I could see the desert expanse beginning to be marred by what had been a recent battle. There were no buildings of any kind disturbing the vast battlefield: it was pure and open, only the terrain offering any opportunity for the strategist, the one who wanted to control this expanse of nothing which appeared to have so little to offer except sand and dirt. However, I saw what few others could or wanted to see. I could see how the desert offered the insane opportunity to fight against honorable enemies, those seeking this same irrational obsession no normal man would desire.

I observed that we were on the battlefield's edge. Only the battle's remnants were to be seen: the occasional destroyed vehicle, abandoned equipment hastily stripped off, acrid smoke from burning fuel, a body yet not buried. As we progressed through the battlefield, the debris became more and more frequent and the fallen bodies began to multiply. All the bodies had been equalized in death, both British and the German, both having reached the identical conclusion.

I felt my senses sharpen as we continued to walk deeper into the battlefield. My pulse quickened even as I felt a deathly calm come over me. I always felt this dichotomy when I went into combat: the adrenalin rush while at the same time I became insanely analytical and focused only on the battle at hand. It was my resources and ability against those of the enemy, only one of us destined to succeed. For each battle I always came to fight, and I always came to win.

This time, Perkins didn't have to ask me if I recognized the location; I knew it instantly. My eyes swept the territory taking in the few natural landmarks, the sparseness of the land and the wide expanse of the desert. I only had to close my eyes for the briefest of seconds to see the entire Battle of Jufra in my mind, replaying itself from not too long ago in the past.

My orders had been to hold our left flank at any cost. It was critical for the success of the battle and the control of the desert by the Afrika Korps. As the battle progressed over the following days, "at any cost" became more and more a reality for me and the men I commanded. We were horribly outnumbered not only in men, but also in equipment and fuel.

The fighting was intense and we began to take heavy losses, losing panzers and men. There were few supplies remaining. We were suffering losses at an alarming rate which we could no longer sustain, placing our position in serious jeopardy. Our radio communications had also deteriorated. We were able to receive but unable to transmit anything regarding the seriousness of our position. We were forced to resort to couriers until they too, could no longer get through the heavy combat.

Our situation started to become desperate on the second day, with the British threatening to break through imminently. This reality gave us the motivation we needed, what was required from us in order to survive and live and fight for the next battle, to finally capture and control the desert for us alone. It quickly became evident that I would have to use extreme initiative or we were all going to be lost: probably in death, perhaps remotely as prisoners.

It was at this moment in the battle I gave the order to attack, ordering what remained of my men forward. I believed at the time we had nothing left to lose at that moment except our lives. I remembered my boldness with a small smile. The move completely disoriented the enemy; they must have thought we had gone insane to attack under such conditions and at such a disadvantage. Looking back, there must have been a part of me which indeed went insane during those intoxicating hours.

We caught the British completely off guard. We were able to repel their advance and push them back behind their original lines. My men fiercely advanced against the enemy gaining territory previously not held by us. We were no longer courageously defending something that would have meant nothing to any sane man; we wanted to command all off the desert and the little that it offered.

I received word soon after that Hauptmann Walther's command had been cut off and was in danger of being surrounded. This would seriously weaken another park of the flank, probably causing it to collapse. Without even thinking of our own situation or giving it a second thought, I ordered my men to his area to aid his position and continue attacking the enemy without a respite. By pressing the attack so aggressively, we were able to push the British significantly back, secure the area and most importantly, relieve Walther.

The loss for both our units had been severe, but the flank had been held and my actions were credited with being a major reason for the Afrika Korps winning the battle. When we were finally relived, they were astounded that any of us had survived such a fierce combat. Due to the lack of communications, my superiors had feared the worse, but were amazed that the flank had continued to hold during the battle.

It wasn't until afterwards I realized I had been severely wounded. In the heat of the battle, I had felt the bullet hit me but I thought I had been merely grazed. I hadn't even bothered to look at it or give it a second thought. It wasn't until I confirmed our area and Walther's was secure and the wounded taken care that I was able to stop focusing on the battle. Finally, I allowed myself the luxury of collapsing to the ground. It took me over a month to recover from the wound and the resulting infection caused by it.

It was when I was recovering I was informed I would be awarded the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves, a succession from the previous medals I had earned. It was a significant honor which filled me with pride. However, it was something which I never spoke about unless someone inquired about it specifically. When I was asked, I would answer in the briefest of sentences before I would discreetly change the subject. I believed to say any more would have been boastful and disrespectful to all of those who did not return, the Germans as well as the British. I never even mentioned it to my family until they contacted me about it months later.

My father first learned about it through his military contacts and again when it was reported in the newspapers. Although my entire family was pleased of the accomplishment, I knew my father was especially proud that I had upheld the family's military tradition and honor to such a high level.

Frankly, I always felt like an imposter and that the honor was misplaced, honestly believing that I didn't deserve what had been bestowed upon me. My men deserved the honor so much more than me for the punishment I forced them through for those long days. I had only been the one to make a decision at the moment it was needed most. And as for taking a victory drink from my stash of Jack Daniels (almost two bottles full at that time), it never even crossed my mind.

It was Rommel himself who presented me with the medal given the distance we were from Berlin. The severity of my injuries prevented me from traveling and I seized on this as an excuse to stay in Africa to receive the award from him. Frankly, I preferred Rommel to be the presenter and not a Nazi official. I always felt honored to be in his presence, to be a part of his command, to see his thoughts in action. He had a strength about him, and I looked up to him as someone more than a leader. I had nothing but the highest respect for him, as a soldier and for everything he had accomplished here and previously in Europe.

"If I had more mad men like you, Hauptmann, the war in North Africa would have already been decisively won by Germany," Rommel said lightly when he presented me the medal.

"Sir, I did nothing…" I began to say before he silenced me with a wave of his hand.

"Hauptmann, not a word. Enjoy your moment. You've earned it and you deserve it. There are others who have received awards who shouldn't have," he said pointedly, the details understood but left unsaid. "Now, I would be honored if you would dine with me this evening."

Standing now in the Jufra battlefield again, it was the first time I had been here since the battle had occurred. I had never even visited it in my dreams, something I always felt sadly cheated about. Oh, I had dreamed about the other battles I had fought in, here and in Europe, and yes, I had even, unfortunately, dreamed about the Rat Patrol, but I never dreamed about Jufra. It was my fate in life to only experience its moment that one time.

I opened my eyes, returning to the present. I found myself placing my hands on my hips, surveying the damage stretching out in front of me. Even though I recognized the battlefield, it was different; in fact, it had drastically changed. I saw with a clinical eye that there was more death and destruction strewn across the battlefield than when I had originally fought here.

"You know where you're at, don't you?" Perkins asked, already knowing the answer to his question.

"Yes," I said simply, not elaborating.

"It is here you received your Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves, correct?" he continued pursuing answers.

"Yes," I again replied simply. But now I knew everything was different, this part of the desert wasn't the same as it was before I made my selfish wish. I frowned with displeasure knowing that the scene was altered, out-of-place and disjointed.

"I take it that the men of my command are dead," I said frankly to Perkins.

"A few of your command survived and were captured by the British, but yes, the majority are dead," he responded bluntly.

"And Walther's command?" I already suspected the answer but also needed it to be confirmed.

"They are all dead, including him," he replied again frankly. "Either here on the battlefield or in a field hospital." I felt an immense feeling of loss and sadness descend upon me. With such a great effort, all of us had accomplished so much with so little. The men who had caught my madness and savored its intoxication were now dead, dead due to my selfish desire to escape the reality of facing my own death.

"With the turn of events their deaths then must have been an advantage for the British," I said sarcastically.

"Actually, it wasn't. I realize that this is counter intuitive, but they actually lose more men without you being here. The British had to take your position along with Hauptmann Walther's which resulted in additional casualties for them. Afterwards when the German command realizes the two positions have fallen, it also sends in additional men to reinforce the flank. Many of those reinforcements are now killed. It's like a domino chain, Captain. You not being here started an unfortunate chain of events which couldn't be..."

"I believe I understand the concept, Perkins. It is not necessary for you to explain it to me like a school master," I interrupted him curtly.

I resumed walking and it was then I saw Matthias Walther sprawled dead against the desert. I went and stood over him, remembering our friendship. I had known him for quite some time, our friendship dating back to when we had attended the academy together. We were complete opposites and yet we had become close friends. He was short, stocky and blond and had the most outgoing personality of anyone I knew. Even during the most difficult situations, one could never be stressed around him.

We often visited clubs together when we were off duty and he was always trying to impress the women he met there. He would often have me quickly sketch a woman's portrait and palm it off as his own, saying that he had been admiring her from across the room and wanted to capture her likeness forever and how about a date in the meantime? A few times he was promptly slapped, which he took in good humor, but he normally was fairly successful with this ruse.

On one particular occasion I practically twisted Matthias' arm into joining me at a club even though he was dead on his feet from pulling an all night duty. After being there for only a few minutes, he again spotted a woman and had his usual request of me, pointing out with a grin that I owed him immensely for even being there. It was ironic of all the sketches I drew in my life, this was the one that really mattered, and the one that meant something more than just marks on paper.

When the two of them later married, I was honored to be his best man at their wedding. They would frequently joke that is was due to me and my sketch which had brought them together. Ironically, Margot discovered the deception on their honeymoon when she seductively asked him to sketch her again and he produced what basically amounted to a childish stick figure. Their marriage was truly a happy one and they had three beautiful children together in rapid succession, all just as boisterous and rowdy as their parents.

"Since I wasn't there to bully him to visiting the club that night and to give him the sketch, I assume Matthias doesn't marry Margot," I said sadly. I had always thought of her as the female equivalent of Matthias, so full of life.

"You are correct. She will marry a different man."

"Then I pray she is truly happy," I replied sincerely. "If not with Matthias then a man of his equal." I sincerely hoped she had found love and happiness with someone else if she was now not destined to be with Matthias.

"Well, I don't believe her new husband is quite Matthias' equal. You see, he is quite violent towards her," Perkins elaborated. I turned to him suddenly, not believing what I had heard.

"Are you suggesting that her new husband abuses her?"

"I'm not only suggesting it, I am confirming it. He beats her very frequently, among other things, some even worse. It's a tragic situation for her. She and Matthias were truly a loving couple; they had created a very happy family and life together."

"Their children are also gone?"

"Of course they are gone; how could she have children with Matthias if they never met? She does become pregnant from her new husband, but he beats her so severely she ends up miscarrying the unfortunate child. When he rapes her later, she becomes pregnant a second time, but she has an illegal abortion which renders her unable to have children in the future. In that aspect, she and her future unborn children are fortunate."

"A tremendous loss," I responded sadly. "Any man should be grateful to have Margot as his wife and have her give birth to his children, and I include myself in that category."

"Why do you say that, Captain? Is it because you coveted your neighbor's wife?" he asked shrewdly. I whirled to face him, my eyes blazing and I began to fiercely deny his accusation, but I forced myself to stop. He knew the truth, something I had never confessed to anyone, not even to a priest. It was something difficult for me to even admit to myself.

When Matthias and Margot met, I had been at a crossroads in my life, a time when I had wanted to finally settle down and have someone by my side. I had been lonely and melancholy at times before the war, even given the number of women I had known. I had wanted a greater commitment in my life than just to the Wehrmacht. I always believed Margot was the woman I could have easily shared the joy of life with together.

I was truly happy for them as a couple, but at times my thoughts drifted towards her at inopportune times. There was a part of me, a big part, which believed I loved her and which I continued to deny. I was envious of Matthias at times, wishing I had been the one bold enough to approach Margot on that fateful night, the man to have married her.

Eventually, I stopped seeing them together as a couple and only saw Matthias alone. Soon after, I volunteered for a distant duty station, wanting to put her at a distance from me. I no longer trusted myself to be in her company, even with others in our midst. If she had given me even the slightest encouragement, I knew I would have been unable to prevent myself from following through on my desires with her. I needed to walk away from her; my heart and honor were on a line I would not allow myself to cross.

"As much as I wanted to, I never acted on my thoughts or desires, never once acted inappropriately towards her," I finally responded, not wanting Perkins to fully know my inner turmoil regarding her. "She was the wife of one of my best friends and I had too much respect for the both of them to even remotely pursue any of my thoughts," I said, in a measured voice, choosing my words carefully.

"Did it cross your mind not to save him at the Battle of Jufra? His death would have made the situation rather convenient for you," he asked, completely catching me off guard. I was appalled at his suggestion.

"It is to your advantage for you to already be dead, Perkins," I said with my voice never rising. "If you weren't, I would kill you without any qualms for suggesting I would contemplate allowing Matthias to die in order to win Margot. As a German officer and as a man, I would never allow my personal desires to dictate my actions in combat. Even given what I know now, I would still do everything within my ability to save him at Jufra. However, if he had been killed during the war, I would have willingly married Margot and raised their children as my own,"

"That will never happen given the change of events, Captain," Perkins said frankly. "Besides, there was always someone else meant for you. Margot was meant only for Matthias, and now, neither one of you will have her. She belongs now to a third man, an odious man who will continue to abuse her, even after the war since he, too, will survive it." I quickly walked away from him, angry at myself for what I had caused to happen.

An entire family gone, it no longer existed due to my selfish desire. They all deserved better than this. Except for Margot, they were all no longer alive: one dead at my feet and the other three never born. Even for her I wouldn't consider her as being alive: she merely existed. If I had been there, I would have offered her protection and any type of assistance I had within my power, but now, there was nothing I could do for her in the slightest.

Suddenly, I spotted a slight movement out of the corner of my eye and quickly turned to see what it was. A British soldier, partly covered by debris, was trying to sit up and bring his weapon up to shoot me. My appearance must have been odd and out of place to him: a German officer walking the deserted battlefield in his dress uniform, unarmed with a scraggly British soldier for his companion.

He looked at me with calm eyes, without any fear, before he finally dropped the weapon, unable to hold it up any longer. He then sunk back down to the ground, without making a sound. I looked at Perkins, unsure as to how the soldier would be able to see us.

"I don't understand, this battle happened over a year ago. If both of us are not alive, how is he able to see us?" I asked Perkins, confused.

"The man is dying. He is at the tipping point when he is between both worlds: the living and the dead, the past and the present."

"Why is he still here on the battlefield? Why wasn't he retrieved by the medical corps? If not by the British, then by the German? Our doctors would have treated him."

"I don't have an answer for you; he must have been overlooked or mistaken for dead. The final result is the same," Perkins said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Have I come across this man in the past? From somewhere here in the desert or perhaps from the European campaigns I fought in?"

"No, you have never met him until now. Your actions will only impact him now at this particular moment in time."

"Why am I witnessing his final moments? Everything else you've shown me is how things have changed without me being alive. This is different; it is in the real and the present, yet at the same time, it is something that has happened in the past." I looked at him intently, but he merely returned my gaze, declining to respond. Realizing he would not provide me answer, I turned my attention to the wounded soldier.

I moved closer to the soldier confirming to him with my open hands that I was unarmed, not wanting to alarm him during his final moments. I glanced around for a water source and finally spotted a canteen nearby. I retrieved it and knelt in the sand next to him, lifting his head to enable him to drink the water. He looked at me with large eyes, dark and trusting, not saying a word, weakly nodding his thanks. When he was finished, I lowered him back to the sand to examine his wounds.

He was about my age and I could see by his insignia that he was a sergeant. I looked for his identification tag and saw that his name was Lyon. He was severely wounded, shot twice in the lower torso with a large, ragged gash down his left side heavily infected with dirt and sand. After quickly examining him, I could tell it was already too late for him to be saved. I had seen too many men in his condition to mistake the obvious signs of death. I looked up at Perkins and gave a slight shake of my head as I gently smoothed Lyon's uniform back into place with my hands. When I was finished, Lyon looked up at me and spoke softly.

"Would you light me a fag?" He must have seen the puzzled look on my face because he gave a short laugh and then clarified. "A cigarette." I automatically went to my pocket where I kept my cigarettes before I remembered I had smoked my last one this morning. I shook my head indicating I didn't have any. He motioned to his pocket and I pulled out a pack of cigarettes along with his lighter.

I placed one between the man's lips and lit it and he indicated for me to join him. I lit one for myself and the two of us sat there quietly smoking, looking at the horizon partially hidden by the haze from the burning vehicles. It felt odd yet at the same time comforting for two enemies to sit side by side sharing something as simple as a cigarette, sharing a man's last moments of life. When we were finished, I started to return the pack and lighter to him, but he gestured for me to keep them.

"No, please keep them, I certainly have no more use for them. The lighter was a gift from my father when I graduated from Cambridge. Perhaps, Captain, it will bring you greater luck than it brought me." The lighter was a beautiful piece of workmanship, obviously expensive, with his name engraved on it. I started to protest, but he silenced me with a weak shake of his head. I was very touched by his gesture since I firmly believed personal belongings should be returned to one's family. I finally placed them into my pocket without looking at them further. He then spoke to me for the last time.

"Captain, please shoot me. I'm ready to die," he said softly. "I don't particularly care to wait for the end of the day when I already know what it will bring me," he said in a precise upper class accent. He reminded me of Moffitt, with his dark hair and deep blue eyes. Here was another upper class Englishman who had decided to serve with the enlisted men, so different than the path I had chosen.

I was not surprised to hear his request. It was obvious from his wounds that he must be in excruciating pain and his eyes revealed he was serious about his appeal to me. I slowly stood up, my eyes never breaking contact with his. I finally broke away to where Perkins stood watching us.

"Perkins, you have the power, intercede on his behalf. Let him die peacefully now, without any further suffering," I asked quietly.

"Are you asking me to kill him?"

"I'm asking you to release his soul from his earthly body."

"There's nothing I can do for him. It's not his time. He will not die until sunset, at the same moment when you, too, leave this world and begin to walk the desert alone." I glanced up at the sun, which looked like it was approximately noon. I then responded to Perkins.

"The sun will not set for several hours. Are you saying that he will continue to lie here in agony by himself?"

"Yes," he replied without emotion.

I stood my ground with him, neither of us saying a word. I finally stepped away from him, returning to Lyon. He had heard our conversation, yet he continued to look at me calmly and without any fear. His eyes continued to tell me that he wanted me to follow through on what he had requested a few minutes earlier. I reached down and touched the sergeant's shoulder gently and then silently took his sidearm from its holster, verifying that it was loaded.

I stood up and quickly armed the weapon and aimed it at the injured man. I began to pull the trigger, but before I could do so, Perkins placed his hand on my arm, gently moving it away from my intended target.

"Your action is not necessary, Captain. He's left us," he said quietly looking over to the man. Lyon's eyes were closed and all the agony and suffering had melted away from him. He had an incredible look of peace on his face and he could have been merely asleep.

I stood over him for a moment willing my pulse to slow, my breathing to become deeper and more regular. I finally bent down to replace Lyon's weapon, making the sign of the cross over him afterwards. I swiftly looked up at Perkins, questioning what had happened without saying a word, but he didn't provide the answer I was seeking. I stood up and began walking away, deeper into the battlefield where I felt I belonged, my hands behind my back.

"Captain, your compassion for the enemy is admirable," Perkins said, catching up to me.

"He wasn't my enemy; he was a fellow soldier," I replied tersely. "I only hope I would have received the same compassion from my enemy on the battlefield in the same situation."

"You would have, Captain," he replied, pulling me to a stop beside a destroyed panzer. "In your final battle of the war, when you are fighting on the soil of Germany, when you are fighting for the sake of your final honor and your life, right before the long war finally comes to an end, the enemy was destined to come to your aid when you also were left on the battlefield to die of your combat wounds. You were going to receive the same compassion you demonstrated here, a few moment's ago, to your enemy."

"Since I'm already dead it doesn't really matter now, does it? So much for her prophecy of me dying at home with my loved ones around me," I said sarcastically with a cold laugh as I walked swiftly away.