May, 1948

Kentucky, United States

"Sarge, you're not serious." Tully Pettigrew gave Sam Troy a shocked and incredulous look, his matchstick nearly falling out of his mouth. "You are not serious."

"You've had some wild ideas in the past, Sarge," Mark "Hitch" Hitchcock said with wide eyes, "but this might be a bit too far. Are you feeling alright?"

Troy folded his arms over his chest. "You're both overreacting. This is not the worst thing I've asked you to do."

"Sarge, I will drive into an exploding convoy, I will shook bazookas at tanks, I will risk life and limb to pull you or Moffitt or Hitch out of a burning jeep wreckage, but you are asking the absolute impossible." Tully stared at Troy, fully convinced his sergeant had gone insane.

"We can't convince Dietrich to develop a better eating schedule," Hitch said. "He'll get mad and shut us out again."

"No, he won't," Troy said. "I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I didn't think you could do this, or if I thought Dietrich wasn't ready. This is important for him to get back to normal. He might not want to die anymore, but he needs to be healthy, and improving his diet and eating schedule will go a long way with that."

"Sarge, this is Dietrich we're talking about," Tully replied. "He's as stubborn as you are."

Troy gave Tully a look. "Do I have to make this an order?"

"Why can't you do it, Sarge?" Hitch asked.

"Two reasons. I'm behind on work at the ranch, and you two need to bond with Dietrich. I think he'll respond better to you than me, even though we've set our rivalry down. Besides, you really know how to cook, Tully, I think some good home cooking will convince him to start making some changes."

Tully gave a heavy sigh. "Sarge, I don't think fried chicken and catfish exactly count as 'improved diet.' Not to mention, we deep-fry all our vegetables, too."

"As long as it gets him to eat, that's all I care about."

"You're serious about this," Hitch said.

"Yes."

A look of defeat crashed over Hitch's face. "Alright. We'll do it."

"I still think this is insane," Tully said, "but I'll try."

"Thank you." Troy gave both former drivers a squeeze on their shoulders. "I know you can both do it. Good luck and have fun."

As Troy walked away, Hitch and Tully exchanged a look of disbelief. There was no way this was going to work.

Hammelburg, Germany

Tully walked up to the front door of Dietrich's new home, hesitating to knock. He turned to Hitch, who was putting a fresh stick of bubblegum in his mouth. "I said it before, and I'll say it again; this is insane."

Hitch nodded. "Sarge has a point, though. I'm willing to try helping Dietrich." He looked at the ground, chewing his gum. "I'm just not looking forward to Dietrich ripping our heads off."

"Look, how about this—" Tully lowered his voice. "We don't tell Dietrich why we're here. We both know how touchy he is about this stuff, so we just don't tell him."

"He'll find out eventually. He's not stupid."

"No, but we're not stupid, either. We can make this look perfectly innocent."

"It has Sarge's fingerprints all over it, and you know Dietrich just knows when Sarge has been up to something."

"It's worth a shot."

"Okay." Hitch looked back up at Tully. "You want an open or closed-casket funeral?"

"We'll be fine." Tully knocked on the door, then stepped back and waited, nervously biting down on the matchstick between his teeth.

They both heard a deadbolt being unlatched, then Dietrich opened the door. "What are you two doing here? I was not expecting you," he said.

"No. We… decided to stop by as a surprise," Tully replied, flashing a big smile.

"We wanted to congratulate you on getting a house," Hitch added.

"Oh." Dietrich looked unsure for a moment. "Is there anything else you want?"

"Could we come in?" Tully asked.

"Why? I have nothing to entertain you with."

"That's alright. You don't have to throw us a party. We weren't interrupting anything, were we?"

"No. I was cleaning the basement." Dietrich stepped aside to let Hitch and Tully in. "Give me a minute, and I will make some coffee."

Tully waited until Dietrich was in the basement. "Okay, check his cabinets."

"What?" Hitch gave Tully a look. "We can't just go through his stuff!"

Tully had already opened a cabinet above the coffee maker. "Well, at least he's got a little more than saltines and oyster crackers this time. There's bread, oatmeal, half a jar of peanut butter—"

"There's milk in the fridge," Hitch said. "There's that wine Moffitt was telling us about."

"Butter dish on the counter with butter actually in it. Does he have any meat?"

"Yeah. There's some chicken in the freezer."

"I did find flour. Now I need some spices and I can make some fried chicken."

"Can you make it with just—" Hitch opened another cabinet, "garlic salt and oregano?"

"No. I need a bit more than that. There's also no oil."

"What are you two doing in my kitchen?" Dietrich had come up the basement stairs without either of them hearing.

Hitch quickly hid his panic by looking down and cleaning his glasses with his shirt. "Uh… nothing." He blew a pretty good-sized bubble with his gum, further trying to hide his nerves by focusing on getting the bubble as big as possible without it popping in his face.

"If you are looking for something to snack on, I have nuts and crackers. That is all. Out." Dietrich motioned for them to leave the kitchen. "I spent all day organizing my kitchen and I do not need you two and the bad habits you have learned from Troy ruining it."

"Sarge didn't teach us bad habits," Hitch said after putting the deflated bubblegum back in his mouth.

"Maybe not deliberately, but he is a terrible influence."

Hitch rolled his eyes when Dietrich wasn't looking. "I thought you and him got along now."

"We do, but that does not mean I cannot tease him every once in a while." Dietrich glanced over at them. "He did not send you, did he?"

"No," Tully and Hitch said at the same time.

Dietrich gave them a look of suspicion, but didn't press further on the matter.

"If he needed something, he would've visited you himself," Tully said.

"That is true."

Tully was still cautious, working his matchstick around his mouth. For all he knew, Dietrich had already caught on and was just leading them to believe he had no idea. It struck him as a very Dietrich thing to do, but he also remembered Troy telling him and Hitch not to bring up anything from the war unless Dietrich himself brought it up.

It had been a little over a month since the incident, but Tully was still surprised that Dietrich had tried to die.

He hadn't told his wife, Mabel, the details of why he needed to suddenly catch a train to North Carolina and meet up with Hitch so they could fly to Europe, but when he returned home, he explained everything. Or at least tried to. It wasn't easy.

Mabel had been making iced tea with their nearly one-year-old daughter, Eleanor, in her high-chair nearby when Tully entered the house. Eleanor gave an excited squeal upon seeing her father, and laughed when Tully set his duffel bag down to pick her up. Even in a somber mood, the face of his little girl made him smile. After giving Eleanor a kiss and setting her down, Tully went to his wife next. "Hey, honey," he said.

"Hi." Mabel turned to kiss him. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah."

"So… what happened? Did someone get hurt?"

Tully bit his lip. "Yeah. Someone got hurt."

Mabel set some tea bags into the filter before pouring hot water over them. "Are they going to be alright?"

"We think so. Not sure yet." Tully sighed, unable to find a better way to say it. "Dietrich tried to kill himself."

Mabel nearly dropped the kettle. "What?"

"Yeah. That was… That was what happened. I was so shocked when I got the phone call that I didn't know how to tell you."

"That's… truly awful." Mabel watched the tea steeping for a moment. "I… can't imagine what led him to do that. You never would've suspected it, given what you told me about him."

"I knew he had something going on. He wasn't responding to any of our letters, and he kept insisting that he just wanted to be left alone. I just wish someone had seen it coming. Any one of us should have, but…" Tully shook his head. "We didn't. Physically, Dietrich's alright. Troy and Moffitt took him to England for a change in scenery and to try and work things out with him. Right now, we just have to wait and see. Troy and Moffitt know what they're doing. I trust them to help."

A month later, the shock was still there. Tully watched Dietrich for a moment as the skinny German poured coffee grounds into a filter, unsure whether or not to say something. He felt like he was walking in a minefield. That's the real reason I didn't want to do this. I know we're just going to deliberately step on a mine with it. Troy made a lot of progress with Dietrich. I don't want to do something that sets him back. Come on, Sarge wouldn't trust us with this if he didn't think we could do it.

As silly as it sounded, Tully figured the scenario was this: Troy was insisting that the mines were diffused now. It was safe to walk through. Tully would trust him in an actual minefield, so why wouldn't he trust Troy with this? Dietrich could've gone and rearmed the mines. That's the simplest way to think of this. Tully drew in a breath before saying, "So, how've you been, Dietrich?"

"That is not a question I can answer in few words," Dietrich replied.

"How've you been since… moving in?"

"I have been alright."

Tully wasn't sure where to step next in the field. He looked at Hitch, silently urging him to take up the reins for a bit.

Hitch got the message. "Do you need help with anything?"

Much to both of their surprises, Dietrich appeared to be thinking about that. "I… would not mind help with cleaning up the yard. I am planning on building a garden."

"You know where you're putting it?"

"I have a rough idea."

"Okay. We'll help."

Tully noticed a warmth in Dietrich's expression, like he genuinely appreciated the fact that they offered to help. Maybe this won't be so bad.

In the seven months he spent in North Africa, Hitch was a little surprised that the day he sat with Dietrich at the hospital in Würzburg was the first time the two had really spoken in private, as individuals.

He wondered if Dietrich remembered that.

Hitch definitely felt Troy may have gone off the deep end with suggesting that he and Tully help Dietrich get into healthier habits now that he was getting better, but he also wasn't opposed to helping Dietrich. He wanted to help him, and he knew that meant they couldn't just dance around the touchier parts of Dietrich's past.

When Tully got up to use the bathroom, Hitch worked up the courage to say, "I know what Sarge and Moffitt told us, but how've you been since leaving the hospital?"

Dietrich glanced over at Hitch while getting their coffee ready. "Better."

"Just… better?"

Dietrich nodded. "Better. That is the simplest way I can describe it."

A heavy feeling settled over the room. Hitch frantically tried to think of a way to keep the conversation going. Dietrich had been ridiculously tricky to read during the war. He got a little less tricky when Hitch and the others met up with a band of POW saboteurs to rescue Anah, Moffitt's Egyptian cobra companion, from the SS. Hitch could still remember the lonely, defeated expression on Dietrich's face when he entered the tunnels with Troy and Tully. The wily commander was gone, replaced with the skeleton of a badly broken man.

The Rats' numerous interactions with Dietrich led Hitch to be confused over how to view him. He didn't seem like the enemy, the villainous thing he had been taught to hate in basic training. Granted, there were plenty of people he encountered who fit the description of villainous and nasty during his service. He couldn't shake the cold, disgusting feelings that came over him when dealing with people like the sadistic, apathetic Colonel Beckmann, or the wildly psychotic Captain Wansee, or the carefully calculated evil of Sturmbannführer Augenstein. To that day, Hitch still couldn't believe that Augenstein electrocuted Moffitt. If Anah hadn't been there, Moffitt wouldn't have survived. That was scary to think about.

Dietrich wasn't like them. There had always been something different about him, but Hitch wasn't able to pinpoint what that was until seeing Dietrich in the most vulnerable place he could be—lying in a hospital bed. It was where Hitch saw him as not an enemy, or even just a German officer stuck in a bad situation, but a psychologically wounded man who needed help, and had needed help for years.

Dietrich was a lot like Troy, though; he'd never admit to needing help even when it was painfully obvious. Hitch remembered walking into the hospital room, and realized it was the first time he had seen Dietrich since December of 1944, when he and the Rats brought him back to Allied lines for his official surrender.

He had never seen Dietrich out of uniform before, and it was surreal to see. Then again, Hitch knew the war was over and that he had no need to be cautious or guarded around Dietrich. Even if he wanted to, he found it difficult seeing the bandages wrapped around Dietrich's wrists and the bottle of Troy's donated blood hanging next to the bed.

Dietrich was awake, but staring into space. Hitch cleared his throat, unsure how to start the conversation. "Hey," he said.

"What do you want, Private?" Dietrich asked, still appearing to be staring at nothing.

"Just wanted to talk and see how you're doing," Hitch replied.

"I am as well as I am going to get. That is all any of you need to know."

"Is there… anything we can do for you?"

"I have told you—all of you—what you can do, and that is to leave me alone."

Hitch was tempted to say that leaving Dietrich alone had disastrous consequences the last time, but he felt that was a bit too crude given the situation. He could see Dietrich becoming guarded again, and wasn't sure how to really break the ice. It seemed to freeze quicker than it could thaw, and Hitch felt it would be cruel to just leave Dietrich hiding behind his wall of ice, for the ice was transparent and it was obvious that Dietrich was unsure whether or not he truly wanted to be left alone.

Perhaps it was really a cry for help. Hitch was now certain that Dietrich had been calling for help for years, but no one could hear it. Or they didn't want to believe it.

Hitch had no stake in the matter of the prophecy. He didn't deny its existence—how could he when he spent two whole years with a talking cobra on their team? He knew he wasn't any of the figures in the prophecy. He was on the sidelines, watching helplessly as the ones who were involved suffered through unanswered questions and the bizarre effects magic had on them.

More than once, he had seen and heard Moffitt getting up from stressful dreams and nightmares. Most of the time, the British sergeant had panic attacks, where he struggled to breathe and had nasty fits of shivering until Anah calmed him down. Other times, Moffitt would become violently ill, and after some of his worst dreams, he would develop a nosebleed.

Troy was far more subtle, and it was often hard to tell whether or not he was having weird dreams at all. Eventually, Hitch learned that the quieter Troy was, the more likely it was that he had a rough sleep the night before, and Hitch had been woken up in the middle of the night a handful of times to see Troy tossing and turning in his cot. He didn't think Troy would appreciate knowing that one of his men had seen him in such a state.

So he and Tully just had to watch. Watch and pray that the whole thing with Dietrich's prophecy would be over soon. They kept watching, and kept praying. It hadn't ended yet, and it was frustrating and heartbreaking to see.

The prophecy didn't matter now. All that mattered was helping Dietrich.

"Do you have anything else to say, Private?" Dietrich asked, pulling Hitch from his thoughts.

Hitch could feel defeat looming over him. "Not really." He turned to leave.

Behind him, Dietrich sighed. "Wait."

Hitch turned back around, giving Dietrich a confused look.

"Tell me something, and I hope you are honest with me, Private. What was it like, serving under Troy?"

Hitch wasn't sure how to summarize his experience. He wasn't even sure if it was something he could summarize easily, and he felt like Dietrich wanted more than just a summary. The tone of Dietrich's voice suggested genuine curiosity, rather than interrogation. "Well, serving under Sarge was simultaneously the best and worst experience of my life. It took a while before I really got used to his way of thinking, but I always knew I was going to be taken care of. We were all taken care of under Sarge. Our wounds, sicknesses, water, and food were always placed before his, even if he was in rough shape."

Dietrich nodded. He adjusted himself in bed, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees, careful not to press on any of the tubes stuck in him. "Sergeant Troy claims he wants to fix things. I find that difficult to believe."

"When he says something, he means it. He's let you go more times than either of us can count. Doesn't that… mean anything to you?"

"It should, and yet at the same time, it does not, because the amount of times he has let me go is equal to the amount of times he has tricked me. How do I know this is the former and not the latter?"

"Because the war is over. He's not interested in fighting you anymore, sir. If he gave you his word that things will change, he meant it. He takes promises very seriously."

"Even a promise to me?"

Hitch nodded. "Especially to you. I don't think you understand how much he wants to help you. It's not outright obvious, but he wants to see you thrive."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't want to see you suffer anymore. No normal person would. I know… I don't want to see you suffer anymore. We all would've come to help if we knew this was what you wanted to do."

"Despite the fact that I pushed you all away for the last three years?"

"Yes. I know you don't trust us yet, but we want to make things right." Hitch held out his hand. "I want to make things right."

Dietrich looked hesitant, and eyed Hitch with suspicion. With a sigh, though, he reached out and took Hitch's hand.

"How has life on the dating front been going?" Dietrich asked, pulling Hitch out of his memories.

"Haven't really focused on that lately," Hitch replied.

Dietrich gave him a curious look. "Color me surprised."

"Well, I've been trying to follow your advice, and Sarge's, to focus less on what a girl looks like and more on how she treats me and the people around her. That, and… we've all been kind of preoccupied with… you."

"Nobody needs to be preoccupied with me," Dietrich said. "You all have your own lives, and you do not need to spend them worrying about me. I am alright."

"You are a friend, Dietrich, and we want the best for you. That's why we came to see you, after all."

"Right." Dietrich sighed. "Then, forgive me in advance if I snap at you or become distant. The abyss… likes to creep back up on me sometimes, and this is all very new to me. All I ask is that you nudge me forward if it looks like I am going to fall, but do not push me so hard that I fall over, because… I do not know if that fall will be right back into the abyss."

"Okay. I think we can handle that." Hitch tried to say that with as much confidence as he could muster, but truthfully, he was now terrified that he was going to accidentally push Dietrich back into the abyss.

Tully returned to the kitchen to find Dietrich and Hitch in hushed conversation. He considered that to be a sign that things were going well. "Alright. When do you want to get started on the yard, Dietrich?"

"I just poured your coffee," Dietrich said. "Could we enjoy that first?"

"I agree. Sorry," Hitch added. "He makes really good coffee."

"I make it the only way it should be—very strong."

"That's how Sarge likes his coffee," Tully said. "Strong enough to make a snail run a marathon." He picked up his cup, thanked Dietrich, and took a sip. "I'd say that's about as strong as Sarge's, maybe a little bit weaker. An inexperienced coffee drinker wouldn't be able to tell the difference." He glanced at Dietrich. "Funny that's something you have in common with him."

"There are, surprisingly, many things I have in common with Troy," Dietrich said.

"Like what?"

"Well, we both care for those who served us greatly. We both sacrificed a lot for them. That I knew from… when we fought in the desert. While we were staying with Moffitt, I found that we both enjoy a cigarette in the evening. Troy enjoys a beer, while I enjoy a glass of wine. Moffitt does not have beer, so Troy had to make do with wine." Dietrich gave a lopsided smirk. "He enjoyed it." His smirk faded. "One thing I know we do not have in common is a decent palate. I think he got a little too used to the rations you were issued, and seems content with eating, well, anything that appears even remotely edible. He told Moffitt one morning that he would have been content with being served plain oatmeal. I called him a barbarian for that. That same day, before dinner, he told Anah that she didn't have to do anything elaborate, that she could put just salt and pepper on chicken and he would be happy with that. For that, I called him a garbage disposal."

Tully started laughing. "A garbage disposal?"

"Yes. He was not happy with that. Anah did not let that go for the rest of the night." Dietrich's grin returned. "Much to my amusement. Moffitt was not there to stop her."

"Come on, Dietrich, being rude to Sarge isn't what we're trying to accomplish."

"That is funny, though," Hitch said, a big smile on his face.

Tully noticed Hitch glancing at him. They had managed to naturally ease into the topic of food with Dietrich, but the feeling of walking through a minefield returned and disrupted the jovial atmosphere for Tully. He had a choice—keep going, or turn back.

He chose to keep going. Slowly. "So, what is a good breakfast for you?"

"Moffitt's take on a full English was the best breakfast I had in… years, honestly," Dietrich replied. "I had not had good home cooking since before the war. Everything since the war started was rations or something hastily put together."

"No wonder you got so thin," Tully said. He realized he was stepping on a mine, and found himself praying that it wouldn't go off, biting down a little harder on his matchstick.

Dietrich didn't respond at first. "My aunt was horrified when I visited the last time before she passed away. I entered her home, and she said I looked about as thin as a knitting needle. Rationing in Germany had become pretty bad, so she could not make much for me, and I even insisted that she did not, because she needed the food. I also told her that I did not want to eat well, knowing my men were not getting enough."

"Like what happened at your apartment, with your neighbors?" Tully stepped on another mine.

"That was different." Dietrich looked down at his coffee.

Tully could hear the mine ticking. Frantically, he tried to disarm it, and he realized he was chewing the matchstick a little more vigorously. "Yeah. Things are better for you now."

Dietrich nodded. "Better for sure." He still seemed distant.

"I mean, if you ever want to talk about something, we're here to listen."

"I will think about it."

The ticking stopped. Tully breathed a silent sigh of relief. That was a little too close. Gotta be more careful with what I say. "Take your time." He had to throw out his current matchstick, and replaced it with one from his shirt pocket, hoping he wouldn't wear it out too quickly this time.

Dietrich stayed quiet for a moment. When he thought Hitch and Tully weren't looking, he poured the rest of his coffee down the drain in the sink, left his mug in the sink to be cleaned later, and went over to the back door to put his work boots on. "I guess I am ready to start cleaning the yard."

Tully wondered if he hadn't actually disarmed the mine at all, but Dietrich hadn't lashed out or told them to leave yet. He just wanted to change the subject. That's all. I get it. Give him time.

Once Dietrich was outside, Hitch chewed his gum thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "That went better than I expected."

"Yeah. I didn't expect him to talk so much."

"I guess we caught him on a good day."

"Yeah, but how long is that gonna last? I think I ruined it."

"I don't think so. He's never going to move on if we don't address what happened."

"Sarge just told us to help with Dietrich's eating schedule, not talk about everything that led up to… you know."

"I have a feeling we're gonna have to talk about what happened with him. Sarge also told us we need to bond with Dietrich. That means talking about the hard stuff."

"I don't want to upset him. I want to help, but I don't want it to be an endless loop of annoying him."

Hitch spoke in a low voice. "Or pushing him back into the abyss."

"We're not in the prophecy, though."

"Doesn't matter. The abyss is the abyss, and I don't think Dietrich cares who pulls him out when he needs it, whether it's one of the four in the prophecy, or one of us. When he needs help, we give it to him."

Tully nodded. "You're absolutely right." He let out a sigh. "I just hope we can pull him out if it comes down to it."

"I think we can."

They headed outside before Dietrich could get curious about what was taking them so long, but Tully wondered if Dietrich had even noticed. He was already raking long-dead leaves from against the fence near the kitchen window.

The view in the backyard was spectacular. Tully walked all the way out to the fence bordering the neighbor's property, gazing out at the little town of Hammelburg, with its red roofs and tall steeples. At the stroke of noon, the bells of the steeples could be heard. Tully closed his eyes, feeling the gentlest of breezes pass over him, lightly messing with his blondish-red hair. The sound reminded him of waking up on Sunday mornings back in Kentucky—the one thing that never changed from when he was growing up to living with Mabel now. He remembered the first Sunday he was home from the war, after a night of dreaming about dehydration and a poisoned well. He lay awake, Mabel next to him, still fast asleep. He didn't want to disturb her.

He relaxed when the bells started at eight o'clock sharp. It was something that would never change, and something that would always comfort him after a rough night.

"One of the most tranquil sounds in the world." Dietrich's voice came from behind.

Tully turned, seeing Dietrich had came up behind him, holding a rake. "What, the bells?" he asked.

Dietrich nodded. "I like to make sure I am outside in nice weather like this, during the mornings and the afternoons, so I can listen."

"It's a nice sound to wake up to in the morning," Tully replied.

"Indeed it is." Dietrich leaned the rake against the fence before standing next to Tully, resting his arms on top of the fence. "They remind me of my aunt."

"What was her name?"

"Her name was Miriam. She helped me learn English—well, everything, really. I was closer to her than I was with my parents, especially later in life. She was a very intelligent and kind-hearted woman." A sad smile crossed Dietrich's face. "She had no shame in saying I was her favorite nephew, because I was inquisitive and curious and loved learning, and she was happy to oblige, taking me to libraries and bookshops. We spent long hours, especially in the evenings, doing a Bible study. She used to host one for ladies in Munich, and when I was little, I would tag along with her." His smile slowly faded, as he looked deep in thought. "I pondered a career in helping people better their understanding of God for many years. My parents thought I needed to focus on something more… tangible, like money or medicine or something along those lines. When the Nazis rose to power, none of that would ever come to fruition. I joined the military to protect myself, and Aunt Miriam. Needless to say, it did very few favors for me."

Tully could see Dietrich turning his wrists over. The wounds across them were still healing. Tully said nothing. He was surprised that Dietrich had been so open about his past with him, and he felt as though Dietrich had given him something extremely delicate. For a moment, Tully pondered telling Dietrich his life story, but remained quiet, wondering if there was more that Dietrich had to say. Sarge and Moffitt always said I was a good listener. Time to put that to the test.