Moffitt's consciousness gradually started returning when he felt himself being dragged from a somewhat flat surface in a crowded space. The smell of gasoline and blood was potently strong. He could hear engines running and voices speaking in German, muffled at first, then more clearly when he heard someone barking orders to be careful before tilting him slightly. Boots hit the ground, and he could feel he was partway off the hot, packed sand. Pain was radiating throughout the left side of his body, and a warm wetness was running down his side and pooling under his back. Then he felt something else warm and smooth moving up the center of his stomach. Weakly, he looked to see what it was, and saw two small Egyptian cobras slithering along his chest, splitting up near his neck and moving down his arms until they arrived at his wrists, coiling around them and staying there.

He was brought into a tent, which was filled with the smell of sterilization fluids, blood, and vomit. "Get him in the operating room, now!" someone shouted.

The cobras didn't move even as Moffitt was lifted from a stretcher and placed on a table. "Easy, easy," another voice said. "Alright, what is the situation with this one?"

"Bullet wound, upper left quadrant of his abdomen. No exit wound."

German medics in scrubs surrounded Moffitt, placing a breathing mask over his face, telling him to take a deep breath and that everything would be okay soon. He closed his eye, and everything became muffled again. For a few moments, the world faded completely, but he could still feel the snakes around his wrists. He opened his eyes, suddenly feeling as though he had been detached from his body. He saw the medics checking his vitals, then cutting his shirt off, exposing the bandages that had been applied when the Germans found him. Carefully, the bandages were removed.

The cobras stayed put as the surgeons worked to find the bullet inside. More snakes began appearing, crawling up the legs of the table, resting on the tray of surgical instruments. They were oblivious to the Germans, and the Germans were oblivious to them. Moffitt could feel the snakes, but thankfully couldn't feel the medics searching around inside him for the bullet.

The snakes increased in number the longer this went on. Why are there so many? And why are they here? None of this makes sense. I haven't even seen this species since I accompanied Father on a trip outside of Giza. Faintly, Moffitt could remember walking down the wide passageway of a recently-discovered tomb. The walls were covered in fading artwork, depictions of life from an era thousands of years before his time. The air was stuffy and hot, and the passageway was dark, not having seen light of any kind in millennia.

Something moved in the shadows ahead. Moffitt shone his torch on it, and was greeted with a hiss as a black cobra reared up on the floor. He had been told that the snakes in the area typically ran away when confronted, unless he kept bothering them. Moffitt slowly backed away from the cobra, noticing its hood gradually retracting. Somehow, he had the impression that the snake wasn't afraid, but… curious? He was never all that sure of a snake's intelligence, but didn't stick around to find out what exactly the cobra had on its mind. He then promptly informed his father that passageway was a no-go unless the cobra left.

After that, he never thought about that encounter, or snakes of any kind. The two cobras on his wrists looked toward the surgeons, flicking their little forked tongues at them. Slowly and unconsciously, Moffitt lifted his arms to get a better look at the cobras, unaware of the fact that he wasn't just doing it in his vision.

"What is he doing?" one of the medics asked.

"Is he… awake? His eyes opened." Another waved his hand in front of Moffitt's face. No reaction.

"Get a nurse in here to hold his arms down. We have to take his spleen out."

The cobras quickly slithered away when a German nurse came in to put Moffitt's arms back down on the table. The world faded into blackness again as consciousness relinquished its hold on him.

Kautner was confused as to why no one had noticed the long, black snake nosing around the camp outside the infirmary. He followed it, wanting to make sure it didn't enter the tent. It turned away from the tent, and disappeared into the sand. Kautner shook his head. I must be seeing things. Then again, he was no stranger to weird things, as he had encountered magic and the supernatural on more than one occasion. It was oftentimes frightening, but also wonderful, so he refused to believe his sighting of a snake, one that had been revered in Egyptian art and culture, was a simple hallucination, or even a coincidence.

He knew Colonel Lehning would not be happy about magic messing with his regiment. Lehning had numerous bad encounters with the supernatural in his past, and it resulted in him being quite mistrustful of it. Kautner couldn't blame him, but there were times where Lehning could be a little too stubborn about it. With that in mind, Kautner kept his thoughts to himself. He had a few books on the subject hidden in his foot locker, and just needed a little time to go through them and see if there was an answer for why he was seeing cobras.

Shortly after the regiment's evening meal, Kautner spotted Field-Marshal Rommel outside the officers' mess tent. He saluted before saying, "Good evening, sir."

"I was actually just looking for you, Lieutenant," Rommel said. "Come. Walk with me for a bit." Once they were a fair distance away from the rest of the troops, Rommel looked over his shoulder, ensuring they were alone. "I want you to be the first to question our new prisoner."

"Me, sir?" Kautner gestured to himself.

"Yes. You are our best English-speaker, and I have reason to believe there may be… a bit more to this man. A few hours ago, I was informed by our chief surgeon that he was behaving oddly while being operated on. While it could be pinned down to perhaps an improper dosage of anesthesia, I doubt we can rule out the possibility of a... fantastical influence."

Kautner nodded. "I take it—"

"Do not say anything to Lehning until we know for sure."

"Yes, sir. May I ask... Captain Dietrich has had experience with this man. Would he not have mentioned if there was anything off about him?"

"I contacted Dietrich not that long ago, but I did not ask about whether or not he suspected any members of this 'Rat Patrol' were magic. He will be visiting us tomorrow, though. I, unfortunately, will be leaving in a couple of days to make sure the rest of the Afrika Korps is on the move."

"Yes, Field-Marshal. When would you like me to interrogate the prisoner?"

"The medics said he should be conscious tomorrow, though it will be a few weeks before he is fully recovered. Lehning has already been informed of his physical condition and it will be left to him to get our new guest to a prisoner-of-war camp."

Kautner nodded again. "Anything else, sir?"

Rommel was silent, looking out toward the western horizon as the sun set below it, melting into deep, warm colors across the sandy landscape. He glanced back toward Kautner. "Between you and me, Lieutenant, there is something strange about this place, but I cannot pinpoint what it is."

Moffitt came out of a dreamless sleep feeling as though slabs of lead had been tied around his head, waist, and each limb. He heard German voices, voices moaning that they needed help or that something hurt. Moffitt turned his head to see a German private, head covered in bandages, steadily moaning over and over that his neck hurt. His words were slurred, like he had also come out of anesthesia as well.

His moaning stopped when an Oberstabsarzt, which Moffitt recalled was equivalent to a major in the German army's medical corps, walked over, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He had thick light-brown hair and was developing a bit of a paunch. He took a pillow from an empty bed and gently placed it under the private's neck. "Better, son?"

"Yes, sir," the private murmured.

"Alright. Get some sleep." The Oberstabsarzt looked over at Moffitt, and asked, "Do you speak German?"

Moffitt nodded.

"Good. I do not have time to get a translator." The older man walked around the private's bed to get to where Moffitt lay. "How are you feeling?"

"Where am I?"

"In a hospital tent, with an Afrika Korps regiment. You were shot trying to escape us after blowing up several of our men and vehicles, and now you no longer have a spleen. You also—" The Oberstabsarzt reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a small, deformed piece of metal, "have a souvenir." He placed the bullet on Moffitt's bedside table. "Would you like some water?"

"I would, thank you."

The German doctor carefully helped Moffitt sit up after bringing him the water. "We will be getting quite acquainted with each other over the next few weeks while you recover. I am Oberstabsarzt Ansgar Kaulbach, and you—" Kaulbach pulled a chain out of another one of his pockets, "are Sergeant Jack Moffitt, British Army." He placed the chain holding Moffitt's tags on the table next to the bullet. The chains were coiled, almost like a snake.

"That is correct," Moffitt said, trying not to think about snakes. "Sorry, did you say 'weeks?'"

"I said 'weeks.' I told you, your spleen had to be removed. The damn thing was sliced clean open by that bullet." Kaulbach's expression sobered. "Regardless, the war is over for you. You will be taken care of here, and then you will be sent up to Germany to sit out the rest of the war in a POW camp. Alright?"

Escaping quickly became the first thing on Moffitt's mind, but the weakness sitting on his body like a stone told him that would have to wait. Unless, of course, Troy and the others came to his rescue first. They had pulled each other out of stickier situations. He didn't want to give the Germans that impression, though, as they would just put him under tighter and tighter guard until it really would be impossible for him to be rescued. "I understand."

Kaulbach stood up. "As much as I wish I could stay, I have other patients to attend to. Holler if you need anything—well, do not actually holler."

Moffitt couldn't help but grin, but his grin quickly faded as he began thinking about how to get out of there.

The camp was silent at night, aside from the sound of boots crunching in the sand and whispered voices as soldiers on night patrol talked to each other in hushed tones. The majority of the patients in the hospital tent were asleep, but there were some who would start sniffling and sobbing. Kaulbach and the medics under him would respond pretty quickly to any crying or moaning, and trails of smoke would swirl around as Kaulbach rushed from one patient to the next.

There came one point late into the night where one of the wounded soldiers died. Moffitt had been asleep when it happened, but he had woken up to see Kaulbach slumped in a chair in front of a now-empty bed, his head in his hands. "Damn it," Kaulbach muttered. "Damn it to hell." He sighed and stood, making a motion as though he was going to kick the chair, but stopped. Instead, he moved the chair aside, and went back to his duties.

Morning came, and Moffitt still felt as though he needed more sleep. The calming and familiar smell of coffee soon filled the air in the tent, as Kaulbach began making regular checks on his patients, taking their vitals and changing their bandages if needed, with a fresh cup of coffee either in his hand or on someone's bedside table. When he came to Moffitt, Kaulbach set his coffee on the table and grinned at his patient. "Good morning, Sergeant. How are you?"

"As good as I am going to get, I suppose. Still feel like I could get more sleep," Moffitt replied.

"That is entirely normal. However, you have guests, so sleep will have to wait."

"Guests?"

Kaulbach nodded. He pulled back the blanket and lifted Moffitt's shirt to inspect the bandage. Carefully, he took off the bandage to check the sutures beneath. "So far, so good," Kaulbach said, half to himself and half to Moffitt, before grabbing a fresh bandage and a roll of tape from the table.

"What guests?" Moffitt asked again.

Kaulbach opened his mouth to respond when someone shouted for the medics in the tent to come to attention. He put the last piece of tape over Moffitt's bandage before standing and saluting an officer entering the tent. A shorter man in a field-marshal's uniform, with thin blond hair and tired blue eyes, entered, trailed by a young lieutenant.

"At ease," the field-marshal replied. "Oberstabsarzt Kaulbach, may I speak with your patients?"

"Absolutely, Field-Marshal," Kaulbach said. He was permitted to return to his work, and leaned over to whisper to Moffitt. "I am sure you are somewhat familiar with Field-Marshal Rommel, son. After all, you tried to kill him yesterday, correct?"

"You could say that, yes," Moffitt whispered back.

"He is one of your guests today. Do mind your manners."

It took a while for Rommel to get around to seeing Moffitt, as he spent time with each patient who was awake and aware of him. His visit cheered them up a bit, but he couldn't spend too much time on them. When he got to Moffitt, Rommel requested a chair, and sat next to the recuperating British sergeant.

"Before we begin, I must commend you on your efforts yesterday," Rommel said. "Unlike the last time your people tried assassinating me, you correctly assumed that I would be with my men instead of far behind my own lines." A slight grin crossed his face. "That was your goal, correct?"

"With all due respect, Field-Marshal, I have no intention of divulging what our plans were to you or anyone else in this camp," Moffitt replied.

"Fair enough. I did not expect you to." Rommel looked over his shoulder at the lieutenant who had followed him in. "You will be spending some quality time with Lieutenant Kautner, and an... old friend of yours will be dropping by later this morning."

"Captain Dietrich, I presume?"

Rommel nodded. "He is eager to see you, though I understand he is eager to see the rest of your little band of mischief put away where you cannot do anymore harm. I can assure you that you yourself will be unharmed, as will your companions when we catch them." He stood, turning to Kautner, and whispering to him in such a low voice that Moffitt couldn't hear. He looked over his shoulder once at Moffitt, then left the tent.

Kautner was tall and had neatly combed dark-blond hair. When Rommel left the tent, Kautner looked around nervously, then walked over to Moffitt's bed, his hands behind his back. "I have been told you speak very good German. I can speak English, if that makes you more comfortable."

"That will not be necessary."

Kautner shrugged, sitting in the same chair that Rommel had brought over. "I am going to get right to the point; we are not interested in knowing what your mission was. I was ordered to speak to you because one of my hobbies is studying magic and magical history. One of the doctors informed us that you were behaving strangely under the anesthesia."

"Why is that something to be concerned about? People behave strangely under anesthesia all the time." Moffitt wasn't sure the Germans should know about his cobra visions. Then again, he had no clue what they meant, other than they only started recently.

"We have had numerous incidents involving magic in the past. All I want to know is if you have any abilities that we should be aware of."

"The honest truth, Lieutenant, is that I do not have magic. Whatever your doctors think happened in surgery was nothing."

Kautner nodded. "Alright. If… If you insist." He stood, still looking a bit awkward as he turned to leave the tent. He then paused and looked at Moffitt. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Moffitt didn't respond as Kautner left. Once the lieutenant had gone, he waited until Kaulbach made his way back around to his bed. "Oberstabsarzt, could I ask you something?"

"Anything, Sergeant—within reason," Kaulbach replied.

"What happened while I was in surgery?"

Kaulbach sighed. "Well, before we go any further, let me apologize and say that I was the one who told Rommel about what occurred in the operating room. We have had several magic-related incidents over the last several months, and I did not want anything getting out of hand, especially with how many patients we have already from the raid yesterday." He took his cap off and ran his fingers through his hair. "On the table, you raised your hands, and your eyes were open. I have been practicing medicine for years and had never seen such a thing, and I have seen what happens if you operate on someone who is drunk or the anesthesia was not measured correctly. It is not a pleasant sight. In your case… how to describe it? It was almost like you were still partly in control of your body, but you were unaware of what we were doing. It was not until I brought the nurse in to put your arms down that you shut your eyes and went out for the remainder of the surgery." He gave Moffitt a concerned look. "Do you... remember that at all?"

There was a small part of Moffitt that felt Kaulbach was trustworthy, but a much larger part was saying he had no way of knowing how trustworthy he was just yet. He had no first-hand experience with magic, just visits to museums that specialized in magical artifacts and reading several books detailing its use and history. His uncertainty outweighing everything else, Moffitt replied, "No. I do not remember."

Rommel listened attentively while Kautner recounted his conversation with their new British prisoner in the hospital tent. When Kautner finished his story, Rommel turned to the lanky, dark-haired officer standing near his desk. "What do you make of this, Captain?"

Dietrich shrugged. "I can say for sure that none of the Rat Patrol has any sort of magical ability. Crafty, yes. Magic, no." He looked over at Kautner. "Is this really something that should be looked into?"

"I think so," Kautner replied. "We cannot rule it out. The field-marshal is right. There is something strange about this area."

"The problem is that you will never get Moffitt or any of the Rat Patrol to confess whether they have experienced anything out of the ordinary," Dietrich explained. "Except in certain circumstances."

"What sort of circumstances, Captain?" Rommel asked.

"One where it would provide some sort of benefit to them, Field-Marshal."

Rommel put his hands together, resting his chin on them. "Has anyone here seen or felt anything odd?"

Kautner swallowed. "I have been having dreams about black cobras, sir. Just before we came here, I dreamt that there were hundreds of them in my tent, and two little ones wrapped around my wrists. Yesterday, I saw one going toward the hospital tent—well, I use the word 'saw' loosely. I was the only one who could see it."

"Black cobras." Rommel rubbed his face, looking deep in thought.

"That sounds like Egyptian cobras. They are native all along the coast of North Africa, sir," Dietrich said.

"Yes, and they are incredibly venomous."

"They feature prominently in ancient Egyptian art," Kautner said. "Two of their goddesses—Wadjet and Meretseger—were represented by these cobras."

"We are far, far away from any ancient Egyptian ruins. It could not possibly be an ancient curse of some kind, could it?"

"I cannot be sure. We have not been around any settlements for several days, so I do not think we were cursed by a local witch."

"If I may interrupt here," Dietrich said, "Moffitt might know something about this area. His father is an archeologist."

"Yes, but how are we going to convince him to discuss this? He might think we are trying to exploit something."

Dietrich was quiet for a moment. "Lieutenant, did you mention that you spotted a cobra going toward the hospital tent yesterday?"

"Yes, Captain."

Dietrich turned back to Rommel. "This… might be a bit of a stretch, sir, but perhaps Kautner's visions and Moffitt's behavior are connected in some way."

A pair of young fennec foxes wrestled with each other a few yards away from where two jeeps were parked, biting and scratching at each other. They quickly pulled themselves apart and dashed off as Sergeant Troy came up the dune, soaked in sweat and looking frustrated.

"Any sign of him, Sarge?" Hitch asked before blowing a large bubble from the gum in his mouth.

"Nothing. The Germans have him. Moffitt knows the desert better than all of us. He would've found his way back by now," Troy replied.

"He was right there in the back the whole time," Tully muttered. "I didn't even feel him fall out."

"Hey, none of us knew Moffitt was gone till we got outta there," Hitch said. "Don't beat yourself up." He looked back at Troy. "Whaddaya suggest, Sarge?"

"We find where that regiment is camped, break in, get Moffitt out, and go," Troy said.

"As long as Rommel is still with them, I don't think it'll be easy breaking in."

"That's the idea. The Germans will be more worried about guarding Rommel than Moffitt. We just have figure out where in the camp they're holding him."

"There was blood on the back of the jeep when we stopped," Tully added. "Moffitt's probably wounded, so that would put him in their hospital."

"Depends on how bad the wound is," Hitch replied. "They might have only had to slap a bandage on him and lock him up somewhere else in camp."

Troy was silent, folding his arms over his chest and beginning to pace. "Find the camp first. Scout around and see what kind of defenses we'll be up against. We're getting Moffitt back one way or another."