General Roads was just as pleased to see his son as Troy expected. The man was a decent tactician, a good soldier, and he had to ignore a twinge of jealousy of seeing the man abandon all semblance of dignity to rush across the room and seize his son.

"Barry! Thank God you're alright! What happened to your face? Who did this to you?"

"Dad!" Twisting his head away from his father, he laughed desperately. "Holy cow, dad! I'm okay. I'm okay. I swear I'm okay, these fellas got me out before they could move me." The rats snapped to attention.

"Well," the relief on his face only deepened as he returned their salutes. "Now you can't say that I never got you anything for your birthday."

"Birthday?" Barry perked up. "I forgot!"

"Happy Birthday," Troy said, and the rats echoed him.

"Sixteen," the general nodded…and the tender fear in his eyes spoke of the man's concern that his son wouldn't make it to his sixteenth birthday. Whatever fear that lingered died as he squeezed his son's shoulders. "This calls for a celebration."

"If you got me a present, it's probably been taken," Barry told him, "they were smoking your cigars."

"Cigars aren't much to me."

"Dad," the boy hesitated. "Mrs. Alanis is dead."

"Oh...I'm sorry, son."

"I just thought...you should write a letter to her...parents."

"Yes," the general nodded, "I should. I...thank you, Sergeant Troy, for your excellent work. I'll see you for a debrief later."

"Yes, sir." He saluted, herding his men away from a scene that doubtless about to turn emotion. Reuniting officers with their sons...it seemed to be a gift of his.

#$#$#

Barry didn't feel particularly brave, wrapped in a scratchy army blanket and huddled against the couch as he wept. In the hours since he'd been reunited with his father, every emotion he had been ignoring while imprisoned came back in full, terrible force. He hadn't even realized he'd been crying until his hands were wet, and only managed to smear the tears around on his face. He looked up, searching the darkness as familiar footsteps approached.

"Dad?"

"You beat Captain Dietrich at chess?"

"I...yeah?" Hiccuping, he gingerly brushed tears away from his still aching nose. "I...didn't have much else to do. "

"You beat one of the best captains in the Afrika Korps at chess, General Simmons asked for a game. He thinks it'll be good fun." The couch sank, gravity tilted him toward his father, and moved into the arm embracing him.

"He's good?"

"Damn good, but you didn't hear it from me, but why are you crying? You're safe, it's your birthday...don't let me ruin the surprise, but the nurses have put together a little birthday party for you."

"Every party is a surprise, Dad," he felt medals under his ears, reverberating with his father's heartbeat. "I...I thought I'd be braver...but he just hit me, and I couldn't see it, and then he...Dad, he didn't even ask me any questions. He just kept...hitting me, and Dietrich saved me."

"He saved you?"

"I think so...I think he got the colonel to stop."

"Seems I owe the man a favor."

"I guess so."

"Son...you're a civilian, and you didn't have any training on how to deal with enemies, and we didn't think this would happen. If you weren't a little shaken, I think something was wrong...but you're safe now."

"I thought I was safe at home," Barry muttered, "now home doesn't even feel safe."

"I'm sorry, Barry." The arms around him tightened.

"I hope they don't burn my books," he muttered against his father's shoulder, and drawing back, nodded. "Did you get me a birthday present?"

"Sure, a well-timed rescue."

"That works," he managed to smile, "I'll take it."

#$##

Sinking into his camp chair. Captain Dietrich let out a slow sigh as he eyed the new orders the general had given him. Reassigned to a supply run in the desert, back to his unit with a clear conscience and pleased that the colonel's pointless oversight hadn't blown back on him.

Another failed scheme, another instance of bringing civilians into the middle of a war, and another office who failed his men and himself.

From his pocket he produced the white knight, the marble gleamed in the low light, reflecting against his tin plate as he set it on his desk.

He wasn't sure who had rescued the boy, but he would put money that the taunting message had come directly from Sergeant Troy's devious mind. It could have come from someone else, but he wasn't sure that Bartholomew would be the sort to leave a note.

"Heer Hauptmann?" His newest aide, barely older than eighteen and just a little older than the boy who had just been rescued.

"Yes?"

"Is something weighing on your mind?"

"Only the enemy." How frightened would the boy have been to be taken away on a boat, reliant on those around him without being able to see what was happening. To trust a stranger with so much just because he knew he could not stay. Dietrich knew that he'd never hurt him, but he couldn't speak for others.

What would happen if he was captured? Surely the Americans wanted to capture him, and would the general take his anger out on Dietrich?

No, he had behaved honorably, and he'd treated the boy with respect due a general's son and as a blind man. He was not ashamed, something he would explain if the opportunity ever arose. If anything, he was relatively proud of how well he'd handled the situation. He opened his sketchbook to the page he'd taken to draw the young man. His hands resting over the open pages of his book, his head tilted toward the ceiling as golden sunlight streamed through the window. Perhaps he had exaggerated the slightness of his figure, but all in all it was an excellent piece. He liked Bartholomew Roads, polite and interesting with a unique perspective he would have liked to learn more of.

"Well, the ratten were not here while you were gone."

"No?"

"We were on the lookout," his aide assured him. "They did not attack."

So they had retrieved Bartholomew Roads. Who else could be trusted with such a delicate job?

"I am certain we will see them soon enough." He answered, and he touched the top of the knight before standing. He would spar with the Rats again, and this time he would not lose.

#$#$#$#$#

"It's not a bad party." Sam said, approaching the hunched over form of Bartholomew Roads. People would take any opportunity to have a party on a military base, and what had been a small party had spawned an enormous one.

"Largest I've ever had." He could clearly hear the noise, music, and merrymaking. "Are you enjoying it?"

"Sure." He pressed a cookie into the boy's hand. "Chocolate."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

"So...what's bugging you?"

"Who is to say that something is bugging me?"

"You're hiding from your party," Sam pointed out, and the boy's shoulders slumped.

"I had to be rescued." He told him, turning his bruised face toward Sam.

"Yeah?"

"I...I'm already blind...and I learned to live with that and so did Dad...but I don't like being helpless. That's why we adapted so much. But to defend me...people got hurt and you put yourself at risk to come rescue me."

"That's our job," Sam pointed out. "But what would you have done even if you could see? Fight all of those soldiers on your own? You'd get shot before you could do anything."

"Well."

"Listen, cockiness kills, and I've seen it happen again and again. You did the right thing, and you can't blame yourself."

"But."

"You did the best with what was happening, and you've got bravery to spare to take on the captain in chess and beat him?"

"That's not brave?"

"Sure it is," Sam pressed a hand onto his shoulder. "You're a brave kid. If you trust me."

"You rescued me...I trust you." The boy hesitated, his fingers scrubbing over the cookie's surface.

"Anyone who can beat Captain Dietrich at chess has to be impressive."

"What's so special about this Dietrich fellow?"

"We've tangled with him before. I've met him a few times, and he's easily one of the only men I'd trust with a prisoner."

"Yeah? I think he was a good man, he did have an interest in my reading...he was very polite about it."

"He is polite." Sam agreed, trying to think of what he could say about the captain.

"He's probably not going to like that little present you left him."

"No, but he'll appreciate it." Sam let out a laugh. "For leaving you without guards. But if it had to be anyone, it was probably best that it was him."

"That's the impression I'm getting." Barry sighed. "Does everyone seem to be enjoying the party?"

"Oh, sure."

"It's not much of my birthday party anymore," Barry said, "but I don't mind. Say, do you see my dad?"

"He's over by some other officers. Do you want me to take you to him?"

"No, but does he look okay?"

"He looks fine." Nevermind that the man nearly lost his son, the tension was still visible on his face, and it was clearly taking every bit of effort to not loom over his son.

"Oh good."

"Say!" A young nurse appeared at the end of the bench. "Do you want to dance?"

"Oh?" Barry looked around, flustered.

"Sure he does," Sam told him.

"You'll have to lead," Barry told her, holding out his hand. "And I don't know how to dance. Hold me cane?" He held it out for Sam, which he took.

"Oh, it's okay." She promised, pulling him around the chair and toward the dance floor. "Let's have some fun!"

Troy grinned, watching the bemused teenager get pulled to the impromptu dance caught the general's eyes, and the man gave him a grateful nod before turning his eyes toward his son.

The war would be there later, but for now he could be a kid and Sam could enjoy a successful, bloodless mission.