A/N : Disclaimer, yes, again. I'm making a lot of money with that story. Say, about 0 euros, dollars and any other currencies. See, a trial is really not worth it. The only real benefit I get out of writing this is my and my reader's pleasure. Though the second remains to be proved.
March 1944 - Libya, somewhere in the desert, behind Allies lines
The French lieutenant was staring at Rommel, unable to tear his gaze away from the man that had become a legend in the desert. His surprise was genuine, no man could possibly fake the expression Saintclair wore on his face. He looked as if he still could not believe it, though he knew it to be true. He had seen pictures of the Desert Fox, and it was exactly the same face (in spite of the exhaustion), the same blond hair, the same height, the same piercing blue eyes. No, he could not be mistaken. And as he realized that, Saintclair realized also something else.
"I will not speak", he said forcefully. "I have heard of you, sir." His soft voice carried the respect he felt. "I know what kind of man you are. You would never harm us, now that we are your prisoners."
Rommel's face darkened, not because it was true, but because now the prisoner had become aware of it, he could not intimidate him any further with that kind of bluff. In that case, little choice remained. He had to use magic, but he hated the thought. Using magic against a muggle to make him talk sounded way too much like torture to his taste. Of course, he would not inflict any pain to the man, but still... Yet, even as these thoughts crossed his mind, he knew they would not change his ultimate decision. He would do what needed to be done, no matter how much he hated it, because it was war and he owed that much to his men. The end justified the means. As always. He compelled himself to remain impassive, and coldness gleamed in his eyes.
"Well, it was worth trying", Tom sighed, though not looking all that rueful. It was no secret the boy did not care much for muggles, although Rommel managed to forget it. Most of the time. "Shall we try another... approach ?"
For the first time since he had guessed Rommel's identity, the Allied prisoner showed some nervousness, and his gaze shifted from the teen to the high-ranking German. However, he did not ask what Tom meant - half because he did not dare to try it, and half because he did not think his questions would be answered anyway.
"Yes", the Feldmarschall nodded, an ashy taste in his mouth.
He knew he could ask Tom to do it, and the British wizard would not care ; but if he asked anyone else to do it, he would feel like a coward for the rest of his life. If he was to allow it to happen, he shall at least do it himself. His face hardened slightly ; enough sentimentality, now was the time to act. They were wasting time. He drew his wand and pointed it at Saintclair, who now looked openly afraid.
"Confiteris", he said in a harsh voice.
A shroud of blue, glittering mist surrounded the French officer, who after writhing for a few seconds, stopped to resist, his eyes now empty and dull looking straight in front of him, as if he was blind. He kind of was.
"A handy spell", Tom said with the scientific interest a naturalist could have shown for a notably fascinating species of bugs. "I had never seen it before. Could you teach me...?"
"No", Rommel replied tersely. "I believe we have more important things to think about."
The teen scowled, but was clever enough not to insist. When the German wizard was in that mood... No, better not to not make an issue of it, he would have all the time to ask again later. He wondered what got the man so upset. After all, he was going to get the intel he so badly needed, and yet he looked like he had been demoted. Really, he was impossible to understand.
"What is your name ?" Rommel queried, turning towards his prisoner.
Of course, he already knew the answer to this question ; the aim of the query was to make sure the spell was correctly being effective, and also to put the man in a better state of mind for the interrogation by starting with a simple, non-vital information. The questions would, by slow degrees, get more sensitive, until the man was ready to give away crucial intel. It was necessary to proceed that way, not only because the answers would be more complete and reliable, but also because otherwise the Allied officer might suffer brain damage. If he tried with all the power of his will not to talk, while the spell compelled him to, that could be very dangerous for his sanity and mental health. Magic had its limits.
"Emmanuel Yves Saintclair", the lieutenant replied, after a brief hesitation.
That made Rommel frown. The man was strongwilled, which might make the interrogation harder. Fortunately, Tom had the commonsense to remain silent ; several people asking different questions could be disturbing for the prisoner.
"How old are you ?" the Feldmarschall pushed on.
"I... I am... twenty-eight."
The German wizard went on with trivial questions, until he deemed Saintclair was ready for the following phase. Soon enough, he knew about the lieutenant's family, his birthday date, his siblings (a brother and a sister), his pet (a dog), and even the time of the year. Aside from the fact it was not all that much interesting, Rommel did not like probing like that, but he had to. However, he was relieved when the prisoner seemed ready for more important matters. Tom, for one, wasn't even trying to hide his boredom anymore and yawned from time to time.
"What is your commander's name ?" the high-ranking German finally asked carefully.
"Captain Alistair Sander", Saintclair replied in a tame voice.
"Where are located your other units ? Show me on the map."
Rommel unfolded an ordnance survey map and held it near the prisoner so he could pinpoint the location of Allied forces in all the perimeter. Tom held his breath, as it was the main question ; from the answer could depend their life or death, and he did not care much for dying at such a young age. But Saintclair complied and showed them, while Rommel wrote the intel down on the map with a red pen. Slowly, a pattern started to show, and the two wizards began to fathom what Montgomery had been thinking about when he had ordered his troops to patrol like that.
"Clever", the German wizard muttered absent-mindedly, as if talking to himself, or maybe thinking out loud. "It's going to be very hard to pass through these patrols without being noticed, especially with the lack of water. We lack food too, but we can go hungry for a while..."
"We could also go straight forward and take down the patrols that hinder us", Tom suggested.
"Of course we could, but we already have more prisonners than I care to keep", Rommel groaned. "Besides, it is unlikely we could take them without casualties on our side, and all my men are valuable officers. I'd rather to get them all back safely. Or, maybe..."
He fell silent, thoughtful, and it soon became obvious he had totally forgotten his prisoner and Tom. Slightly vexed, the teen cleared his throat rather loudly.
"One mark for your thoughts", he teased Rommel.
The older man managed a wry smile.
"I was just thinking maybe we could use our prisoners' uniforms and try to masquerade as an Allied patrol. But it probably wouldn't work."
"Why not ?" the teen marveled.
"Because if I know Montgomery, he will have thought of it as well, and there will be passwords and such. Plus they will probably know each other, and also know where are the patrols supposed to be. They will be suspicious of us, because Montgomery is certainly trying to locate us. Capturing us would almost be the same as victory over Africa, for him, so I doubt he will stop searching anytime soon."
He sighed wearily, as Tom pondered his words. Had he been alone, the British wizard would have left the muggles on their own, assuming they would be able to fend for themselves (even if they weren't, he didn't care much), and would have tried to Apparate somewhere else - though it would be difficult, as Apparition was strictly controled in war time. A chance to take. Nevertheless, he was not alone, so the problem was much more complicated.
Eventually, Rommel flicked his wand at the prisoner and muttered the counter-spell. Then, before the man had the time to recover, he cast an Obliviate spell, before deftly hiding his wand in its sheath, and folding the map before putting it away in his breast pocket. Saintclair blinked, his eyes unfocused, and it was a few seconds before the French officer returned to full consciousness. Dismissing his headache and confused thoughts on account of exhaustion, he resumed the conversation that he believed to be going on.
"I will not talk", he said with obstination.
"Fine", Rommel replied, shrugging. Surprise crossed the other man's eyes.
"Just like that ? You give up making me talk ?" he queried in astonishment.
"As you remarked", the high-ranking German pointed out, "I would not torture you. You are obviously determined not to say a syllable, so there is little more I can do to make you talk. I exposed the current situation to you ; you would not relent. So I will find other ways to get us out of this predicament."
"You would", the prisoner murmured with something like unease in his gaze.
He remembered all too well the rumors he had heard about the Desert Fox, and the unearthly powers some believed him to possess. Hitler's well known interest in occultism backed these hearsay. Saintclair himself had never believed in such nonsense, but reluctantly he came to wonder if there was not more truth in it than he had thought at the time. Somehow, he felt some sort of anguish as he saw the famous field marshall stand and leave the tent, followed by that strange boy, who looked nothing like military to the French officer.
Unaware of his prisoner's uneasy thoughts, Rommel thoughtfully strode to the fire Aldinger and Dietrich had kindled. He was starting to feel as hungry as Gargantua. He had got from Saintclair all the answers he could tear away from him, and watching the man was not going to give him the strategy he needed.
"What are we going to do ?" Tom enquired with curiosity.
"For now, eat", the German wizard replied succinctly.
"I meant after", the teen retorted with composure, now used to his fellow wizard's terse answers.
"I'm not sure yet", Rommel reluctantly admitted. "But the only sound strategy is to eat something, get some rest, and think about it tomorrow in the morning. My mind will be much clearer then. If you have any inspired idea, though, feel free to share."
"Sure will", Tom mumbled, without much conviction.
Most officers had already finished to eat their abstemious diner, but Aldinger had kept a plateful for his superior, and another, suprisingly enough, for Tom. Was the man starting to like him, or had he decided to believe what the teen had told him, what seemed like ages ago, in Alam Halfa ? Most unlikely, the British wizard thought, not without irony. More presumably, the captain knew that doing something as petty and mean as not keeping Tom's diner would stir up Rommel's wrath, and he did not want to risk it. Or he was clever enough to realize that, in their current situation, they had to stick together. But only until they reached safety.
The diner, unsurprisingly, had a sandy aftertaste. Tom had overstepped the stage of mere hatred for Libya. He felt resignation, and swore himself that once gone, he would never, never come back. But he was as hungry as Rommel, so he ate with few complaints. The Feldmarschal made sure the prisoners had eaten, and was not disapointed ; his officers knew him well enough to make the necessary arrangements, and they were humane too. Tom felt more tired than he had in his whole life, or so it seemed to him, so he finally lied down with bliss. There was that one good thing about sand ; it was way softer than usual to sleep on the ground. He felt asleep almost at once, though he kept his wand in hand. One could never be too careful.
Rommel, on the other hand, and in spite of his own exhaustion, had trouble falling asleep. He felt not too good, for one, and knew his illness was overtaking him. How much longer could he hold ? Not much, he feared. But the true reason of his insomnia was the worry he felt. He had not the shade of an idea as to what he would do in the morning. His "brilliant" idea of hiding beind ennemy lines looked none too good now. Maybe he had been a little too reckless, this time... Was the Desert Fox in his last entrenchment ?
Lying on his back, he watched the cloudy sky, without suspecting that maybe the answer, and the way out, was up there.