As I Recall

by boasamishipper

One thing Tully knows for sure was that you couldn't miss what you couldn't even remember.

5. I Wish

*coughs* Um, hey? *dodges flying fruits and shouts of 'Where the hell have you been?'*

I am so sorry for not updating this sooner. I have no excuse for forgetting about "As I Recall", but I hope you can forgive me.

But seriously. Ten reviews for four chapters? You guys are unbelievable. :) I hope you enjoy this next installment of As I Recall—only a couple more to go after this one...

Disclaimer: I don't own Rat Patrol. Wish I did, though...

As I Recall by boasamishipper

Chapter Five

(*) (*)

Sneaking out the back door
To hang out with those hoodlum friends of mine
Greeted at the back door
With boy thought I told you not to go outside

Tryin' your best to bring the
Water to your eyes
Thinkin' it might stop her
From woopin' your behind

I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go
I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go
Cause I love them so

Stevie Wonder "I Wish"

(*) (*)

Previously on Rat Patrol

"How am I going to g-get my memories back w-when I'm such..." he gestures to himself. "Such an emotional mess."

"You'll get them back," Sarge says firmly, finally speaking up. Hitch releases a breath he isn't even aware he had been holding. "Tully. Listen to me. You will get them back. I believe in you, and so does Moffitt and so does Hitch."

Moffitt and Hitch both nod.

Troy tilts his head, looking Tully over from head to toe. "Maybe it's time that you started believing it too."

Present Day

Tully is silent, sitting in the passenger seat of the jeep while Moffitt tries to instruct him how to drive the vehicle, pointing out buttons and levers that look vaguely familiar to him. Hitch leans against another jeep, chewing a piece of bubble gum. Troy had been summoned to see the colonel for unknown reasons, but Tully's willing to bet anything that he owns that the two men are talking about him.

Yes, he thinks. Troy and the colonel are probably sipping coffee and pondering his mental state. It definitely deserves to be pondered, what with his breakdown a few days ago.

Tully snaps out of his trance as Moffitt lightly hits him on the shoulder. "Hey," the sergeant says, like he'd been repeating himself for a while. He probably had, Tully thinks, and feels guilty for a moment. "Have you been listening to me at all?"

He feels like he's being berated by a teacher, and he opens his mouth to say sorry, but what comes out instead is, "My middle name is Michael."

Tully's brows immediately scrunch together. Where the hell had that come from? He shuts his eyes and tries to focus, like Dr. Ames had been telling him to do.

Come on, he thinks, trying to coax the memory out from behind the locked doors of his mind. Come on out...

And then, like he's watching a movie, he sees a young boy, maybe seven or eight years old, wearing faded overalls and standing in a classroom. There are several children sitting in desks, all of whom are giggling. He sees a woman around his own age with her hands on her hips, berating the little boy.

And then he hears what she's saying.

"...Tully Marcus Pettigrew, have you been listening to me at all? Were you or were you not the one who put a frog in Billy's desk?"

"Yes ma'am," the boy says with a small smirk. "But my middle name is Michael, not Marcus."

Despite himself, Tully snickers. And there it is, and he remembers one more fragment. He remembers staying after class and washing the chalkboard. He remembers having to apologize to Billy, and not regretting his actions at all. He remembers the lecture he'd gotten from his parents, even though his father had laughed about it with him afterwards.

But more importantly, he remembers his full name.

His name is Tully Michael Pettigrew.

Tully opens his eyes to see Moffitt staring at him. He chances a look at Hitch, who looks worried.

Maybe they should be the ones pondering my mental state with the colonel, he thinks.

"Your middle name is Michael," Moffitt repeats incredulously. "So from my entire, ten minute long explanation on how to drive a jeep, the only thing you got out of it was that your middle name is Michael?"

Tully grins. "Guilty as charged, Doc."

And in that moment, when Hitch laughs and Moffitt shakes his head before continuing his explanation, Tully feels whole.

(*) (*)

Sergeant Sam Troy returns from his meeting with the colonel, a new mission in hand to liberate a soldier—a Corporal Moldea, if he isn't mistaken—from one of the POW camps. He can't help but think of why the colonel didn't discuss Tully's condition with him: it was pretty common knowledge by now to all the men stationed in North Africa that Private Pettigrew had sustained amnesia from a land mine.

Tully had gotten better since his breakdown a few days ago, though, Troy reasons, heading towards the jeeps where he knows his men are. Maybe the colonel knows and doesn't want to press matters?

From what the American sergeant can see, Moffitt is explaining something to Tully that involves a lot of hand gestures while Hitch chews gum and leans on the other jeep, watching the others interact. He gets closer, and hears Tully suddenly say, "My middle name is Michael."

What? Troy is taken aback. Moffitt looks surprised and can't respond for several seconds. "Your middle name is Michael," he repeats in disbelief. "So from my entire, ten minute long explanation on how to drive a jeep, the only thing you got out of it was that your middle name is Michael?"

The sergeant swallows a snicker just as Tully beams, and his typical Southern drawl, says, "Guilty as charged, Doc."

Hitch lets out a bark of laughter while Moffitt shakes his head affectionately before setting off into another explanation of how to parallel park. Troy decides that this is a good time to approach the group, holding a file with maps and information about the POW camp. "We have a mission," he says gruffly as Hitch and Moffitt walk over to him. "There's a soldier that needs to be liberated from a prisoner camp a few miles from here."

"Who is it?" Hitch asks.

Troy winces, hoping that Hitch doesn't know the soldier that they have to rescue, but doubts it. The name had sounded familiar when the colonel had mentioned it to him, but that didn't necessarily mean that Hitch knew him. "His name is Moldea," the American sergeant says. "Corporal Sean Moldea."

The name doesn't garner a reaction from Moffitt nor Hitch, who shrug, but Tully flinches violently and nearly falls out of the jeep. "Moldea?" he repeats breathlessly, coming over to stand by Troy. "Kinda rusty-colored hair, blue eyes, and a scar on his cheek?"

His jaw nearly drops to the ground. "You—you know him, Tully?" Moffitt manages to ask, wide-eyed.

Tully's eyebrows furrow together and he stares at the ground, kicking a small bit of sand and watches it scatter in the air. "I don't know why I remember him, of—of all people, but I know him," Tully says. "We—we were in commando training together…and…and he…he talked weird. I remember that well. He always said 'bubbler' instead of 'drinkin' fountain'. It was weird." He pauses and looks to Troy. "But, um, yeah, Sarge. I know him."

So much for not having an emotional investment on this mission, Troy thinks bitterly. He forces a grin that feels more like a grimace, and the other men take it as such. "Well, then," he says, "Moldea isn't going to rescue himself. Let's shake it."

The men begin walking back to their respective jeeps, and as Hitch is about to climb into one of them with Moffitt, Troy feels the back of his neck prickle at the thought of what had happened the last time the two rode together. "Hang on," he says casually, trying not to sound like a raving lunatic. "Moffitt—can you take Tully this time around? Show him how to drive? You can explain it a hell of a lot better than I can."

He gazes over at Tully, whose smile is wide and carefree, face turned up toward the moonlight.

And then the world explodes into orange and scarlet.

It's a shitty explanation if there ever was one, but thankfully, Moffitt just nods slowly, looking a bit bemused as Hitch and Tully trade places. During the commotion of the two privates switching jeeps, the sergeant locks eyes with the Englishman, a whole unspoken conversation seeming to occur in less than thirty seconds.

Don't worry. Tully will be fine, Troy.

I know. But if I had it my way, he never would've been injured in the first place. I was the one who insisted he drive with me. I should've been paying attention to where he was driving. I should've—

It's not your fault. Stop worrying.

After a moment, Troy nods, and starts the car. The slow and steady rumble of the engine is like music to his ears, and he finds himself smiling. He could handle a mission—he needs a new challenge, one that he can actually complete, because after six weeks, Tully's amnesia has seemed almost…unable to be fixed.

And it's slowly killing him from the inside that he can do literally nothing about it.

Troy takes a quick look over at Tully in the next jeep and his smile immediately fades as he sees the private frowning, his arms crossed over his chest. Moffitt doesn't seem to notice—or maybe he has. Body language isn't an indication on whether or not he sees Tully looking upset, he muses. In either case, Moffitt's smart enough not to say anything about it. He'll bring it up if Tully asks, but that's about it.

He sighs and begins driving out of the army base, Moffitt and Tully a few yards behind him. Hitch is silent next to him, and Troy hopes that he'll stay that way—he really doesn't want to talk to anyone right now.

Damnit, please just let this mission be a success.

(*) (*)

They get in and out easier than Tully had been expecting. From the long list of Hitch's injuries—the ones he could remember, anyways—he'd thought that they would enter the Jerry prisoner of war camp amid gunshots, explosions, and several dead bodies on the ground. Instead, Moffitt had only had to threaten one man by holding the soldier's Luger to his head and saying a few tense words in German. The soldier had cracked like an egg, and had even showed the men to the prisoner's barracks himself.

But he'd relished the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he, Troy, Moffitt and Hitch had snuck around the POW camp, hiding in corners with their guns ready. No wonder I became a soldier, he couldn't help but think with the faintest smile on his face. It…suits me, weird as it sounds. Like two puzzle pieces that fit together. I finally found something that…that I like.

"This is the place where your friend is," the soldier says, gesturing to a door that reads Baracke 3 on it. "He alright. Not harmed. No worry."

Tully rolls his eyes, the soldier's broken English getting on his nerves. Damn, he just wants to see Moldea—he wants to see the only person that he can actually remember.

He wonders if anything has changed from the bits and pieces he remembers of Sean Moldea—is he still the same man from commando training with rusty hair, blue eyes and said words like 'bubbler'?

Here's hoping.

Troy looks a bit irritated too. "Moffitt," he says under his breath, gesturing slightly to the Englishman. "Can you—"

"What—oh, yes." The sergeant looks embarrassed as he pulls the gun away from the soldier's head. The German looks like the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders and he shudders in relief. "Go on, get out." Moffitt waves impatiently, and the soldier scurries off.

"Danke," Tully calls lamely after him, feeling like an idiot. He completely misses the surprised looks that Troy, Moffitt and Hitch exchange from behind him. The private turns around and does a double-take. "What?"

"Nothing," Hitch replies instantly. "Nothing at all."

And Tully buys that, at least for now. He makes a mental note to ask Hitch about it later.

Troy pushes the door open with a creak that makes Tully want to flinch, and the men walk inside the small room. It's not what he's been expecting, but it's definitely not any better. The entire area smells of something musty, and his nose detects human body odor—his stomach roils, but he certainly can't turn back now.

He notices a bed shoved against the wall, more of a cot, really. A figure curled into the fetal position lies slumped on top of it. From what he can see, the figure is wearing a soiled, soot-covered camouflage uniform. A helmet, much like Tully's, rests on the floor next to the cot.

None of them move. None of them blink.

Tully braces himself and pushes aside Moffitt and Troy and Hitch, and suddenly freezes. He doesn't know what to do or say. How do I do this? he wonders, hands trembling at his sides. "…Sean?" he finally says, his voice trembling—much to his embarrassment.

And the person sits up on the bed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand as he tries to focus on them. His rusty hair is shaggier now, which gives Tully an idea just how long he's been held in captivity, and his blue eyes gaze at them with a sort of cool nonchalance before apparently realizing just what was happening.

"Either I'm daydreaming," Moldea says, his voice scratchy, "or have my knights in shining armor finally arrived?"

And then the seemingly insurmountable tension shatters into a thousand pieces. He can feel the relief coursing through his veins to the quick beat of his heart. "Sorry we're late," is all he can think of to say.

Moldea looks upwards and the look on his face is now one of amazement. "No," he says, his tone incredulous. "No way. Tully Pettigrew, yeah? What're you doin' here?"

"Rescuing you, what does it look like?" Tully retorts, clapping a hand on Moldea's shoulder and pulling him to his feet. Grinning, the other soldier embraces Tully in a quick hug. "I hear you're a corporal now, right?"

"Yeah, battlefield promotion." The corporal doesn't go into details, as is his norm. I can't believe I remember what his norm even is! This is great! "What about you?"

"Private," Tully replies.

"No promotion, then?"

"Nah. Figured Private Pettigrew had a nice ring to it, I thought I'd keep it." With a flash, Tully remembers that he's not the only one in the room, and flushes with embarrassment. "Right, of course. Sean, these are my…" He hesitates for a moment. "Uh, my friends—Private Mark Hitchcock, Sergeant Jack Moffitt and Sergeant Sam Troy." He points to each one as he says their names, even more pleased that he can remember them all. God, this is great. "Y'all already know Sean, though."

Moldea inclines his head. "Pleased to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Corporal, but I'm afraid we're wasting time," Moffitt interjects. "We need to get out of here before the rest of the guards take notice."

"Yeah," Troy continues gruffly. "We came in through the south. Corporal, you know what the quickest way out of here is?"

"Yeah." Moldea pauses, and then continues when Moffitt gestures for him to go on. "Down the hall, out the doors. Guards take their breaks for lunch, and the area's as empty as a store after an After-Christmas sale."

Under any other circumstances, Tully would've enjoyed the bemused look on his commanding officer's face, but chooses not to mention it. At least not now. "Alright," Troy says. Tully can practically see the gears in the sergeant's head working furiously. "Alright. We'll shake it out that door and down the hall. Tully, Moffitt, you provide a diversion. Hitch and I'll get Moldea out of here and come back for you."

"What sort of diversion?" Moffitt asks, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Troy opens the door, gesturing Hitch and Moldea out before turning back to Moffitt and sending him the faintest of winks. "Surprise me."

And he walks off, leaving Moffitt and Tully alone in the room. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Tully?" Moffitt asks.

Tully grins. "Here's hoping, Doc."

(*) (*)

I've said it once and I'll say it again, being a soldier ain't all that bad. The Sarge sure isn't bad with diversions—I bet that smoke bomb will keep those Jerries busy, at least long enough for us to tail outta here. Lord, I wish I could remember more things…it's comin', but it's comin' slow, like water dripping from a leaky faucet. I just need to be patient, like Dr. Ames said, and wait for it all to come back.

Whatever's holding my memories back should've healed by now, shouldn't it? It's been almost seven damn weeks…just how long is this supposed to take? Are there any figures or statistics about amnesia, precisely? Note to self—ask the doctors once we get back to base.

"Tully," hisses Moffitt, gesturing for him to come forward with furious hand motions. After looking carefully both ways, the private races forward. His stolen gun feels awkward strapped to his back, but it's better than having no protection.

"What now?" he asks. "Where's Sarge, Hitch, and Moldea?"

Silently, Moffitt points around the corner, and Tully's stomach drops to his shoes as he sees three German officers surrounding the rest of the Rat Patrol. Troy appears to be talking rationally, using several hand motions as he speaks. Hitch stands tall next to him, while Moldea stands behind both of them, wielding a stolen Luger.

Oh, Lord, why now? Things were going so well… "Ah, shit," he mutters eloquently under his breath. Moffitt looks just as conflicted as he feels. What could they do now?

Suddenly, a spark of an idea blossoms in his mind. It's dangerous, and certainly a risk, but what more does he have to lose? "Moffitt," he whispers furiously under his breath, "how do you say, 'over here', in German?"

"Hier drüben," is the sergeant's tense response. "Why—oh." Moffitt's not an idiot, and he figures out just what Tully is planning in a heartbeat. But it's already too late, and Tully jogs out of their hiding place, waving his arms frantically as he catches their attention immediately.

"Hey," he shouts. "Hier drüben!"

Just as one soldier cocks his gun and pulls the trigger, Moffitt tackles Tully to the floor with a thud. The bullet makes its mark in the wall directly behind them.

"Tully!" Moffitt's voice is frantic. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Tully gasps, the air having been practically squeezed out of his lungs. "A little…warning next time…please?"

Moffitt nods and helps him to his feet. Both of them point their guns directly at two of the soldiers. The one who'd fired his gun, who appears to be a sergeant, suddenly strikes out and grabs Troy by the collar, pushing a gun into his neck. Hitch and Moldea appear terrified and they don't know what to do.

Neither does he.

"Hold it!" came Moffitt's voice.

And suddenly, the room seems to waver in front of his eyes. No, not now, please, not now, Tully begs, praying for divine intervention. Not now… He feels like he's going to faint, and his knees are shaking, but he forces himself to stand upright, and the disorientation disappears just as quickly as it had appeared.

What the hell?

And then he realizes what's going on—he's remembering. Really remembering. His mind, so previously filled with darkness, explodes as visions fly out of their locked vault and compete for their dominance.

"I can fix his mouth a lot sooner than I can fix this Jeep…"

"Please, no fish!"

"I just finished his father's book—archeology, anthropology, Arabs, and all that stuff. Pretty wild things."

"When I was a kid, I could knock the eye out of a quail at fifty paces with my slingshot."

"I found a German field hospital yesterday, over the ridge – couple, three miles maybe…"

"This beautiful girl came dancing' over the hill…doing a lindy. What d'you think about that?"

"Looks like that dancing girl's out squirrel-hunting, Tully."

"Who was there, Tully, you or us?"

"Cotter! Get down!"

"What're you going to do when this is all over?"

"Not sure. What about you?"

"I dunno about you, Sarge, but I'm thinking of goin' somewhere quiet for once."

"Private Pettigrew. Very good wheelman. Ought to be, he was about the best kid moonshine runner in Kentucky."

He remembers.

He remembers Troy's gung-ho attitude and strategic planning, Moffitt's readiness to do whatever it took for the mission to succeed, the friendship he had with Hitch (and Tully had been the one to gift him his kepi, he had been the one to do so!) and Hitch's tendency to get injured. He even remembers his team's unsteady relationship with Captain Dietrich.

He remembers commando training, his life back home, his first gunshot wound, the hot sun beating down on his back as they had trudged through the desert looking for water, his six brothers and sisters, running moonshine with his cousins, and gazing up at the night sky from the roof of his house the day that he enlisted for the army.

Dear god, he remembers everything.

It's all finally back.

Refocusing on the German soldier, his determination and confidence comes back fully, etched in every line on his face. He means business, and the gun in his hand doesn't waver. "Let him go," says Tully, "or else I'll shoot."

The German looks taken aback, and his grip slackens just a fraction of an inch as Troy knees the soldier in the groin, causing him to double over in agony. In the next heartbeat the gun rockets back in Tully's hand as the soldier gets thrown into the wall by the force of the bullet, blood splattering over everything.

The other two soldiers run off.

Moldea's eyes are wider than quarters. "Jesus," he says. "Remind me never to mess with you, Tully."

Moffitt immediately puts a hand on Tully's shoulder. "Hey. Hey!" he says, the second time more desperate. "Are you alright?"

Tully beams for what feels like the first time in a long time. "Never better, Doc," he replies, relief and elation etched clearly in every syllable. "I've honestly never been better."

To be continued… :)