Troy told John about their plan. John agreed that it was the best chance that they had. Without the tanks, the trucks and the Jeeps could cover three times as much ground.

The only thing that Troy didn't like was that without the support of John's group, his team was the only thing standing in between the convoy and any other trouble that might come up. It was a gamble, but with the knowledge of the certainty of attack and the possibility of one that grew less every mile that they travelled, Troy knew that they didn't have a choice.

The trucks running at speed left the tanks literally in the desert dust. Moffitt and Tully had again fallen back to the rear and Troy and Hitch once again took their place at the front.

The miles felt like they were literally flying by and with each one, Troy breathed a little easier. By his calculations, they were less than a half hour from their lines.

The radio crackled into life. "Troy, you still out there, over?"

"Troy here, Chief. You guys still okay? Over."

"No sign of our German friends. Yet. Over."

Troy breathed a sigh of relief. At this point, he estimated, the convoy was probably going to make it into their camp without any kind of trouble. The tanks still might not be so lucky, he knew.

"We do have a problem, though. Over."

"What kind of problem? Over." Troy asked. He shared a look with Hitch. So much for avoiding trouble, Troy thought. They should have known better.

"It's Patterson." John's sigh was audible even in all of the static. "He's in bad shape. Over."

Troy frowned, trying to remember who Patterson was. He honestly didn't know how John kept all of those guys straight.

"The guy that was sick this morning, Sarge. The one that was late?" Hitch supplied. "Driver of one of the tanks."

With the reminder, Troy remembered. "What's the situation? Over."

"Passed out. Barely breathing, weak pulse. Dehydrated, I'm sure, at the very least. Gets as hot as hell in these tin buckets. And I don't have anyone to spell him without robbing another crew. Over."

"Just great," Troy muttered to Hitch. There was still the possibility that the Germans were going to end up catching up John and his boys, and Troy knew that a tank with an inexperienced driver and a short crew would be an easy target.

"What now, Sarge?" asked Hitch. "We can go pick up the guy and get him back to base sooner, but that doesn't really solve all of our problems, does it?"

No, thought Troy, it didn't. Concentrating on a finding a solution, Troy didn't notice that Tully and Moffitt and had joined them at the front of the line.

"Troy!" shouted Moffitt. He was hanging over the side of the Jeep, trying to get Troy's attention. "Tully and I will go back and get the boy."

"Yeah?" Troy yelled. "And then what?"

"And then, I'll see to the tank."

Troy considered. John hadn't seen any Krauts yet. The convoy was close enough to their lines that Troy figured that they weren't going to encounter any trouble. Moffitt's solution was probably the best answer to their problem.

"You sure?" Troy asked, vividly remembering that not more than a few hours before that Moffitt had been talking about how much that he disliked being in a tank.

"Piece of cake," replied Moffitt.

Still Troy hesitated. He asked himself why as all logic pointed to Moffitt's idea being the best solution. But still, there was something in Troy's gut that was making him uncertain. Cursing himself, Troy realized what it was. He was just being as superstitious and ignorant as Lewis.

Despite his self-realization, Troy asked again: "You sure, Moffitt?"

"It's only for a few hours. It's not lasting until the end of the war. I think that I'll survive a bit of time in a tank." Moffitt grinned. "Just don't think that I'll be asking for a reassignment any time soon."

"Okay, Moffitt," Troy agreed. "Tully, as soon as you pick up Patterson, get back here double time."

Tully touched his forehead in acknowledgement.

"Moffitt, we'll see you at camp."

Moffitt nodded and waved as Tully turned the other Jeep in the direction from where they had come.

Troy picked up the radio receiver. "Hold on, Chief. Help is on its way. Over."

"Thanks, Sam," John responded. "We'll be on the lookout. Over."

Troy lit a cigarette. "Hitch, drop to the rear." If there was going to be any trouble, Troy knew that most likely it was going to come from that way.

Hitch looked doubtful.

"What?"

Hitch shrugged. "You think that lieutenant is going to be able to find camp without us to show him the way?"

"All the guy has to do is follow the road." Troy rubbed his forehead. "I think that he'll be okay."

"Isn't that all he had to do the first time?"

Troy opened his mouth to respond but found he couldn't argue that point. He didn't even try.

"Drop to the rear, Hitch." Troy glared at the boy, daring him to argue.

Smart kid that he was, Hitch's raised eyebrow was his only response before he did as he was told.


The convoy managed to get back into Allied territory without any further incidents. And despite the fact that Troy and Hitch had had to take the lead again to actually get them back to the camp, they made record time.

To Hitch's credit, his only comment had been to politely wonder if the lieutenant was going to need their help to get him back to his desk.

Troy gave the Hitch the response that his question deserved. He had punched him in the arm.

Despite the slight detour, the convoy had rolled in to a hero's welcome with every man, every truck and every payload intact. Troy received even more good news when Tully met up with them to share that the young corporal that he had brought back with him was resting comfortably in the infirmary. John's diagnosis of severe dehydration had been accurate. The kid would be all right, thanks to Tully.

"Good day at the war, wasn't it, Troy?" Lieutenant Carver asked as they watch the men unloading the trucks. He offered Troy a cigarette.

Troy thanked Carver and took the cigarette. "Shaping up that way, sir," he answered cautiously, his eyes on the horizon.

It would be a good day, Troy decided, when Moffitt, John, and the tanks made it back in one piece.


Lieutenant Marshall appeared at the opening of the tent. "Major Boggs?"

Boggs barely looked up from the notes that he had taken during Troy's account of the afternoon's activities. "Marshall? Can it wait? We'll be done here in a few more minutes."

"Actually, sir, I think that you'll want to hear this now," Marshall said. He took a step inside of the tent and saw Troy. He stopped short and hesitated.

An expression had settled on Marshall's face that Troy couldn't read but that even so, he knew that he didn't like.

Troy glanced at Boggs. "I can go if you like, sir."

"You can go when we're done, Troy. And I decide when we're done." Boggs put down his pen. "What is it, Marshall? Whatever you are going to say to me, you can say in front of the Sergeant."

"Major . . ." Marshall wavered. "Perhaps I'll come back."

Boggs shared a look with Troy. Then he turned his attention back to his adjutant. "Now, Marshall."

Marshall cleared his throat. "We've received a report from Sergeant Twofish."

Troy's stomach unexpectedly dropped and the back of his neck prickled. Leaning forward in his seat, Troy waited for what Marshall had to say.

"And? I don't have all afternoon, Marshall," Boggs prompted.

"They encountered a German Panzer group about twenty-five miles away from our lines. Based on Sergeant Twofish's report, they pretty squarely took care of the Germans," Marshall reported.

"Good." Boggs nodded with satisfaction. "Any casualties on our side?"

"Very minimal, sir."

Troy realized that he had been holding his breath. He exhaled. Then he looked at Marshall. Any relief that Troy had felt was again replaced by the same feeling of foreboding that he had been trying to shake all day.

"And what does minimal mean to you, son?" Boggs asked.

"They lost a tank. They're assuming that the entire crew is dead. Six men, sir." Marshall looked down.

"Well, that's a damn shame, Marshall." Boggs, too, bowed his head.

"Yes, sir. It is."

"But, it could have been much worse. Good plan to let Twofish's outfit take up the rear, Troy. You probably saved every truck in the convoy with that move." Boggs looked at Troy. "And saved Operation Sandstorm to boot. Six men is a hell of a price to pay, but they gave their lives for a much bigger thing."

Barely hearing Boggs' praise, Troy locked eyes with Marshall. "Lieutenant, we left Moffitt out there with the tank platoon. He's okay, right?"

But before he had even asked Troy had known the answer to his question. It explained a lot, thought Troy, particularly why Marshal was acting so shifty.

It took Marshall more than a moment to answer. And when he did, the words came out with a stammer. "Troy, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but Sergeant Moffitt was part of the tank crew that was lost. He's presumed dead along with the others."

"Presumed dead?" Troy narrowed his eyes at Marshall, daring the lieutenant to look away again. "What the hell does 'presumed' mean?"

Marshall held Troy's gaze, even if he did take an involuntary step back. "Exactly what I said."

Troy took a moment to shore up his composure. After all, how many times had they thought before that Moffitt was a goner, only to have the guy pull through, or to show up again where they had least expected?

"But you don't know," Troy said quietly, willing himself to stay calm.

"That's right. I just don't know." Marshall sighed. "The report indicated that Moffitt and the rest the tank's crew could be dead, Troy. It just wasn't confirmed."

"Could be dead?" Troy resisted the urge to education Marshall on the difference between dead and could be dead. It was more than just semantics.

"At least captured," Marshall amended hastily.

"What are you doing to confirm any of it? Are you doing anything?" Troy felt himself getting hot again. If Moffitt was still alive, they wouldn't even know. And by the time that they got around to knowing anything, even if he was still alive now, Moffitt could well be dead.

In a moment, Troy was out of his chair and standing at the edge of the Boggs' desk. "Major Boggs, requesting permission to go look for Moffitt and the rest of that tank crew."

"You know that's a stupid idea, Troy. Permission denied," Boggs said mildly. He turned his attention to his adjutant. "Marshall, how far out is Sergeant Twofish?"

"Sergeant Twofish and his platoon should be back in camp within the hour. Hopefully, they can tell us exactly what happened." Marshall sighed with regret. "I just know what the communications officer told me, Troy. I really don't know anything else."

Troy rounded on Marshall, his hands balled into fists. "Yeah, you don't know anything do you, Lieutenant?"

"Sit down, Sergeant Troy. You don't get to shoot the messenger," Boggs ordered. "Marshall, you're dismissed. Let me know when Sergeant Twofish is back. I'll want to debrief him myself. Hopefully, he'll have something more useful to tell me. But send him Sergeant Troy's way first, okay?"

"Yes, sir." Marshall saluted and beat a hasty retreat.

Boggs shook his head as he watched Marshall go. Then, he looked at Troy. "Troy, I know that you've got a lot on your mind right now, but let's just finish up here, shall we?" Boggs picked up his pen again. "You've got nothing but time until Twofish and his men get back."

Troy couldn't disagree even as much as he wanted to. Boggs was right. The sun would be down within the hour. Even if John confirmed that there was a chance that Moffitt might still be alive, Troy couldn't even go out and look for him until the next morning.

There was nothing that he could do but wait. Troy hated waiting. But hate it as he did, Troy found himself completely dependent upon the slow crawl of the hands around the face of his watch. Troy could admit when he was beaten by something over which he had zero control. He crossed his arms against his chest and nodded.

"Yes, sir," Troy told Boggs, "I got nothing but time."


Troy had finished debriefing with Boggs. It hadn't taken nearly as long to finish as he had hoped that it would.

It had still left him with a good thirty minutes before John and the other tanks showed up. Troy tried to go lie down, but found that he couldn't stay still. He spent the next half hour alternately smoking and pacing. By the time he saw John, Troy was doing both at the same time.

John walked over to Troy, his helmet in his hand. "Hey, Sam. I heard that you were waiting for me."

Troy took John's arm and led him into the tent. "What the hell happened out there, John?" Troy motioned for John to sit on Moffitt's bunk. Troy sat down on Moffitt's foot locker. "Is Moffitt . . . ?" Troy couldn't find it in himself to say the word.

"I don't know, Sam. I wish I did."

"So what happened?"

"Bad luck, that's what it was. We were rolling along just fine when Moffitt's tank reported a mechanical failure. We circled it to protect it while they stopped to check it out. And then, wouldn't you know it?"

"The Germans showed up," Troy answered. "Damn Krauts have a lousy sense of timing."

"That's exactly what happened. We tried to keep tight around the tank, but the damn Germans just kept coming. We had to break the formation just to fight them. Couldn't just stay there like sitting ducks, you know." John ran a hand down his face, leaving long streaks in the grime that covered it. "There really wasn't anything else that we could do."

"I know, John." Troy thought about everything that John had told him. "But you don't necessarily think that they crew of that tank was dead?"

"I don't know what to think. Couldn't get close enough at the end to tell for sure." John's forehead creased deeply. "I wanted to go back, but I couldn't risk the other tanks. Or my own tank and crew."

"I understand." Troy put a hand on John's shoulder. After all, thought Troy, the Chief was worried about five of his own, and Moffitt to boot. John was bearing a huge burden, bigger than even Troy's own. "I'm sorry."

"So am I. But this is what I know for sure, Sam. I didn't actually see the Germans kill anyone. I did see smoke coming from the tank, so it was on fire, and that's potentially a very deadly situation. But I didn't see it blow. In short, I didn't see anything at all that would have led me to believe that Moffitt and the crew of that tank are dead. But . . ." John's voice trailed off.

"But what?" Troy leaned forward, waiting.

John sighed. "But in all honesty, I didn't really see anything that confirmed that those guys are still alive, either."