Hammelburg, Germany, 1944

Sergeant Carter's sleep was fitful. His dreams were nonsensical, but at the same time, he had a feeling they meant something. He sat up and looked around at the rest of the sleeping men of Barracks Two, a bit envious that they were still asleep.

Icy wind battered the worn-out windows. Carter watched snow gust in through the cracks, and lay back down, wrapping himself tighter in the blankets as he tried to make sense of his dreams. He remembered seeing a black snake while walking through the tunnels beneath the barracks. It led him outside, where a deer was waiting for him. The snake left, and the deer began heading into the forest, occasionally looking over its shoulder to make sure Carter was still following.

He was used to seeing deer in his dreams, but the snake was new. It certainly didn't look like any of the ones he was used to seeing in North Dakota, like the harmless little garter snakes. In his dream, Carter opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He continued following the deer, hoping to get some answers.

As he moved further into the woods, Carter was horrified to see the snow start to turn red. The light, fluffy piles of flakes on the tree branches suddenly turned into thick, heavy masses of blood dripping down onto the forest floor. He forced himself to wake up, not wanting to see what was waiting for him, and didn't want to go back to sleep if that was just going to reappear.

He dismissed it as a weird dream, and hoped that was all it was.

"Carter," Sergeant Kinchloe whispered. "Carter, you alright?"

Carter looked over at Kinch's bunk, seeing the mustached man giving him a look of concern. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"You've been tossing and turning for a while."

"Weird dreams."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I'll be alright."

Kinch nodded. "Okay, but I'll be here if you want someone to talk to."

"Thanks, Kinch." Carter settled back under the blankets.

It didn't feel like much time had passed before Sergeant Schultz barged into the barracks to rouse everyone for roll call. There was the usually complaining, but Carter was happy to hear it, as it meant today was just another day. No snakes, no deer, no blood-soaked woods.

Snow was coming down lightly as the prisoners lined up outside their barracks. Schultz went around counting the men of Barracks Two, then stood at attention when Colonel Klink left his quarters, trailed by Corporals Kielholz and Langenscheidt.

"Herr Commandant, all present and accounted for!" Schultz said with a smile.

"Good. Dismissed!" Klink saluted, then turned to head back to his quarters.

In front of Carter, Colonel Hogan folded his arms over his chest. "I take it our boys in France and Belgium are doing a good job if Klink's not showering us with claims of Panzer divisions smashing our lines."

"Sure seems like it," Kinch replied. "He hasn't given us a 'report' in a few days now."

"No. Hopefully, we can keep it that way." Hogan glanced at him. "Anything from London?"

"No, sir."

"Underground?"

"No, sir."

"Well, let's ask around. Surely a railroad needs to be blown up to prevent any tanks to be sent to the front."

Carter stayed outside when Hogan and the others when back into the barracks. He wasn't looking forward to a third Christmas in a POW camp, but at least he was surrounded by good people to spend it with.

Something caught his eye outside the barbed wire. Carter stepped closer, without attracting the guards' attention, and frowned when he saw a huge red deer standing between two snow-laden evergreens. Do you need something? Carter wondered.

The deer didn't respond. It lowered its head a little, then turned to disappear into the woods.

Carter didn't follow. If it's something important, I'll know soon enough.

South of the Ardennes, Belgium

Sergeant Moffitt ducked behind the cover of a burning Panther wreck to yank the empty magazine out from his Thompson submachine gun and shove a new one in. After pulling the charging handle, he looked past the Panther and raised the gun's sights to his eye. A German soldier appeared in the woods across from him, and he squeezed the trigger to fire a burst of rounds into the man's chest and head.

"Moffitt! Move up!" Private Tully Pettigrew shouted.

Moffitt drew in a breath of dry, freezing air before breaking into a run to his next source of cover, a bombed-out barn, as Tully sprayed rounds at the German positions to keep them pinned down. Bullets whizzed by Moffitt's head as he sank into the deep snow that surrounded the barn. He could hear Sergeant Troy and Private Hitchcock shouting and covering each other as they fought inch by inch to get closer to the German convoy they had been assigned to stop.

"Tully, move!" Moffitt hollered. He fired another burst at a German officer taking shots at them with his handgun, and then turned his fire on a pair of soldiers in a Sd. Kfz. 251 halftrack.

In the corner of his eye, Moffitt saw Tully dive behind a fallen tree. Gunfire from an MG42 peppered the ground and sent puffs of snow skyward. Moffitt saw it was a gunner on another halftrack, and he adjusted his aim to target the gunner with the last rounds in the magazine. The soldier jerked backward against the machine gun's ring mount and disappeared inside the halftrack as he collapsed. Moffitt got back behind cover, pulling the now-empty magazine free from his gun. He could hear Tully returning fire to the Germans, followed by the American shouting, "Move up!"

The snow was getting deeper, and Moffitt couldn't afford to be slowed down. He ran through the snow, cursing and wishing he was back in the sands of North Africa. He missed the vast, open desert, and was finding that he preferred the intense heat over the savage, bitter cold. The previous winter in Italy wasn't as bad, but there was a part of him that wondered if he had spent so much time in the desert that he had adapted better to it.

Troy shouting, "Get down!" shattered Moffitt's thoughts, and a bone-rattling bang disrupted the droning sound of gunfire. A few seconds later, Troy threw another grenade, destroying another truck.

Silence fell over the snowy forest, followed by the much nicer sound of a German shouting in English, "We surrender! We surrender!"

Moffitt stood, lowering his Thompson. The German, a major, was indeed walking toward them with his hands above his head. Several of his men trailed him, also with their hands up. Relief washed over Moffitt as he and Troy rounded up the German survivors.

"That didn't take much," Troy said. His breath was visible in the cold as he sighed. "You alright, Moffitt?"

"I'm alright," Moffitt replied. "You and Hitch?"

"Both good."

The major stared at the Rat Patrol in disbelief when Hitch and Tully joined their sergeants. "You… beat my convoy… with four men?" He held up four fingers.

"Yes, we did," Troy said.

Moffitt waited until the Germans were prepped to be sent behind Allied lines, then said to Troy, "I don't think he fought in North Africa."

"Nope," Troy replied. "I'm noticing they're surrendering more easily, at least the ones we've dealt with. It's reminding me a lot of North Africa toward the end."

"The Heer units, definitely. I hate going against the Waffen-SS units."

The Rat Patrol had dealt with the SS only a handful of times before, and their latest round of missions had involved crippling their forces before larger units in the US and British armies came across them. Frankly, dealing with a regular army convoy was a treat compared to fighting with the SS. Moffitt personally didn't like fighting the SS because of the risk that members of the Sorcery Division were among them. He had a target on his back from the Sorcery Division since an incident back in North Africa where he and a German lieutenant had been tasked with destroying a crystal ball guarded by a witch's snake familiar. The snake, an Egyptian cobra named Anah, thanked Moffitt for destroying the crystal ball by becoming a guardian of sorts for him—as well as revealing that he was part of a prophecy about the Rat Patrol's constant adversary at the time, Captain Hans Dietrich.

Moffitt was able to summon Anah with a gold charm around his neck, and when the SS found out about it, they scrambled to get their hands on it. They had no success, and they hadn't tried since shortly before the last of the Axis surrendered in North Africa. Being busy with the rest of the war kept the incident largely off of Moffitt's mind, but he was still wary of it each time he spotted the caps bearing the death's-head emblem.

"What are you thinking, Moffitt? You have that really lost look on your face," Troy said.

"Nothing of great importance," Moffitt replied. He shifted his gaze over to the waiting Germans. "We should get them back to base so—"

"Moffitt, get down!" The crack of a gunshot echoed through the forest as Troy shoved Moffitt into the snow. Heat suddenly bathed over Moffitt as blood from a fresh wound in Troy's left shoulder spattered onto him.

Through the pain, Troy hollered, "Hitch! Tully! Get the prisoners outta here!"

The two privates got into their jeeps, loaded down with prisoners. There were too many to carry all at once, leaving Troy and Moffitt in charge of defending the others. The German major dashed over to where Moffitt was getting to his feet, saying, "Your friend is wounded. Let me help you."

"I'll be fine," Troy grunted.

"No, stay behind cover," Moffitt said. He glanced at the major, knowing he had very little time to decide if he should trust him or not. There was only one way to find out. "Troy, give the major your gun."

"Moffitt, are you nuts?"

"I could very well be. Give him your gun. We don't have time."

Troy sighed before holding out his Thompson. Moffitt took it, and handed it to the major before saying in German, "I might be breaking a lot of rules by doing this, but we do not have a choice." Moffitt jerked his thumb in the direction of the shooting. "Friends?"

The major shook his head. "No. I was certain my convoy was the only group in this sector. There was an SS battalion a few kilometers east of here, but we were not in contact with them."

"Good enough. We are going to fire back until we run out of ammunition, or Tully and Hitch return. Is that understood?"

"There are still machine guns in our vehicles. Those would give us a much better chance."

Moffitt hesitated. He didn't want to leave the major in charge of Troy, but he wasn't sure he wanted to give the German a chance to escape. He looked down at Troy. "Can you hold your sidearm?"

"I've had worse," Troy said with a wince.

"Alright. I'm going to man a machine gun on one of the Germans' halftracks. If our new friend here tries to run or shoot you, shoot him first."

"No problem."

Moffitt waited until Troy had his M1911 drawn, and began sprinting over to the lead halftrack in the convoy. He could hear the major opening fire at whoever was shooting at them. The yards and yards of open field, with snow tarnished by boot prints and blood, was not ideal, but Moffitt didn't have much of a choice. As he leapt onto the halftrack, he heard someone running up behind him and turned to see an SS soldier jumping to grab his leg. Moffitt swung his submachine gun hard, striking the soldier in the face with the gun's stock. The man's pained howling caught the attention of his comrades, and Moffitt got a glimpse of the band on the lower part of his left sleeve. Zauberei-Abteilung. Damn it, he's Sorcery Division. Frantically, Moffitt climbed into the halftrack, cursing as he turned the MG34 on the approaching soldiers and opened fire. They ducked for cover, but several were still able to fire back, and bullets struck the sides of the halftrack, forcing Moffitt to take cover. They're after Anah and the necklace. When a blue flame of magic flew over his head, he swore aloud. "I know it's very cold, Anah, but I could use some help!"

He could feel movement in his jacket, and the black cobra's head stuck out from under his scarf. "I was wondering when you would ask."

"Just be careful, please."

"I doubt there is anything the SS can do at this point. I will have you out in a moment." Anah slithered out from Moffitt's jacket. She was halfway out when an SS soldier appeared above the halftrack. The man cursed and tried to back away, but the cobra was faster, latching onto his neck with her fangs and falling with him off the vehicle.

Moffitt turned the MG34 on several soldiers running to the aid of their comrade. One of them dodged and raised a wand, throwing a spell in Moffitt's direction. Moffitt was shoved against the inside of the halftrack by an invisible force and a pair of soldiers clambered into the halftrack. One pinned Moffitt down with magic, while the other yanked off his hood and stuck a cold, gloved hand in Moffitt's scarf.

"Anah!" Moffitt shouted, struggling to move. He felt as though rocks had been placed over every inch of his body.

The soldier searching for the necklace kicked him in the side. Another second passed before he unhooked the clasp, and pulled the gold charm free. He handed the necklace to an officer waiting outside the halftrack, then ordered his companion to let go of Moffitt.

The rocks suddenly lifted, but the two soldiers pulled Moffitt upright by his arms, barking at him not to resist. They weren't at all gentle with getting him out of the halftrack, roughly pulling and dragging. Anything they perceived as resistance was met with even rougher handling, until one of the men gave up and simply pushed Moffitt out.

"That is enough!" a young Hauptsturmführer snapped as he approached the scene. "Sturmbannführer Augenstein wants this man alive! We got what we came for. Tie up the Englishman and throw him in the back of the truck."

"What did you do with Anah?" Moffitt asked in German.

The Hauptsturmführer glared at Moffitt and held up something long and bluish-white. Horror and disbelief crashed over Moffitt when he saw Anah had been encased in what appeared to be ice. Her expression was one of equal horror, permanently fixed on the moment where she realized that she was not unstoppable. Moffitt remembered all the times that Anah claimed that Augenstein could never best her. It wasn't possible. She was immortal after all. A mortal like Augenstein couldn't beat her. But perhaps Augenstein had been right; he had found a way to make even something like Anah completely powerless.

Cologne, Germany – 4 Days Prior

The big sitting room was dark, aside from the glow of a fireplace and a heavy haze of smoke. Outside the window, the city of Cologne was completely dark, blacked out to make it more difficult for Allied bombers to hit the city. Frankly, Captain Dietrich was getting used to the darkness. It was the only place where he could have any conversations of value.

He stared into the flickering flames, pangs of guilt striking him as he thought of the thousands of young soldiers freezing out in the forests of Belgium, both Allied and German alike, while he could sit in a warm room with a hot drink in hand. Dietrich sighed, trying to shake off the guilt. This meeting was important.

Behind him, the doors leading into the sitting room opened, and a Heer major stepped in. He was a stocky man with dark-blond hair, and despite being a few years older than Dietrich, he looked much younger. The strains of war were present in his face just like Dietrich's, however. He cleared his throat as he sat in a chair across from Dietrich, then wrinkled his face. "Captain, how much have you smoked in the ten minutes I was gone?"

Dietrich glanced at the half-spent cigarette in his hand. "I lost count, Major."

Major Tausemann waved his arm in a futile attempt to push the smoke away. "Anyway, you said in your phone call that you wanted to discuss something with me, about my upcoming mission to deliver supplies to the front."

"Yes. My unit reported seeing the Rat Patrol's activities several times over the last few weeks. A convoy is a perfect target for them, so I highly suggest you use caution. However, try not to use too much caution."

Tausemann gave Dietrich a confused look. "Why?"

"I need someone to deliver a message to them, in a manner that is not suspicious. I understand that you outrank me, but I am asking this as a friend. You have kept me away from the Gestapo's eyes for the last year-and-a-half. The war is almost over, and we are losing. Well—" Dietrich took another draw on his cigarette, "Hitler is losing."

"Indeed. However, given what you have told me, I doubt I would be able to give the Rat Patrol your message with them shooting at me."

"That brings me to the more difficult part of the request—surrender."

"Just… give up to them?"

"Yes. In return, I will protect your wife and son."

"Hans—"

"Major, I told you about the Sorcery Division. We have spotted them operating with Waffen-SS units. The Rat Patrol is at great risk of being caught by them. The Sorcery Division cannot get Moffitt's pendant. If Moffitt is captured, I want the others to be able to contact me."

"Why? Are you not concerned for your own life if the Gestapo finds out?"

"At this point…" Dietrich paused, suddenly unsure of how to answer that question, "I have nothing left. My original unit from North Africa is either dead or waiting in prisoner-of-war camps. Rommel is dead. My family cannot be trusted. My own apartment was bugged."

"If I surrender now, you will truly have no one."

"I know. If the Rat Patrol comes for Moffitt, I want them to take me, too. You are the only person in Germany whom I can trust with this." Dietrich looked Tausemann in the eye. "Please. I would not ask this if I doubted you were capable."

Tausemann looked hesitant, then he let out a sigh. "As long as it means I never again have to see you in the state you were in after the attempt on Hitler's life back in July."

Dietrich didn't say anything as he pushed back against the onslaught of memories that suddenly reared up inside. "You will not. I promise."

"I will hold you to it."

"As I said before, I will protect your wife and son. You will not have to worry about them. The Americans and British will treat you kindly, and try not to upset Sergeant Troy. He will ensure that you regret it."

"Hans, are you sure that these men can be trusted? After all, they spent about seven months trying to kill you in North Africa."

"Aside from you, there is no one else I can trust."

"Alright." Tausemann stood. "I will do it. What sort of message will I be carrying?"

"Paper. Sew it into one of your pockets. Do not lose it. It has every safe location I can be found in, along with my current command."

"Alright." Tausemann held out his hand. "I suspect that this will be the last time I see you for a long time, Captain. Please—" Tausemann grasped Dietrich's hand tightly, "take care of yourself."

"I will do my best, Major. I have no clue how to thank you for everything you have done for me."

"Watch over my family. That is all I ask." Tausemann let go of Dietrich's hand. "You would have made a fine general. I like to think—" Tausemann glanced toward a portrait of Field-Marshal Erwin Rommel above the fireplace, "he would be proud of you."

Dietrich looked at the portrait as well. He remembered his shock at the news of Rommel's death nearly two months ago, and while he wasn't able to attend the funeral, he took the time to visit Rommel's gravesite in Herrlingen at the end of October. It was a rainy day, dampening the warm, bright autumnal colors that had blanketed the German countryside. Dietrich said and did nothing while standing in front of the grave marker. He wasn't sure how long he was there, but he remembered the last thing he did was bring his hand to the visor of his cap, and held his salute for a solid two minutes. When he dropped his salute, Dietrich's uniform was soaking wet and clinging to his skin. The discomfort of being wet and cold had gotten to him, and he headed back to his hotel room to get changed into dry clothes.

Since then, Dietrich could never be sure whether or not Rommel would have approved of his actions. It wasn't exactly hard to miss Rommel's doubtful expression when talking about their chances of victory. Did he need someone to give him a gentle push in the right direction? Or did he have his own plan in mind? Regardless, Dietrich would never know, but that wasn't stopping him from carrying out his own ideas.