The look on Karl's face was something that Drew would never forget. His mask cracked and splintered, revealing everything he was thinking beneath. His teammate's face had never been so open. Drew smiled from ear to ear and couldn't resist yanking the door completely open and pulling Karl into a one-armed embrace.

Karl hissed in pain. Drew withdrew his arm like he'd been burned. Oh God what was I thinking? He's been tortured, he has to be injured. He strained his eyes to see in the dark corridor, but couldn't make out more than dark, raised lines on Karl's skin. "Oh God, what did those bastards do?" There was a specific pattern of lines on the left side of Karl's chest that was definitely a word that had been carved into his skin, even if Drew couldn't make out what word it was. But any number of awful possibilities sprung to mind.

Karl continued to stare at Drew like he wasn't sure if he was real or not, "Drew?"

"Yes?" Drew remembered that he was wearing an enemy uniform, and pulled his helmet off. "It's me. I promise. Sean's here too."

Karl blinked at him, and turned his head to see Sean standing at the end of the hallway. Sean smirked, his green eyes glinting cat-like in the juxtaposed light and dark. Then Karl looked at the crumbled form lying at the other sniper's feet. "Is that Johan?"

"That's the bastard's name?" Drew asked.

"Yes…" Karl limped over, back hunched from pain, revealing a spider web of scabbed-over wounds on his back. Drew walked with him, trying to avoid injuring Karl's pride any further by supporting him like a cane but staying close in case he collapsed. After what should've taken a few long strides but instead took a minute of careful shuffling, Karl reached the corpse. He kicked it over coldly, so the face was visible. Judging by the cold hatred in Karl's eyes, this Johan was responsible for most of the marks on his body and the pain in his movements. Karl glared at the look of dry-humored surprise frozen on the corpse's face, the wry smile that curved its lips slightly despite the blood that still flowed freely from the dark hole directly below the jaw. It seemed to say, "Well, you've won this round", as if even its own death was a joke.

Karl shook his head and looked at Sean, "You convinced him that you were his guards for the day?"

"He found us snooping around where your cell was. I think he took us for fresh meat who were eager to see Tobruk's most exotic citizen. We hardly had to convince him of anything," Sean gave the man at his feet a look of contempt. "We didn't know if he was actually leading us into a trap, so I put a knife in him as soon as he handed Drew the key. If I'd have known, I would've left him for you."

"You probably should've," Karl replied drily. "It's illegal under the Geneva Conventions to attack an enemy soldier while dressed in the enemy's uniform."

"It's also illegal to brutally torture a POW," Sean snapped.

"I suppose sometimes two wrongs do make a right," Karl smiled just the faintest bit; it was almost lost in the play of moonlight and shadow, "What's our escape route?"

Sean frowned and looked over at Drew, "Ask Drew."

Karl turned around to look at him, and Drew felt his stomach tense as the relief started to lift and the enormity of the city and the danger they were in was impressed upon him again. "Ah, well, your planned escape route hasn't been found or blocked, so if we can get there…"

"You're telling me that you charged in here after me without a plan?" Karl hissed, his eyes getting wide. "Without telling the base? Without a map?"

"You're one to talk!" Drew snapped, cutting off even Sean. "Isn't that what you do half the time? Going in with no real plan, no map of enemy patrols, no reinforcements, no spotter? You shooed us off knowing it would be a suicide mission if you went alone!"

"It was suicidal even with a spotter and driver, the difference is a lone soldier is harder to spot," Karl retorted. "Drew, it was a trap. The Führer was never here. If you both came with me you would've been caught too. I was trying to anticipate a development like that."

"Then what about last week, when you refused Sean's help? What about all the missions you asked me to hang back instead of picking you up, leaving to sprint across the open ground with no cover? What about the goddamn Ratte factory, a place we knew nearly nothing about and turned out to be crawling with Rommel's elite soldiers and General Vahlen himself? You're not the only one with contacts: I know for a fact that you asked to do that mission alone!" Drew snapped. "It's like you want to get killed."

Karl's eyes flashed. "I never come out here planning to die," he said, "You know that."

"You sure as hell don't do much to avoid it though. You were more careful before Brauer died. You accepted our help," Drew said quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

Karl froze up. His mouth parted a little, like he was about to say something but the words got tangled in his throat. His eyes darted about Drew's face. He was completely silent for a long, smarting moment. Then he swallowed hard and said, "Don't bring him into this." He sounded like he was aiming for a hard, intimidating tone, but it fell short.

"No," Drew said quietly. "I have to. It's the only way to make you understand. You don't want us to come with you. It's not because you think we're incompetent or because you dislike us, however much Sean worries about that," (he ignored Sean's outraged grumble) Drew said the next part quickly too, but carefully, "You're afraid that we'll die, like Brauer did. You're afraid that you can't always watch our backs."

"And I can't!" Karl spat, "I never saw that panzer coming; hell I missed that I was being led into a trap here despite how goddamn obvious it was. At least here nobody but me had a chance of dying — until you decided to risk your lives to play hero."

Anger lit in Drew like a line of gunpowder. He grabbed Karl by the shoulder; grip tight enough that he couldn't walk away. "That won't work," he said in a cold, clear voice. "You can't make us leave you here. Nothing you say will piss me off enough to ditch you here — Sean shut up. As much as he's griping, nothing will make Sean leave you either. We're getting out together or not at all. That is the plan."

The stubborn clench in Karl's jaw unwound. The flaring anger in his eyes dimmed then sizzled out like a dying coal. He dropped his head and let out a bone-weary sigh, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck, and Drew knew he'd won.

Drew loosened his grip and turned to Sean, who was still scowling but not as fiercely. "Can I have your med kit? I don't think I have enough bandages for Karl in mine," he asked softly.

Sean's lip quirked and he unhooked the bag from his belt. "Sean—" Karl started.

"I'm going to check for enemy patrols. Don't go anywhere," Sean cut off his protest. True to his word he turned on his heel, unholstered his silenced pistol, and started across the street to the nearest building.

Drew kept his hand on Karl's shoulder, and pushed him down onto a block of rubble near the door so he had enough light to work by. "Stay still and quiet," Drew said, "It'll hurt less after I've wrapped your injuries."

"Now, that's a lie if I've ever heard one," Karl muttered, and he shivered when Drew's hand strayed near a wound.

The wound stretched from his navel to the base of his throat, and there were two deep cuts, underneath the line of his collarbone on either side. Karl protested when Drew shifted his scarf to get a better look at it. The wound on the left side of his chest was definitely a word, carved into the skin directly over his heart: Verräter —Traitor. Drew sucked in a breath. The wound was definitely Karl's most recent: the jagged scabs were still moist as the blood dried. It had been inflicted just hours ago. He was burning with awful questions, and got the feeling that Karl didn't want to answer any of them, judging by the way he hunched up defensively and wouldn't look at him while he examined it.

He left it be for now and looked at the wounds on Karl's back. They were older, the scabs a dark brown except for a few that had reopened and were a brighter shade of red. They were raised up on the skin and crisscrossed each other without a pattern, unlike the symmetrical and careful cuts on Karl's front. He'd never seen lacerations that looked quite like that, but he was sure that they were from a whip.

There was also a little wound on the back of his head. It was shallow, and looked accidental: a bad scrape from a blunt hit to the head. Karl's face was bruised, and that was the most minor injury he had.

Drew immediately set to unpacking both his and Sean's kit. He'd won his in a trade with an American he'd met a few weeks ago, taking his med kit in exchange for Drew's and two chocolate rations. The American med kits had sulfanilamide powder in them, which was why Drew made such a risky trade to begin with; he figured if he were ever separated from the others with a nasty wound he'd need something to keep it from becoming gangrenous by the time he made it back. He doubted how effective it'd be for Karl's injuries given their age, but he wanted to be safe.

"Is that an American med kit?" Karl asked.

"Sharp eyes — it is," Drew said as he withdrew the tin of the powder. "I traded for it."

Karl hissed despite his best efforts to grit his teeth and bear it and Drew's best efforts not to hurt him as he applied the stuff. When Drew applied it to the wound on his chest, Karl's hand took a fistful of Drew's shirt. When he looked down he saw, to his horror, that Karl had no fingernails on that hand, just scabbed-over lesions.

"Karl—"

"Not a word. Keep going," Karl muttered.

Drew did, applying the powder generously to Karl's fingertips despite his complaints—God knew that those were probably the dirtiest wounds he had. He wrapped Karl's fingers first, despite his protests that he was wasting his bandages and they didn't really hurt. Drew felt better once they were hidden by a sterile white layer of gauze. Karl's other injuries posed a bigger problem, since Drew had to wrap his entire torso, and frequently found himself adjusting for the bandages being either too loose or too tight.

"Drew, it's fine," Karl said. He gasped when Drew drew the bandages tight.

"No it's really not," Drew muttered, "so you can drop the stiff-upper lip."

Karl frowned stubbornly, but made no further protests as Drew finished wrapping his chest and tied off at his shoulder. Even with Sean's bandages there were barely any left after all that.

Sean himself showed up just as Drew was packing up their kits. He frowned at the paltry, thin roll left in his kit but made no comment.

"Our safest route is through the buildings, but we have to kill the guards," he said. "On the road there are only two guards on the roofs, on either side of the street. It's less exposed and we'll have a good view of the surrounding area."

"How are we going to approach the guards?" Karl asked, rising slowly.

"From behind with a knife," Sean deadpanned.

Drew sensed a fight building. "Do the guards face each other or are they walking about?" he asked before Karl could reply.

"They walk about," Sean said. "When they're not facing each other they're looking in different directions. It's the perfect time to kill them. Can you take the one facing northeast out before he can raise the alarm?"

"Yes," Drew said, "In case you've forgotten, I'm in the SOE too."

"Yes your daft plan made me forget," Sean said.

"Don't treat me like a box of china," Karl interrupted. They turned to look at him. He had a mulishly stubborn look in his eyes. Karl stepped up next to Drew, drawing himself up taller. "I could handle one of the guards myself."

"You're injured," Drew hissed.

"Not so badly that I can't handle one guard if I have a knife and the element of surprise," Karl replied.

"You're slouching again," Drew pointed out. Karl attempted to straighten up again, and the uncomfortable twist to his mouth suggested that it wasn't painless. "You can't even stand up straight."

"Don't treat me like I'm helpless," Karl growled, real anger lighting in his eyes. Drew realized then, that Karl had been helpless for the past three nights, and by God he wouldn't be helpless around his own comrades.

Drew sighed and handed him a spare knife in his belt. "Just in case," he said. "Protecting you isn't a burden Karl; you've protected us on too many missions for that to ever be the case."

Karl went stiff at his praise, and stuck the knife in his belt silently.

He turned to Sean. "What's our way up?"

"All the doors are unlocked. Just slip in when the guard marching down the street has his back turned, and climb the stairs."

"Got it," Drew said, "Lead the way."

Sean seemed mollified, but only a little, knowing that the plan was now mostly in his hands. He led them confidently up their ruined street to the turn for the next one on the left, and then ducked behind cover. Drew mimicked him quickly, and Karl mimicked him as quickly as he could. It was painful to see how pained and difficult just crouching and standing up was for him.

There were footsteps down the road, heading towards them, but Sean didn't level his pistol where he expected the patrolling guard's head to be, so Drew could safely presume the guard wasn't going to turn their way. Still, he stopped uncomfortably close to their position, making the hair on Drew's arms stand up.

There was a long moment that was silent but for their hearts beating, then the scuff of the guard's boots on the stone, and the comforting sound of patrolling footsteps getting further away.

Sean led them back into the shadows and then gestured to the other side of the road. Drew curled his hand around Karl's bicep as an assurance that he was behind him and crept across the road. He checked on Karl as soon as they were safely in deep shadow next to the door. The sniper was grimacing and his back was still slightly hunched, but he was neither out of breath nor bent double with pain, so Drew took it as a cue to keep going.

The room they stepped into was dark, but Drew's eyes were used enough to it that he could make out the shape of a low table but no enemies. He drew his knife nonetheless. He tried to keep one eye on the stairs and one on Karl, but the latter was unnecessary: if anything Karl stubbed his toes less than Drew did.

They were very, very slow going up the stairs, putting their weight onto each new step little by little, so as to reduce the risks of any sudden creaks. One did despite their efforts, but nobody came to investigate the noise.

They were nearly as slow and careful on the second floor as on the stairs; the footsteps of the guard above them sounded very loud, as if only a centimeter of material separated them. They could make out his pattern —it was a slow, jagged figure eight and he stopped for quite a bit when facing the other side. The open staircase was in the corner of the guard's eye most of the time, however. Drew would have to climb the stairs quickly if he was to get the guard while his back was turned. So, when they reached the staircase, Drew gestured at Karl, Stay here.

Karl scowled, but reluctantly stepped back into the shadows before Drew lost his chance. Drew was careful about the way he distributed his weight as he walked up the stairs—one creak would kill him and Karl both now—but was as quick as he dared. The guard's head and neck came into view first, then his back, then his elbows that showed the line of his arms, holding his SMG…

Drew swept out of the stairwell, knife drawn. Before he had time to overthink it or the guard had the chance to turn Drew took a few fast steps forward and plunged the knife into the side of the man's neck and into his windpipe.

The guard stiffened all over, and blood dripped down in fast lines from the knife wound. Thank God, he made no sound louder than a shocked gurgle.

Drew took his collar in his other hand and pulled out the knife. There was a long spurt of red that sprayed the stone roof, and there were more as Drew carefully lowered the guard to the ground. By the third spurt the guard was still, the pitiful struggle he attempted stopping.

Drew turned to look at the other rooftop, a familiar dread-excitement at what he'd see, and thankfully it was only Sean. He was standing, a slumped over figure that had to be the guard near his feet.

Sean gave him a thumb's-up. He pointed at his position and then pointed at Drew's position. Drew gave him a thumbs-up.

Sean started back down the stairs and Drew did the same to check on Karl. Karl was standing closer to the door to the next building than before and the knife wasn't in the same spot in his belt as before; it was on the other side now. "Has Sean taken out the other guard?" he asked before Drew could say anything.

"Yes—he's coming," Drew whispered, eyeing the knife. Was he just imagining it? Had Karl used it?

"I think that's the last guard inside the building, at least on this side of the road. There was one guard two rooms over who was napping in a chair," Karl said.

"Was?"

"Was," Karl said, readjusting the knife. There wasn't any blood on it that Drew could see, but Karl would've wiped the blade clean after using it.

Drew sighed, "Alright." It was pointless to keep Karl from doing anything, and they could use the help getting out of here. "How are your injuries?"

"Fine," Karl claimed. He was still slouching. Well, that was pointless too.

He turned when Sean crept in. Sean stood. "Any more guards in the next rooms?" He whispered.

"None now," Karl said. Sean looked at him knowingly, but said nothing.

"Let's check the next road. I dare say we'll find stiffer resistance there," Sean said. "Karl, did you notice anything about patrols there?"

"I was in that cell most of the time, when I wasn't spending an hour in Johan's torture room. The farthest I got from it was an old city square with a whipping post."

"We passed by it," Drew said, thinking of the bloodstains on the stones.

"But that café, it was where the body-double that showed up in place of our target was. The rooftops were ringed with guards, most of them hiding, and there were at least a dozen men in the courtyard below," Karl remarked. Drew waited to see if Karl continued the story of how he was captured, but he fell silent.

Drew eased the way back into conversation by saying, "We saw a lot of officers drinking in the café when we came in."

"There might be a lot of guards in the backroad then," Karl said.

"Well we won't know until we check," Sean said.

There were a lot of guards on the backroad. Two patrolling up and down the street all the way to the dead-end, one against the back wall of the café facing the houses, and an unknown number of guards inside the houses with two on the roof. They weren't getting back that way.

"What do you think?" Sean asked Karl.

Karl grimaced at the amount of guards, "We're not going that way unless we make a diversion."

"What do you have in mind?" Karl watched a truck rumble by, to park next to all the others in the courtyard. "Blowing up those trucks would do it."

Drew eyed the truck's fuel tanks and their proximity to each other. "You won't make a very big explosion just shooting out the fuel tanks. It'll destroy one truck, at best. We need to really scare them."

"Do you have any TNT?" Sean asked.

Drew frowned, "I stashed some in the back of the truck we came in. It's out in the open."

An idea hit Sean in the head, "There's an empty radio room across the street with a generator powering it on top of the roof. It'll mask my shot and give the krauts something else to investigate. Wait here, then I'll clean out the last few buildings and then I'll come back for you."

"It should work," Karl said slowly.

"Exactly," Sean said before Karl could voice any protests. He patted Drew's shoulder. "I'll be back."

He made his way quickly through the joined houses, then when he reached the door to the street he walked out slowly, with a lazy step. He kept his head facing the building across the street while keeping the patrolling guard walking the street out of the corner of his eye. Years of experience as a sniper was the only thing that kept his heart from racing when the guard started walking back towards him.

Drew's disguise seemed to work again though; the guard neither called him out nor paid him any particular mind. Why should he? What another grunt did wasn't his business as long as he wasn't stealing chocolate rations.

Sean walked through the house first to double check that there were no other guards. This confirmed, he ran through the German words he needed in his head and called out to the patrolling guard, "Hey, can you come here a minute? I need help finding something."

The guard looked up, and thank God, thought nothing was off. "What is it?" he asked.

"A file. I misplaced a file…"

The guard came in. He was mousy-haired with sharp grey eyes, and a relatively young face that Sean grimly filed away in his memory with all the other young faces he'd seen in his scope. He looked around and his eyes caught unhappily on the multiple large stacks of files in the room. "Do have any idea where it could be?"

Sean pointed to a file cabinet that was almost behind him. "I put it in that one I think, but I might've put it down somewhere. Can you check the cabinet while I check the table?"

The guard shrugged and went to the file cabinet and Sean started to the tabletop before turning back.

"What did this file look like?" The guard asked, lifting his head to turn to Sean.

Sean jabbed the knife in the back of his neck.

The guard collapsed instantly, heavily, against the file cabinet with a clatter that was much too loud for Sean's liking.

He dragged the corpse by the collar to a dark corner under the staircase in the next room, so it wasn't in sight. Nothing could be done about the blood though, so he just trip-mined the entrance.

He was up the staircase, past the body of the guard on the roof, shimmying past the trellis, and next to the generator in no time. Before he did anything Sean took the Carcano he'd taken from the truck and picked a rooftop garden fifty feet away as a point of reference. The scope wasn't nearly as good as the one on his Lee-Enfield, but it served just fine for his current purposes, and with the adjustments made he could shoot perfectly accurately.

He crouched on one knee, and scanned the rooftops for any signs of nearby guards.

None at one o' clock, two, three, four, one at five with no others, none at six, seven, eight, one that was just too close for comfort at nine, none at ten, two at eleven that weren't worth risking it, and none at twelve.

He turned his scope towards one o' clock and zoomed in. No guards on the rooftops there, the same number of guards as they'd counted from their building, and still none near the evac route. Thank God for small miracles.

Sean gave the generator a good kick right in the spot Drew had showed them all months ago at camp. Its steady rumble sputtered, and then it started to clatter and bang in protest at its rough treatment.

Sean immediately checked the guard at his five o' clock. He'd lifted his head up at the noise. Sean adjusted for drop and pulled the trigger. Watched the guard fall.

He turned to the guard at nine, who hadn't noticed the first's fall or the rifle's report in the din of the broken generator, and did the same. Adjusted for drop and pulled the trigger.

He found the bright red crates of dynamite in the back of their truck easily. Adjusted for drop, spin, wind. Pulled the trigger.

The explosion was a thing of beauty. The fireball went up red with a yellow core and knocked over and lit up the other trucks, growing to a massive size, and then ballooned upward for just a moment before swooshing out of existence. A still-flaming tire shot off the rim of one truck, nearly hitting a soldier near the café.

The effect on the krauts was nearly as immediate as the explosion. The officers dove for cover and started screaming orders. The grunts dove for cover and started screaming about Allied commandos.

Sean ran back down the stairs and to the far exit to avoid his own trip mine. By the time he was out on the street half of the soldiers in the street Karl and Drew needed to cross were running to the site of the explosion. So far, so good.

The sight of so many running, panicking krauts made him want to shoot instinctively, but the rest of his training took over and told him to look as much like the enemy he was imitating as possible. So he kept his Carcano in his hands and cursed in his best German.

There were no guards left in the street when his boots hit it. He ran into the nearest building, and wove through it up and down the stairs looking for enemy soldiers to find none. The next had one soldier, standing nearly frozen in shock. He could only be new meat.

Sean got in his face like any more experienced soldier would: "What the hell are you standing here for? Move!"

The boy snapped out of his trance and ran out to join the others.

The officers would rally the troops to them and start giving out orders any time now, if they hadn't already…

That thought propelled Sean through the last house, which he finally confirmed was empty. He gave them a hand signal from the roof to start moving.

Karl and Drew burst out of the door hardly a second later. They reached the buildings quickly. Sean went down the stairs as fast as he safely could.

Drew was so jumpy he nearly pulled his pistol on Sean when he came down behind them. Sean held out a hand to tell them to slow down, "Let me go first and check!"

Sean overtook them, and turned the corner house, the old wooden doors bursting open as he ran onto the roof. There was one guard, on the roof of the tallest house. He was taking cover behind the low wall.

Sean drew his Welrod and shot him in the head when he turned to face him.

Drew and Karl followed him out onto the roof, half-running and half-stumbling as they tried to stay low.

Sean gestured for them to get to the escape point. Karl went faster than Drew, reaching the window first.

Sean followed, rifle at his shoulder, shuffling backward as he scanned the rooftops. Behind him he heard Drew's bootsteps banging on the house's wooden floor.

As soon as he couldn't hear them, he whirled and followed, only barely remembering to shut the door behind him, as he burst out the window and into the night air.