Tully Pettigrew's eyes snapped open as someone moved nearby, she sat up. Rather, she tried to sit up. Her entire body ached furiously, and she fell back onto the bot with a pained, miserable groan.
"Doctor?" The voice from last night spoke, and she turned her head to focus on the vaguely familiar figure looming over her.
"I'm not a doctor," she said plainly, squinting at the tall man. He was about to light a cigarette ,and she frowned at him.
"Don't light that," she said reflexively and then frowned. They weren't in the parks and he was carrying a gun. To her surprise, he paused, lowering the lighter and the cigarette as she tried to sit up again. The doctor appeared and Dietrich smiled faintly.
"He said that you managed to fatigue yourself so severely you have been unconscious for 15 hours."
"Really?" She blinked a few times and again tried to sit up, but every muscle protested. She stared at the bandages on her hands. "What happened to my hands?"
He and the doctor spoke for a few minutes. "You damaged your hands while digging Wolfgang from beneath the boulder, and proceeded to grip a splintering rifle with such force and continued intensity that you tore your hands."
"I didn't notice," she said, trying to close her hands and then grimaced at the pain. "Is Wolfgang going to be alright?" This time the captain seemed confused, an unlit cigarette still between his fingers.
"He will make a full recovery," he reported slowly and Tully smiled.
"Nice," she closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of dirt, cleaning fluids, and the acrid scent of cigarette smoke. "Good job, me."
"Yes, well done. Fraulein...what is your name?"
"My name?" She blinked a few times, "Tulip." Her name was not Tulip.
"On behalf of Sergeant Wolfgang, Fraulein Tulip, I extend my thanks and gratitude." He bowed stiffly and Tully wondered where manners like that had gone.
"I, of course," she said, and he took the seat beside the.
"The doctor says you will recover well given that you have a strong constitution."
"Well, the original writers knew what they were doing." He blinked at her, slowly working over what she said until a faint smile flickered over the side of his mouth.
"And provided you obey the nurses you should be up in about a day."
"That's good news," she tried to flex her hands and hissed. He took the seat beside her cot, his attention focused on her. She blinked a few times. "Have you seen my hat?" He shifted back a bit so she saw her hat hanging from a nail on a support beam. "Good...they don't just give those out you know."
"I do not. I have not seen such style before...except for in the cinema."
"They use them as a prop in movies. Could you hand me my hat?" He stood, and pulling the hat off the hook, pressed it into her bandaged hands. She smiled, running her hand over the felt, she nodded. "Thanks."
"Fraulein...you must understand my curiosity. You are twenty miles behind our lines and after coming across an injured man, carry him well over two miles to safety at great personal expense. Furthermore you carry no identification and your manner of dress is that which I have never seen before. You are American, given your accent and your attachment to your headgear."
"Are you saying Americans have a thing for hats?" She asked curiously.
"I have seen the evidence, Fraulein Tulip."
"I'm not saying that you're wrong, we do like our hats, I'm just...curious as to how that was what you noticed."
"What does USNPS stand for?" He asked, and Tully ran a finger over the leather cord wrapped around the stenson. This hat had been her mentor's, and her mentor's mentor. Passed down from Park Ranger to Park Ranger through the generations and she knew for a fact that this hat had been manufactured decades before she was born.
"United States National Parks Service."
He stared at her, and she could tell he didn't believe her. It was the strangest thing to find a park ranger from 2020 in the middle of North Africa during World War Two. Bemused, he tilted his head to the side. "I see."
"Uh, huh."
"Why did you rescue the man?"
Tully squinted at the man. So far he had seemed polite and official, and even genteel, and she wasn't sure why he looked so suspicious of her.
"You're going to have to clarify that statement," she told him and his brown eyes narrowed.
"Why would you help your enemy?"
"He's not my enemy...technicalities aside there about ten thousand layers of what the fuck involved in hurting a man already paying Charon for a boat ride." He blinked, visibly confused either at her word choices or speech patterns. "Captain, I'm a park ranger, search and rescue is part of what I do. Even if it weren't part of what I did, I would still have an obligation to help. When someone is dying then you need to help them. It's hardly the most complicated thing in the world."
"Even at the expense of your own health?" He gestured broadly with his cigarette at her body and nodded pointedly at her hands.
"You're overthinking this," she responded, "are you going to sit here and insult my... me and my capabilities and willingness to help someone when they need it or are you going to help me sit up so I can get dressed?"
"I meant no offense, Fraulein Tulip," he dipped his head in apology and she grumbled faintly.
"I earned this hat, Captain." she
"Of course." He helped her sit up, and called for a nurse. "Where are you going?"
"Captain," she blinked a few times, carefully making direct eyecontact. "It's the call of the wild."
"Of course," even his blush was polite. "Excuse me."
R#$#$#
That morning in Allied friendly down, and the presence of Isshiki had attracted a great deal of attention. People stared at the young Japanese man, who bore it with admirable grace but had ducked close to Troy when people had taken to grabbing at the edges of his clothes. Troy waved off most people and gave the young man a commiserating pat on the shoulder as he pulled his sleeve away from a curious child.
"Moffit?" He turned to face the Brit, who wandered up with a note and a curious look on his face. "What is it?"
"I've received word from a friend. How well do you remember Sheik Ibriham?"
"Pretty well, nice fella with good food."
"He's sent a note telling me that he found my sister." Troy frowned and watched as Isshiki bent to inspect the wares at one of the stands.
"You don't have a sister."
"I know."
"So it could be a trap or they want help."
"I don't have a sister, this note tells me that she is traveling with Private Hitchcock."
"What?" Sam wondered, and Isshiki wandered back, now holding a tea-pot and several cups. "What the hell did you buy?" Isshiki bowed faintly and replied, and Sam rubbed at his forehead. "That's a nice tea-set, but why did you buy it?"
"Ocha," the younger man responded, and produced a packet of tea that made Moffit give a slight exclamation of surprise.
"What did you trade for that?" Moffit blinked and shook his head to get back on track. "No, Troy. These are old friends of the family, I do not think they would have sent such a message without meaning. I suggest that we investigate."
"Even with him?"
"He ought to come since we don't know where he needs to come."
" Right, sure," Troy aimed a dark glare at a stranger approaching Isshiki's side. "Come on, kid, before you get into trouble we can't get you out of."
He went willingly enough, seemingly at ease with everything around him. Didn't protest as he took Troy's spot in the jeep, having taken a few minutes to open his strange little pack and add the tea-set to it.
Isshiki had bought the tea-set for the purpose of actually making tea, and while he didn't miss the suspicious glares that his great-grandfather kept directing at him, he pretended he didn't see them. He was also not used to people staring at him so brazenly and the first time a child had grabbed at him, he'd nearly jumped out of his skin before coming to the conclusion that no one here had ever seen a kimono. He looked strange, and even that wasn't enough to soothe the deeply uncomfortable feelings that arose as the blatant staring and shameless grabbing.
If Jack Moffit didn't have a sister, then perhaps the mystery at the sheik's camp was one he was going to help.