The acrid smoke hung heavily in the air. Mixed with it were the pungent smell of death and the heavy odor of burning diesel fuel from the remains of the German vehicles. The explosions had finally stopped and the only sound on the light wind was that of the fires and wounded men crying out for assistance. I slowly arose from the hard sand and surveyed the damage, shaking my head in disbelief at the grievous loss we had suffered. The English supplies were now forever lost for Rommel's offensive. So were my men who would never fight another battle for Hitler again or live another day for themselves.

I searched for survivors and inspected the damage we had sustained against the Rat Patrol. Over a quarter of the men were dead. Of the survivors, several were wounded, their injuries wildly in their severity. Some had mere scratches while others had received gaping wounds. I had seen enough over the course of the war to realize that several of these men would not be with me by this time tomorrow. Even Hoffman was wounded, having caught of shrapnel in his shoulder. He waved off any medical assistance insisting the other men be attended to before him.

I was among the few fortunate who had not been wounded in the least. I felt a tremendous sense of shame at my perfect survival. I had not led my men to success nor had I shared their ultimate fate. It should have been me lying on the ground, not them. At the least I should have been wounded, sharing their pain.

The loss of our vehicles was equally severe. The panzers had been the furthest away. Both remained intact with no damage to them and no loss of life among their crews. Of the other vehicles, one half-track was completely destroyed while the other one was inoperable. It was doubtful that the damage to it could even be repaired. If we had been nearer to a German camp it would have been feasible to salvage it for parts, but we too far away. I ordered its destruction to prevent any of it from falling into Allied hands. The ladder truck was completely destroyed, crumpled as if some cruel giant had trampled it in a fit of anger.

We gave the wounded what medical assistance we were able from our remaining medical supplies. When we had at last stabilized them, we gathered them into the remaining vehicles. All of us were in a somber mood and little was said on the return trip to our camp. It weighed very heavy on my mind that the responsibility for the failed mission was mine and mine alone. It was I that had led them to failure and defeat, costing several of them their lives. Even more glaringly, we had missed success by mere seconds. It would be my duty as their commanding officer to restore their morale and to rebuild their confidence for when we re-engaged the Rat Patrol in the immediate future.

I knew that the German high command was eagerly awaiting news of our mission and would be expecting an update from me. I briefly radioed my superiors the results before we left the area. I gave them the barest facts acknowledging that the Rat Patrol had beaten us to the supplies by mere seconds. The results that I reported were unpleasant, but I would stand behind the tactics that I had executed. The lack of success had placed the Afrika Korps in a difficult situation and I would accept any consequences dealt to me.

To say that my command's brief reply was unpleasant would have been an understatement, but I hadn't expected it to be anything else. They acknowledged my verbal account briefly, followed with a terse command ordering me to present a detailed report in person within two days. It went without saying that far different results would be expected from me in the immediate future, including bringing the Rat Patrol to an end.

I had not included in my communique the thoughts that continued to torment my mind. If our intelligence had been better, if I could have bribed the Arabs more, if I had analyzed the information more effectively, if… But even with all of this, I knew that it would not have been enough to control the Rat Patrol's side of the equation. Its leader was an excellent warrior who would be a match against any soldier from any army. He had been dealt few cards but he had played them superbly in a difficult game to win a decisive victory against a formable foe.

When we finally returned to our camp, after seeing to the survivors, I prepared my formal report. I forced myself to examine critically the facts and the results as I continued writing it late into the afternoon. I viewed this as a necessary exercise which would enable us to improve our odds in the future. It would provide the initial details on how to succeed against them at our next encounter. Most importantly, it would become the primer on how to defeat or possibly capture them at our next encounter.

I forced myself to place aside the compassion that he had so graciously granted me. I could not, and would not, allow it to influence my orders and judgment against him or his team in the future. Emotions did not belong in warfare, especially against such a capable and shrewd enemy. I contemplated whether I would have acted the same towards him if given the situation was reversed. I admitted that I too, would have held my fire and spared his life.

I signed off on my official written report and pushed it aside, glad to be through with it. There was nothing more I could do at this point for anyone, myself included. On the far side of the desk were the letters for the dead. I had completed that task before I had begun my report. For once, I thought, the dead should come before mindless paperwork and I granted them this final respect. Upon finishing what I thought would be the final letter, I was notified of an additional death. I prayed it would be the last one from this engagement; this last passing only magnified the loss I already keenly felt.

I couldn't help but notice a disconcerting quiet that prevailed through the camp. It was much like when I had arrived. Few sounds reached me except for the slap of tent flaps stirred by the wind. All of us had retreated to our own thoughts and what little comfort they could provide.

I was vaguely staring into the close confines of my tent, when something suddenly reached out and seized my mind, instantly calming it and placing me at ease. Immediately, I rose from my chair and went to the nearby footlocker where I kept my few possessions. I stood over it for the briefest of seconds before I opened it, not wanting to continue, but unable to stop my temptation. I roughly pushed various items aside and reached to the bottom, knowing exactly where to find what I was seeking.

My fingers touched them and I gently pulled out my drawing pad and charcoals which I had placed there, hidden from my sight so long ago.

I stepped outside to catch the natural light, smiling for the first time in several months. After pausing to look out over the desert landscape, I began drawing what was foremost on my mind. My first sketch marks were tentative and then became stronger and more confident. With a cigarette dangling from my lips, I found I was unable to cease until I had captured what the desert was now offering me.

Instead of the death and destruction I had come to witness over these long months, it was now offering me something tangible with merit for the future.