The end, thought Dietrich, was near. Not only of the battle, but of the war.

Dietrich had decided that he would face the end, whether it be death or capture, with the dignity with which he had started it all. There was some comfort to take from that, even when he could take comfort from little else. It was what allowed him to begin every nightmarish day after the one before it had closed. It was also what allowed him to motivate his men to do the same.

His new unit was mostly made up of recruits who were new to the desert and new to the war. They were, Dietrich thought, so very young. Perhaps, that was because he felt so very old. He was tired most days, as he swam alone in a sea of strange faces. While he had encouraged the men to build relationships on and off the battlefield, Dietrich had held himself distant. Even if it was not necessarily how Dietrich had approached his command in the past, it was what was expected from his troops. German officers had never been known to be overly friendly with their men.

It was likely, realized Dietrich, for the best. As a result, he felt alone in what he knew could well be his final days. In a world so mad, having any attachments to anyone was unwise. He told himself that was no comfort in comradery that was so likely ephemeral.

But no matter what he told himself, Dietrich found that he spent most of his free time thinking about how truly alone he was. He was unable to stop himself from dwelling on all the losses that had led to his solitary condition, including those that had not occurred as a result of the war. Dietrich remembered the loss of his parents, dead for years, taken from him by a cruel accident. He thought of Herzgog, who had left their world because he could no longer allow his daughter to live in it. However, he had had the time to get over those losses.

The ones that he found himself thinking about frequently were the most recent.

The day that Dietrich had admitted to himself that he missed Bader was the day that he had begun to question his own sanity. At first, in a whimsy that must have been born of battle fatigue, Dietrich had entertained the idea that if Bader had indeed been taken prisoner, certainly the Americans would beg the Germans to take him back. Of course, that had not happened. He could only assume that the boy was dead. It was not uncommon for him to look over and expect to see Bader standing beside of him. When he realized Bader was not there, Dietrich still could not help feeling the bitterness of all of his losses afresh.

Of all of the losses that Dietrich mourned, the loss of Wilhelm's friendship was the most painful. He doubt that it would have hurt more if Wilhelm had actually been dead.

As awful as the merciless onslaught of the Allies was, time on the battlefield had become a welcome respite from Dietrich's grief. It was impossible to dwell on death and loss while trying to stay alive. When the fighting had stopped, Dietrich had lost even that small comfort. A momentary lull, he told himself, before the Allies unleashed their final storm.

By that time, Dietrich had nearly reached a place where he felt at peace, having accepted his losses for what they were. He was left feeling as if he had nothing, and no one, left to lose. Considering the circumstances, the frame of mind was not entirely unfortunate. Dietrich felt that he could face, without trepidation, any end that fate would see fit to give him. He merely had to wait for it. When it came, he would meet it, with his head held high and with open arms.

Until then, Dietrich would continue to do his duty, to his men and to his army. Even with all of his other losses, he was determined that he would not lose himself.

There had been little evidence of Allied activity in the German territory.

Despite the quiet, Dietrich and his unit still had orders to complete the necessary tasks, which mainly consisted of patrolling what remained of the German held territories. Even if the activity seemed unnecessary, Dietrich ensured that his men took their routine duties as seriously as if they were riding into battle every day. He had been very glad of that when the quiet had ended abruptly, courtesy of none other than the Rat Patrol.

It was, thought Dietrich, as would have been expected.

His patrol had come upon the desert vermin as they attempted to destroy one of the few existing Wehrmacht supply caches. With quick action and flawless implementation, Dietrich's group managed to force Troy and his men to leave before they had completed their mission. While shots were exchanged during the skirmish, there had been no casualties.

Dietrich was gratified that his unit had met the challenge with the best results that could expected. Victories of late for the Wehrmacht had been few and far between. As he surveyed the blessed lack of damage, Dietrich felt inordinately proud of both himself, his new second, and their men.

Or, at least he had, until the extremely delayed charges blew the supply depot sky high.

Dietrich found himself laying in the sand with his men scattered around, wondering why he had been so stupid as to presume that Troy would not best him yet again.

When he opened his eyes and saw two soft brown knee high boots standing before him, Dietrich was hardly surprised.

"Hi Captain," Troy said cheerfully. "You manage to get paroled from your cushy POW camp job?"

"Obviously," Dietrich answered him, managing to prop himself up in the sand. "And I see that you and your men continue to menace the desert, Sergeant."

"Never really stopped."

"Yes, that would be too much for which to hope, wouldn't it? Though it has been a while since I have seen you."

"I took a little bit of a break. Literally." Troy held up his right hand. It seemed to be covered in a cast of sorts, that extended from the knuckles to just past the wrist. "But don't you worry, I'm back in action now. Light duty, you know."

Only Troy would consider blowing something to kingdom come light duty, thought Dietrich.

Dietrich peered around Troy at where the rest of his men stood manning their Jeeps. There were three men there, he could see that. However, he was just far enough away that he could not determine with certainty if one of them happened to be Moffitt. Two of the men looked to be the drivers that had always made up part of Troy's team. The third man looked far too large to be the lanky Englishman. The more Dietrich studied him, the more that he knew it to be true.

In the end, it seemed as though Moffitt had not survived the Gestapo. Dietrich tried to squash the resurgence of regret at the idea of the man's death. He found himself unsuccessful.

Troy turned and followed Dietrich's gaze. "Looking for someone, Captain?"

Dietrich nearly answered him and then thought better of it. Instead, he concentrated on getting to his feet.

"You know, I wanted to say thank you," said Troy, looking down at his boots and then squinting up at Dietrich. "I got your message."

It took Dietrich a moment to register the true meaning behind the words. When he realized what Troy was telling him, relief washed over him. "I am glad to hear that, Sergeant. It was very important to me that you knew that. And very important to me that you received the message."

"Yeah. I was glad to get it." Troy pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Dietrich. "I guess I should return the favor. I've been asked to deliver you a message, too."

Dietrich waited until Troy lit the cigarette for him. "And what is that?" he asked.

"I ran into Bader after he was taken prisoner. He wanted me to tell you that he was all right. I told him that I would be sure to tell you if I had the chance." Troy grinned. "He seemed pretty positive that we might see you again. I guess the kid was right. For once."

The news brought a genuine smile to Dietrich's face. "I am very happy to hear it." He looked back to where Troy's men stood, ever watchful. "And where is Sergeant Moffitt?"

"Oh, he's still laid up. Doc wouldn't clear him for duty yet. Gestapo really did a number on him." Troy looked grim and then glanced down at his injured hand. "Bastards," he spat.

Dietrich could not help but to wonder if Kauffmann had actually gotten the opportunity to continue his abuse of Moffitt at Gestapo Headquarters, or, if Troy had managed a rescue before that had happened. Either way, Dietrich would bet that while Moffitt had survived, Kauffmann had not.

It was one death about which Dietrich could not be sorry.

"Moffitt should be back out with us in a week or so," Troy said.

"I am pleased to hear that he is on the mend." And Dietrich was. Even if it meant that the man was once again going to be allowed to run unfettered across the desert like the half tamed Arab that he really was.

"So." Troy exhaled a thick plume of smoke. "What should we do with you?"

Dietrich did not know how to answer that. He had to assume that it was a rhetorical question.

"The way I see it," Troy continued, "we have two options. We could take you and your men prisoner," Troy paused to look at Dietrich's men who seemed to be slowly regaining consciousness, "and you all could spend the rest of the war nice and comfy in one of our POW camps."

Dietrich had had enough of prisoner of war camps, Allied or Axis. "Or? What is the other option?"

Troy shrugged. "I can leave you and your men here. Free to go back to the war. Or at least, what's left of it."

"I see." Dietrich considered. Having a choice was not a luxury that was expected.

It would be very easy to surrender to Troy. There would be no shame in it. Another Wehrmacht officer being taken prisoner by the Allies would hardly raise anyone's eyebrows, so many losses had already occurred. It would allow him and his men the best chance of survival.

However, surrender was a repugnant concept to Dietrich. He could not help but to be disappointed in himself that he would even entertain the idea.

Still, there were the men to consider . . .

"Captain? Unfortunately, we don't have all day. Literally. I'd like to get back to our base before it gets dark." Troy looked up at the position of the sun. "What's it going to be?"

Dietrich nodded, having made his decision. "You may leave us here."

Troy narrowed his eyes. "You're sure about that?"

"Yes, Sergeant. I am very sure."

"All right." Troy looked at Dietrich's men again. "Need water or medical supplies or anything?"

Dietrich paused a moment to glance over his men, assessing their general condition. "No, we should be fine. It will be a simple matter for you to radio in our position and for us to await rescue."

"Suit yourself." Troy was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking seriously about something. "Captain," he began.

Apparently, Troy thought better of what he was going to say and clamped his mouth firmly shut. Dietrich could imagine what Troy was thinking: That he was throwing away his and his men's chance to ensure that they survived the war. And Troy had probably deemed Dietrich very foolish indeed. Dietrich had no trouble admitting that Troy was likely right on all counts.

"There is no easy path, Sergeant," Dietrich said, finally, when Troy still hadn't spoken. "Not for any of us."

"And it wouldn't be like you to take the easy path, would it, Captain?" Troy sighed heavily. "Now you sound like someone else I know."

Dietrich raised his eyebrows. "I cannot imagine who that would be?"

"I bet you can't."

Troy took a few steps back. He raised his wounded hand in a salute.

Dietrich returned the salute.

Troy held Dietrich's eyes for a moment and then dropped his hand. He turned and started walking back to his men.

Suddenly, Troy stopped. He turned. "You know, we may never see each other again."

Despite himself, Dietrich nearly laughed. "Could I really be so lucky?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Who knows, right? Anyway, I just wanted to tell you," Troy looked away, "you've always been a decent guy and a good soldier, Captain Dietrich. I hope that the war lets you stay that way."

Dietrich could not help but swallow. "Thank you, Sergeant Troy. You have always been an honorable man and a worthy opponent. I wish you and your men good fortune, wherever the war takes you."

Troy flashed Dietrich a genuine smile before he started walking back to his men.

Dietrich watched Troy get into his Jeep and drive away. He continued to watch until the two Jeeps and four men were just tiny dots on the horizon.

And then they were gone.

Dietrich busied himself with checking on his men.

Miraculously, none of them had been seriously injured. Most were merely dazed by the concussion from the explosion. Everything was as well as it could be, considering. Dietrich relaxed and settled into the shade afforded by one of the disabled half-tracks to await their rescue, certain that Sergeant Troy would keep his word,

Honor and decency as a soldier and a man were standards to which Dietrich had always held himself and others. It saddened him greatly that he had reached the point in the war where we found more of those qualities in the enemy than he had in a friend.

If he could not have any friends, Dietrich told himself, then at least he had enemies like Troy and Moffitt.

The thought was ludicrous, but then, so was everything else about his situation.

"Herr Hauptmann?"

Dietrich had been given a new second along with his new unit, Brandt, a junior leutnant that had been freshly turned out from the academy in the last graduating class. Dietrich knew that the young man had promise. Brandt had already shown himself to be a natural leader, who possessed a talent for quick thought and decisive action. Dietrich wondered if the boy would be allowed to realize his full potential before the war claimed him as yet another casualty.

Dietrich looked up. "Yes, Leutnant? Are the men all right? Is anything the matter?"

"Everything is fine. Or, as well as could be expected." Brandt gestured to the space beside of Dietrich, asking permission to sit beside of him.

Dietrich nodded.

Brandt sank down into the sand and handed Dietrich a canteen. "The men are well. I just checked on everyone again and made sure that they had enough water." The boy looked down, suddenly shy. "I wanted to offer some to you as well, sir."

"Thank you, Brandt." Dietrich took the canteen and drank, making sure to leave a good measure in reserve. He suspected that Brandt had seen to the men and to his commander first before he had allowed himself any water.

When Dietrich handed the canteen back to Brandt, the way that the boy drank confirmed Dietrich's suspicions. He could only assume that had been the last of the water. It did not worry Dietrich. Gauging the position of the sun, he would assume that their rescue would be there shortly. He was certain that Troy had known where his unit was and had done the calculations to have them rescued before another hour had passed. Dietrich would expect no less from the man.

Dietrich again appreciated that even in the middle of the madness, there was still someone on which he could depend. Even if that someone was the enemy, it still counted for something.

"So," Brandt said, breaking the silence, "that was the Rat Patrol, eh?"

"Yes, that was the Rat Patrol, Brandt." Dietrich could not help the sigh that escaped him as he said the words.

"They certainly are as dangerous as you said."

Dietrich turned to look at his second. "They are indeed. And I ask that you never forget that."

"I do not think that I could if I tried." Brandt surveyed the damage that Troy and his team had left in their wake and then gave a small smile. "While I will not fear them, I will certainly respect them."

Dietrich nodded, satisfied. It was the most that he could ask. "Good."

Brandt was silent for a few moments. "Their commander seems an honorable man," he said, finally.

"Sergeant Troy? Yes, he is," Dietrich agreed. A lesser man would have shot them all for sport, or at the very least, quickly carried the trophy of a Wehrmacht officer back to his unit.

"Not many men in his position would have given us such a choice."

Dietrich raised an eyebrow and wondered if Brandt could read his mind. "A choice?"

"I speak English, Herr Hauptmann. Quite well, actually. I could not help but to over hear your exchange with him."

Dietrich realized that he knew nowhere near as much about his men as he should. He resolved to make more of an effort. "Do any of the other men speak English?"

"No, just me. The rest did not understand more than a word or two of your conversation. But I am glad to know that you chose as you did."

"Are you?" Dietrich was mildly surprised. After the miseries of the past few weeks, if Brandt had welcomed the idea of surrender, Dietrich would not have blamed him.

"Of course. There is still a war to fight. I also want to continue fighting it until it is over. Not just in Africa, but in Europe as well," Brandt said with conviction. He nodded at the men around them. "We all do. Not only for Germany, but for our honor."

At least the boy had not said "for the Fuhrer" or "for the Reich." Dietrich did not know if he could have taken that. He had to wonder if Brandt and the men truly understood what a lofty goal they were setting for themselves. While the war in Arfika would end soon enough, there would be plenty more combat to be seen before all was done. They could all be fighting for years to come. It was very presumptuous of any soldier from either side to think that he would survive to see the end of such a thing.

Skill and bravery would only count for so much. Luck would also a determining factor. And, as Dietrich knew all too well, luck was a fickle thing. But if he was being perfectly honest, Brandt's and the men's faith in themselves, their commander, and in the men around them would also influence their destinies.

"I will do my very best to help you all accomplish that goal," Dietrich promised. After all, it was his job as their commander and leader to give faith. Even after his own had been tested so sorely as of late and remained tenuous as a result.

Brandt gave Dietrich a grin. "If anyone could, it would be you, sir."

"I appreciate your confidence, Brandt." Dietrich felt ashamed at taking the boy's trust so easily when he was not at all certain that he deserved such a gift.

"Of course. It is well placed, Herr Hauptmann. Your reputation precedes you, if I may say so."

"My reputation?" Dietrich could not help but to give a soft snort at that, thinking about what Brandt could have heard.

"Oh, Herr Hauptmann, you are far too modest!" Brandt fixed Dietrich with a look. "Or, is it possible that you actually do not know?"

"Know what?"

What did Brandt know of him, Dietrich asked himself? That he was constantly bested by Troy and his patrol? Or, perhaps, that he had a soft heart? Did the boy know that Dietrich could not whole heartedly support the Hitler's war effort because he was not, and could never be, a Nazi?

Dietrich waited for the answer.

"I heard your name, even while I was at the Academy. You are considered to be one our best and bravest officers. A compassionate leader with your men, decent and honorable on and off the battlefield. A man who knows how to win, and when to retreat. As a result, you have the earned the respect of all who have served with you." Brandt looked in the direction of where Troy had stood earlier. "Even the respect, apparently, of your enemy. In short, you are everything that embodies for me the true heart of Germany and the Wehrmacht."

If Dietrich had been given to blushing, he thought that he may have well done so. As it was, he had to clear his throat before he trusted himself to speak.

"Thank you," Dietrich said, finally.

"When I shared the news with my men that you would be our new commander, we all felt extremely fortunate, Herr Hauptmann. Good men and good leaders are in short supply these days. You have never been needed more."

After the past few weeks, Dietrich did not need Brandt to tell him that.

Or perhaps, Dietrich realized, he did.

There was a rumbling in the distance that announced their rescue. Brandt got to his feet and offered Dietrich his hand.

Dietrich allowed Brandt to help him, even though he felt stronger than he had for quite some time.

Brandt looked over at Dietrich with a smile. "Ready to get back to the war, sir?"

Dietrich returned the smile. "I am indeed."