The compound was chaos, just as it had been the last time, but it was a different kind of chaos.

It was the mad, harried, jumbled scramble of surprise and alarm; not the cool, calculating counter-attack of preparedness. Moffitt had run out of his room as soon as the machine guns had started and now he ran down the outer stairs, toward the nerve center of the raid. It was a natural enough reaction, not one to cause suspicion. Just another person going to see what all the noise was about.

But they would spot him and have him away before any damage was done. Hopefully.

Of course, he couldn't exactly wave and say "Over here!", but they'd find him all the same. It was just a matter of time, as long as Richten or any else important didn't appear and order him back inside. He wasn't really worried about Richten, though, as he didn't strike one as a man to put himself in danger to warn a comrade. No, the person he kept an eye out for was Dietrich.

:::

Dietrich ran out onto the second-level balcony. His eyes swept over the compound and took in the entire scene with one glance. One jeep was spreading confusion and bullets all around, while the other one had stopped right by the main building, almost underneath where he stood. Spotlights played around the ground and structures, and a siren whined in his ear.

Right below him, movement caught his eye. He leaned over the edge and stared straight down. One of the patrol ran up the lower stairs, grabbed the arm of someone who stood there, and dragged that same person back down and into the jeep.

Dietrich pulled out his pistol and fired, but he knew it wouldn't do anything to stop them. But it seemed better than doing nothing, and the anger rising inside of him needed an outlet. Anger mostly directed toward Richten, because of his greed. Because of the fact that Sergeant Moffitt, who probably knew more than he did about internal matters, was speeding away toward the desert.

He would go inside, and tell-

A small, black object hurtled toward him, highlighted in a spotlight beam.

An explosion rocked the balcony's structure, with bits of debris falling from the roof, and cracks appearing in the floor beneath the palm trees that sheltered headquarters from the worst of the desert sun. A frond caught fire.

Sirens wailed on.

:::

Bullets flew everywhere, in all directions, from both the Germans and the Rat Patrol, and the jeeps were right in the thick of it. As Tully had nearly pulled him down the steps and into the waiting jeep, Moffitt felt a hot pain slam into his stomach. He nearly bit through his tongue trying to keep his cry in. They didn't have time to be taking care of wounds right now.

He breathed in and out, in and out, focusing on the air leaving and entering his lungs.

Now he was sitting in Tully's jeep, at a slightly awkward angle, to keep the pain in his stomach as light as possible. He had no idea how deep the bullet was, if he was losing too much blood, if he'd be dead in an hour. As soon as he knew anything, he'd have to break silence and give the information to one of them. Letting it die with him would be unthinkable.

The gate was closed, but the guards in front of it crumpled. Hitch jumped out of the other jeep – then Hitch was alright, as well as Tully – and shoved the gate open. Tully hardly waited for him to get out of the way to push through, with the other jeep right behind him.

As they left the compound and picked up speed, Moffitt fought to keep from blacking out. The landscape was blurring all around him, from the speed or from the pain, he didn't know. But he couldn't go unconscious. He knew that if he did, Tully would stop and take care of him before moving on and they couldn't waste the time.

He gritted his teeth and kept his eyes open.

:::

Nearly six miles out from German HQ, and there was no sign of pursuit.

Tully pulled the jeep to a stop and Hitch did the same a moment after. Troy jumped out, followed by Hitch, and came up to where Moffitt sat and Tully stood. "You stopped," Troy said. "Why?" Ever since he discovered that Tully had joined the raid, his temper had been short and his words sharp. Tully didn't blame him. Everyone's nerves were on edge right now – you just had to work on controlling it.

Seeing Moffitt had pulled up every single emotion and bit of confusion he'd ever felt or had. Maybe he was a traitor, maybe there was an explanation for everything, but either way, Moffitt was still a friend. Tully didn't expect everything to be normal again, but having everyone together, running away from the Germans was as close to normal as he'd had in nearly a month.

Troy was still waiting for an answer, and Tully shrugged a little. He didn't have a good reason for stopping, it just seemed like the right thing to do. Figure out how they'd handle things now that Moffitt was with them, if they were going to put someone on guard duty till they got back to HQ. Nothing important, really, but it seemed wrong to just go ahead to HQ without stopping for a moment.

"You want to talk to him?" Tully asked. He wasn't sure what he'd say to Moffitt, but maybe Troy wanted to clear a few things up. Tully wanted that too, he just wasn't sure how to start up the whole conversation.

Troy looked past him, at Moffitt. He shook his head. "No."

Trust had been broken, and it would be impossible to go back to everything being normal even if Moffitt had a good explanation for everything. And the more he thought about it, the less he could think of a good reason.

"Let's go," Troy said.

Tully nodded. Nothing had been resolved, but there was nothing else to say.

:::

Moffitt felt a wave of relief. Troy was fine, Tully was fine, and Hitch was fine. Maybe Richten had been lying to test his loyalty, something he wouldn't put past him. With the relief came an attack of exhaustion and he didn't feel like fighting it anymore. None of them wanted to talk with him or about him, everything could be resolved at headquarters, and the pain was too much to handle in wakefulness. All he wanted was to sleep and forget everything, even if it was only for a few hours.

:::

Troy kept his eyes straight ahead, jaw clenched. He'd buried any relief or happiness or the adrenaline rush over seeing Moffitt alive and well. He still couldn't believe that Moffitt had defected, turned traitor, but there wasn't any other explanation for any of it.

The broadcast, for one. And Tully's shoulder and the oasis.

Part of him wanted Moffitt back, just the way he'd been before the whole mess, but that wouldn't be happening, so he suppressed any hope of it ever happening. A wall had built itself up between him and everything else – especially Moffitt – and he doubted it would ever come down. The foundation had been laid with the ambush, and now it was several feet thick.

Troy shook his head and glared into the thick blackness ahead.

:::

The sky was just starting to fade into grey when they pulled up at HQ. Tully slipped out of the jeep and walked around to Moffitt's side. He'd been quiet all through the drive, not that Tully had tried to start up any conversations, and he seemed to be sleeping now. Tully hesitated a moment, and then shook Moffitt's shoulder.

A gaping, bloody bullet wound stared back at him when Moffitt's arm shifted away from stomach.

Tully's hand fell to his side.