Jade Rade

by Joram

Dietrich is in prison and the Rat Patrol are mounting a rescue!

The Jade Raid

"Okay, Hitch, start talking," Troy demanded as the young private rejoined them in their hiding place just inside the town that the Germans were currently using as their forward base. "Just who the hell is Jade?" Troy trusted Hitchcock, no question about that, but he hated not being in control of a mission, not knowing what was going on and at the moment Hitch was the only one who did know. All the other three members of the Rat Patrol knew was what Wilson had told them back at base. And that was precious little..."

"Come in, gentlemen." Wilson absently waved the four soldiers towards the camp chairs set up on the other side of his desk. "I have a mission for you." The colonel paused, shuffling papers needlessly on his desk, not looking at them.

"Yes, sir," Troy prompted, sharing a glance with his fellow sergeant. Jack Moffitt obviously shared his own unease. Both of them could spot prevarication a mile off and prevarication was not normally a trait that Wilson displayed, far from it. "One of our agents is in trouble. Cover probably blown though that's not totally certain at the moment. We are sure, however, that our agent hasn't talked yet..."

"How?" It was Moffitt who interrupted. "If you're not even sure his cover is gone...?"

"Trust me, sergeant, if our agent had talked, the whole of North Africa would know by now. It's one of our best agent we're talking about here. That's why you've got to get there before the SS do." Troy frowned. He didn't like the sound of this one little bit. Wilson was holding back on them.

"Where is he being held?"

"El Jabal." There was a second of stunned silence.

"That's the German front-line base!"

"Yes, Troy, it is. We've got a man inside. He works in tandem with our agent and got a message out to us as soon as our agent was picked up."

"Who picked him up?" Moffitt asked.

"Oberst Manfreeling of the Gestapo."

Moffitt caught his breath. "I thought he was attached to Captain Dietrich's unit?" he asked carefully.

"He is." Wilson was still giving nothing away, for some reason making the two sergeants work for the information.

"Don't tell me our agent is one of Dietrich's men?!" Troy exclaimed, half-amused by the thought of the captain's reaction to that revelation.

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Troy echoed. "Colonel, just who the hell is this agent?" he growled, his patience with Wilson's evasions rapidly running out.

Wilson took a long breath. "The agent's codename is Jade," he said with the air of someone dropping a bombshell. Nor was he disappointed.

"Shit!"

Troy, startled by the low voiced curse, swung round to stare in astonishment at Hitchcock. Sure, Jade was important, they all knew that. After all, he - she? - no-one except high command knew the identity of the agent though most people assumed from the codename that Jade was female - was one of the Allies best sources of information in North Africa but Hitch's reaction seemed a tad extreme.

"Hitch?" Troy queried but the young blond ignored him, directing his own question straight at Wilson.

"How did it happen?" he asked tensely.

"We don't really know. Frankly, we don't really know much at all. What we do know is that the Gestapo picked Jade up because some very influential toes were stepped on and some general started screaming blue murder. We're fairly certain that they don't know who they've really got but we can't risk them finding out. Any more you can find out from Zaid." This last was directed at Troy. "He works in a bar called Die Goldmadchen - the Golden Girl," he added, remembering that Troy neither spoke nor read German. "He's expecting you so just get into the bar, order a drink and Zaid will do the rest. He's got contacts inside the base and he'll give you all the help he can without blowing his own cover."

"Okay," Troy agreed reluctantly. He still didn't like it but they didn't really have a choice. Jade was too valuable an agent just to throw away. "So, who is Jade?"

The colonel scowled. "I don't know."

"What?" Moffitt exclaimed sharply. "Then how are we...?"

Wilson stopped him with an upraised hand. "It seems that Jade's position is too precarious for just anyone to be given his - her? - identity. Including me. The orders to send you on the mission came down from on high. I was told that one of you can identify Jade," he ended tartly.

Troy, Tully and Moffitt looked at each other and then turned as one to look at Hitch. If Jade were a woman, it figured that Hitch would be the one to know her. The kid drew women like flies.

"Hitch?" Troy prompted as the younger man sat, eyes fixed on the red cap he was twisting in his hands, seemingly miles away.

Hitchcock took a shaky breath and looked up to meet Troy's eyes. "Yeah, I know Jade, Sarge but, with respect colonel, I'd rather not tell you who it is until we reach El Jabal. It'll be safer for all of us that way. Especially Jade."

So there they were, lurking inside the walls of El Jabal waiting, as Moffitt had so quaintly put it, for Hitchcock to drop the other shoe. They'd reached the town just before the evening curfew and had had no trouble bluffing themselves through the gateway checkpoint - they were getting very good at masquerading as German soldiers these days. Hitchcock, armed only with the smattering of German that Moffitt had managed to teach him and his Aryan good looks, had slipped away to meet their contact, insisting on going alone despite Troy's vehement protests. It was an argument they had all known Troy would lose. Hitch had refused to say anything about Jade, not even how they had come to know each other but it was obvious that he cared a very great deal about the agent. None of them could ever remember seeing him quite so intense, so entirely focused on a mission before, not even when one of them had been injured or a prisoner of Dietrich. It was almost scary, seeing a side of the normally cheerful youngster none of them had ever been privy to before. Jade must be one hell of a woman to cause such a reaction!

Now, however, Hitch was back with them safe and sound and it was more than past time for him to start taking control again, Troy thought sourly.

"Well, Hitch?" he prompted yet again. It seemed like that was the only thing he had said so far on this mission. "What's going on?"

"It's not as bad as it might be, Sarge. According to Zaid, Jade is being held in a cell in one of the HQ buildings rather than in the prison. Intelligence was right about Jade stepping on important toes. The Gestapo have been giving him a rough time but they don't really suspect him of anything much except," Hitch grinned, "of being an arrogant bastard who has rather publicly made known his contempt for them. It seems the reason the Gestapo gave out for arresting him was for letting some prisoners get away again."

"Him?" It was Tully who asked. "I thought Jade was a woman!"

Hitch smiled again. "That's partly why he uses the name, to throw people off. He's actually a Wehrmacht officer," he admitted.

"Then he is one of Dietrich's men," Moffitt exclaimed. "Does that mean the good captain is here too?" He and Troy shared a worried glance. If Dietrich were in El Jabal it would make springing Jade a lot more difficult. The captain knew them all far too well for them to ever hope to bluff him and he was more than capable of beating them at their own game on occasion.

Hitch hesitated. "Not exactly."

"Don't you start," Troy growled. "Just give it to me straight."

"Okay, Sarge, just calm down. Dietrich is Jade."

"What?!"

Hitch winced as three voices chorused the word.

"What do you mean, Dietrich is Jade?" Troy demanded in shock.

"Just that. He's been a deep cover agent for the Americans since long before the war." In a way, Hitch was enjoying himself, for once knowing something that the others didn't.

"How the hell do you know that?" Troy was dumbfounded. Of all the likely, and not so likely, candidates for Jade, he had never ever considered Captain Hans Dietrich. He was as aristocratically German as they came, sure enough in his knowledge of German superiority to be an honourable enemy and magnanimous captor.

"Does it matter?" Hitch countered, reluctant to say too much. He trusted the three Patrollers with his life but this was something very personal between himself and Dietrich, just as it always had been.

"Yeah, I think it does," Troy told him softly. "Give."

"Okay," Hitch sighed. "I overheard him giving a report to his contact, an American major. When I challenged him, he admitted it." Hitchcock said it nonchalantly and sat back, waiting for the questions that were bound to come.

"He told you, just like that?" Moffitt said incredulously. "When was this?"

Hitch's eyes were suddenly distant, remembering the past. "A long time ago.."

Mark pulled at his collar uncomfortably and wished he could sink into the floor. He'd been excited for days thinking about this evening, his first Embassy party but now that he was here, dressed up to the nines, he was beginning to regret his enthusiasm and the kind-heartedness of the Ambassador's wife who had specially invited him. It was an honour to be invited after all, he was barely fifteen and only the son of an Embassy aide, even if his mother was the daughter of the former German ambassador to the US but he felt out of place amongst the glittering throng, most of them German, too. He spoke some German his grandparents had seen to that but he was far from fluent. Every time someone spoke to him, especially the young pretty women, he became tongue tied and the only phrase of German he could remember was how to ask where the bathroom was and somehow he didn't think that was quite the right thing to say.

All in all, it had not been a very good evening so far and, to make matters worse, the one person he had wanted to see above all others wasn't there yet. Hans had promised that he'd be there, which was partly why Mark had so desperately wanted to attend, but there had been no sign of him as yet. As a young, handsome and, not to mention, rich scion of an old aristocratic Prussian family whose grandfather just happened to be a former ambassador and whose father had been awarded a posthumous iron cross for his actions during the summer of 1915 Hans Dietrich, heading for a glittering career in the army already, was a very good catch for matchmaking mothers and their daughters. If he had arrived, the whole room would have known it by now.

Mark was sometimes envious of his cousin's effortless charm and good looks, totally oblivious of his own budding looks. Hans took after the Dietrich side of the family, tall, athletic, dark haired whereas Mark had inherited his own blue eyed blond colouring from their grandfather, Count von Schneider. People were drawn to Hans even though at times he could be sharp and arrogant and sometimes Mark was resentful of that fact, wanting to keep his older and much adored cousin to himself occasionally. It had been several weeks now since they had last seen each other, not since the debacle in old market, in fact, and he desperately wanted to talk with Hans about it and certain other things he'd noticed, particularly the activities of some of the local youths. Nazi activities.

"Mark?" He came back into himself with a start as he realised someone was standing in front of him. "Are you alright, darling?"

Mark dredged up a smile for his mother's sake. "Yes, ma'am. It's just a bit overwhelming," he offered.

His mother smiled in sympathy. She was used to this sort of affair The daughter of a diplomat, she had then married one. "Why don't you retreat to the library for a while then," she suggested.

He nodded gratefully. "I think I'll do that. If Hans arrives..."

"I'll tell him where you are," Liesel Hitchcock finished indulgently. Her son could have chosen far worse heroes than his cousin.

Mark flashed her another smile and headed for the door on the far side of the big room. As he approached a sudden movement in the doorway caught his eye. It was Hans but instead of coming in, the young officer hovered half hidden by the door, eyes scanning the room for someone. For a moment Mark thought Hans was looking for him and was about to go forward with a wave, when he realised that Dietrich had spotted the person he was looking for across the other side of the room. Following the direction of his gaze, Mark saw a couple of attractive women. So that was it, he thought in relief. Hans was trying to fix up a meeting with a girl without getting swamped by all the rest of the guests. A girl he could compete with. Then he realised that it wasn't the girls that Hans was looking at but the man standing behind them, partly concealed by the huge potted ferns that decorated the room at strategic intervals. The man moved slightly and to Mark, watching intently, it was obvious that he had signalled to Hans for his cousin entered the room and, carefully keeping to the edge and the concealment offered by the ferns, made his way to the man's hiding place.

Curious, Mark shadowed Dietrich across the room, just in time to see the two men disappearing through the open doors to one of the balconies that lined the back of the old house. The teenager hesitated for a moment, unsure quite what to do now. Hans obviously wanted the meeting kept private but this clandestine behaviour was so atypical of the normally forthright young German that Mark's curiosity was aroused. Just who was this strange man? The only part of him Mark had seen was his back and there were a lot of brown haired men of average size in Berlin. He was dressed in formal black so that was no help either. Before he could regret what he was doing, Mark sidled up to the balcony and slid behind the partially open drapes. The balcony was almost in darkness, lit only by the gas lamps on the terrace below and such light as filtered through the thick velvet curtains that screened the balconies from the ballroom. The two men had moved away to the far end of the wrought iron balcony and were speaking in low voices. Mark strained to hear what they were saying but could only catch the odd word here and there, not enough to make sense of the conversation. He shifted restlessly, willing the stranger to turn around and then froze as Hans suddenly stopped talking and raised his head sharply.

"What is it?" Mark heard the stranger's voice clearly for the first time and realised that not only was he American but that the voice was familiar too, and that, if he could only place it, he would know this man.

Hans put a hand on the American's arm, holding him still. "I don't know. I thought I heard something." The German shook his head and released his grip. "Look, it's dangerous for us to meet like this, we're both too well known here. When I have something more for you I'll get word through Hal."

Mark hardly dare breath as the implications of Hans' words sank in and he suddenly realised where he recognised the American from. His name was Deacon. Major Richard Deacon attached, in some unspecified capacity, to the Embassy staff. And Hans was passing him information. Mark took a deep breath and bit his lip. Damn his curiosity. He had to get out of there fast before Deacon and, more importantly, Hans discovered that he had been spying on them. He moved backwards slowly but, with his attention firmly fixed on his approaching cousin, he wasn't concentrating on what he was doing and he knocked against the glass doors. True to form, they rattled loudly and before he could move, Mark found himself being dragged out onto the balcony, the muzzle of a gun firmly pressed into the side of his throat.

"Who is it?" Deacon asked sharply, still lurking in the shadows at the far end of the balcony.

"I don't know yet." Mark allowed himself to be pulled over to the edge where the light was better and lifted his head to look Dietrich in the face. Hans Dietrich gasped in shock and the hand holding the pistol wavered and then dropped to his side. His secret had been discovered but even though it might cost him his life, there was no way he could ever harm his cousin or let anyone else harm him either. "Oh, Mark, what the hell are you doing?" he groaned quietly. The teenager tried a nervous grin.

"Shouldn't that be my line?" he quipped.

"Dietrich is your cousin?!" Troy queried in a stunned voice. "Your cousin," he repeated, hardly able to take it in. They all knew that Hitchcock came from an Ivy League background but that his mother was German and from a very highly connected family, was a complete surprise.

"Yes, Sarge," Hitch confirmed quietly. He understood Troy's bemusement all too well. As a teenager he had been a victim of that same emotion himself. He had accepted, albeit reluctantly, that Hans was a pure bred German and that, as the son and grandson of army officers, it was inevitable, and right, that he, too, should go into the army. To discover that Hans was really an agent for the Americans had been a blow. A nice blow, admittedly, but confusing all the same. Suddenly, Mark had had to change all his perceptions about his cousin and now he was asking Troy and Moffitt and Tully to do the same without even the benefit of first hand knowledge. In fact, he was asking them to take his word on trust and believe him over all the evidence to the contrary. And there was no denying the evidence. Hans Dietrich was a Panzer captain - a rank he had more than earned in his own right - and he had spent the last several months fighting the Allies in Africa and succeeding, too. More specifically, he had targeted the Rat Patrol at every opportunity. How the hell could he ask Troy to put aside all the pain he had suffered at Dietrich's hands, Hitch wondered, and accept the man for the brave agent that he was? Even knowing what Hans was and why he acted as he did, Mark had trouble forgiving his actions sometimes. It would be doubly hard for the other members of the Patrol. They didn't have the bond of love that tied Mark and Hans together irrevocably.

"Dietrich is a double agent and your cousin." It was Moffitt's turn to say it flatly, trying to convince himself that he'd heard Hitch correctly.

Hitch confined himself to a nod.

"Hold on a minute," Jack interrupted his own train of thought. "You said the Gestapo picked him up because he let some prisoners escape?"

"Yeah," Hitch agreed, seeing where Moffitt was headed.

"That was us, wasn't it?" Troy finished for his fellow sergeant. "They're interrogating him because, one way or another, we always manage to slip through his fingers." Troy looked at Hitchcock wonderingly. "He's been taking one hell of a risk for your sake, kid."

"Not just for me," Mark denied softly.

"Maybe but hadn't we better go spring him?" Tully spoke for the first time, cutting right to the heart of the matter in his usual laconic fashion. "Before he starts giving things away."

"Yeah, right," Troy agreed, coming to his feet. "So let's go have another talk with friend Zaid and see what he can tell us about the security here. Hitch, you're up front. Okay, let's shake it, guys."

Hans Dietrich came to his feet abruptly, wincing as the sudden movement jarred aching muscles that had stiffened painfully as he dozed fitfully on the floor. The Gestapo hadn't really inflicted much physical damage on him, mostly slaps and punches just for show, painful but insignificant. No, they were waiting for an SS interrogator to arrive before they really went to town. An SS officer who outranked him. They daren't go too far as yet, not on the evidence, or rather, lack of it, that they had. He still had that much influence.

He prowled to the door, listening intently for the sound that had awoken him but heard nothing beyond the usual. Damn but he had to get himself out of there and quickly, before the SS arrived. He didn't stand a chance after that. He had promised himself a long time ago that he would rather die than give himself away but he would prefer not to if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Having missed his check in with Zaid last night, he knew that the Arab would have reported back to allied HQ and that they would send out a rescue team. Under any other circumstances Dietrich would have waited for them to rescue him but he knew damn well who Command would send in. The Rat Patrol. They were good at what they did, very, very good but four men against the might of El Jabal? They didn't have a chance. He had to find a way out before Mark and the rest of the Patrol threw their lives away trying to get him out.

He paced back across the cell, trying vainly to peer out of the small barred window but, tall as he was, it was still just above eye level. No hope there. His only chance of escape was to jump the guards when they came to feed him, assuming, of course, that they did and then make a run for it. Without a weapon it was a risky option but it was the best he could come up with. He knew the town as well as anyone, better maybe, and if he stuck to the back ways he should be able to lose any pursuers in the dark of early morning. The only other problem would be getting out of the town itself but if needs be he could always steal a halftrack and blast his way out. It had always worked for the Rat Patrol.

Dietrich glanced down at his wrist even though it was too dark to really see and swore softly to himself again. They'd taken his watch away from him. It wasn't particularly valuable but he hated not knowing the time and stuck in this room, he couldn't even work it out. If the guards didn't check on him soon he could pretty much give up on the idea of jumping them. The guard was always changed at six and the day shift were far more vigilant than their night-time counterparts reckoning that any escape attempt was bound to come during the day when the town was thronged with people. Besides which, the Gestapo had told him that an SS interrogator would be flying in from HQ early in the morning. As if to mock his hopes, he heard the faint sounds of a clock in the distance. Dietrich counted off the chimes mentally. Four. Five. Six. Damn!

He dropped back onto the floor, sitting with his head in his hands, elbows propped on updrawn knees and sighed. How the hell had he got himself into this mess? The thing was, he knew all too well how he had and, even given a chance to turn the clocks back, he still wouldn't have done anything differently except, maybe, pull a few strings and get Mark transferred out of the desert. Even that he wasn't certain about. It would have been easier on him if Mark hadn't been part of the Rat Patrol but at least there Dietrich could keep an eye on him and make sure no real harm came to him from the Germans. True, he had been injured, and by Dietrich's own men on more than one occasion, but it had never been serious, life threatening. The instinct to protect his young cousin was strongly ingrained in Hans, born of the time they had spent together when Mark was a young child and affirmed, years later, when Jim Hitchcock had been posted to Germany and Mark had become embroiled in that trouble in Berlin.

Berlin. It seemed such a long time ago now. Mark had been fourteen when the family had moved to Germany, a typical teenager, hero worshipping his dashing older cousin and into all the trouble he could find. Hans hadn't really minded Mark continually tagging at his heels - he was sincerely fond of the youngster and felt very protective towards him - but he had been relieved when Mark grew out of it and started seeing him as a man rather than an idol.

The change had started when Mark had become embroiled in a street fight in the old market quarter of Berlin. Hans never did discovered how it started. He and Mark had arranged to meet there but he had been running behind all morning and consequently arrived too late to prevent the youngster from getting involved. He had discovered afterwards that a group of young Nazi boys had been taunting a group of Jewish lads and it had come to blows. Mark, seeing an unequal fight, had flung himself into the midst of it, without even bothering to discover what it had been about. The fight had broken up as soon as Dietrich appeared on the scene, his uniform an effective deterrent, but not before Mark had received quite a beating. Dietrich had been furious with him for getting involved, although his anger had sprung more from worry and fear for Mark than any genuine disapproval of his actions. Secretly, he had applauded him and wished that the uniform he wore didn't prevent him from following suit. Mark, however, hadn't understood that and when the approval he thought was due him wasn't forthcoming, some of the gilt had been knocked off Dietrich's image.

The real turning point had come a couple of weeks later at the Embassy party, the night that Mark had discovered Dietrich was an American agent, a spy planted years ago and heading for high command. In a way, Dietrich had been glad that Mark found out - he had hated living the lie and pretending to Mark, and the rest of his family, that he was an officer devoted to the fatherland. He was devoted to the fatherland, the Germany his father and grandfather had fought and died for, not the Germany that Hitler and his Nazi maniacs were trying to create. He was glad that his cousin now knew that but it had inevitably created problems, not least how to keep both Mark and himself safe. Deacon hadn't said anything but Hans knew that, more often than not, security risks like Mark simply disappeared without trace. The only thing that protected the kid was his parentage. That and Dietrich's own threats of retribution if any harm should come to him. Mark had been full of questions but after that first time, he had never let slip, even when they were alone together, that he knew Dietrich's secret. Even when they had both found themselves in the desert, facing each other across the battlelines, Mark still hadn't told anyone, not even the rest of the Rat Patrol.

Dietrich came back to the present with a start as he realised that someone was unlocking the door to his cell. He came to his feet quickly. Perhaps lady luck was with him after all. The light from the corridor, dim though it was, blinded him for a moment as the door opened but then his heart sank as a man dressed in the distinct uniform of an SS officer entered, flanked by two guards, leaving a third outside. He closed his eyes momentarily in resignation; it was over, his last hope taken from him, then he straightened, lifting his chin proudly. He was a Prussian, an officer and a gentleman, and he'd be damned if he let these Nazi pigs see him beaten.

"Well, Captain, are you going to stand there all morning?" a familiar voice asked.

Dietrich caught his breath incredulously as the shorter of the two guards spoke. It couldn't be and yet it was. "Troy!" Dietrich looked at the other two as they moved back into the light of the corridor, seeing Moffitt behind the colonel's uniform this time. His eyes skimmed past Pettigrew, pausing a moment in silent thanks and then fixed on the fourth man.

Mark met his look and just smiled. What they had to say to each other could wait for a better time and place. Dietrich turned back to Troy. "How..?" he began and then cut himself off. "No, that can wait. We better get away from here first."

"Ready when you are, Captain," Troy agreed with a grin. "There's transport waiting outside. The 'colonel' here has a pass to get us through the gates." The captain shook his head in mute disbelief. He didn't bother asking how, he wasn't sure that he wanted to know. It never ceased to amaze him how easily Troy seemed to pull off a job. A few more teams like the Rat Patrol and the war would be over a lot quicker.

Dietrich was tense as the four surrounded him and started to hustle him along the corridor, expecting the deception to be discovered at any moment, but no-one took any notice of them, Moffitt's rank and uniform commanding a healthy respect. Or fear. Definitely fear, Dietrich thought cynically, as he caught one or two hastily smothered looks of sympathy cast his way. He might not have been the most popular officer, particularly with his peers and superiors he was simply too intolerant of fools, too arrogant to their mind but everyone knew what it meant when the SS was seen escorting a person. Especially when that person was a German officer. It was what they all dreaded more than anything. In consequence it meant that a great many German officers were as hidebound and unimaginative as the men they commanded. It was why the Germans must lose this war.

The five of them reached the front of the building with no trouble and Dietrich paused for a moment in the open doorway, savouring the feeling of open space around him. He hadn't been locked up for very long but in the long dark hours of the night he had thought despairingly that he might never be free again. It was nice to be proved wrong.

"Captain." He felt a hand on his back and turned slightly to meet Moffitt's understanding look and quick smile. "One question. Why Jade?"

Dietrich's own mouth quirked in a smile despite his unease and he turned to watch as Hitch left the group and headed down the road to the waiting staff car. "You can blame Mark for that. He used to call me that as a child" he explained as he saw Troy's questioning look. "Even my ... Damn!"

"What is it?" Troy asked urgently as Dietrich broke off. Dietrich ignored him for a moment, intent on the scene being played out at the other end of the street. Hitchcock had reached the car and was about to get in when a German soldier came round the other corner and approached him. Dietrich peered through the dawn light trying to identify the soldier. There was something familiar about him and then he realised who it was. One of his own sergeants, Johan Bruner. A man who knew exactly who Mark Hitchcock was. Moreover, he had been on leave for the past week and was probably the only man in the Panzer regiment who didn't know that Dietrich had been arrested by the Gestapo.

They could be in big trouble.

Hitch froze for a moment as he saw the soldier come round the corner towards him, uncertain how best to deal with the situation and then decided to try to outface him, relying on his meagre German and SS uniform to get him through. He turned to face the German, surreptitiously loosening his gun in its holster, and then realised his mistake. He knew this man. They both went for their guns but, with a few seconds surprise on his side, Hitch fired first. Not waiting to see if the soldier was dead or not, Hitch leapt into the car and started it, flooring the accelerator and screeching down the road towards the rest of the Patrol. No need for subtlety now.

The four men on the steps scattered as soon as Hitch went for his gun, each realising that the sound of the shot would bring half the German army out onto the streets to investigate. Dietrich kept close behind Troy as men began to pour out of the surrounding buildings, suddenly realising that he had no weapon and was therefore painfully vulnerable. He ducked further into the doorway as a bullet pinged off the wall beside him, fragments of brick scoring his cheek. Troy sent a burst of machine gun fire back and then shot Dietrich a quick glare.

"I haven't got a gun, sergeant," Dietrich snapped, reading the American's thoughts all too clearly. If this had been his own company then, perhaps, he would have had felt some reluctance to fire back but these soldiers were strangers to him and they were shooting at him, though whether they were trying to rescue him from the clutches of the Patrol or trying to kill him as an escaped prisoner, Dietrich didn't know or particularly care. His days in the German army were over anyway.

"Here." Troy pulled the hand gun from his belt and tossed it to Dietrich. The Captain was a much better shot with a pistol than he was. Troy felt far happier with a machine gun in this sort of situation though he would have preferred to have a few grenades to hand as well. Those, however, were in the staff car with Hitchcock.

Hitch heard the gunfire start and ducked down in the driver's seat, trying to make as small a target as possible but gasped sharply as he felt a bullet thump into the seat beside, shattering the windscreen into tiny pieces on its way. That had been close, way, way too close for comfort. He saw with relief that all four men were on their feet and running towards him, seemingly unhurt and he pulled to a halt, sending out covering fire as they scrambled into the car. Tully and Troy both snatched up the grenades from the floor while Moffitt continued to fire. Dietrich, abandoning his pistol in favour of Hitch's machine gun, joined him in the back.

"Head for the gate," Troy ordered needlessly.

Hitch ignored him and just concentrated on driving, careering madly around a corner and then pulling the car into a desperate swerve as a halftrack pulled out in front of them. Tully lobbed a grenade at it as they passed and it exploded into a ball of fire, effectively blocking the road behind them. If they could only get through the checkpoint and to the jeeps they'd be home free. They knew from experience that the jeeps could outrun almost anything the Germans could put in the field.

The car slid around another corner and they could see the gate ahead of them. The guards had dropped the barrier and were standing, machine guns at the ready, in front of it. Hitch didn't even hesitate. He aimed the car straight at them and floored the accelerator. The car might not have the sheer weight and size of a halftrack but it was still big enough to crash a barrier. The guards, seeing the car bearing down on them, opened fire and then made a desperate leap out of the way as it became obvious that the car wasn't going to stop. Troy tossed a grenade at the wooden guard post and it exploded in a shower of lethal splinters, then they were smashing their way through the barrier to freedom.

Behind them the Germans continued to shoot and they were almost out of range when Hitch suddenly yelped, the car slewing across the road as felt a burning high in his back.

"Hitch!" Tully exclaimed, grabbing the steering wheel to keep them on the road.

Hitchcock took a painful breath. "I'm alright," he lied reassuringly even though his whole left side was on fire. He'd been shot before and knew that, so long as he concentrated, he could get them to where they had left the jeeps hidden.

"Okay," Troy acknowledged, seeing straight through the lie but knowing that there was nothing they could really do until they got back to base except tie up the wound. He often wished he had some medical knowledge the number of times one of them got hurt but he never seemed to have any spare time to learn.

They reached the small oasis just outside the town boundary where they had left their jeeps and Hitch pulled the car to a halt, slumping over the wheel as he tried to catch his breath. Troy and Moffitt both leapt out of the car and went to help Hitch down, supporting him over to the jeep. Tully grabbed a can from the jeep and went to draw water from the pool. Troy stripped Hitch's shirt off and Moffitt bent over to have a look at the wound in his back.

"You were lucky, Hitch," the sergeant told him as he carefully poured water over the wound before bandaging it as best he could. "The bullet's still in there but it must have been almost spent when it hit. It looks nasty but you'll live until we can get you back to the hospital."

Hitch looked relieved.

"Let's shake it, guys," Troy decided. "You can ride with us, Captain," he added and then suddenly realised that Dietrich wasn't with them. He swung back to look at the staff car and saw that Dietrich was still slumped in the back seat. "Dietrich!" he exclaimed, dread clutching at him as he headed back towards the car, Hitch stumbling determinedly in his wake. They couldn't have come this far just to lose Dietrich now.

"Is he alright, Sarge?" Hitchcock asked anxiously as Troy clambered into the car beside the unconscious German. Dietrich was still alive at least if only barely. His breathing was shallow and the pulse, when Troy felt for it, was rapid and thready. His face, what they could see of it in between the mottled bruises and dried blood from the brick shards that had cut his cheek, was pale and clammy. When Troy pulled his shirt open he could see that the bruising extended down Dietrich's chest but, far more serious than that, was the gaping ugly wound low in his side, blood soaking his clothes.

Hitch caught his breath as he leant over to look. "What caused that?"

Moffitt, standing at his shoulder, took one look and flinched. "Tully, I need more water. It's a splinter wound," he explained. " He must have been caught when we went through the checkpoint. Thanks," he added as Pettigrew handed him another can of water and some more cloth. He bent over Dietrich and tried to wash out the wound but then straightened. "It's no good. I can't get to it properly. We're going to have to move him, lie him down flat."

Troy nodded and slid his shoulder under Dietrich's arm as Moffitt and Tully got hold of him from the other side. Dietrich groaned as he was jostled, awareness rushing back. "Easy, Captain," Troy told him. "We're going to move you over to the jeep."

Dietrich didn't make another sound as he was manhandled out of the car but he lost any colour that he had left and his teeth were firmly clamped on his bottom lip by the time it was done. As soon as his feet touched the ground he tried to stand alone but doubled up as pain tore through him. Tully and Moffitt caught hold of him again and half carried him over to the jeeps but once there Dietrich refused to let them lie him down, remaining on his feet through sheer will power alone.

"We don't have time for this, Sergeant Moffitt," he protested, feebly pushing the Englishman's hands away. "It won't take them long to clear that halftrack out of the way and come after us. Just bind it up and let's get going."

"Don't be stupid, Hans," Hitchcock snarled from where he propped up the jeep's bonnet. "There might still be splinters in there."

"There are," Moffitt agreed certainly.

"And the longer you stall, the longer we'll be here," Troy added. "We're not moving out until this is done, Captain, so you better just let Moffitt get on with it."

Dietrich took one look at the ring of faces around him and gave in, secretly grateful for their determination. Troy meant what he said. He tried to be stoical as Moffitt washed the wound, looking for any obvious splinters but couldn't help flinching, the day fading out on him again. He came to just as Moffitt finished tying off the rough bandage.

"All done, Captain."

Dietrich nodded and pushed himself upright. "Thank you, sergeant," he acknowledged. "Now can we go?"

Troy laughed. Whatever differences he had with the captain and there were more than a few that would have to be straightened out before they could ever become friends, although Troy was certain that they could be, he couldn't help but admire the man for his sheer guts.

"Let's go home."

Troy headed across the camp towards the hospital tents on his daily visit to Hitch, humming cheerfully, if tunelessly to himself. Hitch's wound was healing well and he was already up and about although he tired easily and was still restricted to the hospital. The bullet had lodged just below his shoulder blade, missing anything vital and it had been a simple matter for the surgeons to dig it out. He'd been feverish for a couple of days but the doctor hadn't really been worried. It was to be expected in this climate.

Dietrich, however, was another matter. By the time they had got back to base he had been out of his head with fever, mumbling continually in a broken mix of German and English, the wound inflamed and hot to the touch. To the four Patrollers waiting anxiously, it had seemed as though the surgeons worked on him for hours, painstakingly digging out splinters of wood and pieces of cloth that had been forced into the wound. Fortunately, the jagged shard had missed all the organs though it had cracked a rib and left a messy hole in his back as it went straight through Dietrich's body. For several days they weren't sure if he would survive, the wound had begun to turn septic and the fever kept mounting but early yesterday it had finally broken, the captain lapsing into a deep healing sleep. And this morning he had woken up, weak but clear headed.

Troy grimaced as he was stopped at the entrance to Dietrich and Hitch's room by an MP. Colonel Wilson had ordered a guard placed there ostensibly because Dietrich was a captured German officer - as yet rumours of Dietrich's other identity hadn't filtered out, a minor miracle as the bush telegraph was usually far more efficient and reliable than any official channel - but his real concern was to keep him safe from a possible assassination attempt. The Rat Patrol weren't the only commando team in the desert on either side.

The guard inspected his identity papers as he had every day for the past week, and then moved aside to let him enter. Hitch, sitting half-dressed on the side of his cot, arm supported in a sling, looked round as Troy stopped in the doorway. "Morning, Sarge," he greeted him.

"Hitch," Troy acknowledged before going to stand over the other bed. "You're looking better, captain," he told the occupant.

Dietrich was indeed looking better, lying propped up on several pillows, pristine white bandages swathing his torso. Even the bruises had faded to a large extent.

"Thank you, sergeant." The voice wavered tiredly but Dietrich brought it firmly under control with an effort. "For everything."

Troy brushed the thanks, both spoken and unspoken, aside and sat down carefully on the end of the narrow cot. "All part of the service," he quipped. "I hear you had a visit from the general earlier," he added seriously.

Dietrich nodded. "Yes, he came to tell me what's going to happen now." He paused for a moment and Troy shot a look at Hitchcock. The kid's face was shuttered, giving nothing away but that in itself was a sure indication to someone who knew him as Troy did that he wasn't happy about something. "As soon as I'm fit enough to move, I'm being shipped to England for debriefing. After that," Dietrich gave the impression of shrugging without actually doing so, "Even if I could come back, the war here is almost over. I hear there are several special forces units operating out of England, mainly in central Europe. I may be assigned to one of them."

Dietrich was very matter of fact but it explained Hitch's feelings. Now that he could finally acknowledge Hans Dietrich as his cousin and friend, Dietrich was being shipped hundreds of miles away. He would be safer in England, at least until he was active again, but he and Hitch would see less of each other than they did here in the desert, even on opposing sides.

Troy's own feelings were surprising mixed. There had been no chance for he and Dietrich to talk and it seemed that now there never would be.

"I'll miss you, Captain," he said and meant it.

"Me, too, Sergeant Troy," Dietrich told him with a smile and suddenly that friendship didn't seem so far off, after all.