About an hour later, the SS men emerged from the tent. They ignored the Americans as they made their way back across the open space in the middle of the camp, laughing and talking in German.
"Hey!" Troy demanded. "Where's Sergeant Moffitt?"
A couple of them glanced over their shoulders and snickered, but otherwise they didn't acknowledge him.
Rage flared in Troy's chest. "Listen, you bastards! What the hell did you do to him?!"
The leader turned and said something in German that Troy could translate as a taunt. He snarled, and the Nazi laughed, before following the three others. They ducked into the officers' tent. A few minutes later, they exited, walked over to the parked staff car, and drove off.
"Lousy Krauts…" Hitch growled.
"Sarge," Tully said sharply.
"What?"
He jerked his head to the left. Troy followed his eyes and quickly saw what it was Tully was talking about. A large, dark cloud of sand rolled across the desert like a wave across a beach, still distant but coming closer by the second.
"How long do you think till it reaches us?" he asked.
"'Bout ten, fifteen minutes maybe," Tully answered.
"Tully, Hitch," Troy said with a hard grin. " I think we just found our chance."
Hitch echoed Troy's smile and Tully's eyes gleamed. The prospect of dealing some payback to the Germans who had captured them was definitely welcome.
The guards ducked back inside their tent just before the sandstorm hit. It took a few minutes before they seemed to remember their prisoners. By that time the storm was already on them.
Troy winced against the battering of sand. He forced his eyes to stay focused on the distorted shape of the young soldier, face bundled up in a scarf, helmet pulled down low over his eyes, holding a luger in one hand. He circled around them and knelt down behind Troy. A moment later, Troy felt the bonds around his wrists fall away. The German, gun still trained on Troy's chest, then moved to cut the bonds on his ankles with a serrated knife.
The attack went exactly as Troy had planned it. He kicked the man's legs out from under him, the German letting out a cry of pain as he fell. The moment he hit the ground, Troy brought down his heel on the man's hands. He heard bones crunch and was certain he wouldn't be using his gun or knife. He leapt forward in a flash, wrapped his hands around the soldier's throat and pressed down until he stopped struggling.
There wasn't any time to waste. He picked the knife out of the sand and made quick work of Hitch's bonds. He pressed the knife into the private's hand.
"Even if they didn't hear that, we can bet they'll be coming to investigate soon. We gotta get Moffitt and run like Hell before they do."
"Right Sarge."
Hitch set to cutting Tully loose, while Troy picked up the dead soldier's gun and tried to keep watch. They were in the thick of the storm now; all that Troy could see through the sandy haze were vague shapes and blobs. Putting on his goggles made it easier to keep his eyes open, but didn't help much with visibility.
"Got it," Hitch announced, as he and Tully jumped to their feet.
"Think you can find the tent they took Moffitt into through this?"
"Yeah, Sarge."
"Good. I'll try to cover us. Grab onto my shirt so we don't get separated." A moment later, he felt a hand fist in the fabric of his sleeve. As quickly as they could, clinging to each other like little kids crossing a busy street, they made their way across the camp.
Troy was convinced that they had become lost in the sandstorm, when Hitch finally tugged him into a tent. It looked like a conference room, with a long table in the middle surrounded by scattered chairs. Within a fraction of a second though, his attention snapped to the crumpled figure in the sand.
"Moffitt!" he exclaimed, rushing to the sergeant's side
"Troy." Bound hand and foot, Moffitt struggled to sit up. "What's going on?"
"Sandstorm. Gives us cover to bust out." There was a cut above Moffitt's right eye, with the blood smeared towards his ear. Blood trickled down his chin from a split lip. His uniform shirt was ripped open and scratches scored his neck and shoulders.
Troy noticed, with a feeling like a punch in the gut, that his belt and khakis were undone.
Refusing to let himself think of anything that wasn't escape, he set to untying the ropes around Moffitt's ankles, while Hitch sawed at the ones around his wrists. As soon as his hands were free, Moffitt quickly did up his belt and zipper. He didn't meet Troy's eyes as he did.
"Can you walk?" Troy asked, once the last of the ropes were off.
Moffitt nodded. "I think so."
With Troy gripping his forearms and Hitch's hands hooked under his armpits, they hauled him up to his feet. He wobbled a moment, but with Troy holding his arms, he stood.
Tully bent down and picked a dark shape up out of the sand. As he mutely held it out, Troy realized that it was Moffitt's hat and goggles. Moffitt took them, put on the beret, and pulled the goggles over his eyes. A small, wan smile flickered into life across his face.
At that moment, they heard a distant shout in German above the screaming of the storm. It was quickly joined by others.
"Sounds like that's our cue," Troy said. "We need to get to the jeeps, fast."
"They're parked with the other vehicles," Moffitt supplied, as Tully and Hitch put on their own goggles. "About thirty meters right from the mouth of the tent."
"Right. Let's go."
Tully looped Moffitt's arm over his shoulder and helped him limp to the tent flaps. As Troy watched him nervously, he noticed the spots of blood on the back of his pants. He gritted his teeth.
Damn it. Damn it.
Troy warily ducked out of the tent first. When he didn't immediately come under a hale of fire, he motioned for the others to run for it. Troy followed behind; they were only a few feet ahead of him, but he still had trouble making them out as more than vague shapes.
"Sarge!" Hitch shouted.
Troy followed his voice and banged his hip against the jeep. He clambered into the back, put down the luger, and grabbed hold of the minigun. He could barely make out Hitch at the wheel in front of him. "Tully, Moffitt, you ready?!"
The two shouted affirmatives. A moment later, he heard a fresh round of German shouts and bullets pinged off of nearby vehicles.
"Shake it!" Troy ordered. The two engines revved, and Troy hung on as they raced away , German shots following them. Troy spun the gun around and fired at the shapes of their pursuers. He could hear Moffitt doing the same in the other jeep.
They continued to lay down protective fire as Tully and Hitch did some of the best driving of their lives away from the camp into the thick of the sandstorm, where the Germans didn't have a chance of following them.
Their first priority was to get away, to make sure there were no Jerries on their tail when they went to retrieve the maps. Once they were free and clear, Troy could breath again, get a look at the damage, and see where to go next.
