"And to what do we owe the pleasure, Herr Hauptmann? Doktor?"

"Kriminalkomissar Freitag has asked that I speak with the prisoner," Dietrich told Kauffmann.

Kauffmann looked vaguely interested. "Did he?"

"He did."

Kauffmann looked at Hoffman with curiosity. "And why is he with you?'

"I am the camp doktor. Your prisoner is in my camp. Ergo, the man that you have in that room is my patient. I would like to see my patient." Hoffman looked at Kauffmann with contempt.

"How can I argue with that logic?" Kauffmann reached for his keys and then stopped. "You know, I do appreciate your interest in the welfare of the prisoner, Herr Doktor."

"Do you?" Hoffman asked suspiciously. He obviously did not believe Kauffmann.

Dietrich did not believe Kauffmann, either. He also did not trust the man. He waited for Kauffmann's response.

"Of course," Kauffmann said with a smile. "I am happy to allow you to examine him. Please do what you need to ensure his continued health."

Dietrich and Hoffman looked at each other in surprise.

"Thank you?" Hoffman said, obviously waiting for the catch.

"Certainly! After all, healthy subjects last longer and talk more. And they scream more loudly."

Dietrich found the glint in Kauffmann's eyes terrifying. This, Dietrich thought, was personification of the evil to which Wilhelm had aligned himself.

God help Wilhelm. God help Moffitt. God help all of them.

"You Gestapo are all barbarians." Hoffman shook his head in disgust. "But I find you particularly reprehensible, Kriminalinspektor Kauffmann."

"I will take that as a compliment." Kauffmann met Hoffman's judgement with yet another twisted smile. "Enjoy your visit with Sergeant Moffitt, gentlemen. It may well be your last. Heil Hitler!"

Kauffman opened the door to the room and allowed both Dietrich and Hoffman to enter.

The door was closed and locked behind them.

Moffitt got up from the bed and came towards them. Dietrich instinctively stepped in front of Hoffman, uncertain how Moffitt was going to react.

"Captain, good afternoon," Moffitt said, his voice cordial. "This is the last place that I would have expected to find you. However, I have heard you are the Kommandant here now?"

"That is correct. Though, it is a temporary assignment," Dietrich answered. "You and Troy are not rid of me just yet."

"I should certainly hope not. The war just wouldn't be the same without you." Moffitt smiled.

Hoffman looked at Dietrich, obviously surprised at the familiarity that exchange had indicated. "You know this man, Hauptmann Dietrich?"

"I do." Dietrich sighed. "Better than anyone would hope to know their enemy."

"Little vacation of sorts from the battlefield? There are worse things, I suppose." Moffitt considered for a moment. "Though, I would think that being stuck here would be like hell on earth for you, Captain. Especially since I know that Bader is commanding your unit in your absence."

Dietrich could not help but to agree with Moffitt, even if only silently. The whole experience had been nothing short of miserable and Dietrich had more than a sneaking suspicion it was turning him into an alcoholic.

"Well, if it's any consolation, your men seemed fine when I last saw them. Bader in particular seems to be doing well. After all, he captured me. Really, that's saying something, isn't it?"

"And he was lucky enough to survive that unscathed. Which is more than I can say for you." Dietrich nodded towards Hoffman. "This is Doktor Hoffman, Sergeant Moffitt. I believe that you met him when you arrived here?"

"I did." Moffitt went to extend his hand, and then looking down at the heavy bandages, stopped. Instead, he raised it in greeting. "Hello again, Doctor."

"Doktor Hoffman, allow me to present your patient, Sergeant Moffitt."

"Pleased to meet you, Sergeant. Again. Though, it is nice to have your name this time, and a face to put with it," Hoffman said.

Moffitt gave Hoffman a small but very polite bow.

"Sergeant, would you allow Doktor Hoffman to examine your wounds?" Dietrich asked.

"Why not? I hear my back looks particularly awful. Not exceedingly painful, though." Mofiftt came closer and held out his arms to Hoffman. "My arms and hands hurt the worse of all of it."

Hoffman nodded. "I am not surprised. I believe I told you that would be the case when I examined you upon your arrival, did I not?"

"So you did." Moffitt watched as Hoffman unwrapped the dressings. He made a face when the dark leathery dermis was exposed. When he attempted to flex his fingers, deep cracks in the dead skin exposed the raw red beneath. "What a mess, eh?"

Hoffman shook his head. "You are very lucky, young man. Despite everything, you seem to be healing well. This looks, and likely feels, much worse than it is."

Dietrich had been watching them, his back against the door, and arms crossed over his chest. "Sergeant, have you been receiving medical treatment from the Gestapo officer who is questioning you?"

Moffitt nodded. "Yes, I have. Freitag has been looking after me. He's fairly gentle, actually. Particularly for a Gestapo officer."

"All that is needed here is an application of ointment and fresh dressings." Hoffman said, as he continued to examine Moffitt's arms. He opened his bag and began to remove what he needed. "Your pain is merely being caused by the skin healing. The damaged skin tightens and cracks before it sloughs off. Burns should be kept moist, you know. It will prevent the discomfort."

Moffitt allowed Hoffman to slather his hands and forearms with ointment and then re-wrap them. "Feels better already, thank you."

"I am glad." Hoffman, finished with Moffitt's arms, began to examine the wounds on his face.

Dietrich squinted, but aside from a few minor burns near the hairline and a bruise that covered the right side from the jaw up to cheekbone, Moffitt's face looked relatively unscathed. Unavoidably, Dietrich made the comparison between the handsome and whole countenance of the Englander before him to the charred visage of the body that he had found in the back of the truck.

"Captain?" Moffitt was looking at Dietrich. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, yes, everything is fine, Sergeant. I was just thinking of something," Dietrich answered.

"Must not have been something very pleasant," Moffitt said, as perceptive as usual. Suddenly, he let out a yelp of pain. "Speaking of not very pleasant . . . What are you doing, Herr Doktor? Are you actually trying to peel the skin from my back?" Moffitt turned his head to glare at Hoffman.

"It may very well come to that," Hoffman answered, grimly.

From his position, Dietrich watched Hoffman's face. It was obvious he had not liked what he had seen when he had removed the dressings.

"This is what happens when a neurologist treats a severe burn. And when a patient does not heed a doktor's advice." Hoffman tutted to himself and then turned his attention again to Moffitt's back. "Stop fidgeting!" he ordered Moffitt.

Dietrich could not help but to grin as Hoffman suddenly rapped Moffitt on the back of the head. The look of surprise on Moffitt's face had been priceless.

"When I had initially examined you, did I not tell you to avoid putting any pressure on your back, Sergeant?" Hoffman asked.

"Yes, sir. You did indeed," Moffitt answered, his eyes straight ahead and his body very still.

Hoffman's frown deepened. "And yet, it is obvious that you did not listen to me?"

"I had every intention of doing exactly as you had said, Herr Doktor." Moffitt made a noise of regret. "But after spending all night sitting up 'talking' with Kriminalkomissar Freitag, I was so exhausted I believe that I passed out flat on my back shortly after he had left me."

"Well, the damage is done, I am afraid. And," Hoffman peered closely at the skin around Moffitt's eyes, pulling it tight and then letting it go, "you are dehydrated."

"I do feel a bit parched, now that you mention it. But as we're in the desert, I really didn't think much of it."

Finally, Hoffman put his hand on Moffitt's forehead, feeling the temperature of his skin. "You are also warmer than you should be."

"I had noticed that too, but being in the desert . . . Well, you know."

"What I know is that you have a very smart mouth, young man. I also know that I would like to administer you a stronger antibiotic. I fear that your wounds are becoming infected." Hoffman turned his attention to the IV bag that was hanging from a stand beside of the bed. The bag was only a quarter empty and the line was dangling loosely. Hoffman raised his eyebrows. "I suppose, Sergeant, this just fell out of your arm?"

Moffitt looked away. "No, Herr Doktor. I removed the needle when Freitag left," he confessed. "I didn't know what was in it. I preferred not to continue intravenously ingesting whatever cocktail he was feeding me."

"I understand. But I will need to reinsert the IV. You need the fluid and the antibiotics in the solution. You will have to trust me, even if you do not trust Freitag."

"I completely trust you and your diagnosis, sir."

Hoffman stripped off his gloves and grimaced. "My diagnosis is that you are an awful patient, Sergeant."

"Would you believe that's not the first time I've heard that?" Moffitt gave the doktor one of his disarming crooked grins.

Hoffman did not look charmed. "I would absolutely believe it."

"Well, Herr Doktor?" Dietrich asked. "How is our guest?"

"As well as he deserves to be." Hoffman looked at Dietrich. "I did not expect to need to perform such a treatment. I will go gather what I need. You will stay with him, Herr Hauptmann, to ensure that he does no additional damage to himself?"

Dietrich nodded. "Of course."

Hoffman knocked on the door and waited for Kauffman to open it.

Dietrich watched as Hoffman left the room. When the door was closed, he turned back to Moffitt. "Do you want to live, Sergeant?"

"Staying alive is always one of my main objectives." Moffitt sat down gingerly on the bed, making small adjustments in his posture until he appeared to find a comfortable position. He looked up at Dietrich. "I do hope that you don't have any plans otherwise, Captain?"

"It is not my plans you need to be worried about." Pointedly, Dietrich looked behind him at the door.

"I knew the Gestapo was being far too nice about this entire thing." Moffitt sighed. "Completely out of character for them, isn't it? Not surprising that it is going to come to an end."

"It does not have to come an unpleasant end, Sergeant. Kriminalkomissar Freitag wishes to treat you humanely. As do I."

"And Kauffmann? I am sure that he has no such desire. He's been itching to get at me since the moment that we met."

"I am sure, Sergeant," Dietrich said, "that you have done nothing to antagonize him?"

"I am sure that I have no idea what you're talking about, Herr Hauptman." Moffitt managed to school his face into the picture of innocence.

"Oh, but I am sure that you do." Dietrich came closer to Moffitt and looked down at him. He studied the bruise that covered the right side of Moffitt's face and the swelling that was apparent under it. "Did Kauffman do that to you?"

It seemed to take Moffitt a moment to understand to what Dietrich was referring. Finally, he put a hand towards his cheek. "Oh. I had very nearly forgotten all about that. Dentist, actually."

Dietrich looked at the man, puzzled.

"It's a long story. But it may have put me off of bread forever," said Moffitt, looking glum at whatever memory that he was recalling. "Speaking of food, I'm starving, actually. And I could murder a cup of tea."

"We will feed you after the doctor has completed your treatment." Dietrich arched an amused eyebrow. "I will ensure that we omit the bread from your tray."

"That would be wonderful. Thank you. And the tea?" Moffitt asked hopefully.

"I am sure that we have somewhere." Considering everything else that the former Kommandant had stockpiled, Dietrich would not be surprised if they had actual English tea.

"I very much appreciate it. I haven't eaten much for a few days. Haven't felt up to it, really. And the Kriminalkomissar has been far too interested in asking me questions about other things to inquire about my appetite."

"The Kriminalkomissar has good reason to be so interested. He believes that you have knowledge of a large Allied offensive that is about to take place."

"Does he now?" Moffitt looked at Dietrich. "Do you, Captain? Believe that?"

"I do. And I also believe that you did indeed tell him what he wanted to know."

"I did. Though, I am afraid that he didn't understand a word of it. But Freitag, bless him, kept trying. You have to applaud the man's fortitude."

"There is a lot at stake here for Germany, Sergeant."

"There's a lot here at stake for all of us," Moffitt responded. "Tenacity is something you lot seem to all have in spades, isn't it, Captain? If not, you would have given up trying to best Troy a long time ago." Moffitt smirked at Dietrich.

Dietrich suddenly sympathized with Kauffmann. He also very much wanted to punch Moffitt in the face at that moment. Taking a deep breath, Dietrich resisted the urge. "You are very proud of your cleverness, aren't you, Sergeant?"

"Clever? You think I'm being clever?"

"Yes, I do. Too much so for your own good."

"Why Captain! I do believe that may be quite nicest thing that you've ever said to me. Normally when we meet, you're only all too focused on criticizing my German."

Dietrich started to pace. The man really had no idea what situation into which he had placed himself.

Or, maybe he did.

At any rate, Dietrich felt the need to explain it to him. "You chose to answer all of Freitag's questions in a language that you knew that he could not understand."

"I did. That is true," Moffitt admitted.

"It was an American Indian dialect that you were using, no?" Dietrich relished the expression of surprise on Moffitt's face. It was a rare thing to see.

"Who's clever now?" Moffitt gave Dietrich an open look of admiration. "I don't suppose that you were able to find out which one?"

"No. Why don't you tell me?"

"It's an Iroquois dialect." Moffitt seemed more than shocked that the words had left his mouth.

Dietrich was more than surprised that Moffitt had not only given him an answer, but one that was apparently truthful. "Well, that is uncharacteristically helpful of you, Sergeant."

"I swear! That damn drug!" Moffitt closed his eyes in frustration. "There must be enough of it still in my system for me to still be in a sharing mood. Quite the opportunity for you, Captain."

Dietrich raised his eyebrows. "Is it?"

"I am sure that there is something that you'd like to know about Troy, there has to be. Favorite song? Shoe size?"

Dietrich shook his head. "Despite our famialirty, I do not have the overwhelming need to know my enemy, Sergeant."

"No?" Moffitt thought for a moment and then suddenly looked as though he had had a revelation. "Oh I know! Perhaps why Troy wears that silly hat? You can't tell me that you've never wondered about that. Now would be the time to ask."

As tempting as it was to find out exactly why Troy insisted upon wearing that ridiculous hat, Dietrich shook his head again and smiled. "No thank you. I prefer that my enemies maintain an air of mystery about them. I will let Sergeant Troy keep his secrets."

Moffitt inclined his head. "Suit yourself. That was likely a once in a lifetime offer, you know."

"An Iroquois dialect." Dietrich thought about what Moffitt had told him. "It would make sense then why we cannot seem to find anyone in all of Germany that can understand it."

"To my knowledge there are very few that can still speak it, anywhere in the world. I would wager that none of them are in Germany," Moffitt agreed.

"Of course. That would have been far too easy, would it not have been?" And, Dietrich completed silently, it would not be like Moffitt to make things easy on them. Or, upon himself.

"It's quite a predicament in which you've found yourself, Captain. All of that information and you can't do a damn thing with it." Moffitt gave Dietrich a smug look of satisfaction. "Must be incredibly frustrating for you."

"I do not suppose that you would consider sharing the information with me? In English? Or even in German. If you would like to practice the language? I would be happy to help you with that," Dietrich asked, not able to resist throwing the now customary insult in Moffitt's very self-satisfied face.

"Not hardly." Moffitt looked past Dietrich, at the door. "You know, speaking of Troy, I keep waiting for him to come bursting through that door to rescue me. Rather disappointing that he hasn't yet." He sounded almost wistful. "I suppose he's spoiled me."

Oh, but Troy had come for Moffitt, thought Dietrich, and to the best of Troy's knowledge, he had left with him. He would not be back for what he did not know still existed.

"You are going to be waiting a long time for that, Sergeant. And unfortunately, your time is rather limited," Dietrich told Moffitt.

Moffitt looked at Dietrich with interest. "You must be aware of something about my future that I am not, Captain. What do our friends from the Gestapo have planned for me?"

"Well, as you are choosing not to cooperate with Freitag, I am afraid that Kauffman will eventually have his turn. I do not believe that it will be a pleasant experience for you."

"I doubt that it will be. The man is twisted. I have already had the unfortunate opportunity to observe that first hand," Moffitt muttered, his expression darkening. "His truly evil nature knows no bounds."

Dietrich waited for Moffitt to elaborate, wondering what he had seen, but nothing more came.

"Kauffmann apparently has quite the success rate for convincing people to share information. Sergeant Moffitt, why not tell me what you know? Or, at the very least, tell the Kriminalkomissar," Dietrich insisted urgently. "You will talk, I am sure, before Kauffmann is done with you. Why not just take the easiest path to the same end?"

"Why not, Captain?" Moffitt asked, sounding surprised. "You know it as well as me."

"Know what, Sergeant?"

"In this situation . . ." Moffitt looked at Dietrich with the expression of a man who was resigned to his fate. "There is no such thing as the easy path, is there?"

Dietrich threw up his hands in frustration. "You will die at Kauffmann's hands Sergeant, if you do not take action to avoid that end!"

"Yes, I am sure that you are quite right." Moffitt considered for a moment. He looked at Dietrich, his odd light eyes searching Dietrich's face intently. "You said that you were offering me the easiest way out, Captain. Did you mean that?"

"I did. Will you take that offer?"

"It depends on what you're offering, doesn't it now?"

"What?" Dietrich asked, confused. He felt that he could not have been clearer.

"Considering everything, and as I'm quite determined not to talk, I'd say that putting a bullet in my head is the most merciful thing that you could do for me. Wouldn't you?"

Dietrich could not argue that, but nor could he agree to do it.

Moffitt's gaze latched onto Dietrich's. "Would you be willing to do that for me, Captain?"

It may have been the easiest path for Moffitt, but it would have been the hardest one for Dietrich.

"I cannot," Dietrich said, averting his eyes.

"And I really don't want you to, either. But it does prove my point rather nicely, doesn't it?" Moffitt shrugged. "See, I told you. No easy path. Not for any of us."