It was evening before Troy was dismissed from Quint's office. It took a while for him to explain everything to the colonel's satisfaction. But when Quint had finally run out of questions, Troy was off like a shot before his superior had the chance to think of any more.

He rushed back to his shared room in the barracks.

The piercing smell of rubbing alcohol greeted him when he opened the door.

"Sam! I thought you'd be at the hospital by now." Moffitt was reclining on his cot, supported by pillows. His foot was likewise elevated.

"The meeting ran longer than I thought. It's not exactly an easy story to tell."

Moffitt's ankle was wrapped tightly with thick bandages, and a cane stood close to hand.

"The doctors finished with you early?" Troy flung his garrison cap onto his own cot.

Moffitt nodded. "The ankle was only a little wrenched in the cave-in, but the final sprint was a bridge too far. It's officially sprained." The brit shivered, "What a hair-raiser that was."

"Let me guess, no patrols for a while?" Troy untucked his khaki necktie and began to untie it.

"Doctors orders," Moffitt smiled smugly. "And I intend to follow those orders. How did the meeting go?"

"Quint is over the moon to have that cache destroyed. It was one of the biggest ones in that sector, and they're going to try to push Jerry that way soon."

Troy dug a clean fatigue shirt out of his locker and began to unbutton his dress uniform shirt.

"Have you been to see the lads?" Moffitt resumed his book.

"No, but I'm going as soon as I change. Want come along?"

"I can't go anywhere with this ankle. Not even across the room to make tea," Moffitt sulked.

Troy finished buttoning his fatigues and grabbed his hat.

"Oh, wait!" Moffitt reached under his cot and pulled out a small paper package. "I took this from the cave. Give it to Hitch, will you?"

"Sure thing." Troy caught the package and opened the door.

"Give my best to the lads!" He called before Troy shut the door behind him.

At the hospital, all was bustle and noise. Amid the confusion, it was driven home to Troy just how lost he was. He had no clue where to find Hitch.

His bewilderment must have been obvious, for a short, brunette nurse took pity on him, and told him where he could find his wounded man.

Following her directions, Troy made his way to the correct ward. It was mostly full, and very peaceful. And very dark, except for the deep, honey glow of the occasional lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Against the far wall, a soldier lounged in a bedside chair. Adjusting the package under his arm, Troy walked toward them.

That soldier was just the landmark Troy had hoped for; Tully watching over his wounded buddy.

But he wasn't doing a very good job. The private had fallen asleep at his post. His head drooped until his chin was almost touching his chest. He dozed in the chair with all the grace of a tuckered hound dog, with his arms and feet crossed. His thick auburn hair appeared almost red in the dim glow of the overhead lamps.

But even in sleep, that signature match was fixed between his lips.

Troy approached the bed quietly. The last thing he wanted was to disturb his wounded private.

The blond head on the pillow turned towards him as he came closer, his glass lenses flashing in the light as he did so. A bright smile lit up his face.

"I was wondering when you might stop by, Sarge," he beamed. "Just don't talk too loud," he jerked his head, "sleeping beauty here is exhausted, but he won't admit it."

From what wasn't covered by the blanket, Troy could see Hitch was shirtless, and his chest was swathed in bandages and plaster.

"Well, you seem pretty chipper for a fella who's had a day like yours. How do you feel?"

Hitch shrugged, "It feels good to be alive, Sarge." Troy reached for the clipboard hanging off the end of the bed.

"Let's see. Two broken ribs, four cracked ribs, a pulled back muscle..."

"And a bunch of scrapes from being dragged underneath that beam, all down my back."

"This could have been a lot worse." Troy warned.

"There wouldn't have been enough of me left to diagnose if you hadn't gotten through in time. Sarge..." Hitch trailed off.

"Yes?"

"How can I say... Thanks. For pulling me out of another scrape of my own making."

Troy eased onto the cot beside Hitch's.

"It wasn't your fault, Mark. It was plain, rotten luck. You heard Moffitt talk about what a gamble the Germans took using that hill, with the unstable ground." Troy soothed.

"Sarge, you don't understand. The feeling when you know you're going to die, and you set the bomb with your own hands," he stared at the ceiling. For a moment he seemed to wrestle with the memory. "It gets under your skin."

"I can't say I know how that feels," Troy said honestly, "But I do know you asked me to let you die. I begin to get the picture."

For a minute there was silence between them. The snores of wounded soldiers, and the warm hum of overhead lights filled the gap. One man whimpered in his sleep.

"In our commando training, we were trained to die. I always thought I was ready, that I could die at the drop of a hat. But today, I found out I can't." There was a note of shame in the younger man's voice.

"Hitch, it's a beautiful thing to give your life for your country, but it's always a mistake to throw it away. There was no reason for you to die in that cave, and I couldn't stand by and watch it happen."

Tully shifted in his sleep.

"WE couldn't let it happen," Troy corrected himself.

"I guess you're right, Sarge. But it'll take a while to get over everything that's happened today."

"I wouldn't expect any different, Hitch. It takes time. Heck, I'm still shaking. Just don't let it get drag you under. I've had to learn that the hard way."

Hitch nodded thoughtfully. His eyes fell on the paper parcel.

"What's that? A gift for a lady friend?" He smirked.

"Well, sort of, it's for you," Troy ribbed. "It's from Moffitt." He handed it over.

"What would Doc have sent me?"

He ripped it open and something bright red tumbled onto his blanket. The blond was ecstatic.

"Hey, my kepi!! I thought it was lost in the cave! Gee, Doc staying in the cave just to grab my ol' kepi." Hitch fondled the red cap, turning it over and over.

Something prickled in the back of Troy's mind. Troy shoved it away.

"He even cleaned it! It's as bright an' red as it ever was! You can see some stitching where he fixed the rips from the cave-in."

Again, that same prickle. Like an itch he couldn't scratch. He tried to ignore it.

"You'd think it was Christmas morning around here," Troy smiled.

"It feels like I've got a little piece of me back, Sarge."

Tully grimaced and rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"Sarge?" He croaked, "How long have you been here?" The Kentuckian stretched his long limbs.

"Not long, Tully. And I was just leaving. It looks like you should too, you could use the rest."

"Not a bit, Sarge," Tully covered a yawn.

"Don't make me pull rank, soldier. Hitch isn't on his deathbed, you can go get some sleep."

"Yessir, Sarge," was the slurred reply. Tully was already slipping back into a doze.

"You get plenty of rest too, Hitch. We'll see you in the morning," He patted Hitch's arm.

"Sure thing, Sarge," Hitch smiled.

Walking back to his room, the same prickle of conscience fought it's way to the top. It bothered him until it burned in his mind.

He paused in front of a gloomy stucco building long enough to light a cigarette. Blowing white smoke into the rapidly darkening air, he checked his watch and considered his options.

He made his decision; leaving the beaten path altogether, and heading off toward the closest bar.

Inside the modest establishment, the place was still lively with men and women trying to wring every moment out of the final hours before curfew.

He ordered a drink, and turned to find a seat. Preferably a secluded one.

A small alcove partitioned off with a beaded curtain caught his eye. He approached, drink in hand.

Closer, he realized someone was already sitting at the small table, someone reading a book. Tamping down his annoyance, he pushed forward and parted the glass strands. The soldier lowered his book, and Troy stopped short.

"Caught red-handed."

"I didn't think you'd be done at the hospital so quickly," Moffitt shut the book hastily. "And before you ask, I didn't walk here, I bummed a ride." The brit pushed the opposite chair out from the table with his cane. Which, Troy accepted.

"You're supposed to be confined to bed, remember?"

"You don't have to rub it in," Moffitt groused. "After a day like ours, you would begrudge me a stiff drink?"

"Okay, Doctor. No harm, no foul." Troy could hardly blame his friend, they were there for the same reason.

Pulling on a fresh cigarette, Troy released the smoke into the hazy atmosphere.

For the hundredth time since they'd escaped that cave, he replayed the day in his mind. And for the hundredth time, he hit the same snag that had puzzled, and worried, him.

"What's the matter, Troy? You seem distant." Moffitt's tone was easy, but his eyes were concerned. "What's bothering you?"

Troy realized he'd been frowning at his drink, and the ash on his cigarette was long.

"Guess I've got a lot on my mind," he deflected. "I wanted to ask you about...today."

Moffitt lowered his drink.

"Yes, I rather feared you would."

"Today, in the cave... I've been trying to understand all day..."

"Troy, I've never known you to beat about the bush when you have something to say."

Sam dropped his eyes with a sigh.

"Why?" He looked up into Moffitt's eyes, "Why were you going to leave Hitch to die in that cave, Jack?"

This time, it was Jack who had to look away.

"It's not so simple, Troy." A weak smile tugged at his lips. "Sometimes, I think you forget I'm not American."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You Americans are a curious bunch. If there's something you want, and you want it bad enough, you'll begin to act as if it's a 'done deal', as Tully would say. And you're such tenacious bastards, you won't let go until it's in your hands. No matter what odds you're facing, you'll stare them down with whatever straw of hope there is left to you. I suppose that's the 'American Dream' you Yanks are always on about," He ended reflectively.

"I don't follow, Jack."

"Back in the cave, you and Tully both wanted Hitch to be alive. Even if hope was the only thing on your side. You wanted him to be alive so badly, you began to act as if he was."

"But he was alive."

"Sam, you and I both know Hitch didn't have a prayer in that cave in. The fact he's still with us is no small miracle."

"You were the last person who saw him, and you said he was alive."

"I also saw the ceiling beginning to fall. The odds were against him, Sam. And one man dead is better than four."

Troy sipped his drink reflectively.

"Tully was ready to die to get into that cave."

"Tully would throw away his life for anyone one of us without a second thought," Moffitt pointed out. "We see the world rather differently."

"You're a pessimist."

"I'm a realist," Jack argued. "There was also the mission to think about. One man dead and a failed mission; the greatest insult to a soldier is to nullify his sacrifice."

"I guess you have a point." Troy tapped his ashes into the clay ashtray. "It would be a terrible thing to have your death count for nothing. But I'll always check for the body, first."

Moffitt merely nodded concession.

They drifted into silence for several minutes. Nursing their respective drinks, ignoring the raucous laughter from the other end of the bar.

"If I'm ever in a similar bind, Sam," Moffitt was solemn, "I want you to secure the mission first. Even if it seals my fate."

"I'll do it for you, if the time ever comes." Troy promised. He emptied his glass and pinned Jack with a stare,

"I want you to do the same, if it ever comes to that."

"I've done it for you."

Troy paused, confused.

"You mean, you would do it."

Jack lifted his drink, his eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Do I?"