Author's note: The sentences in italics are either in French or in English. The rest is in German.
Disclaimer: They're all mine, and I wrote the HP books.
…
Did you actually believe that?
March 1944 - Libyan Desert
Tom was creeping along a dune, spitting on the ground as discreetly as possible the sand that had somehow managed to sneak into his mouth. Sand threaded its way everywhere, in a weird, magical way. It was more evil than Grindelwald himself, and seemed to take pleasure in torturing Tom ceaselessly by making him itch. The teen gritted his teeth as he felt the dusty taste of the sand, a taste he didn't manage to be rid of no matter what he did.
It was dusk, and the first stars were beginning to shine up in the sky. No sound could be heard, at least on the German side. After chasing the unknown truck for several hours, they had finally caught up with it, discovering at the same time that it was an Allied one. So they had stopped their own cars and started the slow process of getting closer to their prey without letting their own presence be noticed. For some time, Tom had feared the Allies would just leave, and all their efforts would have been done in vain, but he had soon realized the small group of Allied soldiers was setting a camp for the night. Lady Luck was with them, the teen thought with fierce excitement.
And now, there they were, barely twenty meters away from their ten prisoners-to-be, surrounding them and on stand-by to take them, guns at the ready. All they were waiting for was Rommel's signal. The Feldmarschall was near Tom, half buried in the sand. His blond hair and dusty face made him difficult to spot, whereas Tom had had to put as much sand as he could on his own jet-black hair. In his opinion, he would not be easy to notice in the dark, whether he had blond or black hair, but he had been too tired to protest much, and he had relented. He was starting to regret it, thinking of how much time he would need to get rid of it all.
The teen squinted at the Feldmarschall, wondering what the man was waiting for. Rommel was staring intently at a dune facing them, and more precisely at the spot where Aldinger must be hiding. He was nowhere to be seen, and Tom guessed that Rommel was worried, with no way of knowing whether the captain had made it yet to the place he was supposed to be. They had agreed upon not giving any signals before the attack itself, for fear of alerting the Allies before they were ready to attack.
But suddenly, the German wizard took in a sharp breath, and desperately put his hand on his mouth, trying to prevent himself from coughing. Torn between a mad laugh and tears of despair, Tom hesitated. They were so close that he did not dare to say a Silencing spell, not to mention doing magic in front of Muggles. Besides, he would need to aim his wand at the Feldmarschall, and Tom did not dare to move too abruptly - if the Allies noticed him... Finally, Rommel buried his head in the sand, and somehow managed to restrain his cough. Tom heaved a sigh of relief, and the German wizard carefully wiped the sand off his face.
At last, Rommel raised his hand; it was the signal his officers had been expecting, and Merhoff prepared for his "ambassador" job. He would act as spokesman for the Germans. Rommel would have done it himself, but Merhoff had fiercely insisted to be the one to talk; if it came to a fight, the German officer knew the one to speak would be the Allies' first target, and as much as he hated to be that person, he still preferred that to Rommel doing it. Hopefully, his orator skills would serve to avoid bloodshed. If not... the Germans would still have the upper hand in a battle, since they were well hidden, and ready to take their enemies' lives at any sign of hostility.
"Hands up!" the major shouted in rough, heavily accented English. "We surround you. If any of you try to take his weapon, we will fire without a warning. Be assured we will not hesitate."
Of course, it stirred up a panic, and the Allied soldiers started to stand and move toward their weapons, but they quickly understood they were at a disadvantage and would be massacred if they tried to fire against their invisible enemies. They shared disgusted glances, realizing just how foolish they had been not to set a sentry. But it was too late to cry over spilled milk.
"Hands up!" Merhoff repeated warningly, and the tension rose in a noticeable way.
"Do as he says", his order was confirmed by one of the Allies, obviously an officer and probably the leader of the small group.
There was a sigh of relief on both sides, and the soldiers obeyed. The whole skirmish had lasted barely a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, but it had felt much longer. Tom glanced at Rommel as the German officers started to gather their enemies' guns and put them away.
"It's gonna be a problem, to keep an eye on that many prisoners", the teen said matter-of-factly.
"It is not like I had a choice in the matter", the Feldmarschall replied, shrugging. "I could not order these men to be shot without even a warning, when we outnumbered them and had them at a disadvantage. If we had been only five or so instead of about twenty, I might have dealt with the situation differently, but in this situation, acting like I did is what makes the difference between war and slaughters."
"But you took a chance. Had they not surrendered…"
"Yes, I did. And it worked", the German wizard pointed out impatiently. "That's all that matters."
"Fine, fine", Tom relented, brushing his hair with his hand. Some sand fell on his shoulders, and he dusted them off. "So what do we do now?"
"Interrogate them, of course. We might spend the night here, too - must be safe, if they chose the location. But of course, unlike them, we'll post a sentry. In the morning, once we get the information we need, we will decide on a course of action."
"But how are you going to make them talk?" the teen enquired. "I mean, that's you soldier's Holy credo... the 'name, rank, serial number' policy. And knowing you, there's no chance you're going to torture them."
"Well, hopefully they don't know that", Rommel groaned.
"Or do you have Veritaserum?" the teen added on second thought. The Feldmarschall stared at him.
"I don't go around with Veritaserum in my pockets", he said tersely. "If need be", he then conceded, "We might use magical means. But I'll try talking first. It's safer."
"Whatever you say", Tom muttered, not looking really convinced.
He followed the German wizard, who was heading towards Merhoff. The major was holding off the Allied officer, his Lüger at the ready. The other enemy soldiers were being restrained by the Germans with handcuffs, or rope, as they had not enough handcuffs for all their prisoners. The Allied officer raised his head when he saw Rommel approach, and stiffened when the Feldmarschall came close enough for the prisoner to see his rank insignias. Then he saluted, as he was supposed to according to the Geneva Convention.
He was of average height and weight, with light brown hair and soft grey eyes. His angular features were suntanned, which showed the man must have been spending quite some time in the desert, and his uniform was a lieutenant's. His ruffled jacket was also evidence that he had not had any occasion to change his clothes in a long time.
"Lieutenant Emmanuel Saintclair des Forces Françaises Libres", he said in a weary voice. "Matricule 873653."
Then he closed his mouth with enough determination for Tom to guess that, in order to make him say something he did not want to, the Germans would need a jemmy. The stubbornness of this man was as blatant as a swastika armband on a Gestapo officer. Well, anyway, he had been speaking in a foreign language - probably French. It was more or less obvious that he had been reciting his "name, rank, serial number" quotes, but if he did not speak German, or at least English, it would make an interrogation troublesome.
"Parlez-vous Allemand?" Rommel asked in the same language.
The man shook his head, which was not too difficult to understand, though Tom had no clue what the Feldmarschall had asked. Must have been something about the language he spoke.
"Do you speak English?" the wizard then patiently asked, in a German-accented voice. This time, the prisoner nodded.
"I do speak English", he said awkwardly. "Though not fluently."
"Now we're getting somewhere", Tom started to hope.
Rommel hushed him up with a glare, and transferred his attention back to the French officer, who was staring at the Feldmarschall intently, trying to make out his features in the darkness, as if trying to remember where he had seen him before. Tom managed to refrain from sneering; the lieutenant would figure it out eventually. Unfortunately for Rommel, his face was quite famous, and remaining anonymous – especially with that uniform – would be a wager for him.
"I have some questions to ask you", Rommel told the prisoner. But the Frenchman mulishly shook his head.
"Lieutenant Emmanuel Saintclair des Forces Françaises libres, matricule..." he started.
"All right, all right", Tom muttered fretfully. "I think we got that part."
"Shut up", the Feldmarschall retorted acridly. He motioned for Merhoff to approach. "Have everyone settle down, and I want at least three men guarding the prisoners at all times. If any attempt to escape is made, you are allowed to shoot to kill."
Tom, who was watching the prisoner while Rommel was talking, noticed the wince the man gave at the words, and he suspected he was able to understand German. Saintclair had, in all likelihood, lied. It was logical; he would be more likely to gather intelligence if his jailers did not know he could understand them.
"Yes, sir", the major nodded. "Colonel Dietrich and captain Aldinger are making dinner. Do you want me to bring you something?"
"No thanks. I shall join you once I am done with our prisoner. I will interrogate him in the tent."
Indeed, the Allied soldiers had pitched a tent back to back with the truck. It was not very big, but enough for three or four men to sit comfortably and more privately than in the outside. Tom glanced around; the German officers were either sitting on the ground, or guarding the prisoners, or making dinner. Von Arnim seemed to be still "pouting". Or at least he was not in a good mood... for a change. The idle teen decided to follow Rommel and assist in the interrogation. He did not see Aldinger nudge Colonel Dietrich, nor did he hear him when he spoke softly to his superior.
"Seems like the Gestapo boy found himself a toy..."
"Nah", Dietrich shook his head. "The chief would not allow that to happen."
"Hope so."
"Himmler may have a long arm, but not so long as to reach Libya."
"You're probably right", Aldinger said reluctantly.
In the tent, Tom sat down on the ground, legs crossed, while Rommel found himself a chair and motioned for the prisoner to take a seat as well. The kerosene lamp was still lit, hanging down from the roof of the tent, diffusing a faint light which created many shadows. But, while Rommel's face was hidden in the darkness, Saintclair's was in plain sight, directly lit up by a ray of light from the lamp.
"He speaks German", Tom said off-handedly.
"He does?" the Feldmarschall raised an eyebrow.
"Yep. Saw him twitch when you spoke to Aldinger."
The two wizards stared at the prisoner, who seemed to be disgusted with himself.
"I guess it's no use to pretend anymore", the Frenchman muttered in an annoyed tone. His German accent was awful, but he seemed to speak well enough.
"Indeed", Tom sniggered.
"Enough", Rommel cut him of. "I would like you to fully understand the predicament you are in", he added for Saintclair's benefit.
"Oh, believe me, I do", the lieutenant replied bitterly.
"I'm not talking of your being my prisoner", the German wizard retorted with a wave of his hand. "You hold crucial information. The problem being, from your point of view, the lives of your men may depend on your decision to give away this information or not."
"What do you mean?" Saintclair asked, suddenly tensed.
"Make no mistake", Rommel said coldly. "If you don't speak, we may not be able to find a path to our lines. In that case, choices will have to be made, for we have only a limited amount of supplies. I can't, and won't, put my men's lives in jeopardy. I believe you can guess what my decision would be, had I to choose between your and my men's lives."
"But according to the Geneva Convention..." the prisoner protested with fire in his voice.
"The Geneva Convention has nothing to do here", the Feldmarschall replied icily, squelching the other man's fire. "This is a matter of survival. That does not leave me much choice. As much as I would loathe that decision, I would do it."
"However, the rules of war..." Saintclair tried again.
"Rules?" Rommel laughed bitterly. "War is not a game. We are here to kill each other, nothing else."
After that, there was a dead silence. Tom inwardly shivered. If it was an act, Rommel was a fine actor. The teen had never seen him speak like that, in such a detached, unmoved, cold voice. It felt strange, to hear Rommel, of all people, speak like that. It was so not like him... Tom almost started to wonder whether it really was an act or not.
"You can save your men", the Feldmarschall hammered. "All you have to do is to tell me how to get back to my lines. I can give you my word you will be treated accordingly to your rank and to the Geneva Convention, once you are a prisoner of war."
"I..." Saintclair began to say, and then shut up. It was obvious that he was torn, and wasn't sure what course of action he could take. "WHAT!" he suddenly exploded. "You can't ask me that! I'm not a traitor!"
There was some noise outside the tent, and the head of one of the German officers came into view.
"Excuse me, but is there a problem, Herr Feldmarschall?"
"No", Rommel calmly replied. "You can return to whatever it was you were doing."
"Yes sir." The officer clicked his heels, saluted, and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.
Understanding dawned on the face of Saintclair when he heard the rank, and Tom saw the moment the lieutenant fathomed the truth. The prisoner gaped at the German wizard, eyes wide. It was a moment before he was able to speak.
"You... You are the Desert Fox!" he said in awe.
Ending note: Well, I wrote this chapter with what's left of national pride in me, and the result is the FFL showing up. I don't think we French can be really proud of our attitude during the war (I'm not saying I'd have done any better, but still...) but we should nevertheless remember that there were French soldiers that fought against the Nazis, not only in Africa but also in England, in France as resistance forces, and then as soldiers after D-Day. And, what can I say? I'm supposed to defend my country.
I didn't translate the French sentences, 'cause it's not really hard to guess what it's all about, and because I didn't know where to put the translation.