"Looks like you're going to have to stay here for a few weeks, Tully," Troy said. It was the day after they'd brought Tully in, and the anesthetics had just worn off. The doctor had promised to alert them as soon as that happened, so they'd been sent for. Tully lay on a cot, with Hitch and Troy on one side, looking down at him. Troy turned his hat in his hands, his fingers running endlessly along the brim.

"What about Moffitt?" Tully said.

Troy sighed and glanced at Hitch. Then back to Tully. "We don't know. The Krauts were crawling all over our oasis and he wasn't in any of the cells." He'd thought it a hundred times before in the past two days, but the thought came again. Nothing makes sense about any of this. "We're going to see what we can do."

"Replacements?"

"Yeah," Troy said. "Boggs is picking some out right now.

A look of frustration crossed Tully's face for a moment, which was strange since he hardly ever showed what he was thinking or feeling. But Troy was pretty sure he knew why he had this time.

If anyone was close to Moffitt, it was Tully, and it was the worst kind of luck that had gotten him wounded. Not only would they be out an excellent driver and fighter, but Tully was probably the best qualified among them to figure out where Moffitt had gone, since they could almost read each other's minds at times.

And then there was the fact that replacements were usually crummy drivers and tended to get themselves killed.

"How's the shoulder?" Troy asked. Better to move the conversation away from touchy topics like Moffitt, Moffitt possibly being a spy, and green rookies who were a danger to everyone.

Tully nearly shrugged but caught himself. Even then, pain crossed his face and eyes.

"It's been worse."

:::

Listening in on the meeting had proved to be impossible. Guards were posted outside his door at all times – even more than usual, and he didn't know whether to attribute it to Dietrich, Richten, or another officer – there was nothing to be learned through the tiny air vent on the floor, and there were no windows or alternate routes of escape. Even if there had been, he wouldn't have used them. The risk of being caught was too great.

So he had to content himself with gathering snippets from the aftermath of the meeting.

Most of the officers gathered together for the meeting left the day after – busy schedules, of course – but Richten had also sat in on the meeting and he was staying behind indefinitely. It was just a matter of worming the information out of him in such a way that wasn't obtrusive or suspicious. Richten was excited by the prospect of rising fortunes, but he wasn't a fool.

And then there was Dietrich to contend with.

Moffitt felt exhausted; overwhelmed by everything he had to do, all the responsibility pressing down on him, but now wasn't the time to give up. He still had over three weeks to play his part and gather as much enemy intelligence as he could. There was also the guilt of the patrol's failed raid – he still had no idea who had survived and who hadn't – that he couldn't shake off. But he hid it, just like everything else.

:::

Several days passed.

Dietrich remained suspicious, Moffitt was sure, even if they rarely saw each other. More guards than ever patrolled the corridors and doorways and the fact that he ran into Dietrich at all showed that the captain was still watching his every move. Well, almost every move. The hours he spent in Richten's office, being grilled for information he apparently didn't have – Richten thought he was being subtle with his interrogation tactics, but Moffitt caught them every time – and gathering some in return, were off limits to Dietrich.

Richten was waiting for the El Jebel radio station to arrange a time for Moffitt to broadcast, and it was during the days of waiting that Moffitt got most of his information. Nothing as specific as troop numbers or locations, but there were enough general details to give the Allies a good starting point.

Writing anything down was still too risky, as was stealing any important documents, but Moffitt was used to memorizing large chunks of text or information for long periods of time. Years of studying Latin and French, along with committing English literature to memory had trained his mind for this kind of thing, and every night he would review in his head what he'd learned that day and all the previous days.

:::

They chewed through replacements like a starving man with a steak.

Nobody's fault, really, Troy reflected. Most replacements had little or no battle experience – why that was so made no sense to him, just the way it was – and the patrol went on dangerous missions that needed instant responses from everyone. With both Moffitt and Tully gone, it was even more chancy, but they couldn't just stop working until Tully was better and Moffitt was found.

He shook his head and stamped across the sand to Boggs' tent.

Yet another casualty to report.

:::

"I have good news, Sergeant Moffitt," Richten said, when Moffitt entered his office on the fifteenth day of his undercover work. Moffitt had started counting down the days – in his mind – until he would be back at Allied headquarters. Half his time was up, he had good information, now he just needed to see things through the next half.

"Oh?"

He almost dreaded going back. Having to face Troy and the others, especially if he was the cause of one of their deaths. But even that was better than having to keep up this constant facade. The whole thing was incredibly draining, more than any normal person would know.

"El Jebel's radio station has finally returned my calls. We will be going there tomorrow."

Moffitt's attention swung away from his own depressing thoughts to Richten's words.

He smiled. "It should prove interesting." As always, he sat down in the chair opposite Richten, was given a small glass of wine, and then the conversation-interrogation began. However, the interrogation side of things was starting to wear off. Richten was becoming friendlier and Moffitt was sure that by the time he left, the major would consider him a friend.