and Hitchcock dutifully pulled the jeep even closer to the Brit, almost to the point of running him over as they swept past without slowing down. Yet instead of flattening him, Troy was able to grip him by his good arm, pulling as Moffitt leapt into the empty seat next to Hitch.
Moffitt almost fell back out before managing to collapse himself safely into the seat, still curled in on his left side. Troy could see the blood seeping through the doctor's shirt and between his fingers, and he cursed softly as he lurched back up to man his gun.
"Hitch, bring us back around!"
"You got it, Sarge!" The private shouted back, pulling away from the machine-gun fire as Troy began returning it once again.
"Pettigrew!" Moffitt's voice was weak, and almost lost by the wind, but Troy managed to pick it up, and looked just in time to see the other jeep smash right into the middle of the column, taking everything up in flames with it as shrapnel flew every which way.
Their jeep skidded wildly in the sand as Hitch jerked the wheel, avoiding a flying piece of German truck. In the process, he put himself in the way of another spinning scrap of junk, and Troy watched the young American go limp as a crooked metal bar smacked him right across the head.
Troy took cover behind his gun as the bar clattered past, his already hoarse voice shouting his driver's name simultaneously.
Hitch almost fell straight out, and Troy thought that he had for a moment before realizing that Moffitt had snagged the private's collar with his bad arm, pulling him back and leaning down on him heavily as his good hand grabbed the wheel to jerk it away from the burning heap they were currently headed for.
Troy saw that there was practically nothing left of the other jeep, except for a burning frame, and he had to force his mind to ignore the ramifications of that as he crawled forward, into the front seat.
They had to get out of here. Two men injured, and a third …
No.
He refused to think about it. There was no time.
He was almost thrown from the jeep when they hit a sudden lump in the sand, but ended up slamming into and gripping the gun behind him instead, forced to cling to it once more before trying again.
This time, he made it to the front seat, and shoved his remorse aside with Hitch and Moffitt, the latter of whom managed to grip the seat of the jeep and keep its passengers from falling out.
Troy drove directly away from the entire fight, feeling that the Germans wouldn't follow, since their losses had been even greater, … though … he couldn't imagine that any loss could be as great as his felt at that moment.
He just hoped he could reach the nearest Allied base soon enough. He wouldn't lose anyone else if he could help it.
Hitch's head hurt, and he knew it was from his colossal concussion and fractured skull that he'd received 3 days ago, but it felt more like the absence of his friend and fellow private.
He didn't know if he'd ever seen the Sarge as sullen as he'd been on his few, short visits, and now he finally knew why.
Yet it was Moffitt who broke it to him.
"Tully didn't make it?!"
"We don't know that for certain." Moffitt's voice was clipped and sure from his seat by Hitch's bed. His shirt wasn't buttoned, revealing his bandaged side, and Hitch idly wondered whether or not the doc had leave to be there.
"Yeah, but the Sarge-"
"I know how Troy has been acting, Hitch, but it's possible that Tully survived." Moffitt seemed awfully confident, and privately, Hitch couldn't share the feeling, unable to erase his Sergeant's broken expression from his mind.
"Yeah, an' it's possible he didn't."
"Yes." Moffitt's attitude deflated a bit. "It is possible."
Silence hung over them for a long moment, both of them lost in thought.
"So … we're gonna look for 'im when we get out, right?" Hitch prodded, and his sergeant nodded immediately.
"Naturally."
They were able to share a small smile before the Chief Surgeon walked in and caught the Brit, haranguing and lecturing the man back to his own bed, leaving Hitch to lie and think.
If Tully wasn't dead–which Hitch refused to believe–then he was a German prisoner.
Okay.
So they'd get him out.
…
The Germans would question a member of the Rat Patrol right? They couldn't kill him with the Geneva convention, but if Tully fell into the hands of the Gestapo …
How long did a fractured skull take to recover from, anyway?
Moffitt was worried about Troy. He hadn't seen the American Sergeant in the last two weeks. Despite the fact that he and Hitch had been moved far back behind the safety of their own lines to recover, he'd expected to have been visited at least once. The man was due a furlough anyway.
Oh, he'd gotten a letter. A short piece in which Troy had explained that he was working with another small unit until his two men were able once again to come back to the front and work with him. It also explained that the request to search for Tully had been denied, the Brass telling them to face facts, as no one could survive a head-on collision and an explosion of that magnitude.
The entire letter, brief though it was, reeked of tension and anger. Troy's tight handwriting seeming even more cramped than usual, and Moffitt felt that only trouble could come from the bottled up feelings that his fellow sergeant needed to let out.
He could also feel his own anger boiling just beneath the surface, but luckily, he wasn't alone.
Hitch and he talked regularly, and although he'd kept Troy's letter from Hitch, he knew that Hitch had received his own when the American stormed into his room late one night. "They're not lettin' us find Tully."
Moffitt stayed silent, but nodded, and the private scowled.
"You already knew about this, Doc?!"
"I recently recieved a letter from Troy. I'm assuming you did as well."
"Well-" Hitch stumbled, but soon regained his composure. "Yeah. I did. An' Sarge sounds hoppin' mad."
"I agree." Moffitt stood then.
"Well, what're we gonna do about it?!"
"We need to find Troy."
"Yeah, but they're not lettin' us outta here until we're ready." Hitch's forehead might have wrinkled then, but since it pulled at his sore spot, the private winced instead.
"Well, we should be awfully close to recovered by now." Moffitt said. "I feel much better."
"I'm not the one you gotta convince!" The American huffed. "They ain't lettin' us outta here for at least another couple-a weeks!"
"Well, perhaps there's a way to speed up our recovery."
The only response he got was a look of surprise.
Troy could taste the gritty sand in the air, along with the smoke from the German column. There were no survivors, but his eyes weren't looking for men as he scanned the wreckage.
His new team was waiting for him to get back on the jeep. He could feel their gazes on him, and yet he continued to stare at the warped and twisted vehicles slowly melting in their own flames.
That's how Tully had gone out.
How could he have survived? The Brass didn't think he could have.
Troy wasn't sure what to believe. He was just angry.
"Sergeant Troy." That was Mundy's voice, and Troy didn't respond to it, not wanting to face the pity lacing the Australian's very being as he watched the American mourn his loss. "We need to leave."
Samuel Troy didn't reply, merely turning and mounting his jeep. "Let's shake it."
His three new teammates knew what that meant, and they were driving off almost immediately.
Later that night, camped out in a small wadi, they each sipped their coffee and pointedly didn't talk to each other. Troy was no fool, and his sharp eyes could see the looks that they were repeatedly giving to each other over their tin cups.
It was Fredericks who spoke up first. "Sir, we've been thinkin' …" The young American trailed off, looking at his two teammates for help.
Troy felt himself tense up. This wasn't a conversation that he wanted to have.
"It ain't roight, what them ruddy krauts did … an' we wanna 'elp ya." Barnes offered, his nervousness lining his face with shadows in the waning light. "Bu' we fink it might be best if ya took a week."
Troy could feel the blood rushing to his face, and was glad for the darkness to cover it. He let them speak.
"Yeah, …" Mundy agreed with the Londoner. "Your guys are waitin' for ya ta come back."
Moffitt. Hitch. Troy looked away from the earnest eyes of the men that he'd been working with in the last two weeks.
"An' a little 'oliday would do wonders for me complexion." Barnes added. Troy felt his face relax a little, thinking that Tully would have said something similar.
"We understand that- … well, ya wanna give the krauts a little of what they gave you …" Fredericks' voice was tentative, and his eyes were having trouble staying in one place. "But I don't think wearing yourself out is gonna help … uh …"
"No. It won't bring him back." Troy helped the floundering man with a sigh, and he saw all of them widen their eyes at his uncharacteristic participation and revealing admission.
"No." Mundy nodded, regaining his composure first. "It's okay ta mourn 'im, Troy."
"But no' like this, Sarge." Barnes said. "Go back to your guys an' give 'im a proper mourning."
"If ya keep goin' on loike this, there won't be anymore krauts ta shoot at." Mundy gave a small smile, and Troy sighed.
He'd been on a rampage for close to three weeks now, angry at the Germans. Angry at himself. Angry at the war. Perhaps they were right … perhaps it was time to let go.
"Okay, we'll head back in tomorrow morning." He said finally, and felt his lips twitching towards a smile at their identical looks of surprise and pleasure.
"You won' regret it, Gov!" Barnes grinned.
Troy already regretted a lot, and he couldn't fall asleep that night thinking about it. The burning jeep had etched itself into his eyelids, and it was all that he could see when he closed his eyes to dream.
Anger had burned in his veins since the whole fiasco, and he'd been inconsolable ever since.
But perhaps his makeshift team was right.
He'd talk to Moffitt about it, and about which one of these three men would make a good addition to the Rat Patrol.
It was war, after all. Time to move on.
Yet he kept burning. His veins were still on fire.
Dietrich couldn't believe his eyes.
He'd heard that the Rat Patrol had suffered a loss, and he'd felt for them, having suffered quite a few himself (at their hands, mainly).
Yet he knew how difficult it was for a commander to lose one of your men.
It was as though someone had put your heart on a stake. It never ceased to hurt, and thinking of the emotional American sergeant, he knew that the pain would likely be worse.
The Rat Patrol had always been tightly knit. Losing one of their members would have been a terrible blow.
They never left a man behind, and they would surely be looking for the private if they believed him alive.
Hence the reason Dietrich couldn't believe his eyes.
Before him was a cell, and in the cell, the private. Pettigrew was slumped against a wall, and Major Strauss's voice practically purred into his ear. "His unit believes him dead. This is our chance to learn all that he knows!"
Dietrich couldn't really find the right words to inquire or speak, and so it took a moment before he asked. "Why have you called me here, Major?"
"He won't talk to us." The short man at his side wrinkled his small nose, looking in that moment more swine than anything else. "We have tried everything! He won't respond!"
Hauptmann Hans Dietrich could see the spittle flying from the man's lips, and knew that he probably wouldn't be very reasonable, but that didn't stop him from trying. "Major, this man is a private. What information could he possibly have that is worth breaking our agreement to take him directly to a Prisoner of War camp?"
"He is a member of the Rat Patrol!" Strauss snarled. "When he talks, we will know all of their plans!"
The silence reigned for another moment before Dietrich dared speak. "Has it not been two weeks? Surely any plans that he is aware of have already been carried out-" He stopped when he saw the man's progressively reddening face, changing tack seamlessly. "I assume that you brought me here because of my knowledge of the Rat Patrol and their work."
"Ja." The man calmed considerably, and Dietrich looked inside the cell once more, staring at the normally quite strong figure of the American, now leaning on the wall as though dead.
"May I attempt to speak with him?" He didn't look at the major's face as he said it, and so only heard the excitement in the man's voice as he fumbled with the keys to open the door.
"Bitte! Bitte! Try to get him to speak to you!"
"I will do my best." Dietrich entered, then turned to prevent the man from following him. "But it would be best if I did it alone. He will be more likely to respond."
Anger flashed once again in the major's eyes, but then he nodded. "Ja. Of course. Do what you must."
Dietrich began by closing the door.
Now that he was alone with the American, Dietrich closed the distance between them carefully, calling softly as he walked, "Private Pettigrew." He neared the man, and found to his horror, that his dark eyes were wide open staring straight through the Hauptmann.
It was as though he were blind. There was no reaction from him, even when Dietrich called his name a few more times, and then even went so far as to reach out and grip his shoulder.
The Hauptmann was hard pressed not to recoil at the bones that seemed to be attempting to escape their thin prison of skin. When was the last time that the American had been fed?
Now that he was close, Dietrich could see that the private's body was littered with scars, all with signs of neat and precise stitching. The same hand had done all of that work …
He fought back the sudden desire to vomit, and he pulled away from the unresponsive body.
Truly it was a fate worse than death.
This … Dietrich could not allow this to go on.
This had to end.
Hitch could hardly believe what they were doing. It was one thing to sneak out of an enemy's base, on the run from those who only wished to do you harm. But to sneak out of your own medical base?
From those who's job it was to aid you?
Moffitt had explained that their time left had only amounted to little more than a week as it was, and that Troy was likely to do something foolish if they didn't go and help him.
Moffitt was good at explaining things.
Hitch hardly needed any convincing, on the other hand, already itching to do something to find his friend. The medical truck that they'd taken had been in the shop, but Hitch's head wasn't so bad that he didn't know how to fix it to get them to their main base.
They were both in uniform, but Moffitt still tended to favor his left side, while Hitch's headaches were rather constant.
They pressed on through it, both knowing that they had to be in "perfect health", or look it, at the very least if they wanted no suspicion.
Especially from Troy.
That was, if their fearless leader was even at the base. Based on his one letter, he was probably still going to be out.
They'd left before the sun had even come up, Moffitt quickly explaining to the soldiers stopping them just how important it was that they left now, never giving his injury away, while Hitch just worked on looking professional and serious from behind the wheel.
"Are you certain that you feel up to driving the whole way?" Moffitt had already asked twice, and Hitch stifled a groan to hear the question again.
"I'm fine, Sarge."
As he had hoped, Moffitt backed off at the nickname with a scowl. "If you're sure."
Truth be told, Hitch's head was pounding, and the jostling of the truck was really making it worse, but damned if that'd stop him from getting them to the base.
He was glad to let the doc do all the talking when they reached the base, quickly explaining to the guards that they'd been let off of medical leave, and had orders to await their leader here before their next mission.
They were both quickly able to retire to their tent before anyone else saw them, and Hitch gladly went to sleep, hoping to rid himself of his headache before beginning the search for Tully.
Moffitt awoke to dull, thudding pain in his side, and remembered that he was on his own cot once more, no longer in a comfortable bed. Well … more comfortable cot.
He sat up, observing the light that filtered through from outside, and got to his feet slowly. The sergeant knew that cutting his medical leave short in that way would cost him physically, but he also knew that Troy was going to explode, and that if he wasn't there to help, they could lose the last member of their team.
Troy tended to boil over when the Brass became difficult in this way.
Moffitt pulled on his clothing, careful of his side. It had been more than two weeks already, and yet he knew that if he tore his injury now, it would only put him right back where he'd begun.
He stepped out, ready to go find Hitch, only to come face to face with the wide-eyed American private. "He's here!"
Moffitt only had a moment to panic before the American pointed at the tent behind him, "He just got here, an' he's got a meeting with the Colonel. He's gonna be here right after, probably."
"Let's move, then." Moffitt agreed, and as one, they left the area.
Hitch was squinting into the light a lot, and Moffitt wondered not for the first time if he should have involved the private. Then again, Hitch would have tracked him down and given him an earful if he'd left without him.
They soon found themselves at the motor pool, and Hitch was running his hands over what was obviously their only surviving jeep after the whole fiasco. It was side by side with a completely new one, but the private ignored it as his hands found all of the old dents and nicks in the vehicle that had saved their lives.
"Are we gonna wait for 'im here?" The American abruptly stood, and Moffitt nodded.
"You know he always comes here after a meeting. It's habit."
Hitch nodded, and they both wordlessly sat down in the only other survivor of the disaster from two weeks prior.
Moffitt refused to believe that Tully was dead.
They would find him.
Dietrich's knuckles were white, and he found that he was shaking slightly, but he wasn't certain if it was from fear or anger. He suspected that it was a mixture of both.
He drew ever nearer to enemy lines, and his eyes flicked once again to the seat next to him, empty but for the white flag that lay on it.
He continued to the wadi where he had known the Rat Patrol to regroup several times when they couldn't quite make it back to their lines. The Hauptmann ignored the voice in his head that told him he was doing wrong, instead focusing completely on his memory of the emaciated American private.
He was doing the right thing.
The right thing was never easy, though.
Dietrich pulled to a stop in the wadi, then stepped out of his car to set up his radio.
He was doing the right thing.
He knew it.
Troy had thought that the colonel would never stop talking. The man's sympathy was never ending, and his makeshift team wasn't helping, all bubbling over in anticipation for their furlough, but trying not to offend him with it.
"We're gonna go grab a bite ta eat. Wanna come?"
"You fellas go on ahead. I'll catch up." Troy kept his smile going until they'd left, then sighed as he let his face rest.
Everything felt hollow, and he headed over to his quarters to drop off his stuff, hoping that seeing Moffitt and Hitch would help.
He stopped short when he saw his quarters, though. Moffitt's bed had clearly been slept in, and there was an empty bottle of pills on the floor next to it.
Troy felt as though his legs couldn't move fast enough as he ran towards the motor pool, dreading what he would find.
Sure enough, there they were.
He stayed back, though he wanted nothing more to greet them and find out what was going on, he could see them receiving a transmission on the jeep's radio.
Moffitt was leaning heavily on the jeep, his left arm curled in.
Hitch's eyes were closed as he listened, and his bandage could be seen peeking out from under his red kepi.
They HAD finished their medical leave, hadn't they?
"What?" Moffitt suddenly snapped into the radio, "Where?" Hitch's eyes had snapped open, just in time to meet Troy's.
They widened more.
Moffitt nodded curtly, speaking with a voice that shook with anger. "We'll be there within the hour. Rat Patrol, out." He turned to Hitch then, beginning to speak before catching sight of Hitch's expression.
The Brit didn't even lose a beat, turning and speaking to Troy instead. "Troy, I'm glad you're here. We just got news-"
"What are you two doing here?" Troy kept his voice calm, but he could feel his anger boiling over.
"Tully's alive!" Hitch said, pointing at the radio.
"Dietrich just radioed us with our old code and channel." Moffitt nodded, leaving Troy dumbstruck. "He wants to meet with us under truce. He knows where they've got Tully."
It seemed as though Troy would have to interrogate his men later, because the hole in his chest was pulling at him uncomfortably, and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to fill it.
"Then let's shake it."
They both grinned in response.
Dietrich was hot and tired, but he was still in a cold sweat. It had been a little over half an hour since he'd called the patrol. He'd never been so happy to hear Moffitt's voice before.
The sun had passed its peak, and it truly was the heat of the day. The small wadi didn't really offer any shade at this point in time, so Dietrich was forced to drink lots of water and wait.
He adjusted his white flag, knowing that it could mean the difference between life and death now.
He knew that it didn't take as long as it felt, but that didn't stop the rush of relief at seeing the two jeeps come over the small dune at the entrance to the wadi, coming to park beside his own vehicle.
Troy was driving one alone, while Hitchcock and Moffitt remained in the other. The American sergeant jumped out almost before parking his jeep, his feet bringing him quickly to the Hauptmann as his voice drilled out into the heat, "Where is he?"
"I am here to tell you that, sergeant. But as I have no wish to repeat myself, I suggest we wait for your men."
Troy's eyes were made of fire, and yet he held back and waited for his two men to dismount their jeep.
Dietrich could see that neither of them were at their best, as Hitchcock wobbled a little, his eyes squinting in the brightness of the sun while Moffitt favored his left side.
"I have called you here because I know where your man is being kept." Dietrich said it all quickly, not wanting to take more time than was necessary. "I have a map here that will lead you to him."
"And how do we know it's not a trap?" It was Troy who spoke, ever suspicious.
"I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman." Dietrich replied coolly, unwilling to be baited by the American.
"An' why are you helpin' us again?" Hitch raised an eyebrow.
"Because while I may be German, I am also human, and your man needs your help. What is happening to him needs to be stopped. The major will not listen to me."
"What are they doing to him?!" If Troy's eyes were made of fire, than Moffitt's were made of ice, and the British doctor was spearing him with his gaze now.
"They are attempting to glean information from him through interrogation." Dietrich felt his stomach churn as he remembered the condition of the man. "I will not be part of it."
He handed Troy the map.
"Do what you must. I will not stop you." He got in his vehicle. "Good luck, sergeant."
He then left the fire and ice behind, knowing that Strauss's madness would soon come to an end.
Hitch couldn't remember the last time he was driving as fast as he was now. The rolling dunes beneath him were attacking his head relentlessly, yet he refused to stop now, following his sergeant who was somehow driving ahead of he and Moffitt.
"I think I see a base up ahead." Moffitt pointed, and Hitch could see it as well when he squinted. The sun was setting, casting shadows on everything, and they'd turned their radios off to avoid the backlash from going AWOL.
So they were on their own.
Troy didn't even hesitate, as Dietrich's map said that he'd pulled more than half of the men from the compound early, leaving it not very well defended, with only a few Gestapo to take care of.
The front gate hadn't stood a chance against Troy's fury, and in one big blaze, they were all in. The Germans were shouting from all sides, and Moffitt didn't leave them time to do anything about it as he gunned them down from behind.
Troy parked ahead of them, and Moffitt covered him as the sergeant got behind his own gun.
It was a massacre.
The sound eventually died down, and they were left with a deafening silence, and Hitch put his gun down slowly.
"Let's find Tully and get outta here!" Troy called from his position behind his gun, hopping off the jeep to run to the doors of the compound.
Hitch followed, and heard Moffitt behind him as they entered the hall. "Troy, I'm going to go find Strauss."
"Moffitt-" The sergeant turned, but stopped at the look Moffitt must have given him. "We'll meet you out there."
Now it was only Hitch and Troy running down the hall, following Dietrich's map. Hitch still had trouble believing that Dietrich would help them like this, but that thought died when Troy got to the cell door and opened it, revealing their friend to them.
"Tully!" Hitch ran forward, the pounding in his head becoming nothing more than background noise as he knelt beside the skeleton that had once been his friend. "Tully, c'mon, you gotta get up!" He shook his friend's shoulder, then tried to pull him to his feet, but got no response. "We're bustin' you outta here!"
The southerner remained silent, and Troy came up now, pulling at his arm in an attempt to get him to his feet. There were bandages all over him, and his eyes were open, but he still didn't respond to any poking or prodding.
Nothing worked. It was as though Tully couldn't even see them.
"Strauss is dead." Moffitt entered from behind them. "But he sent out a distress signal before I got to him. We need to leave."
"But Tully …" Hitch had stopped shaking his friend, now merely holding him.
Moffitt said nothing, but scooped his driver up, shocking both of his friends out of their reverie. "Let's go. We've no time to lose."
They all followed the Brit to the door, and were surprised when Tully began to feebly attempt to slip from Moffitt's arms, forcing the doctor to adjust his grip.
They quickly made it to the jeeps, and Moffitt set Tully down in the new one. "Hitch, go get the other jeep and follow us!" Troy called as Moffitt got in to drive.
Hitch watched as his sergeant got in behind Tully, holding him firmly in his seat, even as his fellow private struggled to leap out. Moffitt kept going, his eyes ahead, and Hitch's eyes widened as Troy finally just smashed his fist into Pettigrew's shoulder, putting him out like a light.
Hitch's headache came back with a vengeance then, and he just focused on driving, cursing the war under his breath.
Moffitt was no assassin. He didn't kill people because that's what he wanted. He was in a war, and he did what was necessary to win.
But killing Strauss?
He'd done that because he'd wanted to. Dietrich had clearly hated the man, and meeting him, Moffitt understood why.
Unanimously, they hadn't taken Tully back to base. He was in terrible shape, and Moffitt didn't like the look of the large bandage on his right hand. He was psychologically unwell, and Moffitt feared that taking him back, they'd only lose him again.
Troy felt that they would see what they could do for Tully first, and then they would take him back. Neither Moffitt nor Hitch disagreed.
They set up the tent, but left it to Tully, putting him in the middle and giving him the majority of the blankets along with the most comfortable cot.
Moffitt was disturbed by how thin he was, and how easily he was able to lift him. He was glad though, that Tully's condition detracted from the fact that he and Hitch weren't exactly at their best.
Troy was already on edge as it was, not that Moffitt and Hitch were much better off.
And Tully himself- … Well … he wasn't really responding to anything that was going on. He was awake, if it could be called that, but didn't seem to understand them when they spoke. He couldn't see them, either, or at least wasn't responding to any visual cues.
He was also covered in scars, some fresh and some older.
If Moffitt could have, he would have killed Strauss again.
Troy didn't sleep. He kept watch all night, even though he could have awoken the others. He suspected that they were still weaker than they were choosing to tell him, however, and a little more sleep definitely wouldn't hurt.
As soon as the sun began to shine on their wadi, he got a small breakfast ready, knowing that the smell would be a better wake up call than his voice, even if it was just old coffee.
Moffitt was up first, with Hitch following soon after, and they ate in relative silence until the youngest patrol member stood, "I'm gonna take some coffee in to Tully."
"You might have to help him drink it." Troy stood right after the private, who nodded sullenly.
"I know."
Troy let Hitch go in, not wanting to crowd the private when he obviously wanted some time alone with his best friend. He also knew that Tully wasn't likely to respond, and hoped that Hitch wouldn't take it too hard.
The American sergeant himself felt as though all the anger of the past month was beginning to boil beneath his skin. He didn't want to explode, but felt that he would soon do so if he didn't do something about it.
Hitch came out again with the tin cup still in hand, held upwards, a sure signal that it was still full of coffee. Troy didn't get a chance to take a good look at his face, however, since he quickly dumped the cup and headed off to the jeeps, mumbling something about tuning them up.
"I ought to check his wounds." Moffitt said, having watched the whole thing from his seat on the ground. He stood up. "He doesn't appear to have anything life-threatening. I'd like to keep it that way."
Troy felt as though he were in the middle of a storm, and yet he felt anything but calm.
"Good idea." Was all he could say as Moffitt entered the tent.
What had the Germans done?
He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, contemplating the war and all that they had lost, and all that they could still potentially lose. Yet it was Moffitt's voice that came clearly from the tent, finally breaking him out of the reverie.
"Troy." There was an urgent undertone that had Troy moving even before the doctor had finished. "You need to see this."
"What is it?" He stepped into the tent, feeling tension tightening every muscle of his body as he saw Moffitt kneeling next to the cot with Tully in it. Troy inhaled sharply when he saw the doctor holding the private's unwrapped right hand.
In the center of the palm there was a swastika, branded in viciously and obviously quite fresh.
"Troy-"
For a moment, all Troy could see was red, and then he stalked out of the tent. It was as though he were a bowstring that had been pulled all the way back, completely taught, but didn't know where to aim his frustration. He ignored Moffitt's attempts at gaining his attention, not stopping despite his lack of direction.
His feet ended up taking him towards the jeeps, and he could see Hitch tinkering around in the hood of one as he neared. "Sarge?" The private spotted him, but he couldn't find the words to answer, merely reaching mechanically for the wheel of the other jeep.
His hands were shaking with anger.
"Sarge?" Hitch neared him then, and Troy knew what he wanted to do. He knew it with a certainty that had his hands gripping the wheel until they turned white, and his foot reaching for the pedals. He wanted to drive out and find the nearest German envoy and destroy them as ruthlessly as possible.
"Troy! Troy, stop!" Moffitt ran up then, panting with the exertion, and Troy felt guilt bubble up inside of him. The Brit wasn't well enough to be running around like that.
"Why should I?" He ground the words out, glaring straight at the other sergeant while studiously refusing to let Hitch catch his gaze.
"Troy, I understand why you're angry, but we can't-" He paused to catch his breath before continuing, "We can't just leave Tully. He needs us more now than ever." The Brit had a hand on his side, and Hitch spoke up then.
"What happened?"
"The Germans branded him like an animal after torturing him pointlessly for over two weeks!" Troy snarled. "And I was just out here doing nothing the entire time!"
He didn't like the look that Moffitt and Hitch shared with each other, and it was the private who spoke first. "We all knew that he was most likely dead, Sarge. If Dietrich hadn't tipped us off, he'd still be out there."
"Not to mention the fact that we weren't exactly at our best two weeks ago." Moffitt added wryly.
"And you're still not!" Troy responded caustically, trying to ignore Hitch's flinch as he stared Moffitt down. "I shouldn't even have let you both out here!"
"Tully's our friend too." Hitch's voice had taken on a dangerous tone that he hardly used when speaking to his superiors. "An' we were willing to risk it because Tully is worth it."
"He's right, Troy. That was our choice, not yours." Moffitt sighed, his eyes flickering away for a moment before he met Troy's gaze again. "I can't help but feel that if I hadn't fallen off the jeep at that moment, none of us would be in this situation. But blaming ourselves isn't going to help anyone."
"Especially not Tully." Hitch walked back over to the other jeep, putting the hood back down before facing his sergeants once more. "I'm gonna go see 'im." He walked back toward the tent then, leaving Troy and Moffitt alone.
"Troy, Hitch is right. Tully should be our focus right now." The doctor's voice was soft, and his accent rounded out the tones in a way that calmed Troy considerably.
"You're right." The American said it sourly, and Moffitt nodded, a small smile quirking his lips.
"Are we heading in then, old man?"
Troy just shook his head, allowing his lips to twitch towards a smile of his own. He dismounted the jeep and started for the tent, determined to reign in his emotions this time.
They both made short work of crossing the sand, and when they entered the tent they found Hitch sitting where Moffitt had been before. He was cradling Tully's branded hand, his eyes shining behind his glasses suspiciously.
"He won't wake up." Hitch muttered it, and Troy spoke in a carefully controlled tone.
"The last few times he's woken up, it's been because they were waking him up. I doubt they did it nicely."
"Well, we certainly aren't going to do it that way." Moffitt gave Troy a reproving look before stepping over to the other side of the cot. He put his hand on Tully's shoulder and shook it gently. "Tully. Tully, wake up."
"Already tried that, doc-" Hitch cut himself off as Tully's eyes flickered open blearily. They didn't seem to be able to take in anything around them, constantly out of focus.
"Tully?" Both Moffitt and Hitch backed away from the cot as Troy neared it, his voice cracking with emotion. "Tully? Can you hear me?"
The eyes seemed to see straight through him, and in Troy's peripheral vision, he could see Moffitt and Hitch leaving him alone with the driver. "Tully!" He tried raising his voice a little, but the southerner didn't seem to notice.
"Tully. Please listen to me. Don't you remember anything that happened? Anything at all?" The sergeant felt desperation bubbling up inside of him as the private continued to be unresponsive. "Can- … can you hear us anymore?"
There was still no verbal response, merely a widening of the eyes. Almost as though he understood …
"Tully …" He rested his hand on the private's shoulder, only for the man to abruptly scramble backwards, shutting his eyes tightly as his hands flew out. Troy was shoved back, stumbling slightly from surprise and the force of the blow.
So. Touch wasn't helping.
It seemed as though Tully was gone.
Hitch was outside at the jeeps again when Troy walked back out of the tent. Moffitt had tapped his shoulder to get Hitch to leave the Sarge alone with Tully, and once they'd gotten outside, they'd agreed that emotionally speaking, Troy was getting close to his breaking point.
Hitch felt as though he'd broken long before, and now seeing the dejected slump of his sergeant's shoulders, he knew that Troy hadn't had any more luck than he had.
Moffitt intercepted the man before he could attempt to kill all of the Germans again, and Hitch shook his head, ignoring the prickling in his eyes. He'd been horrified by the brand, but felt as though he had no more room for anger.
He was sure that it would come later, and that he was just in shock right at that moment, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His best friend might as well have been dead, for all the difference that it would make.
It certainly would have been more merciful if the Nazi's had just killed him.
"Oh, Tully …" He closed the hood of the jeep, leaning his hip against it in a way that the hot vehicle wouldn't burn him. "Why?"
His head was beginning to ache from the heat, and so he headed back toward his two quietly conversing sergeants.
"Hitch, go see if you can talk to Tully." Moffitt said it loudly, and his voice carried easily across the short distance between them. Troy didn't say anything, and he wouldn't meet Hitch's gaze.
"Sure." Hitch nodded as he headed for the tent. He got the distinct feeling that whatever Moffitt's desperate tone was asking, it was up to him to make it happen.
Tully hadn't moved from his spot, and Hitch could see that his eyes were still slit open, dull and unmoving. For a long moment, all Hitchcock could do was stare at his friend. His eyes traced the emaciated form, falling once again on the branded hand.
It was red and irritated, meaning that it was still pretty fresh, and Hitch wondered if they could have stopped it if they'd left the camp earlier.
Hitch knew how to shoot a gun. He knew how to take out an enemy that was firing at him … but this sort of enemy was something completely different.
He felt useless.
"Hey, Tully." He said at last, remaining where he was on his feet, at the entrance to the tent. "You sure gave us a scare, ya'know?"
The other private didn't look at him, or give any sign that he'd heard.
"Actually, you're still scarin' us." Hitch felt his voice crack a little, and stopped speaking to get it under control. "Can't you see us? Can't you … at least hear us? Did they do somethin' to your ears, too?" Hitch found that he had begun to pace at the foot of the cot, turning his head ever so slightly to look at his friend.
"Don't you recognize me?!" He threw his arms out, raising his voice a little, and he saw Tully flinch almost imperceptibly. Hitch stopped walking immediately.
Had he scared him?
"Tully." His voice was choked, and he leaned forward earnestly, searching his fellow private's eyes for any flicker of recognition. Any response. "Remember me? You've been gone for less than a month! You gotta remember me! It's me, buddy! Hit-"
He cut himself off as he heard the flap of the tent be pulled back, and he watched as Moffitt stepped in. He turned to the sergeant, reaching out to touch his friend's shoulder as he spoke. "He moved, doc! He moved!"
"Hitch, don't-" Moffitt started forward, but not before Hitch's hand contacted Tully's shoulder. The private was surprised by the violent reaction from his friend, who curled up and away from him. "Touch him."
"I- I didn't …"
"You didn't mean to." Moffitt's voice was smooth, and Hitch felt the tears that had stung his eyes coming back with a vengeance. "Troy did the same thing, Hitch. It's not your fault."
"No? Then why do I feel like it is?" Hitch angled his face away from his superior, not wanting Moffitt to see the tears as he felt one slip out.
"Hitch …"
"You talk to 'im, Sarge. I- … I know he's still in there." Hitch stood then, walking swiftly away. He couldn't stay there a moment longer. He left without another word.
Moffitt sighed as he watched the young American retreat. The condition of his driver alarmed him, and understandably so, but it was the emotional upheaval from his two teammates that tore at his heart the most.
Troy and Hitch had always been the more volatile half of the team, and the Brit was certain that Tully could have helped calm things, had he been in the position to do so.
"Well, Pettigrew." Moffitt took a seat next to the bed, looking at the forlorn expression on the southerner's face with another sigh. "You've really left quite a hole, as you can see. I don't know how we ever got along without you."
He watched as the dull eyes turned more towards him, and smiled briefly.
"I can't think of the last time I've seen Troy so angry. And I'm certain that although Hitchcock is fully capable of fixing the jeeps on his own, he'd rather you were there to help him."
Tully's eyes seemed to be staring at him, but Moffitt could see that they were still glazed, and hoped that perhaps he could hear something of what he was saying, nonsense though it was.
"I would certainly rather you were my driver."
It was an emotional admission for the doctor to give, and he felt his chest constrict over his heart as he said it. Then he could see that the private was looking him right in the eyes.
Moffitt blinked, thinking that perhaps he was imagining things, only to find that normally warm gaze still steadily meeting his own.
"Tully?"
The private's eyes flickered easily to his mouth, observing it as Moffitt spoke, and for one horrifying moment, the doctor wondered if Tully weren't deaf.
"Can you hear me?"
"I swear, Sarge! I saw 'im move!" Hitch was trailing right behind Troy as the American sergeant stormed in, his voice earnest and his face emotional.
"Is he responding, Moffitt?" His gaze was very intense, and the Brit had no time to answer as Hitch asked,
"Do you think he's finally comin' round, Sarge?"
"I don't know, Hitch." Troy's eyes had met Tully's now, look for look, widening slightly as he saw the improvement from before.
"He's looking at us now, Troy." Moffitt ventured.
"I can see that, Moffitt." Troy's voice sounded husky, as though he had every intention of being gruff as he spoke, but pure emotion had melted his normal growl.
There was a long moment where they all only managed to stare at private Pettigrew, and then he suddenly moved.
It wasn't a twitch, or a word, and that was why no one stopped him when he sprang off of his cot, pushing past them to run out of the tent.
"Tully!" Hitch was the first one to react, following quickly as Troy and Moffitt scrambled behind them. Moffitt could see that Pettigrew was heading directly for the jeeps, and he worried the southerner was indeed deaf.
Whatever was going on, nothing hindered their best driver from taking the newer jeep and heading off into the dunes with it.
"Tully! Tully, come back!" Hitch was calling as he ran, and Moffitt focused on breathing, knowing that whether or not Pettigrew could hear them, he wouldn't come back.
"Hitch, you drive!" Troy's gruff tone was back, and the private immediately headed for the other side of the remaining jeep.
No more words were exchanged as they all piled on, and Hitch took off.
Tully had gotten a fair head-start, but Moffitt could see the determination on Hitch's face as he pushed the pedal to the metal, soon gaining on their obviously unwell comrade.
Just as they were to the point where perhaps yelling would be heard between them, the southerner took a tight turn, heading back towards the camp instead of up the dune. Hitch followed, and Moffitt clung tightly to the frame of the jeep, feeling vertigo wash over him as their momentum almost rolled them.
Hitch had been forced to slow down considerably by the time they were behind Tully again, and it was with admiration and exasperation that Moffitt watched while Tully spun around once more, passing them easily as Hitch struggled to follow.
The Brit couldn't have been sure, but he thought he saw a small smile on Hitchcock's face as he clearly muttered the words, "Crazy bastard."
They were on Pettigrew's trail once again, and relief spread through Moffitt's gut when Tully stopped his jeep at the top of the dune instead of continuing on. They could see him get out and collapse at the top of the hill, and it was Troy who spoke fervently.
"Hitch, don't take us all the way up. We don't want to scare him away again."
"Right, Sarge."
They were almost up the hill when Hitch turned them sideways, muttering something about sand in the gears while Troy leapt out of the jeep, rushing towards Pettigrew.
Moffitt followed, ignoring the jolt of pain in his side when he hit the sand running.
Troy got there ahead of him, and reached for the kneeling private with both arms, "Tully!"
Tully immediately flinched back, and so did Troy, just as Moffitt called. "Pettigrew!"
The private very suddenly collapsed into Troy's arms, and in any other circumstances, Moffitt would have laughed at the expression on his fellow sergeant's face.
In this situation, it didn't seem as appropriate.
Tully was sobbing into Troy's shoulder, and the older American was merely holding him, speaking lowly and smoothly. "Whoa, whoa. It- It'll be all right, Tully. Tell me about it. Let it all out."
"Pettigrew-!" The southerner choked it out, and Moffitt beamed to hear his voice, no matter how hoarse it was. "Private Tully Pettigrew! That's my name!"
"It sure is." Troy was smiling as well, and Moffitt heard heavy breathing behind him as Hitch came up the hill from where he'd left the jeep. At some point in the chase, the young American had begun chewing gum, and now he was blowing a bubble.
Moffitt knew that that was a good sign, along with Tully's sobs and muttering.
"Thank you. Thank you …"
"Anytime." Troy seemed to understand that the crying was normal after an experience like the one that Tully had recently had, and Moffitt chuckled as he pulled a matchstick out of his breast pocket, proffering it to the private.
"Piece of cake!"
Pettigrew bit down on it, his eyes shining as his lips twisted upwards. "Liar." He whispered.
"Who was there, Tully? You or us?"
Moffitt wasn't sure how Hitch had known exactly what to say, but he was glad to see Tully laugh again.
It was going to be okay.
Perhaps it wouldn't be quite like it had been before …
Yet Moffitt knew that it was going to be okay.
This is so looooong … I'm so sorry you all had to go through that.
I can only hope the story content made up for the length. :) Read and review, tell me what you think!