Dietrich stalked moodily away from the morbid scene. Two gangly shadows, shovels in hand, trudged past him. Wuller and Schmidt. The resigned grave-diggers. There was no hurry in their step. They seemed hollow, and rather dead themselves. Dietrich walked faster.
He pushed himself obstinately through the fence of light, into the shadows. It brought little escape. Now he could feel the icy breath of the desert night on his neck, and see his breath in little clouds on the air. He shivered, and kept walking.
He stopped at the mouth of the canyon, taking in the moon-bathed desert. Breathing in the frigid night air, and feeling it dissipate when he breathed it out.
A pair of twisted, melancholy shapes lay in the sand, some yards from the entrance. The smell of burnt rubber and gunpowder clung bitterly in the air. Dietrich made his way over. The pathetic remains of what had been two, American Jeeps this morning. Twisted, stripped, and shot up.
To fit the halftracks in the tight pass, it had become necessary to tow both Jeeps out; and a few men had taken the liberty of having an impromptu target practice. One even going so far as to lob a grenade into the shell of the intact one. Quickly earning the ire of Major Jäger.
Dietrich surveyed the pitiful husks with regret. It was a feeling he couldn't explain to himself.
Shouldn't he feel joy? Hadn't he dreamed of finishing this task once and for all?
They were supposed to die in battle, nobly, as they deserved. Not pinioned and defenseless in the middle of the empty desert. There was no honor in this death. For anyone.
The cocksure bravery, the battle roughened nobility, snuffed out at the hands of one unscrupulous blood merchant. It didn't sit right with him.
Was he still thinking about the Jeeps? Or had his guilty conscience turned back to his prisoners?...
A soft crunch of sand behind Dietrich grabbed his senses. He mentally zeroed in on whatever it was coming up behind him. Judging the moment, he spun around, luger in hand. A pair of eyes shone in the moonlight.
"You're losing your touch, Captain. I got this close without your noticing." The clipped voice was smiling at him. "I would very much appreciate your throwing that pistol away." The grey eyes were not the only thing Dietrich could see in the moonlight. A tall figure stood some feet away. Moonlight glanced off the barrel of a German rifle casually leveled at Dietrich's middle. With a flick of the wrist, the luger sailed up and over; landing behind the Jeeps.
"Ah, Sergeant Moffitt, I was just thinking of your group." Dietrich said with sarcastic politeness.
"Only good things, I hope." Moffitt returned. Having had a moment to study him, Dietrich's sharp eye noted several things about the prodigal sergeant.
First and foremost, he was out of uniform. The ever immaculate ascot was missing, and several top buttons were gone, exposing his bony chest to the cold night. His fatigues were wrinkled and dirty, and his beret was missing. Unless he was mistaken, the Britisher was shivering.
"No worse than usual, sergeant."
"Cut the chitchat, Dietrich." Moffitt snapped irritably. "My hands are rather too full for this. How many men are here?"
"You realize, sergeant, I am not afraid to die for my country?" Dietrich declared smugly.
"I do, rather. It's part of what makes you one of the more pesky jerries I know." Something was off. He studied the Englishman.
"Twelve Germans, including myself. One Arab informer."
"Oh yes, we've met." Moffitt commented sourly. Dietrich's sixth sense was screaming in his ear.
"Listen, I want to spare your men. When you hear gunfire, order the men to take the halftracks and put down the Arab attack."
Moffitt sounded tired; and he was beginning to slur his words, something Dietrich had never heard him do. Perhaps he could gain the upper hand by stalling.
"A very strange order, sergeant-"
"They'll obey." The britisher cut in irritably. "German discipline." There was a touch of smug in his voice.
Dietrich was careful in choosing his words and tried to eat time. Some duty-bound soldier would come to fetch him, he just needed time.
"Undoubtably, they will. But they will be suspicious, and the moment they realize there are no Arabs... they will return."
Moffitt closed his eyes tight and put his left hand to his temple, as if he was trying to steady his thoughts. He swayed on his feet. Dietrich saw his chance and prepared to rush him.
Moffitt's eyes snapped open, he steadied himself and his aim.
"Who is the other officer I saw? Let him lead the charge. You will stay behind with your prisoners. If you try to warn anyone, I will start a rockslide. There won't be a man left alive. Your choice captain." The hairs on Dietrich's nape stood straight up. Moffitt half-turned to look at the pass, behind him. When he turned back, there was a cold shine in his silver eyes.
"Three minutes, Captain." Having delivered his ultimatum, he began walking backwards into the gloom. Dietrich chanced a quick look toward the jeeps, rather hoping his luger would magically reveal itself. When he glanced back at Moffitt, the sergeant had vanished.
Here was a tricky situation, he pondered to himself. Three minutes to make a choice. Three minutes and the clock was ticking.
His soldier's instinct told him to sound the alarm. Hunt down sergeant Moffitt, and be rid of the rat patrol forever! It almost sounded too good to be true. But Moffitt's threat came cutting through, "Not a man left alive ." Was the Rats' destruction worth a phyrric victory? Would it be an honorable victory for the Germans? He doubted there was very much honor in paying a bounty hunter's fee. But still, the enemy, his country's enemy. Killers of his countrymen.
Dietrich inhaled the sharp night air, lifted his face to the sky, and prayed for guidance.
Gunfire from a lone rifle brought him out of his reverie. He knew his only option.
Dietrich broke into a sprint back toward the canyon. His heart pounding hot in his chest.
All three Americans sat in the transport truck, their hands tied in front of them. Troy and Hitch sat opposite each other; Tully had found a corner up front where the bench had been removed, and tucked his long form into a tight ball, resting his head on his arms.
"Sounds like the commotion is pretty well settled down." Troy remarked.
"I wonder what the shot was all about." Hitch mused.
"I couldn't tell, they were all babbling in German."
Hitch made a big show of rubbing his chin and delving into deep thought. He met Troy's bright eyes.
"Yeah, that checks out." Troy had to chuckle in spite of himself. Tully spoke for the first time since the Germans had arrived.
"If only Moffitt was here." The words were soft, and muffled by his arm, but Troy and Hitch were immediately sobered.
Their group status was a grim thing to contemplate.
Outnumbered, with no hope of rescue. One man who insisted he was fine, yet refused to move or even lift his head. And the cherry on top, their Brit had slipped through their fingers again, and landed them back on square one. Troy closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the truck.
His eyes snapped open and sought the blond sitting across from him.
"Hitch, what did you do to ruffle that jerry's feathers?" The blond used his bound hands to push his glasses further up his nose.
"The one that hit me?" Even in the shallow light filtering through the thick canvas of the truck, Troy could see the dark bruise spreading on the private's jaw.
"Yeah," Troy affirmed sarcastically, "unless there are others I should know about."
"Well Sarge, I found an explosive in Moffitt's Jeep. Kinda thought we might find a way to use it, y'know? Anyway, Jerry was tying my hands, an' he found it." Hitch paused his story and began rubbing the back of his neck. Troy could guess, but he wanted to hear it from Hitch.
"And?"
"I guess I reacted before I thought. I tried to rush him and got the stock of his gun right in the jaw." Hitch mused, "Strange enough, Abu was one of the first ones there when Jerry hollered."
"Well, we almost had a weapon. No matter, we'll just have to find another way out."
"What other way, Sarge? I hate to be the one to say it, but it looks like they got us square this time."
"We're not dead yet. We'll just have to watch for a break. Will you be ready to drive at a notice?" He dropped his voice even lower and nodded at Tully's still form in the corner. "I don't want him driving until he sees a doctor." Hitch nodded. A weak voice piped up,
"I can drive."
"No you can't. And you won't, not until we're outta this mess. GET DOWN!!" All three hit the bed of the truck when rifle-fire came raining into the canyon. Troy's shout, all but lost in the uproar.
The distance back to the halftracks felt longer than Hans remembered. When he finally burst through through the border of light, he burst into a world of chaos and confusion. Panicked soldiers ran for cover, or tried to stay clear of the deadly missiles.
Dietrich had to stop and listen. It sounded like a whole pack of raiders had descended on the on the canyon. But on further listening, a good ear could distinguish only one rifle. A solitary StG 44.
Sergeant Moffitt is using the echoes of the canyon to bulk the ranks of his imaginary army. Dietrich smirked to himself. I'll have to remember that trick.
A man screamed and crumpled to the ground when his leg was shot out from under him. The scream snapped Dietrich back to the present.
He ran to Major Jäger's side in the center of the clearing. Jäger stood in the midst of the madness; cool and collected, even under fire. Shouting orders and pointing, like a teacher choreographing a dance. He turned when Dietrich shouted.
"Who is attacking, Captain? They are not Allied soldiers."
"Arab raiders, Major. I saw them getting into position before they opened fire." Time under Nazi superiors had taught Dietrich to lie through his teeth.
The gunfire abruptly ceased, and a voice speaking some Arab dialect called down from above. Jäger shoved Dietrich behind a boulder and followed. He stuck his head out from the hiding place.
"Abu! You slavering dog, get over here! What's he saying?" The robed figure scuttled from cover to cover until he was close to the major's own position.
"There are more Germans than the leader anticipated." Abu paused, the shouting continued. "They are pulling back before we realize how few they are." Another pause. "They will hunt us down when they gather the rest of their band."
"Indeed..." Jäger trailed off thoughtfully. A savage smile scrawled across his face. "Perhaps they need an escort. Captain! You will stay and guard the prisoners. I leave you two men, and the wounded man."
"I can hear them riding away, Major. To the northeast. It is only a pity it is too dark to see tracks." Dietrich hurriedly interjected.
The thrill of the hunt glinted in Jäger's eyes. He unholstered his pistol. He licked his dry lips.
With a wild call to action, he burst from his hiding place and began shouting orders to the hunkered men. Fresh gunfire ricocheted of the rock walls and halftracks, but he ignored it. Waving his arms and shrieking commands, he organized his men and had them rolling out of the canyon within minutes.
Rolling out of the mouth to the pass, Jäger turned to look over his shoulder. Clasping his hands he shook them overhead in a victor's fashion. Dietrich merely smiled, and saluted his superior for good luck.