Shortly after setting out the next day, they sighted a German half-track on their trail. It was only a speck of yellow on the horizon barely distinguishable from the sand, but that was still close enough to track them. Troy knew that they couldn't risk getting captured again or leading the Germans to the maps.

So, they spent the next few hours leading their tail on a wild goose chase. They laid down several false trails for the Jerries to follow and then slipped away on a circuitous route around their pursuers towards the buried documents.

It was around midday when they were finally certain that their tail was gone. Pouring over a map with Moffitt, Troy was frustrated to see that the whole dance had left them several more hours from the hiding place. There was no chance now of reaching the maps by that day.

As they bedded down for the night, they went over situation. They were deep behind enemy lines, running low on fuel and water, with the Krauts on high alert for them.

Hitch suggested that they might find their way to the oasis Moffitt has pointed out or a German supply cache they could pilfer in the hidden maps. Troy spoke for all of them when he responded with a gruff, "We'd better hope so." They all understood what it would mean if the maps didn't point them to fresh fuel and water. In a matter of days they would be facing the choice between the welcoming arms of the desert or a POW camp.

Troy kept one eye on Moffitt during his watch. The man seemed to be sleeping, but so fitfully that Troy was sure he wasn't getting a lick of rest. At one point, his whole body gave a jerk and his breath stopped with a low, panicked sound. Troy tensed, wondering if he should go help, remind Moffitt that he was back with friends, out of danger, that he was safe. Then, after a second, Moffitt started breathing again and settled back into his bedroll.

In the morning, the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced. Troy noticed him starting at sudden jolts in the Jeeps and divots in the sand. His whole body looked tense, as if he was ready to run for cover at any moment. Even if he hadn't known what had happened, Troy would have been able to tell that something was very wrong with his second-in-command.

Still, Moffitt was alert and aware enough to help guide them to the hidden cache of documents. They made certain that the Germans weren't close on their heels, and then pulled to a stop. Troy and Moffitt put their heads together over their own map and checked and rechecked the coordinates.

"Well," Troy declared finally. "Unless that sandstorm picked us up and dropped us off in Oz, this should be the place. Tully, Hitch, you start digging. As soon as you find the maps, you radio headquarters and tell em' we're coming home."

Tully nodded. "Right, Sarge," Hitch added.

Troy turned to the other sergeant. "Moffitt, I need to talk with you."

"I can help Tully and Hitch, Troy. It's no—"

"That's an order."

Moffitt's back stiffened. He nodded. "All right."

Troy nodded towards the nearest Jeep. "In private."

Moffitt stayed silent and stepped into the passenger's seat. Troy gave Tully a quick, reassuring nod, and then got into the Jeep himself. He drove over a dune and kept going until he was sure they were out of sight and earshot of the others.

He took a deep breath, before revving down the engine and turning to Moffitt. "Okay, enough with this stiff-upper-lip bullshit."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know goddamn well what I'm talking about. I know you haven't been sleeping these past few days. You look like you're about to jump out of your skin. You're not all right, and we can all see it."

Moffitt glared at him with stony gray eyes. "Well, what do you want me to do?"

"You need to tell me what happened at that German camp."

Moffitt opened his mouth, hesitated, and swallowed hard. "You've already asked that," he mumbled.

"Yeah, and you didn't talk to me then either."

Abruptly, Moffitt pulled open the door and stepped out into the sand. He faced away from Troy as he answered in a clipped voice. "I told you we don't need to talk about it. I know you've figured out what they did. They were bored and I was an easy target. That's all there is to it."

Troy stormed out of the Jeep, slamming the door behind him. "No, it's not! Dammit, Moffitt—!"

Moffitt spun to face Troy, his face full of anger and fear and pain as powerful as a punch to the gut. "What do you want me to tell you, Troy?" he shouted. "How they bent me over the table, how they took turns, how they made me—!"

The shout died in his throat. He stood frozen, his shoulders hunched over, his hands shaking. Troy had seen Moffitt, disarm bombs, crack safes, and face down Gestapo interrogators without his hands shaking.

"Moffitt…" he began weakly. He had no idea what he could say, but he knew he needed to do something stop those hands from shaking.

Moffitt ignored him. He looked down at his boots, visibly struggling to compose himself. He gripped the edge of the Jeep, and hunched over, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry," he said, the faintest tremor audible in his soft voice. "I know I should be focused on the mission. I don't know what I'm doing. I just…"

"It's all right." Troy took a step closer, but stopped before putting a hand on Moffitt's back.

"I'm used to being treated as a soldier," Moffitt continued. His eyes were fixed on the pitted, sun-baked metal of the Jeep's door. "An enemy, someone who fought with a reason, with orders, and rules. For some purpose. In that tent… all they wanted to do was hurt me. I was just… an outlet for them, and there was nothing that I could do. I haven't felt that helpless since my brother…"

He choked and gripped the metal so hard Troy thought he was about to break his fingers. Moffitt hadn't mentioned his brother since the day he received the telegram telling him of the young boy's death. This time Troy couldn't stop himself from gripping the sergeant by the shoulder. Moffitt flinched, but seemed to force himself to stay in place.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I know I'm behaving irrationally. I'm letting my emotions get the better of me again. And I know I shouldn't."

"You don't need to be sorry, Moffitt." He tightened his grip and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. "Not for anything. You didn't do anything wrong, and any of us would be acting the same way, if it had been us in that tent instead of you."

Moffitt sighed. He turned so that he was half-sitting on the Jeep door, and scrubbed at his eyes in exhaustion. "Even you?" he murmured, voice barely rising above a whisper.

"Yeah. Even me." He paused and watched as Moffitt blinked wearily, staring off into space. "Tell ya the truth, I don't think I'd've been able to hold it together as well as you have."

The tiniest smile curled the corner of Moffitt's lips. "I doubt it."

Troy felt a small surge of relief that Moffitt was still able to smile at something. He hesitated a long moment, then said in a low voice. "You took it for Tully."

Moffitt looked over at him. He sighed, and Troy saw exactly how broken-down and exhausted he was. His eyes drifted back down to his feet. "Yes, I suppose I did."

Troy squeezed his shoulder. "You're more of a soldier than any of those thugs, Moffitt. You're more of a soldier than most of the men I know."

Moffitt took deep breath and stood up straight, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of military acumen. "Thank you, Troy."

"Don't mention it. You know, I—"

"Sarge!" Hitch's shout broke through the stillness of the desert. "We found 'em!"

"Great! Radio headquarters. We'll be right there!" He looked back at Moffitt. "You gonna be all right?"

He nodded. Of course Moffitt wasn't all right. Troy wouldn't expect him to be after what happened. He just needed to know that he was together enough to make it back to the base. Then they could figure out where to go from there.