Tully leaned over the steering wheel, nibbling thoughtfully on the tip of his matchstick as he watched Hitch pace. The blond kid was going around and around the two parked jeeps, kicking a path through the sand that piled up around his feet. He'd been going at it long enough to plow a good-sized furrow. If he kept it up much longer he'd be halfway to China.

"Hitch," Tully said. There was no response. The kid kept pacing, glaring at the ground and glancing impatiently at Troy, who was a few yards away, talking with Lieutenant Brahl while the German soldiers crowded around the water cans. "Hitch," Tully repeated. "What are you, deaf? You're makin' me jittery. Sit down."

Hitch tumbled into the seat beside Tully and glared at his helmeted friend. "How can you just sit here and wait while those Arabs are doing who knows what to Moffitt?"

The Kentuckian inspected his matchstick with a careful eye. "Like this," he said after a moment.

"That's helpful, Tully, that really is," Hitch grumbled.

The matchstick was flung into the sand, and another was produced from Tully's pocket. He stuck it in his mouth and sucked on it while he looked at Hitch. "I didn't finish," he said in as severe a tone his drawl would allow. "I was gonna say that we could be goin' in after the Sarge, right?" There was no answer. "Right?"

"Yeah," Hitch mumbled, then blew a bubble to show that just because he was conversing didn't mean he wasn't reluctant to talk. It popped loudly and the German soldiers jerked their heads up in alarm.

"And we could have gotten ourselves in a terrible situation by now, goin' in there without manpower or weapons," Tully continued, unusually philosophical as he chewed at his new matchstick. "But here, we've got ourselves a pretty nice deal. We get a lieutenant, extra soldiers, and whatever ammo they've got in those halftracks of theirs. And all we have to give for it is some water, which we can replenish back at the camp. So it's pretty nice, right?"

Hitch stared at him without blinking. After a while he blew another bubble. "I think that's the most you've ever said, Tully."

The moonshiner gave him a withering look. "That's it? I give you a pep talk and that's all you got out of it?"

"Yeah."

"You're hopeless."

"Yeah."

They both turned away from each other and watched Troy, Tully gnawing on his matchstick, Hitch chewing his gum. Their interest was piqued when the German lieutenant, Brahl, glanced in their direction and then leaned in closer to Troy.

"I've always wanted to know what other people say about me," Tully commented. "How about you?"

"Shut up," Hitch said. "They're coming this way. Probably heard you talking, you big mouth."

Troy sauntered over, Lieutenant Brahl following him obediently. It looked a little ridiculous, since Brahl towered over the sergeant, and outranked him besides. But Troy had the upper hand and he knew it.

"Okay, boys," the sergeant said, leaning on the hood of the jeep. Brahl stood silently behind him, looking properly cooperative and subservient, but Hitch kept his eye on the lieutenant anyway.

"Yeah, Sarge? We finally gonna do something?"

Troy raised an eyebrow. "Easy, Hitch. Yeah, we are going to do something." He glanced back at Brahl. "The lieutenant here is going to go in front of us so we can keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Yeah, Sarge." Hitch jumped out of Tully's jeep and went over to his own. He plunked down in the driver's seat and stared at the wheel for a minute. "This just feels wrong somehow," he said. "Don't you need the second gun manned, Sarge?"

Troy stayed quiet, puzzling out his newest dilemma. Brahl's eyes suddenly brightened and he glanced at his men. "Erich!"

One of the German soldiers came over. He looked as young as Hitch, resembling the American uncannily although his eyes were jet black. Brahl addressed him in rapid German.

"Jawohl, Herr Leutnant," he said, and saluted. Brahl said something else and he nodded. "Jawohl, Herr Leutnant," he repeated, and started toward the jeep. Troy grabbed him by the arm and he jerked to a stop.

"What are you doing?" Troy asked Brahl. The lieutenant blinked at him.

"He will be your new gunner," the German officer explained. "Your Hitch can now drive in front of us, ja? We will not shoot at our own." He saw Troy's glare and stammered, "We would not shoot anyway, of course, but. . ."

"Skip it," Troy said. "Hitch!" he yelled, making Erich flinch at the noise. What a nervous kid, Troy thought.

"Sarge?"

"You're leading the parade, Hitch. This kid is your gunner." Troy pushed Erich forward, and the soldier glanced at Troy like a wounded puppy. He crept over to the jeep, hesitantly put one foot up as if testing out the sturdiness of the vehicle, and then climbed slowly up onto it as though Hitch was going to jerk the thing forward and throw him off.

"Well, come on," Hitch said impatiently. "Get up there, will you? I'm not gonna bite."

Erich stared at the machine gun with wide eyes. "Es ist groß," he commented after a moment, as though feeling he needed to say something.

"Thanks," Hitch replied. "I think."

Erich offered his hand. "Erich," he introduced himself.

"I got that the first time." Hitch studied him. "Hitch," he said simply, and shook the proffered hand.

"Would y'all hurry it up?" Tully hollered. "You'd think there wouldn't be any traffic in the desert. If I had a horn I'd honk it."

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on," Hitch yelled back. "And you got a horn." He glanced up at Erich. "You'd better hold on."

"Was?"

"Griff, stupid, griff," Hitch snapped. Erich finally figured it out and grabbed the handles on either side of the .50, leaning back like an old pro, although he eyed the desert ahead a little nervously.

"Ist es sicher?"

"Couldn't begin to tell you," Hitch hollered over the roar of the engine. The jeep leapt forward, kicking up a swirling cloud of sand. Erich coughed and choked as Hitch swerved the vehicle around and sped off in the direction they had come. Lieutenant Brahl's halftracks swung into line behind him, looking pitiful with their bullet-riddled sides and clinging swathes of black ash where fires had blistered the yellow-gray metal. Troy looked at Tully, who raised his eyebrows and stoically sucked on his matchstick before skidding the jeep around in a U-turn and hightailing it after the German vehicles.