Combat! is owned by ABC TV. This story is meant only for the enjoyment of Combat! fans, with no intention to infringe on any copyrights, and no monetary compensation has been received.

As the Trilogy continues, you may see what I thoroughly enjoy exploring in the stories that you rarely get a glimpse of in the series episodes…a chance to see into the thoughts and minds of the characters. Brave and confident on the outside doesn't begin to touch what they are really feeling on the inside. Their feelings are what take them out of the realm of mere characters and transform them into real people with real feelings. This story is a good example. Hope you're enjoying it.

A TRILOGY

II. STOLEN IDENTITY

Part 2

CHAPTER 16

"Amerikaner! Komm runter von diesem Baum!" came a stern command from below in the darkness.

Saunders stayed frozen, but his mind was racing. How the heck did they find him? he thought.

"Schnell!" came the same voice.

Saunders didn't understand the words, but he understood the general meaning and intent. He also knew that he didn't have much choice. He thought of dropping a grenade, but he stood a good chance of getting caught in his own shrapnel. And even if he came through it unscathed, by the time he climbed down from the tree, he'd be overrun by scores of very angry krauts. He was sitting right in the middle of their nest.

Since they hadn't just shot him, he figured that they were looking to take him prisoner. That gave him a few precious moments. He quickly folded his map with all of his notations and jammed it down into the side of his boot, as far down as he could push it. He grabbed his other two maps and crammed them tightly among the tree branches.

A rifle fired, and a bullet tore into the tree trunk near his head. He automatically flinched, but he finished hiding his maps.

"Komm!" came the stern voice again. "Schnell!"

The sergeant looked down. Shooting at him in the darkness meant that they weren't too desperate to take him alive.

"Ok!" he shouted. "I'm coming down."

Saunders slowly and cautiously began to make his way down the tree, pausing at each limb, being sure that he made no sudden moves. And it gave him more time to think.

As he touched the last branch, a hand reached up out of the darkness and yanked at one of his boots. Losing his balance, he slipped off of the limb and crashed to the forest floor. Flat on his back, it took a moment to recover his breath. He'd landed hard, losing both his Thompson and his haversack. Pain lanced through his hips as he partially landed on both canteens and his utility belt still filled with ammo.

Multiple muzzles pointed at his chest as soldiers reached out to pull his weapons and bag away. One soldier waved his rifle at the sergeant's head. Saunders unstrapped his helmet and took it off. The German grabbed it and inspected the inside. The sergeant hoped that they weren't overly thorough in their search. If he could find a way to escape, he wanted to be sure to keep that map.

"Aufstehen!" came the command.

Sadly, Saunders had heard that far too many times, and he knew exactly what was expected of him. He slowly got to his feet, careful to keep his hands open and visible. In the darkness, the sergeant could make out five Germans clustered around him. He couldn't tell if there were more of them farther out in the blackness of the forest, but it didn't matter. Five was more than enough

One kraut came forward and stripped him of all of his possessions, searching his jacket and pockets. There went the cigarettes and chocolate, he thought. At least he'd had the good sense to leave his lighter behind. But then again, maybe if he'd had the lighter, his luck might have held. He'd never know.

The closest soldier motioned with the barrel of his rifle, and Saunders made his way out of the trees and onto the railroad tracks.

So much for his planned trip back to his unit with the information. That jeep at the rendezvous point would be waiting in vain for the returning soldier.

Time to recalculate his plans.

CHAPTER 17

Walking down the railroad tracks toward the train, Saunders tried to stay focused on ways to escape. But thoughts of his inevitable interrogation kept crowding out all logic. They didn't keep him alive because they were feeling beneficent. They wanted information. He'd been through the process several times before as a kraut prisoner, and mostly it was bearable. But the one time that he'd taken a brutal beating still haunted him some nights.

As his heart rate began to rise, he worked at pushing those thoughts from his mind. Whatever was in store for him up ahead…he'd deal with it.

The sergeant was pushed and prodded as they finally neared the train. Entering into the lighted area of the activity, Saunders became more aware of the sense of urgency that permeated the operation as soldiers loaded the train. They seemed to be on a timetable, working on a strict schedule. They were working steadily, but not hurriedly. Everyone seemed to know their job. There was no confusion…no one standing around.

He made mental notes of everything he was seeing. Being this close to the activity surrounding the train was certainly unexpected, and he intended to take advantage of it…Just in case. Far down toward the end of the train, he could see more steam billowing. There was a second engine, probably helping push the massive weight of all the loaded cars. And the second engine made it easy for the Germans to move in either direction. Knowledge of the second engine was stored away in the back of his mind as vital information.

His captors roughly shoved him onward, away from the activity and harsh lights, and over toward a row of tents. They grabbed him and stopped at a larger tent, waiting while one of his guards went in. After a few moments, the guard returned.

"Kommen Sie!" he ordered, waving the sergeant in.

Saunders hesitated, and then ducked through the tent opening. A lantern lit the space, which held a cot, several crates, a small steamer trunk, a tiny table and two chairs.

A first lieutenant stood in the middle of the tent near the table.

CHAPTER 18

"Sehr gut," the officer said, looking his prisoner over from head to toe. Then, in excellent English he added, "A sergeant. It seems that all we've managed to capture lately are privates. The sergeants have somehow ended up dead."

He smiled and continued, "Thank you, Sergeant. You've already told me something valuable."

Saunders stared at him in confusion. He had yet to open his mouth.

Still smiling at the sergeant's confusion, the lieutenant explained, "The Allies sent another patrol, so that means that they have no idea yet what we are doing…and you will not be in any position to tell them anything."

The officer picked up two cords from the top of the trunk, held them out and spoke to the prisoner's guards. One took the ropes while the other pulled Saunders' arms behind him. As his wrists were being bound, he stared directly at the lieutenant.

"I already know why you are here, Sergeant. But where are you from? What unit? Where are your men…and how many should we be searching for?" the officer asked. "Ever since the Allies sent that last American patrol, I've had my own patrols out in the surrounding fields and forest. You were doomed to fail. But for some reason the rest of your patrol has eluded my men so far."

That's how they found me, Saunders thought to himself. The lieutenant had just given him some valuable information.

"Perhaps you were suicidal enough to come on your own," the officer smiled sarcastically. "In any event, we will be leaving soon. My men are more valuable to me loading the train than searching for any more of your men that might possibly still be out there somewhere."

The lieutenant went to the tent opening and shouted orders. Saunders assumed it was to pull his patrols in from the forest and surrounding area.

"Now where were we?" the officer asked when he returned to face his prisoner. "I need some information from you, Sergeant."

It was quiet for a moment, and then the sergeant began, "Saunders. Sergeant. 22…"

The lieutenant suddenly drove the back of his fist across Saunders' face, snapping his head to the side. The sergeant stumbled, trying to stay upright, and his two guards grabbed his arms to prevent him from falling.

Saunders licked the blood from his split lip but remained silent. He stared at the lieutenant with no emotion.

The German smiled and reached out to take hold of the American's dog tags. "Don't bother, Sergeant. Everything you were going to tell me I can get right here."

Saunders' heart rate jumped as a flood of adrenalin pumped through his veins. He clenched his jaw tightly as he tried to will the German to let go of his tags. Don't touch my tags! he thought furiously, over and over again.

He tried to tell himself that what he was thinking and feeling was irrational, but his anxiety mixed with his fears kept rising. He stared over the officer's shoulder, trying to stay calm.

The lieutenant smiled again and slowly began to lift the tags over the sergeant's head.

CHAPTER 19

Both fury and fear flared in Saunders' eyes as he suddenly raised up his leg and shoved his boot hard against the lieutenant's hip. He didn't have enough leverage to do any damage, but it was enough of a thrust to push the officer away.

Caught by surprise, the lieutenant stumbled backwards, trying to regain his balance and composure. The two guards stared in horror and tightened their grip on their prisoner's arms, preparing for the inevitable consequences. They knew that their lieutenant would never let this pass.

Infuriated, the officer unholstered his Luger and took a quick stride toward his prisoner. Swinging his weapon under the sergeant's chin, he jammed the barrel upwards. As the front sight dug painfully into Saunders' jaw, his head was forced back to the breaking point. Staring unblinking at the peak of the tent, the sergeant could only hear his own strained breathing and his pulse pounding in his ears.

Everyone was deadly quiet. Rivulets of blood from Saunders' split lip slowly slid over his chin and trickled down his throat around the gun muzzle. The lieutenant and the sergeant both stood frozen in place.

The two soldiers holding the prisoner slowly leaned away from him and looked away in anticipation of their lieutenant pulling the trigger. Saunders finally closed his eyes and waited for the consequences of his actions.

"Be grateful you are a sergeant," the lieutenant whispered close to his prisoner's ear. "Or you would be a dead man right now. I still need you. However, I am going to really enjoy getting information from you."

With the Luger still pressed tightly under his chin, Saunders felt his dog tags and chain slip up over his head. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Fighting to control his breathing, he knew that he had to struggle to keep from showing this kraut any weakness.

Then the lieutenant backed away, removing both the pistol and the dog tags. The sergeant slowly lowered his head, dreading the sight of a kraut holding his tags…his very identity.

He fought the irrational panic that was pouring through his entire body, and tearing at his gut. Saunders continued to struggle to control his breathing and forced himself to stare blankly out the tent opening and into the darkness.

The sergeant tried to convince himself that his tags were just pieces of metal. He could get them replaced. His mother could send him another chain. But he knew in his heart that it just wouldn't be the same. And what if he died here and now? He would be a nameless body if he was ever even discovered at all. He had no idea what the Germans would do with him. He would become an X-number.

His worst nightmare was here to haunt him. Sergeant Saunders began to sweat.

The lieutenant smiled and casually looked at the tags. "These will be useful if we should send an infiltrator once you tell us your unit and its location…And you will."

Saunders could feel pure hatred rising, just thinking about his tags around the neck of a German spy. His mother's gift against Nazi flesh. No matter what, he knew that he wouldn't ever let that happen. Not as long as he was still alive. He wanted to get his hands wrapped around that lieutenant's throat and choke the life out of him. He welcomed his rising rage. It would fuel his drive to stay alive…and get those tags back.

But for the moment he knew that he needed to stay calm. He would find a way out of this if he just kept it together. He'd done it before, and he would do it again.

The German officer held up the tags, dangling them by their chain. Saunders could see the glints of lantern light reflecting off of the silver beads. He could still see his mother's face when he had told her, "I won't ever take them off."

Dogged determination began to overcome and crowd out his fear and even his anger and hatred. He would finish his mission, and he would get his dog tags back.

The lieutenant casually dropped the tags onto the table and turned back to his prisoner. He stared at the sergeant for a long moment in stony silence. Finally, he said in a steely, dead tone, "I may not be able to kill you yet, but I cannot allow striking an officer to go unpunished."

Without warning, the officer swung his Luger up and smashed the barrel against the side of the sergeant's head. Saunders' cry of pain was almost drowned out by the ugly sound of the sickening thud of metal against flesh and bone.

His knees buckled and the two soldiers held him up, relieved that they would not be wearing the consequences of the American's foolhardy actions.

The pain reverberated through Saunders' skull, and he could feel the warm blood sliding down the side of his face and neck. He remained disoriented and barely conscious as the German lieutenant spoke to his guards.

The two soldiers dragged the sergeant out of the tent and into the night.

CHAPTER 20

Saunders raised his head just as the two guards dragged him into a darkened tent and dropped him in the dirt. Unable to check his fall, he landed hard on his side. The impact sent new waves of pain up through his skull as the bloody gash on the side of his head hit the dirt and began to throb.

One of the soldiers pulled his legs together and bound his ankles with a second cord. The German stood up and half-heartedly kicked the sergeant in the ribs. It was painful, but Saunders had certainly had worse. He considered it a minor inconvenience compared to his raging headache.

The sergeant waited a moment until after the two guards had left, and then he tested his bindings. His ankles were tied around his boot tops, between the double buckles. He smiled through his pounding pain. When he pulled his wrists apart, there was some give.

Each wrist was tied tightly, but there was a lot of play between them. When his wrists were being bound, he had purposely held them apart in hopes of getting that extra play between them. It had worked.

His plan for escape had already begun.

After resting for awhile, Saunders struggled to look around the tent to see if there was anything that he could use. It looked like mostly crates of food provisions. Although the tent was unlit, there was quite a bit of reflected and filtered light coming through from the remaining flood lights by the train. It looked as if they were slowly being shut down as the activity wound down and everyone settled in for the night.

In a nearby corner he saw movement. The sergeant froze and waited silently.

"Hello?" came a quiet, hesitant voice from the corner. "Who's there?"

"What if he's dead?" came a second voice in a loud whisper.

"What the heck would the krauts put a dead guy in here for, Walt? C'mon. Use your brain," the first voice replied.

And then he repeated, "Hello?"

Saunders hesitated, and then asked, "Who're you?"

There was silence, and then he heard the two of them whispering. "Are you a kraut?" the first man asked anxiously. "I ain't telling you nothing. You might be a kraut."

Saunders smiled. All those secret passwords seemed silly until you really needed them, he thought. Simple, but effective…They worked.

"Batman," he called out.

"Robin," came the obviously relieved reply. "There's two of us. Foley and O'Brien. We're from Love Company."

The sergeant shifted his position to try to look over toward the two soldiers. He blinked furiously trying to clear his eye where blood had pooled from his head wound.

"You part of that patrol that was sent out here?" he asked.

"Yeah. We're what's left of it. Our sergeant and the others are dead. Who are you?" the man asked.

"Sergeant Saunders, King Company," Saunders answered.

"The rest of your patrol dead, too?" the voice asked sadly.

Saunders smiled grimly. "I'm alone."

There was a long silence and then a quiet question. "You came by yourself? A solo mission?"

"Yeah," the sergeant replied.

"They made you come here all by yourself?" the soldier asked incredulously.

"I volunteered," Saunders answered. "Guess I had an attack of temporary insanity…or stupidity. How long you been in this tent?"

"You mean today? Just since it started getting dark. During the day they leave us out in the middle of all of the activity so nobody has to bother guarding us. But at night they put a guard outside the tent."

Saunders shifted, and accidently brushed his head against the dirt. He let out a gasp of pain.

"Are you ok?" the other soldier asked. "Sounds like you're in a lot of pain."

"Kraut lieutenant gave me a heck of a headache, but I'm ok. Either of you hurt?" Saunders asked.

"Nah. Pretty sore though. They worked us both over, but nothing's broken," came the reply. "Didn't tell 'em nothing. Don't think they're done with us yet though. Now it looks like they plan to starve us out. Haven't given us any food or water since yesterday."

At that moment, the tent flap opened and the soldier who'd tied Saunders' legs and kicked him stepped in and looked at the three of them. Seemingly satisfied, he left.

"Does he come in like that regularly?" the sergeant asked.

One of the men snorted. "He's as regular as a German cuckoo clock. Every fifteen minutes. Walt timed him a few times. Counted it out. Pretty much every fifteen minutes on the nose, best we can figure."

"Same guy?" the sergeant asked.

"Yeah," one of them replied. "Every night it's always the same kraut."

Saunders estimated that about one minute had already passed. He began to count. When he had been silent for a long while, one of the men called out, "You ok, Sarge?"

"Counting," the sergeant replied quickly, and continued timing the guard. Sure enough, when he neared the fifteen minute mark, the tent flap opened and the guard stepped in.

As soon as the soldier stepped back out, Saunders rolled up onto his knees.

CHAPTER 21

With hands still bound, Saunders twisted around and began to unbuckle his boots.

"I need you to keep the time," he said in a serious, commanding voice. "And then give me the three minute mark. Got it? Start with two minutes…Now!"

"Got it!" one replied as the other began to count. The two men could just make out what the sergeant was doing, since rolling to his knees had brought him a little closer to them. They couldn't quite understand why he was doing it, but they were smart enough not to interrupt him. They just kept counting.

Saunders managed to get both boots unbuckled and he began to work on the laces.

"Three minutes left, Sarge," came a voice.

The sergeant lay back down on his side and maneuvered back to roughly where he'd been lying earlier. He tucked his feet behind him.

"After he leaves again, I need you to keep as close a count as possible. Got it?" he asked sternly.

"We got ya, Sarge. But what the heck are you doing?" came the reply.

"Just do it. Every time he comes and goes. And keep giving me that three minute warning."

At that moment, the kraut returned, and the three of them fell silent. When the guard appeared satisfied and left again, Saunders whispered, "Now!"

He shifted back up onto his knees and worked on finishing loosening his laces. The buckles had been fairly easy since they were on the side of his boots. But the laces were a problem. The sergeant had to do a lot of twisting to get to them. It was eating up precious minutes. When he'd finally loosened them, he rolled onto one hip and brought his legs around in front of him. Digging one heel into the dirt, he pulled at his boot, twisting and tugging until his foot slowly slid out.

With a renewed sense of urgency, he pounded the other boot heel into the dirt and worked on pulling out his foot. He used his other stockinged foot to push against the top of the boot. Gradually his foot came free.

The guard who had bound his legs had tied the rope around his upper boots. As the boots slid off, so did the ropes.

"Three minutes, Sarge," came the soldier's voice in the dark.

Saunders stood quietly and used his feet to push the rope and boots over to his original position. Then he lay down again in front of them to block them from the guard's view. Tucking his feet behind him, he hid his stockinged feet.

Seconds later, the German opened the flap and stepped in.

CHAPTER 22

Saunders held his breath. The tension would be getting worse with each passing fifteen minute interval. And everything would start moving faster. He needed to get the two soldiers on board with his plan. There wouldn't be time for explanations when it all started to come together.

As soon as the guard left again, the sergeant sat up with his stockinged feet in front of him.

"Counting?" he called out to be sure.

"Yeah. Got it," came the reply.

As Saunders worked, he talked. "Listen up. When I get free, I'll untie one of you, who can untie the other. It'll all happen during those fifteen minute intervals. Once we're all free, the three of us will leave at the same time. We're going to slip out under the side of the tent, if the area looks clear. We'll wait until the kraut leaves again and take off as soon as he's gone. Once we leave, we'll only have those fifteen minutes before they discover we're gone."

"Uh…," one of the soldiers interrupted him, "When you get free?"

"Just trust me," Saunders replied.

He glanced at the tent flap and lowered his voice. "Now listen carefully. This is important. You two need to take off toward the tree line. Be careful and watch for kraut patrols in that area. That's what got me. The lieutenant said he was going to pull them off patrol, but they might still be out there. If you can make it past there undetected, run straight, as fast as you can. Follow the tracks until you see a steep hill off to the right. Cut over and up the hill."

"On the other side of the hill farther down is a dirt road. Follow it until you see a small bridge over a stream that leads to a long path off to the right. That'll take you to a farm house. At the farm house you might be able to find food and water. Be careful and don't stay too long. There's at least one kraut patrol in that area."

Saunders was pulling on the cord around his wrists, trying to test and loosen it while he talked. "I'm going to give you a map."

He stopped and looked over at the two men. "You listening?"

"Yeah, Sarge," one replied. "I got it all so far. We saw that farm house on the way in. We won't need a map to get back from there."

"It's not a map of that area," Saunders replied, still working on the rope. "It's a map of this area. You have to get it back to HQ. If you can find your way back to my rendezvous point on the road back to our billet, someone should be waiting there with a jeep."

The sergeant paused to let it all sink in, and then added, "You need to get the map to Lieutenant Hanley, in King Company, Second Platoon."

"Lieutenant Hanley, King Company, Second Platoon," he repeated. "You got all that?"

One man called out, "Yeah, some of it we remember from when we first came out here. And your rendezvous point is probably the same as ours was, out on the edge of kraut held territory. They brought us all out there in a deuce and a half. But what about you? Aren't you coming?"

Saunders had been busy trying to bury his feet in the rich soil under him, and to work on the rope around his wrists.

"No, there's something I need to do. You two go on ahead. Don't wait for me. I've made detailed notes on that map I'm going to give you. It lists the exact current coordinates of the train, their troop strength, vehicles, artillery…everything I could see. You need to get it back to Lieutenant Hanley as soon as you can. And tell him that there's a second engine on the other end of the train. I couldn't get that on the map. It won't be too much longer before the krauts get that train rolling. Probably early tomorrow morning. Battalion needs to be ready for them…or have that train's location."

"I got all that," answered the soldier. "But how the heck are we ever going to get free?"

"I'm working on it," Saunders replied.

"Three minutes," the other man called out, still counting.

Saunders slid back into his original position. "Just wait," he whispered and lay down quietly.

CHAPTER 23

The guard's prisoner check was routine. He merely glanced over the three prone men and left. As soon as the tent flap closed, Saunders began to slide his hands below his butt and then he sat upright. With his hands now under his thighs, he started to sweat.

The coagulating blood mixed with dirt covering the side of his head was beginning to itch. His pounding heart made his head wound throb even more. He ran his tongue over his split lip as he worked.

This was the critical point of his plan. He needed to finish before the guard returned or it was all over…for all three of them. He drew his right knee up tightly against his chest and worked at sliding his foot inwards and forcing his bound wrists outwards. He stretched his arms even farther, ignoring the pain in his straining shoulders and the rope cutting into his wrists.

As he continued to sweat, he said softly, "Glad I'm not Littlejohn."

"What'd you say, Sarge?" one man asked.

"Nothing. Keep counting," Saunders answered as he continued to struggle.

Gritting his teeth, he gave another hard push outward. He'd done this before…he'd do it again. Slowly his dirt-covered sock slipped over his hands and down to the ground. With a grunt of satisfaction, the sergeant quickly worked on the left leg, which he knew would be easier with the right leg out of the way.

As soon as his left leg slipped through, he immediately began to tug at the rope with his teeth. Occasionally throwing glances at the tent flap, he worked feverishly but deliberately at loosening the rope.

"Wow!" came the voice from the corner. "That was really great. How'd you ever think of doing that? That would never have occurred to us."

Without stopping his efforts, he answered through gnawing teeth, "I've had some experience. Keep counting."

But I never got beyond this point, he thought to himself anxiously as he continued to work the rope with his teeth. This wasn't dried leather like the last time, he reminded himself. This was just rope. He could do it.

"Three minutes," came the second voice in the darkness, with obvious concern.

But Saunders didn't stop. He kept working at the ropes. They were loosening, but not fast enough. If he lay down now, the kraut would see that his arms were no longer tied behind his back. It would all be for nothing. He knew that he couldn't stop. He was past the point of no return.

Continuing to pull on the rope with his teeth, he stood up and moved to the front corner of the tent, hidden from view of the opening. Without stopping his efforts on the rope, he kept watch on the opening.

Just as the last of the rope was beginning to come free, the guard pulled back the flap and stepped into the tent.

CHAPTER 24

At the same time that recognition of a missing prisoner hit the German, Saunders slipped the rope over the soldier's head and pulled it tightly around his neck. The shocked man dropped his rifle and grabbed at the rope with both hands. The struggle was brief, but it felt like an eternity to the sergeant. His mind was racing.

What if there was a second guard out there? What if there was about to be a shift change? What if someone heard them scuffling and came to investigate? What if someone noticed the guard was missing?

Easing the dead soldier to the ground, Saunders peered out of the tent to investigate the myriad of 'what ifs.' Nothing. No second guard. No shouts of alarm. He finished loosening the last of the rope from his wrists and dragged the body over to where he himself had been lying.

The sergeant hurried to the two bound GI's and knelt down. As he started untying the first soldier, he whispered, "Change of plans. No idea how much time you have. Could be only a few minutes, or it could be all night. We're only good until someone notices the guard is missing. If we get discovered right away, I'll try to create a diversion so you can get away. You need to get that map back."

Once he freed the man, Saunders went back to get his boots. Reaching into the bottom of one, he pulled out the tightly folded map.

"Here's the map," he said, handing it to the freed soldier. "Don't lose it! It has everything that HQ needs. You've got to get it back to Lieutenant Hanley. And don't forget about that second engine."

The man nodded. "We got it, Sarge. If one of us can make it out of here, we'll get it to him." He tucked the map into his shirt pocket and began to untie his friend.

Saunders went to the front of the tent and peered out again into the night. Nothing. He picked up the guard's rifle and, stepping to the dead man's body, pulled two extra clips from the man's ammo pouch.

"You're gonna need this," he said, handing everything to the two men. He sat down and hurriedly wiped the excess dirt from his socks and began putting his boots back on.

Reaching up to his head wound, his hand came away sticky with coagulating blood. His headache was still raging.

"You don't want the rifle?" one of the soldiers asked.

Saunders shook his head as he wiped his hands on his jacket and quickly laced up a boot. "You'll need it. It's more important that you get that map back to HQ."

As he finished buckling the last boot, he lay down and lifted the canvas on the side of the tent. Looking out, he whispered, "All clear. You know what to do?"

The two men both nodded.

"Then get going. Stay low and don't stop. Keep running. And don't shoot that rifle unless you really have to. You'll bring half the krauts in France down your throat."

Saunders placed a hand on the closest soldier's shoulder and gave him a shove.

"Move out!"

CHAPTER 25

Saunders watched until the two men disappeared into the darkness. Then he double checked his boots and went back to the dead soldier. He grabbed the bayonet and went back to where the two soldiers had left the tent. Lifting the edge again, he checked the nearby area. The sergeant quietly rolled under the side of the canvas and slipped into the black shadows of the surrounding tents.

The entire camp had settled down. All of the flood lights were now dark, except for one light farther down the line of railroad cars. It appeared to be where most of the soldiers were billeted. All activity had ceased.

The box cars were almost packed, from what he could see in the dim light. The ramps had been pulled away from most of the cars. Saunders figured that the Germans would probably finish loading early the next morning. Once their troops were on board, the train would move out. And then his map and information about its exact coordinates would become useless.

He began to think of ways to slow the krauts down and keep the train from leaving right away. Belly crawling from tent to tent, Saunders lifted the canvas, searching for the vividly familiar interior of the German lieutenant's tent. Saunders had only been semiconscious when they'd dragged him from the tent, so he couldn't remember how far away it was. But he definitely remembered what it looked like inside.

Lying between two tents, he froze at the sound of a lighter flicking open. Not moving an inch, and barely breathing, he could tell that the noise had come from the front of the next tent. The smell of the drifting cigarette smoke triggered an instant craving.

Lying as flat and as still as he possibly could, Saunders watched and waited as a German soldier slowly walked past him toward the train. His cigarette glowed brightly in the darkness.

Probably a sentry, the sergeant thought. And if there's one sentry, there may be others. He waited long minutes more, and then began to crawl slowly forward once again.

Saunders looked into several more tents and kept double checking around him for sentries. When he reached a larger tent, his heart rate quickened. He slowly lifted the canvas…just enough to get the smallest of glimpses into the interior.

A steamer trunk, cot, two chairs, and a small table with a lantern turned down low. His adrenalin spiked.

He'd found it.

TO BE CONTINUED