I was at the pond, clearing it of nearly five years of overgrowth. The tangle of reeds and rushes was preventing it from draining properly through the creek. A marsh was forming and it would only become worse the longer the thinning was delayed. If nothing was done, the rising water would soon overtake the nearby wooden chairs and tables which sat on the bank.

I paused, taking in the solitude. The area had always been peaceful and restful. I would stroll down to it when home on leave, lost in thought, to feed the wild geese or to sketch. More than once I had escorted young women, brought home under the guise of meeting my parents, there.

The pond was a convenient destination during these visits as I was never allowed to be alone with the girl elsewhere. In a naive attempt to foil any inappropriate behavior, my parents would purposely place the young woman in a room at the opposite extreme of the house from mine. My parents' unspoken rule of no unmarried sex under their roof was not one to be broken. I had no qualms, though, about breaking it when no longer actually under their roof.

For us to have some chance of intimacy, I would use the excuse of wanting to show my date the beautiful sunset from the pond. My parents never suspected the true motive of my suggestion.

We would have sex hidden in the tall grass still warm from the sun. The sex would be hard and fast, our urgency leaving us no time to remove our clothes. It was critical to return before my parents began to suspect anything was amiss. These encounters were all that much more delicious and satisfying because they had been forbidden.

Only Liesl knew of my true motives. With pretend wide eyes, she would innocently inquire about how we had enjoyed the sunset.

I pushed these thoughts from my mind.

Those carefree days from before the war were in the past. There was no reason to dwell on what I had done in the past with women whose names I was unable to recall. Women were no longer part of my life.

I returned to the task at hand.

I had been working on the project for the last week and was finally beginning to see progress. When they could spare a moment, my father and Kohl would join me, appearing without notice, holding scythes. The three of us would work together saying little, focused on completing the task in the next few weeks before the rains would arrive.

Kohl or I would curse under our breath when a knife-like reed cut into our ungloved hands. My father would frown and look at us when we did so, a reminder to watch our language. He was against cursing and expected the family to maintain the same high moral standard he kept for himself.

Despite his age, my father kept up with us with little effort. Indeed, there were times he cleared more than Kohl or myself. I noticed it without comment, and could only pray to have the same health and fortitude when at his age.

We had cleared a great deal, but much work remained. A part of me believed the work would never be finished. Not just here, at this remote pond in Coburg, but everywhere in Germany. The cities would take a lifetime to rebuild. How could the horror and destruction leveled against us ever be removed? No, it never would be erased and we would never be allowed to forget we had initiated it.

I continued working, bundling the reeds on the bank to be burned later as kindling. I needed the work as much as the pond did. The intensive labor was therapeutic for me, helping me sleep through the night while rebuilding my body's strength.

My work slowed and I came to a stop again.

The day was beautiful and I chastised myself for not taking note of it earlier. Autumn was my favorite season and there were too many times I came close to never witnessing it again. The rushes swayed in the slight breeze which carried the rich scent of the earth. There was a faint remnant of summer in the air, but the approach of winter was also on its breath. Soon, the power of the sun would fade, not to be regained for months. Already, each day, it was hugging the horizon a little closer. There would be only a few remaining warm days to enjoy until spring made its reappearance.

I looked up at the sun, calculating the time to be approximately 15:00. How frequently had I performed the same simple determination when I had been in Africa? It had been necessary to use this ageless method to tell time. It had been impossible to wear a watch due to the burning of one's skin from the hot metal.

A sudden longing for Africa arose within me. It had been some time since I had desired the barren land and the little it had to offer. I leaned against the scythe, allowing my thoughts to drift again into the past. Had over three years really already passed since my evacuation? Since Meyer's reappearance, Africa had crossed my mind more and more frequently, invading my waking and nighttime moments. Occasional remembrances had now become daily thoughts. For some unknown reason, Africa was calling me, beckoning me with longing arms.

Suddenly, I wanted to feel the sun on my bare skin.

With a grin, I removed my shirts, tossing them onto the grass. I had always wanted to remove my blouse while in Africa, to feel its softer sun in the autumn. But, being an officer, it was a satisfaction I never allowed myself. Home, and currently not an officer, it was a pleasure to be enjoyed when no one was with me.

The sun was soothing on my scarred back, its warmth loosening the tightness of the damaged skin. My body was pale to what it had been in the past. I had been outdoors the majority of this past summer yet my body's darkness was nothing compared to the rich tan I had acquired in Africa over the span of two years. My skin had been burned as dark as of native when there. Now, there was no mistaking my European paleness.

My grin faded.

I returned to work, bringing down the reeds at a steady pace. Time was too precious to waste. There were so many projects to be completed in the few short months before I would be leaving.

Only a few minutes had passed before a bicycle came recklessly racing down the path. Liesl could be heard calling out to me even before she came into view.

"Hans! Hans!"

Arriving, she brought the bicycle to a stop and leaned it against a table. Her face was bright with excitement, obviously eager to share some news with me. Whatever it was, it must be important. She had visited the pond infrequently since we were children.

"Have you arrived to assist me, my dear Liesl?" I teased her. "We have a few hours of daylight remaining. There are several spades and scythes for you to put to good use."

She looked down her nose at me with good humor. "Don't be such a ninny, Hans. You know I don't do dirt. No, I'm here for something much more important."

I bated her with my silence.

She soon fell for it, eager to share her news. "Aren't you wondering what brings me here? Well, aren't you going to guess?"

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I had indeed found myself wondering what she had to share. But, still, I remained patient. "My instinct tells me it won't be long before you inform me."

I casually spat out a long string of tobacco juice.

Liesl crinkled her nose.

"That is the most disgusting habit! I could shoot that troll Keaton for introducing you and Coburg to it. Half of the city is chewing and spitting. It's bad enough with the Americans, one expects them to be crude and vulgar. But, a German from a family like ours?"

"It provides food, doesn't it? Or would you rather return to eating turnips at every meal?"

"Umm, no."

She was squirming with excitement and I decided to play along to appease her.

"Is it . . ." I began to guess.

She interrupted, saving me the effort of continuing.

"A telegram was delivered to you a few minutes ago! Papa thought you should know. It must be something important, don't you think? Only important messages are sent by telegram due to the cost. Who has the money to send telegrams these days?" She delivered her information in short, quick bursts, her eagerness preventing her from speaking long sentences.

Any interest dissipated. The moment darkened for me, the brightness snatched away. Despite Liesl's enthusiasm and exactly for the reasons she had stated, a telegram did not bode well for the recipient.

"And who would be sending me a telegram?" I queried.

But I already knew who had sent it.

I knew.

Mein Gott, how I knew who had sent the telegram. And, why he had sent it.

Liesl's voice pulled me back.

"I don't know who sent it," she responded honestly. "If Papa hadn't been there, you know I would have opened it," she added mischievously. "You would never have been the wiser . . ." Her smile froze on her face to be replaced by a look of horror.

What had consumed her with such a fright?

I turned to see if there was someone behind me, but there was no one. She sharply drew in her breath, distressed, and stifled a scream.

"Liesl?" Her stare bit through me. "Is something wrong?"

She stood rooted to the spot.

Her eyes were fixated on my massive scar, jaggedly running from my chest to my hips, down my side until it disappeared underneath my trousers. The scar was starkly white against my tanned skin, the edges still showing a faint pink. Her eyes darted to my back, her attention moving to the scars of where I had almost been flogged to death.

Her hands had gone up to cover her face in horror, much as if she were a child who had seen a monster.

But I was the monster who had frightened her.

I retrieved my shirts. Without comment, I pulled my undershirt onto my perspiring body, not bothering to dry off with a towel. The shirt soon followed, both tucked tightly into my trousers. The ugliness of my body was now hidden from plain view.

"Hans," she stammered. "What happened to you?"

"Father and Mother surely informed you of the seriousness of my war injuries." I returned to clearing the rushes, wanting the embarrassing moment to end.

"Yes, they did, but they did not mention an injury to your back. Those scars, they're older than those from the other wounds. I've never seen anything like them. It looks like you were . . ."

She did not finish her sentence. I did not help her to draw her conclusion of what evil had befallen me.

"Hans? What happened to your back? Who did this to you, and when? Was it the Allies?" She fired off her questions, not waiting for an answer before moving unto the next one.

I answered none of them. "It is an event I do not discuss, Liesl. Please leave it."

"Which army did it? The British? The Americans? The Italians? I heard they really didn't like fighting with the Germans. Or was it the Bedouins? They can be little more than savages, from stories told to me. You were there for over two years, plenty of time for them to snatch you and . . ."

"Drop it, Liesl. I will not discuss it." My voice was sharp, in a tone rarely used with her.

She flinched at my harshness, but she continued pressing me.

"Is your back the reason why you holed yourself up here when you first returned? Are you ashamed of how you look, ashamed of your Wehrmacht service somehow causing it?" she asked with curiosity in her voice. "I know you didn't have them before."

During our lives we had discussed everything between us including sex, but this was the one thing we had never discussed: My service and near death for Nazi Germany.

"No," I replied viciously. "I have nothing to be ashamed about. I served honorably. Why? Are you ashamed of my service?" I countered, turning it back to her. "Are you ashamed of my looks? I can at least cover up my scars, while many men cannot hide their war disabilities."

"Of course not! We've been nothing but proud of you. All of us, including me." She was silent for a moment and before she returned to her original mission.

"Don't you want to know who sent the telegram and why it was sent?"

"Not particularly. I have no desire to receive telegrams. My preference is to remain here, living a quiet life for the next few months, away from the world."

"Well, your stupid telegram is up at the house. Do with it what you want," she said with a huff. She turned without looking, jumped unto the bicycle and rode away.

I continued for several minutes, postponing the inevitability which was waiting for me. But it was time to face the future which had now become my present. I had waited twelve years for this moment. In the end, it had happened exactly as the fortune-teller had predicted.

My work at the pond would need to wait until I could take leave from the academy next year. I would not return from Wyoming in time to complete the clearing before the bad weather arrived. I would request Kohl to bring the furniture into the barn. The wood should be re-seasoned so it would be ready for the spring.

I looked around the pond and smiled. A sudden awareness sprang to me. The next woman I brought here would be my wife. One day, I would bring her here and I would make love to her properly in the tall, warm grass.

I gathered up the tools and started up to the tool shed located near the barn. Cleaning and oiling them, I placed them in their spots. Behind the shed was a water pump and I cleaned away my perspiration and grime under the sluice of cold water.

I contemplated returning to my room and changing into a fresh shirt. I decided against it. Things had already been set in motion and it would be impossible to prevent them from happening. If I had realized one thing through all of the events which had taken place since that fateful trip to Africa so many years ago, it was that one's destiny could not be avoided.

I entered the main house and was greeted by Fraulein Rosen.

"Ah, Herr Major! Your family and the Kommandant are in the sitting room waiting for you. Seems like there is some excitement brewing for you. Your father has your telegram."

They stared at me when I entered, their faces indicating their curiosity. My father gestured to the telegram on the sideboard which waited for me, not saying a word.

Opening it, the simple words leapt from the thin paper:

"Need help. Can you arrive by October and stay six weeks? S Troy

Dawson, Wyoming"

In an instant, the fortune-teller's words from twelve years prior came flooding back. Then, they had made no sense. Now, the final unanswered pieces of the puzzle of how Troy and I would be joined after the war had slid into place. As the revelation hit, a swell of emotions surged within me while accompanying images flashed across my mind:

Attacked convoys, uneasy truces, respect mixed with orders to kill, Troy and I each saving the life of the other.

The images ended with a fire.

A fire? I could see it in my mind's eye, but I was certain I had not been there to witness it first-hand. It had occurred recently, and somewhere far away, in a land untouched by the war's destruction.

I walked over to the window. I stared out at the expanse of green in front of me, the flimsy telegram still in my hand. The grounds of the estate were finally beginning to recover. As, was I. Was this the time for me to leave my family, the estate and Germany? They too were at a pivotal crossroads and were also in need of my help.

My mind was racing and my heart rate had increased. We were no longer enemies, but Sam Troy still managed to have an impact upon me.

Behind me, I heard someone clear their throat. My family was becoming restless, curious about the telegram's content. It was finally my father who broke the silence.

"What is in the telegram, Hans? Is it bad news?"

Bad news? I wanted to laugh out loud. What qualified as bad news? How much worse could our lives become since the war ended? The life we had known was over. We were picking up the straws of what little remained of it at our conqueror's whim, barely subsisting. Only just now did we even have enough to eat due to the selling of tobacco, provided by who else? An American.

I waited a moment before answering. "Unknown, but probably."

"Who sent the telegram?"

"Someone from my past is asking for assistance. He is requesting I immediately travel to Wyoming and stay for several weeks."

"Wyoming?" my father echoed with a frown. "In the western United States?"

"Yes.

"Did you know him from before the war or during?" asked my father.

The war, the war. All time and events were referenced and marked by the war.

"During. The telegram is from Sergeant Sam Troy." I paused before continuing. "We fought against each other in North Africa for over a year," I added, not elaborating further. My back was still to my family.

Liesl chimed in. "You mean the telegram is from the leader of the American commando team? The one from North Africa you used to write home about, the one who almost killed you several times? The one you said was as much of an irritation as having sand in your bathing suit?"

"Yes, he is the one and same. Liesl, Sergeant Troy saved my life at the end of the war, along with my Leutnant's." I finally turned to face my family. My mother had a look of concern on her face, while Liesl's was burning with curiosity. Schnass' face was bright with excitement. Only my father's was impassive.

"Oh! Papa, isn't he the one who . . .?" my sister started to ask.

"Yes," my father said interrupting my sister. I looked at them, not understanding what she was referencing.

"And isn't he the one who brought us . . ."

"Liesl, enough," my father said in a sharp voice.

Still to this day, my father is the only force I have ever known with the power to shut Liesl up. She stopped in mid-sentence, her mouth snapping shut. My sister needed no further warning.

"Sir, what is Liesl referencing?" My mother and sister exchanged glances while my father's focus remained on me.

"If it was in regards to Sergeant Troy and him becoming involved with the family, I have a right to know."

My father emitted a sigh, an act unlike him. "In the final days, everything was in complete chaos, Hans, the fronts imploding, the Soviets threatening from the East. It had become impossible to obtain any information about your status since January 1945. We had no idea where you were or on which front you were serving.

"After he found you and took you to the field hospital, Sergeant Troy must have remembered you were from Coburg. He personally delivered news of your condition. He then escorted us to you. If it hadn't been for him, we might not have known if you were alive.

"He made arrangements for us to stay in nearby lodging so we could be with you until we were forced to leave. The American was very helpful and compassionate during this difficult time. He asked for nothing in return."

"There's more. What else is Liesl referencing?" I pressed.

"While you were recovering, he brought us food and petrol coupons on several occasions. He knew how challenging it was for us so soon after the war ended. There were so little food stocks in the area. If he hadn't assisted us, I don't know how we would have survived during those difficult early days."

Troy had been here, to my home, eighteen months ago. Now there was an additional piece of my private life he knew.

"Why wasn't I informed?"

His response was blunt and not softened. "You were dying. There was no need for you to worry about our well-being."

Troy's actions had been sincere. I had witnessed his compassion too many times in the desert to believe otherwise.

"We attempted to offer him payment of silver or jewelry, but he refused to accept anything. He said he had done it because it was the right thing to do and . . ."

"And what?"

"He said you would have done nothing less for him or for his family. Sergeant Troy is an honest and honorable man."

The room went quiet, everyone's focus on the telegram.

Troy had always proven himself to be deadly resourceful with the most minimal of men and supplies. How desperate must his situation be for him to seek assistance from a former enemy in a faraway land?

After a moment, my father spoke again.

"Did Sergeant Troy provide any details on how he needs your assistance?"

I shook my head and turned back to the window, my hands behind my back, clasping the thin telegram. My father crossed the room to stand beside me.

"It is unlikely you will receive any additional information from him given the immediate time frame he is requesting. There is no time for a correspondence."

"Sir, I am also needed here. The family and Germany are my priorities. I have given my commitment to the academy. I cannot forsake it." My mind was still in turmoil, unsure of why Troy would need me, what I could possibly offer him.

"We do you need you here," my father said with confidence. "But for the sergeant to reach so far means he is in greater need than us at this time. The academy has been here for over a hundred years and has survived two world wars. It will still be here when you return."

He paused. "My instinct tells me you had already made your decision when you first read the telegram. You should go with your initial decision," he said factually. "It is the one which is normally right."

I turned to face him, wanting to protest, but he spoke the truth. An unexplainable force was drawing me to the United States.

I must go.

It would be impossible for me to deny Troy's request. Everything else must wait. I would notify von Kleist that an emergency was calling me away for the next few months, but that I would return by January.

I gave my father a slight nod. "Yes, I made my decision, as soon as I read his request."

He placed his hands on my shoulders for emphasis.

"My boy, you have truly proved yourself the German officer and the man I always knew you to be. Now go to Sergeant Troy at his time of need."