"It is utterly deplorable," Dr. Yusuf groused as he felt along her fingers. "Any pain?"
"Only when you push them," Tully answered, grimacing as he ran his fingers over a particularly sensitive spot. "And you have high standards, not to mention this is a war zone."
"I am aware that this is a war, but didn't the last one teach them that staph infections can be utterly deadly? Not to mention sand ?" He pursed his lips, straightening.
"Dr. Kohler isn't too bad, but I'm pretty sure he has more years on you."
"I," the man paused, fingers twitching in aggravation. He'd spent several hours reworking the hospital to his satisfaction, still grumbling when he saw men smoking, and he seemed to be full of boundless energy.; fueled by his dissatisfaction. "Yes, yes, yes, he is more experienced."
"What are you a doctor of?"
"Surgery," he smiled at her disbelieving stare. "General surgery. He released her hands. "Will you be well enough to visit tomorrow?"
"I'm well enough now," she told him, and with a glance at the unobtrusive eavesdroppers, said, "is the site still intact?"
"Intact?" He had no idea what she was talking about. A bizarre and frustrating combination of 20th century racism and paranoia, as well as the German's self-appointed role as the 'protector' of her virtue and honor, continued to foil her attempts as a clandestine meeting. Still, he wasn't an idiot, and he'd probably seen more movies than she had. "Most of it, yes."
"Qanats are like that," she mused, moving her fingers just enough to intersect with his. The doctor blinked a few times, his handsome face twisting into a softer expression. He ought to have been shocked or at least in awe, but he only blinked.
"My people will need the water," he agreed. "The desert consumes us as well."
"We'd really need an archaeologist," she mused. "A good one. If the site isn't intact anymore." She watched the reflection of Dietrich in the coffee tin shift slightly and wondered if she'd said something stupid. "How is your grandfather?"
"Well," Yusuf answered, "he would like you to return."
"Return?"
"You made a good impression. Again, he does admire a noble spirit, and tales of your rescue have already spread. It will pass into legend soon enough."
Tully, thoroughly 21st century American, and never having been one to give into flights of fancy, could only gape across the table. "Really?"
"Oh, yes. He found you even more charming."
" Really ?" He didn't look like he was lying, the grin on his face was honest and natural. If anything, he was pleased by her surprise.
"You will be immortal," he said honestly, and there was the smirk she'd been expecting.
"You're incredible," she leaned back, folding her wounded hands over her stomach. "Did you bring me coffee?"
"No, I brought you a bill. House-calls are not cheap, as you Americans say."
"No, they aren't." She stared up at the ceiling, admiring the beauty it might have had before the war had demolished most of it. The soldiers dotting the rest of the room, some sleeping and some pretending not to watch, drove home the truth she wished she could ignore. Her reckless moment of compassion had stranded her here, and she had no idea what to do. "I'll come tour the site tomorrow and see if I can draw up any digging plans. I don't think it's going to be much of a help until my hands really heal."
"We will survive with these wells," he said quietly. "We appreciate your willingness to help." God, he was good . Without a single word said to relay her scheme and he'd already pulled his weight as a co-conspirator. Planting the backpack and securing hers was the first step, and one she hadn't considered. Dietrich was a paranoid, scheming bastard, and she was honest enough with herself to know that scheming bastard wasn't anywhere on her resume. Admiration had her lifting her tiny cup of tea in a salute, before downing the weak, lukewarm liquid.
They spoke a few minutes longers, bantering with a few half-hearted references that no one else was going to get when the clattering arrival of the tea cart. Distracted by the refill, Tully wondered how the hell she was going to get out of this mess.
#$#$#$
San Lorenzo was one of the few towns that neither side wanted to upset. The mayor, an iron-fisted Spaniard with a furiously quick temper, had punched out more than one officer and refused to be arrested. He, along with a dedicated team of policemen, patrolled the streets of San Lorenzo looking for anyone in violation of their neutrality. It was also a town rife with thieves and spies, and Troy knew that if he showed up with a posse this interesting then the German's would be hearing about it. He also knew that there was valuable intelligence to gain from San Lorenzo, but he had three liabilities with him. They were tight-lipped to be sure, and he'd seen enough defectors, collaborators, and spies to know that he shouldn't trust them implicitly.
The girl had accepted her role as Jack's younger sister too easily, though they knew she could not be. Miles Merry was a creep echo of Hitch, too similar and too alien for comfort, even more so than Isshiki. Something wasn't adding up. Taking each of them singularly, they made no sense.
As the jeeps rolled into San Lorenzo, and as they parked in a secluded spot, he gestured for the group. "Hitch, stay with the jeeps. Tully, go round up some supplies. Dr. Helen, I'd like you to go with him." Affront and insult clearly stamped on her face, she nodded and slid out of her seat. Merry, you're with Moffitt and myself. Isshiki," the man turned. "Come on." Punctuating the order with a wave; the man seemed to understand him and likewise dismounted the jeep. "Alright, don't make any waves, and let's not upset the mayor... any more than we have to."
As the group split up, he kept Isshiki to his right, letting Miles walk beside Moffit, and the two men were effectively barricaded. Through the outskirts of the town until they reached the main plaza, where he was immediately arrested by an unpleasantly familiar voice.
"Sergeant Troy!"
"Maror Banderas," he grimaced at the sight of the tall, lanky Spaniard in a dusty suit marching across the plaza. "Good afternoon, sir."
"Sergeant Troy!" He drew to halt, and blinked at Isshiki and then at Miles. Finding himself, he snapped. "You are not here to cause trouble? This town is neutral!"
"Yes, sir. We understand that, and. "
"Pardon, Senor," Isshiki spoke up, starting all of them. Exchanging a quick look with Moffit, he watched the young man bow and proceed to introduce himself. Incredulous disbelief showed across his face, until a bright smile spread. Troy, having never seen the man look anything less than utterly pissed off, was startled.
"Why did you not tell me!" he exclaimed, turning to the Rat Patrol, "you had a guest of Spain with you!"
"I'm afraid we didn't know," Troy watched the young man, and then Miles. For some reason, the Hitch-lookalike seemed deeply relieved. "We were hoping to find a translator. He doesn't speak English."
"No, no, no, matter!" The mayor grasped the younger man's right forearm, pulling him in to kiss one cheek and then the other. "We must go to my office! Come, come."
"Sir?"
"Senor Agawa had asked me to convey his words," the mayor was still beaming. "And it is not appropriate without some privacy. Come, come!" As a group, they moved through the plaza and into the government building. In his office, Isshiki took one of the few seats, and Mayor Banderas sat quickly, barking for coffee and refreshments. It was Spanish hospitality as he had never seen it, and the coffee was better than anything he'd gotten as a soldier.
"So," he raised his eyebrows, "what's the deal?"
"Senor Agawa is a guest of Spain," Mayor Banderas told him sternly. "Much the same way your Washington Irving was long ago. He was hired by the University of Madrid to explore and study Spain, to share the beauty of my country with his own!"
That sounded….utterly bizarre and wildly implausible.
"What about his documentation?" The mayor faithful relayed the question.
"He says that his documentation and much of his belongings were stolen by bandits as he was making a study of the landscape. Senor Agawa tells that he defended himself and saved only a few things."
"Huh," Troy watched Isshiki carefully, pulling a cigarette from his front pocket, lit it, and contemplated what he had been told. "He was hired by Spain?"
" Si ," the mayor's attention was arrested by the young man speaking again. "He thanks you for your hospitality and understanding, and appreciates your kindness given that your nations are at war." As he spoke, the mayor gave Troy a longer, considering look. "I insist, Sergeant Troy, that Senor Awaga stays in San Lorenzo to continue his work."
"Can we see some of the work?" Troy asked, still watching the young man. His head bobbed, and he unwrapped part of his pack and produced a sketchbook. It was interesting, to say the least, the art style was like nothing he'd ever seen and depicted people, landscapes, and buildings he had never seen. How Miles Merry knew it was Spain, he honestly wasn't sure. So far the blond had seemed a bit airheaded and silly; not at all calculating, but there was something there he wasn't sure about. "That's pretty nice, what's this?" He tapped a section of writing.
"It is," the mayor listened, "A haiku! Poetry!"
"Seems like a lot of hard work." He mused and taking the sketchbook, slowly flipped his way through it. He paused at the end, seeing the tent and the camp they'd been at just this morning. There were no scenes of war, though he had probably seen more than enough. Surprisingly there was a small inked-out scene, drawn with surprising intimacy, was the figure of Miles Merry laying on the bed, his bandages visible and handsome face softened in repose. Everything was drawn with surprising detail; he was impressed. "Impressive." He passed the sketchbook to Moffit, who seized it eagerly. He was an anthropologist at heart, no matter what the war had him do, and seeing Spain through wildly different eyes was the equivalent of handing him a gold bar.
"I think it's nice," Miles grinned, 'and I was right! It was Spain."
"Yeah, you were right."
"It is important that his experience no longer be ruined by Americans," the mayor snapped. "Or this war. Senor Agawa will stay as an honored guest. He already speaks a bastard form of my language." There were a few moments of silence. Troy observed the young man with focus he usually reserved for disarming explosives.
Isshiki spoke for a few minutes, and the man nodded. "He says that you will doubtless not wish for an artist or a poet near your base, given that you would consider him a security threat."
They hadn't said or done anything overly suspicious near him, but it was certainly going to make a splash with Boggs when he mentioned Isshiki in the report. "He's a poet?"
" Si !" The man beamed at Isshiki, who bobbed his head politely. "I must thank you for bringing him to San Lorenzo, it has been too long that culture has been ignored in the midst of these wars! Our love for music and poetry is second to none, and men of honor are."
"And what about the sword?" He puffed out a ring of smoke, which the young man tracked.
"The sword? It is dangerous, Senor Troy! Bandits will set upon him for his money and papers, and doubtless, they think he carries great wealth."
"Not knowing his true wealth is his skills," Jack looked up from the sketch pad, "these are wonderful. I have never seen anything like it. Sam."
"Spain's beauty is unmatched," puffing out his chest, "but in Spain, many carry swords for protection." He jabbered at Isshiki for a moment, and the man nodded, replying in soft tones. "Ah, he says that it is only to be drawn for protection."
"I've never seen one like it," Troy nodded, still staring at the handle protruding at his side.
"It must be excellent craftsmanship."
"And he'd have to know to use it to defend himself." Troy mused, and Isshiki waited for the translation before blinking a few times.
As he spoke, switching back to Japanese for a moment as he held the sword aloft for general inspection. Troy caught a word and glared sharply at the young man as he switched back to Spanish.
"He says his great-grandfather is a swordmaker."
"What was the exact translation?" Troy asked, narrowing his eyes at the sword and then at the man bearing it.
"The...exact translation?"
"Yes, sir. What he said, word for word."
"He said...my great-grandfather was a great and renowned swordsmith. I carry this blade to honor him."
"Ask him to repeat what he said in Japanese, please."
Caution slid into the unbelievably dark eyes, even before the now-curious mayor repeated his request. Still, the young man obliged and Troy distinctly heard sosofu thrown into the mix. Which, when comparing it to the translated sentence could mean seven words, less considering how he'd cut himself off mid-sentence. Only a few of the words could be used as a form of address, and now he wanted to figure out which one it was.
Interesting .
He nodded, "thanks, can I take a look?" He gestured to the sword, and in a minute he accepted the surprising weight. The scabbard was a lacquered wood, decorated with delicate tree branches and pink flowers that seemed to bloom right off the wood.
"My God," Moffitt breathed, and Troy had to agree. The flowers looked as if they were mother-of-pearl, and the wood was made of copper. "The craftsmanship is...magnificent." It was. Troy caught sight of the portion near the handle and eyed the unfamiliar characters without recognition before turning the blade over. Opposite where the characters were laid, was a chest so familiar that Jack had to do a quick double-take. "I must admit, the young man must be of significant pedigree."
"Yeah," he handed the sword back. "It's nice. Well, sir. We've got to get going."
"Of course, you have a war to fight." Mayor Banderas said, "ensure you keep the neutrality, Sergeant Troy."
"Yes, sir." As he spoke, he caught sight of the edge of panic on Miles' face. The blond was conflicted, and looking around the room. "We'll be out of your hair soon enough."
# # #
Helen squinted at the sun overhead and looked around the bazaar. He navigated the city well, being polite and well-armed probably helped.
"Keep up," he called, and she blinked in shock.
"I beg your pardon?" She stomped up to him, he was surveying a few pieces of metal, and she couldn't begin to guess why.
"Don't want you to get lost here," he muttered. "Plenty of jackboots around to pick up an Englander."
"Jackboots," she swallowed, suddenly re-evaluating the crowds. "Right...sorry." She inched closer, as he picked up a few bits of metal and slipped them into his pocket as he paid. Tully was quiet, giving only a low hum as he moved down the street. "How...likely would it be?"
"For you, pretty high."
"And what about you?"
"Wouldn't bother picking me up, they'd just shoot me."
"Oh," they probably would, wouldn't they. He was a commando, and they had rules about commandos. "Private, this is a neutral town. I'm only an archaeologist."
"Hasn't stopped them before, doc." He reached a hat stall, and Helen hardly had time to roll her eyes before Tully had plopped a hat on top of her head. It was a wide-brimmed hat, definitely styled for men and nothing she'd ever wear. "What do you think?"
"I…" she turned to a broken bit of glass and admired herself in the mirror. It was a tan hat, durable and functional and she felt very Indiana Jones. "I look like Dr. Jones."
"Good," he flipped the vendor a coin. "Keep it on your head."
"Private," astonished, she followed after him doing her best to keep the blush off her face. "There's really no need."
"Keep it on your head," he muttered again.
"Well, thank you, Private," she tugged the hat down further, smiling. "I...would have secured a cover of my own, but."
"Don't worry," he waved her gratitude off, and she went silent as they moved through the market, and returned to the jeeps with arms laden down to find Hitch flirting with a woman wearing a black manilla and a seductive smile.
"Hitch!" Tully called, "help out."
The blond excused himself from the conversation and ducked over to help unload Helen's arms. "What did you get?"
"Some pins."
"That's good, they might break soon, and...that's a nice hat." Hitch flashed her a smile, and Helen nodded.
"Thank you, Private Hitchcock. It should be useful on digs." He nodded, and they turned to load the jeeps with their new wares. Helen gazed over the town, catching sight of people scurrying away from the Americans, and generally avoiding looking at them. Her attention shifted from the people to the church steeple rising above the town. Glancing back at the Americans, she made her way to the church. It was an interesting building, clearly built within the last century on the stones of some other holy place, with clear Spanish and Ottoman influences. Magnificent despite the wear and tear of war and the desert, and two beautifully carved doors opened onto the main plaza.
"Helen?" She jerked around at the unfamiliar voice. It was Isshiki, looking tired and worried, and possibly the closest she'd ever seen him come to frantic.
"Isshiki?" Keeping her voice low, she approached. "I thought you were with Jack?"
"I was, did Miles tell you the story?"
"Yes, do you speak enough Spanish?"
"Apparently I speak a bastard form of Spanish," he shrugged and given that she hadn't actually heard his voice, but a few times, Helen was struck just how...American it was; soft, a genteel mid-western accent that cushioned each of his words. "But the mayor wants me to stay in San Lorenzo."
"If you stay," she blinked, realizing with horrific clarity that she was several hundred miles away from home, not to mention a few decades. Unmoored, and doing her best to shove down the terror rising in her stomach. "We have no way to contact each other! You have to come with us."
"No," he bit his lip, "It's better if I stay. I can keep an eye and ear out for number four, and if I'm here then you can come find me. I'm staying as a guest of the mayor and it won't be safe for me on an American base."
"I," she paused, " why ?"
"Because I'm Japanese-American," he rolled his eyes. "And Pearl Harbor was about a year-ish ago for them."
" Jesus." She swore, "those damn Americans, wait, then did Troy and others do something to you?" She moved aside, letting him join her in front of the doors.
"No, which surprised me." He smiled, head tilting downward in a motion she'd seen a few times from Sergeant Troy. "I would have lost all faith and admiration for them if they had. "No, I will stay here."
"Damn," fishing out her notebook, she flipped it open to the page showing his face. "This is my grandfather's," he looked aghast to see his face on the page. "And I think we're looking for someone wearing this. Turning the page again, she showed him the sketch of the Stenson. "Miles says it's a Stenson."
"Yeah...it is, park rangers, sheriff's, and mounties wearing them." He looked bemused. "I'll keep an eye out for it."
"Well, grandfather says that there's someone looking for a qnat, but he doesn't go into much more detail."
"I'll listen for it," he paused, "and I think I can send a message through the mayor. I miss cell service."
"My God, I know." Helen scrubbed at her forehead. "I need to get back to the jeeps."
"I'll walk you," he snapped open his fan, strenuously avoiding acknowledging the people who were staring at him. "I really wish people would stare less."
"I can imagine." She couldn't, but it seemed to make the American feel better.
"If I wore regular clothes then I'd still stand out," he grumbled, "I look like I just stepped out of a picture book."
"Do you know how to use that thing?"
"I know how to use my sword," he replied dryly, and she choked on hastily cut-off laughter.
"No, really. Do you?"
"Yes," he replied, pausing as they were about to turn the corner. "Keep an eye on Miles, please."
"Do you think something's wrong with him?"
"I don't know, but he seems depressed."
"I'll keep a lookout," she promised. "As best I can given that we're here. "
"Yes," he sighed, "I don't know why, but heed Sergeant Troy...he is both clever and dangerous." He looked around to spot anyone listening to them. "Extremely clever and dangerous."
Helen had suspected Troy was smarter than he looked, but he was still just a cowboy commando. He certainly didn't seem that clever when she'd spoken to him. Then again, it might be because Troy was his great-grandfather that he held a higher regard for the man. Still, "he's a cowboy."
"He's the leader for a reason," Isshiki insisted. "Do not make the mistake of underestimating him because your preconceived ideas."
"How stupid do you think I am?" She hissed, and the flat, unamused stare was both insulting and painful.
"Not stupid, arrogant."
"I beg your pardon!"
"You're forgetting that I have been listening," his words sharpened, a frown marring his handsome face. "And Tully suspects you as well."
"Tully?"
"Yes."
Helen had been focused on her grandfather, worrying about the other Rats had not been high on her list of priorities. "Very well," she poked her head around the corner. Tully and Hitch were beginning to look panicked. "Right, come on." She turned just in time to see Isshiki's entire body change, his face remaining the same but entirely different. He had put on a new persona and she was a little creeped out at how well he acted. Truly he was meant for the stage. Finally turning the corner, she waved at the two privates.
"Lads!" She called, "have you seen the woodwork on the church doors?"
Tully and Hitch relaxed, giving Isshiki curious glances before turning their attention to her.
"It's not safe to go alone, Miss Helen," Hitch said quickly, "you can't wander off."
"I wasn't alone," she gestured to her companion, "he was with me." The two men exchanged looks as if wondering to debate the idea of leaving a man who didn't speak English with a woman likely to be carried off by the Gestapo. "Right, well he's a gentleman...and he needs a hat."
"Hat?" Tully blinked.
"Un sombrero," Isshiki said helpfully, catching both men off-guard.
"He knows Spanish," Helen smiled. "So, where is Sergeant Troy."
"Here," whirling around at the sudden appearance of the commando, she tried to hide her surprise.
"Right, well, what is the scheme?"
"We're heading home," he said, "he's staying."
"Really?" Hitch wondered.
"Really," Miles looked less than pleased.
"Right, if we've got everything, then let's shake it." He climbed into the jeep, and as the Rat Patrol was preparing to leave, Isshiki bowed hastily to the sergeant.
" Osewa ni narimasu ," he said, before adding, " Adios ."
"Adios," Troy's words were friendly enough, but there was a sharp focus that doubtless meant he wasn't wholly pleased with the story he'd been fed. "See you later." The other rats waved goodbye as the jeeps rode out of the town.
Gripping the side of the jeep, she turned to watch the man with a sinking feeling that things had just gotten far too damn complicated for her taste.