Robber's Delight was a book that Dietrich would never have picked up before the war; she would never have bothered reading it until she realized just how bored one could get in prison. Years of training and military service did not prepare one for the long period of quiet and loneliness that came with prison.

There were only so many books in a library prison that she could stand, and her access to new and interesting books was severely limited. As such, she was surprised to find that the book wasn't just entertaining, interesting, well-written, and a fascinating introduction to the American psyche.

"I cannot believe that you're still reading that book," Captain Rotterdam muttered, lifting his eyes from the chessboard long enough to catch her eyes. "Haven't you finished it already?"

"It is not as simple as it looks," she answered, observing the board. "You have not made a move?"

"I'm not the best at chess," he shrugged, "anyway, you're hardly even paying attention."

"It is a good book," she answered.

"What is it about?"

"You do not know what it is about, and yet you scorn it?"

"It's one of those romance novels," he said and sighed as he made to move a pawn; only the smirk on her face gave him pause. "Damn."

"It is not simply a romance novel. There has been a murder, a robbery, and it appears to be a scathing review of the American justice system."

" Really? " Rotterdam paused, "and this is interesting to you?"

"It is compelling; such a book would not be published in Germany. This author holds a mirror to the society within which she lives and reflects light onto some of its ugliness."

"Huh."

And she enjoyed, having been enormously scandalized, reading of a lady robber. A woman so much like Dietrich that she felt a significant kinship with the fictional thief, though Dietrich was not a thief, she appreciated that the robber was not a fainting willow and distinctly unapologetic. The fact that the robber was forceful enough to demand equal pleasure in her encounters was also something Dietrich could relate to.

The descriptions of wild western American beauty were also appreciated since she'd spent the last few years in a desert.

"Ah, I've moved," Rotterdam announced, only to make a noise of despair when she leaned over her book only long enough to move a knight.

"Checkmate."

"Damn." He leaned back, "you weren't even paying attention."

"Chess is simple."

"Has anyone beaten you at this game recently?" He demanded, and she thought back to the long evening trapped in a cave with the Rat Patrol, waiting for a sand storm to die. She could recall the exact events that led her to playing a chess game with Private Pettigrew. Considering that she'd watched Moffit teach the young American which piece moved where and how she still hadn't believed that a seemingly inattentive Pettigrew had soundly beaten the Englishman. Two games later, she offered the blond a match and had been utterly bemused when he'd deftly avoided every scheme and manipulation to win the game in less than an hour. She wasn't even sure why she'd been surprised given how he behaved on the battlefield, but Pettigrew's intelligence being on full display had truly brought home how much she had underestimated him.

"Only one in the last four years."

" Really ? Who?"

She smiled, refusing to answer.

"You know, I knew that Europeans are good at acting all mysterious and such, but you seemed to take it to the next level. Don't tell me that losing a chess match is a military secret."

She gave him another smile, this one far less polite.

"Rematch?"

"Of course," she nodded, and she looked out the window at the rainstorm they were passing through. Chicago had been breathtaking in its size and breadth and the sheer number of people pressed into the city. She hadn't seen anything like it in years, and despite her attempts not to, she'd gawked at the sights, smells, and the myriad of Americans, civilian or otherwise, that had gone through the train station.

They were westward bound, and according to their tickets, not due in the state of Wyoming for two days.

Two days on a train got you out of Germany and to the southern tip of Italy. It was baffling to her that two days couldn't even get her all of the ways across the country. The trip to Chicago had taken two days as well.

No wonder the Rats hadn't bothered with thinking too much of driving an entire day. It took too long to get anywhere in this country.

"Officers are so boring," Private Marcus complained suddenly, "sitting around playin' chess and talking in circles."

"You are correct," Dietrich said after a moment. "Let us take a break and go have a rousing game of baseball in the observation car." Rotterdam chuckled, and the private had the audacity to sigh.

"I'm just saying; you two would probably have more fun if you played a card game."

"Chess is a gentleman's game," she told him, and he squinted. Abruptly she remembered that these men didn't know her as well as the Rats did. While Sergeant Troy hadn't even batted an eyelash at her pronunciation, she was an officer and a gentleman; it seemed to throw everyone else through a loop.

"Lady," Private Marcus drawled after a moment, "I think you're confused."

"Lady Dietrich," she corrected him, and he blinked without comprehension., her attention was caught by a small child toddling down the aisle. The young boy seemed gleeful in his escape, and before he could fall, he grabbed the side of Dietrich's seat and scaled the armrest. She stared, stunned by the cheerful, disobedient display.

"HELLO!" He exclaimed, tumbling from his perch and onto her lap. "HI!" his shirt was mused, and he was utterly fearless. "I"m Roger!"

"Hello...Roger," she lifted her book from her lap and glanced at Rotterdam. The man didn't seem at all inclined to interfere; the grin on his face was copied on Private Marcus' face.

"Who are you?" He plucked at her collar, hauling himself upright until he was staring directly into her eyes. "You're pretty."

"I am...Captain Dietrich," with her free hand, she seized the back of his shirt and hauled him off her lap and into the air. Roger, showing the same concern for his safety as the other Americans she'd met, shrieked with delight.

"You can't hold him like that!" Private Marcus exclaimed, picking the child up. "Captain!"

"Do not climb on me," she told the child, who nodded vigorously.

"Okay, okay, okay." he squirmed in Private Marcus' hold. "Down, down, down." He tottered back to the chair, and clinging to the armrest; he resisted the urge to climb. "Hi."

"Rotterdam," she glared.

"Roger," the boy exclaimed, "my name is Roger. Roger Miles!"

"Where is your mother? Roger," Captain Rotterdam finally asked gently, and Roger beamed.

"She's sleeping. She's tired!"

"Are you supposed to be with her?"

"I'm playing," Roger whispered, and he pulled himself onto the armrest. "And hiding. Sitting is boring. What are you doing?"

"Sitting," Dietrich said dryly.

"You're really strong. What's this?" He picked up a chess piece and held it up to Rotterdam.

"Perhaps you would like someone with your skill to play with?" She wondered, ignoring the glower Rotterdam aimed her way. "Chess is no easy game to learn."

"Dad plays chess," he reported, "I wanna play!"

"Hauptmann Rotterdam would be pleased to."

"I wanna play with you!" Roger said, "you're smarter."

"What?" the American captain looked offended. "Young man!"

"Are you certain you can sit still long enough to play?" She asked, and the boy nodded frantically.

"Then," she shifted faintly, and he scrambled to sit on the armrest, and she lifted a single white pawn. "This is a pawn."