Troy slammed his fist into the wall.
They'd been in tight spots before, but this one rivaled most of the others.
Tully and Hitch already spirited away to a POW camp who knew where, Moffitt in for interrogation, and his turn coming up next. A mission gone wrong, Dietrich right on their heels, and the SS involved. Yeah, it was pretty bad. The cell he and Moffitt shared – or used to share, at least – was small and cold and hard.
He was used to being confident, able to figure out a way of escape, ready with a joke at the expense of his interrogators. But Dietrich had finally run out of patience, gotten the SS into the mix, and he couldn't think of a single bright side. No smart remarks, no tricks, nothing.
Whatever confidence he'd had when they'd first been captured was mostly gone now.
If he didn't have confidence in himself, in his men, they were all dead. Maybe not in body, but in spirit.
The cell door rattled, and an SS guard stepped inside, grabbing him by the arm. There was no sign of Moffitt anywhere. Troy went with the guard – he had little choice, unless he wanted to make things harder for himself – and thought all the way to the interrogation room about his will to fight.
He didn't have it in him. At least not completely. So he'd have to do the next best thing. Fake it.