Augsburg, Germany

Veidt wished there was more he could have done to alleviate Sergeant Moffitt's suffering. It was hard not to wince and grimace or simply feel pain along with him whenever Augenstein's assistant or Kaschel hit him, but he knew he had to keep his expressions to himself. He had made it this far without Kaschel suspecting anything. He could make it a little farther.

Moffitt was probably one of the toughest he had worked with, but he struck Veidt as very intelligent. That was quite a formidable combination, but Veidt had seen both tough and smart break in front of Kaschel. He respected Moffitt's willingness to stand up to Kaschel, even though Veidt knew Kaschel was telling the truth.

He remembered the day Kaschel returned to his office after seeing Augenstein's test of the ricin potion. Kaschel seemed a bit more stoic than usual as he walked into the building. He said nothing to the secretaries or any of the officers he always greeted. Stranger still was him walking by Veidt without acknowledging him.

Veidt went about his duties for the next few hours, but when Kaschel didn't emerge from his office while everyone else was going home, he worked up the courage to see what was going on. It was a bold move, after all, bothering Kaschel when he didn't want to interact with anyone was typically a bad idea. Something about this felt different. Almost wrong. Cautiously, Veidt opened the door. Kaschel was sitting at his desk, staring into space. His hands were shaking a little.

"Sir? Is everything alright?" Veidt's nervous voice broke the silence that had dominated the room for the last several hours.

Kaschel didn't respond at first. Eventually, his hands stopped shaking, and he cracked his knuckles, then his wrists. "Close the door, Kurt."

Veidt frowned. Kaschel had never addressed him by his first name before. "Sir?"

"Close the damn door." Kaschel's voice dropped to a growl.

"Yes, sir." Veidt hurried over to shut the door.

Kaschel was silent for another minute. "I take it everyone has gone home for the night?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I do not want this conversation to leave this room. I am only telling you because out of every person on my staff, you are the only one I truly trust."

Quite ironic, sir. "I promise, this conversation will not leave this room, sir."

Kaschel's gaze continued to be vacant. "Have you ever watched a man die, Kurt?"

Veidt's stomach turned. "I have, sir."

"Have you ever watched a man die slowly?"

"No, sir."

"I did today, Kurt. I watched a man die slowly." Kaschel rested his chin on his hands, propped on his elbows. "Sturmbannführer Augenstein perfected his ricin potion, and he asked me to see the final product. I did, and I never want to see it again."

"What… happened, sir?"

Kaschel drew in a breath, still looking distant. "It took five hours for this man to die. Five hours of intense pain and suffering as he… for lack of better words, turned into a living mummy."

Veidt's blood ran cold. "He what, sir?"

"He looked like a mummy, Kurt. That is what I said. He was screaming, crying, begging, and I felt a strong urge to do something. I wanted to take out my pistol and put him out of his misery."

Veidt wasn't sure how to respond. Kaschel had been responsible for countless deaths and the torture of hundreds if not thousands of people. This was what upset him? Veidt wanted to be angry. He wanted to explode and berate Kaschel for everything he had done, everything he had a hand in. He wanted to remind him of how many people had been killed or maimed by the Sorcery Division, remind him of the larger atrocities that the SS as a whole were committing.

As much as he wanted to be angry, he couldn't bring himself to actually be angry. I was the same way. I thought I was doing good, and I was wrong. If this is what it takes for Kaschel to change, then this is what it takes for him to change. If I put him down, he will never change, and I will be a hypocrite. "Did you put him out of his misery, sir?" Veidt asked.

"No. I kept watching, but I regret not doing anything. I should have, and I should dismiss Augenstein from his post."

"I doubt he will appreciate that, sir. He may even have you arrested."

"Exactly, which is why I will not take action against him. That, and I prefer to have men like him where I can observe them. Someone has to keep them in line."

Several questions burned in Veidt's mind, but he wasn't comfortable asking them. He wasn't sure he ever would be. "Is there anything you plan on doing, sir? This seems to have upset you quite a bit."

"If Augenstein fails to produce something of value from his efforts to secure the cobra pendant, I will deal with him. Personally."

Veidt knew from past experience that meant Kaschel was going to execute Augenstein if he failed. "He had done excellent work in the past, sir."

"I know. I do not want him to become useless. Then again, he will not be completely useless if… something was to happen."

Veidt wasn't sure he wanted to press further into that, but he knew Kaschel had some kind of secret project in the works that no one, not even Veidt, knew about. He asked about it once and Kaschel told him that he would learn about it "when it was ready." Veidt even searched him office and found nothing. Whatever he was doing was clearly important, but if he couldn't find out what it was, then he and the League of Sorcerers couldn't stop it.

In the meantime, he had other things to take care of. Namely, Sergeant Moffitt. Veidt made sure Moffitt was fed and hydrated before he left the base. The streets of Augsburg were steadily filling up with snow as Veidt rode his motorcycle deep into the heart of the city to get to his apartment. He prayed he wouldn't have to spend too much time digging it out of the snow later. After parking, he entered the building and climbed the stairs to his apartment. There, he made himself a cup of coffee. Two, actually. It was going to be a long night.

Veidt spent the next few hours watching the snow, watching lights turn on and off in the houses and apartments across the street. A thick blanket of snow had covered the sidewalk, and his motorcycle was indeed buried. His thoughts became more frenzied and anxious as the clock drew closer to midnight. Surely, this could be pulled off. It wouldn't be the most absurd thing he had ever done. He still found helping Colonel Hogan get into the Wehrmacht's underground headquarters in Zossen to replace someone's documents to be more absurd, but absurdity was what he had come to expect when it came to working with Hogan. The American wouldn't settle for anything less than utterly outlandish.

Around quarter to midnight, Veidt put his winter coat on and headed out to dig up his motorcycle. The snow continued to fall silently on Augsburg, and it would have been pretty were it not for the nerve-wracking mission he was about to undertake. His motorcycle's engine shattered the silence, and he rode out of the city, making his way toward the northernmost edge of the woods along the Lech River.

Augsburg, Germany – 1 Hour Earlier

Moffitt studied his guard as the man paced back and forth down the row of cells. He had heard from conversations that his guard was Unterscharführer Raupach, a small but capable man who seemed to have favor with Kaschel and Veidt. Occasionally, Raupach would look at Moffitt as he made his rounds, but wouldn't say anything. The only time he did was around nine PM.

"You should be asleep," Raupach said, looking into Moffitt's cell.

"I cannot sleep," Moffitt replied.

Raupach gave him a curious look. "Why? Are you not tired?"

Nine. I have three hours until I have to meet with Veidt in the woods. Start feigning illness now. Make it more believable. "My head is bothering me."

"I see. Is it the lights?"

"I am not sure. I will lie down and see if that helps."

Raupach nodded. "Call if it gets worse. Kaschel wants you alive and healthy."

Oh, it'll get worse. Moffitt lay down on the cot, facing away from the cell door. He made a show of holding his head for a little while. Part of him did want to go to sleep, but resisted it as best he could.

One hour passed. Moffitt shifted positions, facing toward the bars with his arms wrapped around his stomach. Raupach had stopped making his rounds, and Moffitt wasn't sure if he had left for the night, or was simply somewhere else. Just to check, Moffitt began groaning aloud. He heard a chair being pushed, and within seconds, Raupach was at the door.

"What is it? What is the matter?" the guard asked.

"Nothing. You have no reason to care anyway," Moffitt grunted.

"Tell me what is wrong. I can get you medicine."

Moffitt didn't respond.

Raupach sighed. "Fine. If you want to play tough, play tough." He headed back to his post.

Moffitt couldn't help but grin. In the next hour, he was prepared to crank up the theatrics. It was truly a shame Troy and the others weren't there to witness this.

Another hour passed. The fake groaning began. Raupach left his chair and found Moffitt curled up on the cot, writhing and moaning. The guard sighed. "For heaven's sake, you are clearly sick!" He unlocked the cell door. "I will take you to the infirmary."

As soon as Raupach was standing over him, Moffitt sprang into action, sitting up and throwing himself on top of the guard. He took Raupach's MP40 away as the smaller man tried to grab it. Once the gun was turned on him, Raupach raised his hands. His breath quickened as he begged, "No. Please, do not shoot me. I—"

"I am not going to shoot you as long as you do what I say, alright?" Moffitt said quietly. "Give me the keys."

Raupach grabbed the MP40's handguard, pointing the barrel upward as he wrestled with the gun. Moffitt kicked the guard's legs out from under him, and there was a loud clang as the metal of his helmet met the metal of the cot. Raupach stopped fighting, but Moffitt couldn't tell if he was stunned or knocked unconscious. Either way, he wasn't sticking around to find out. He quickly left the cell, making sure to close and lock it. He held his breath as he searched for the key to unlock the back door, hoping Raupach didn't wake up before he got out.

When the door opened, Moffitt released his breath. Snow fell into the building from the piles forming outside, and he began his march to the woods. It would have taken a few seconds at any other point in the year, but the snow was almost two feet deep. Oh, what I wouldn't give to be back in the desert!

He trudged into the woods, frantically looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. A siren sent a hard shiver down his spine, followed by German shouting. A rifle was fired, and splinters erupted from a tree nearby as the bullet struck its trunk. Without thinking, Moffitt began running. He looked over his shoulders once to see that several guards had given chase, occasionally firing at him with MP40s and K98s.

Moffitt was starting to wish he had taken Raupach's MP40. As bullets continued to fly by him, he wondered how long he would be able to go before his luck ran out, but he was suddenly thrown to the side and face-first into the snow by something huge, dark, and… furry?

It took a moment for Moffitt to regain focus, but he could hear the shouting had turned into panicked screaming. Sitting up, he saw his savior was a brown bear. The guards were now focused on the bear, and also on running back to base. Once the guards had been driven off, the bear looked back at Moffitt, and said in a low voice, "Run."

Moffitt wasn't about to argue with a bear. He starting running east, as Veidt had instructed him to, and once he was a good distance away, he switched directions to west, heading toward the Lech River. He was still without an adequate winter jacket, but he kept moving despite the cold creeping deeper into his body. Why did a bear help me? Moffitt thought, rubbing his arms. I'm not the bear—wait. Veidt said he's taking me to Stalag 13. Anah confirmed last year that a camp with 13 as part of its designation is where the bear and the deer are. Suddenly, going to a POW camp felt a little less absurd, and he had been so fueled by stress over the last several hours that he had completely forgotten. It all makes sense now.

As he approached the river, Moffitt looked over his shoulder one last time. I wish I had been able to save you sooner, Anah. You are a right pain sometimes, but you've been a great help to us. He sighed. No worries. We'll come back with Troy and break you out of the laboratory. A feeling of dread abruptly pierced Moffitt's gut. Truthfully, I don't even know if Troy is still alive. He had been shot just before I was captured, and I left the German major in charge of him. I hope he was able to get help.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he saw a figure on a motorcycle waiting just next to a snowy path along the river, and broke into a run. Sure enough, the figure was Veidt.

"What took you so long? Are you alright?" Veidt asked.

"I had some trouble with the guards. A bear came through for me," Moffitt said, getting onto the motorcycle behind Veidt.

"The guards spotted you?"

"Well, I ended up locking Raupach in my cell. He must have come around as I was leaving."

"And a bear helped you?"

"Yes. A bear is part of the prophecy, and I was told that the bear and deer are at Stalag 13."

Moffitt felt Veidt tense. The young officer then looked over his shoulder as he started the motorcycle. "The man in charge of the Underground's operation in Stalag 13. His codename is 'Papa Bear,' and there is an American sergeant with Sioux heritage whose name in their language is Little Deer Who Runs Swift And Sure Through Forest."

Hammelburg, Germany

Carter had offered to stay up that night in order to greet their visitor. Most of the guys were hoping the guest was female, but Carter had a feeling that there was much more to the visitor than anyone was expecting. He had taken a nap shortly after the raven delivered Veidt's message, and in his dream, he again saw the black snake. The snake seemed weaker this time. It was lying on the floor of the tunnel, unmoving. When he knelt in front of it, the snake drew in a breath, and said, "Take care of him. Take care of him, please."

"Take care of who?" Carter asked.

"The paths… The paths will intertwine. The bear and jackal… Soon, the deer will meet the snake. The deer will meet the snake. Show him the abyss."

"Who's he? Who… What are you? I-I can't help if you don't tell me what's going on?"

Carter jolted awake, unsure of what to make of his dream. Just like the last one, it doesn't make sense. He hoped things would start making sense once their guest arrived, so he stayed awake. Extra coffee had been made for him and Hogan, as they both would be going down into the tunnels to meet up with Veidt and the visitor.

They didn't arrive until four in the morning. The snow was still coming down, and as Hogan opened the tree stump's hatch, snow fell down into the tunnel. Carter stepped out of the way, and watched as Hogan helped Veidt and the visitor down.

"Get him warm, quickly, please," Veidt said. "He has been without proper clothing for several hours."

"How was the trip?" Hogan asked.

"Long, as always."

The visitor was last to come down. He was a very tall man, dressed in heavy white pants and the standard British P37 uniform shirt that was soaked in melting snow. His hair was a dark-brown, almost black color, and his eyes were gray like stormclouds. When he stepped off the ladder, he held his hand out to Hogan first. "Sergeant Jack Moffitt."

"Colonel Robert Hogan." Hogan shook Moffitt's hand firmly. "What brings you to our neck of the woods?"

"It's a bit of a long story," Moffitt replied. He looked at Carter. "And who might you be?"

"Sergeant Andrew Carter." Carter held out his hand.

"Pleasure to meet you. I… hope my stay here isn't too much of an inconvenience for you."

"Not at all," Hogan said. "We'll go over the rules and then get you situated."

"Could I have a change in uniform first?"

"All we have are uniforms for the air branches."

"I think it would be best if he were disguised anyway," Veidt said.

"True. We've got a ton of RAF uniforms if that suits you." Hogan turned his attention to Veidt. "Are you heading right back home or do you want to stay for a bit?"

"I should head home as soon as possible," Veidt replied. "The Sorcery Division is going to be scouring Augsburg for Moffitt by the time I arrive."

"Alright. Be careful out there." Hogan shook Veidt's hand and watched him leave. Then he glanced at Carter. "Fix Moffitt up with a uniform and meet me in the radio room. I'm going to wake up Kinch."

"Right, Colonel." Carter gestured for Moffitt to follow him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was a bit… off. It wasn't a bad off, just a strange off. Still, Carter chose to be polite and not bombard their guest with questions. "So… British Army?"

"Technically, yes," Moffitt replied. He was looking around the tunnels with an expression of wonder. "How did you manage to dig all this out?"

"We didn't. This is an old mine system that we moved into. Apparently, someone found it while trying to dig a tunnel out of the camp. We made some additions over the years." Carter led Moffitt into a small chamber full of rack after rack of uniforms and clothes of all kinds. "Anything you want, we have. Within reason. As soon as London found out about the tunnels, they got us organized, sent all the necessary parts through the German resistance, and then we were in business."

"Was it your Colonel Hogan who found these?"

"No." Carter shook his head. "It was a British officer. Commander Monaghan, I think his name was. He was in charge before Hogan, and I was sent here about a month after Hogan."

"I see. Hogan succeeded him by rank?"

"No." Carter's expression sobered. "Monaghan died from tuberculosis. I didn't know him, but LeBeau and Newkirk and Olsen did. They said he was a really good guy. Very smart, crafty. A bit like Hogan, but not nearly as… well, I guess creative is the right word. I mean, it isn't fair because Monaghan was creative. He painted, but… when you get to know us, you'll understand."

"I'm sure I will."

Carter looked away to give Moffitt some privacy while he changed, but something purple caught his eye. He turned to see there was a bruise the size of a baseball just below Moffitt's sternum. Several small scars covered the Englishman's torso, plus a long one wrapping around his left side, under his ribcage. Carter hesitated a moment, then said, "You've seen a lot of action?"

"I have. What gave you that—oh." Moffitt looked down at himself. "Right." He pulled a sweater over his head. "Yes. I've seen a bit of action. I was in North Africa for its entirety."

"From start to finish?"

Moffitt nodded.

"What was it like? If you don't mind me asking."

"It was… an interesting experience, to say the least. I'm not quite sure how to summarize it." Moffitt was quiet for a moment. "I spent ten years in Cambridge for my studies, but only three in North Africa for the war. Those three years left more of a mark. Several marks, actually."

"That's—" Carter dug deep in his head. "What degree do you have?"

"I have a doctorate. My schooling was delayed because I was sick once, and took an extended expedition another time."

Carter gave Moffitt a confused look, only to get more confused when he saw the Englishman was grinning. "You have a doctorate degree and you're enlisted?"

"By choice. I wanted to prove I was more than my degree. That and the hands-on experience I had with my father in the desert proved useful."

"Wow. Not every day you hear about that. Honestly, I would've assumed you were an officer, because you look… older. And—" Carter scrambled for words, "more sophisticated."

"Well, I take my tea like a civilized person, but I have done some… rather unsophisticated things."

Carter frowned. "Like what?"

No response at first. "We just met, Carter. Save questions like that for later."

Carter had clearly struck a nerve, and he felt terrible for doing so. "Sorry."

Once Moffitt was dressed, Carter led him down to the radio room, where Hogan and Kinch were waiting.

"Moffitt, meet Sergeant Kinchloe, our radio operator and overall technical handyman," Hogan said.

"You can just call me 'Kinch.'" Kinch shook Moffitt's hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you as well. Your operation is quite impressive. Carter was just telling me about its origins," Moffitt said.

"Did he tell you some of the work we do?" Hogan asked.

"No, not really."

"Our job is very simple—on paper. We help downed Allied flyers get back to their own lines, cooperate with all friendly forces, and sabotage the enemy wherever possible. Seems simple, right? Not when the Germans don't want any of that happening."

"And you do all of this right under the nose of your camp commandant?"

"Exactly. Colonel Klink isn't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, and we prefer to keep it that way. Makes things easier."

"What about the guards?"

"They're led by Sergeant Schultz, who also isn't a very sharp knife. Most of the other guards are harmless, but, of course, none of them have any idea what's going on right beneath their feet."

"Seems extremely lucky that you were placed in this position. It's the exact opposite of what I was dealing with in North Africa."

"What were you doing in North Africa?"

"I was part of the Scots Greys from the start of the war in 1939 to shortly before Operation Torch in late 1942. After that, I was moved to an American sabotage unit known as the Rat Patrol when one of their members was killed. I decided to stay, and their commander, Sergeant Troy, wanted me to stay, so I've been with them since then. We hassled German convoys, broke out POWs, rescued defectors. Largely the same thing you do, but in jeeps with .50-caliber machine guns mounted on them."

"Sounds fun," Kinch said.

"In many ways, it was, but it also wasn't."

Carter was tempted to ask more questions, but kept them to himself. He didn't want to feel like he was pestering their guest.

"So, why exactly did Veidt send you here?" Hogan asked. "Not that we don't mind having you, but he gave us the impression that you were someone really important."

"It's complicated," Moffitt said. "Back in North Africa, while Rommel's forces were being pushed into Tunisia, I was shot while we were shooting up a convoy that Rommel himself was part of. I ended up getting captured, lost my spleen in the process, and then found out that something wasn't quite right about the area we were in. I had a dream the night before about Egyptian cobras crawling all over me, and while I was recuperating in the German camp, I learned one of their lieutenants was experiencing the same thing. Turns out there was a temple nearby that housed a crystal ball, guarded by a two-thousand-year-old cobra familiar. She selected me and this lieutenant to destroy the crystal ball. In the meantime, the Sorcery Division was after the crystal ball for their own purposes."

"Yeah, they're not fun to deal with," Kinch muttered.

"Not in the slightest. They were led by Sturmbannführer Augenstein, and he was quite furious when he learned the crystal ball had been destroyed. The cobra was grateful for what we had done and offered to become a companion of sorts to me. She gave me a gold pendant, which I can use to summon her if need be. Augenstein sought out the pendant after pictures were taken of me while I was unconscious in an unrelated incident. He did not succeed, and was left somewhat crippled after a German lieutenant—not the same one from earlier—struck him with a car."

"Wait." Hogan blinked, looking confused. "Germans attacking Germans?"

"That couldn't have ended well," Kinch added.

"These were men on the verge of surrendering. They couldn't care less about punishment. However, the man in charge of them, Captain Dietrich, did not surrender. He was given orders to head to Italy by Rommel himself. I'll get to that in a moment. Anyway, Augenstein's failure led to him going silent for the past year and a half. He did succeed in capturing me in the Ardennes yesterday morning, and he has the cobra restrained in his laboratory in Augsburg. Your friend Veidt convinced me to escape, and brought me here."

"Was this Dietrich fellow arrested?" Kinch asked.

"No, not as far as I know. Standartenführer Kaschel was worried that Augenstein would use me to get revenge on Dietrich. I'm not sure why he wasn't arrested."

"How would that even work?" Hogan asked.

"Well, our relationship with Dietrich is… messy, to say the least. It became even more so in the temple when we learned he is the subject of a prophecy."

"What prophecy?"

"'The paths of the bear and the jackal must intertwine, and the deer and the snake will help you see the abyss that looms before you.'"

Carter looked up at Moffitt in shock. His dreams over the last two days suddenly came rushing back, but he kept quiet.

"Any idea what that means?" Hogan asked.

"I… I'm not sure," Moffitt replied.

Carter bit his tongue, suddenly feeling as though Moffitt knew much more than he was letting on.

Würzburg, Germany

The blizzard's wrath was unending that night. Dietrich, who couldn't sleep in the first place, heard staff running around outside his quarters saying that telegraph and phone lines were down. Pipes were freezing and there was talk of potentially delaying the convoy to make sure the vehicles could actually make the journey.

Dietrich was lying awake in bed, trying to remember the last time he had even a wink of restful sleep. Somehow, he was getting enough sleep to function during the day, but he wondered just how well he was truly functioning. Nightmares dominated his sleep now. Ever since that damn prophecy entered his life, nightmares plagued him. Even rarer than a restful sleep was sleep with a decent dream. He had never thought much about dreams in the first place. Now, they were all he could ever think about when he was alone and his thoughts took over.

Snow and frost obscured his view of the city outside. He doubted anyone, Allied or German, was crazy enough to attempt a bombing run in this weather, but the lights were kept off, just in case. Sitting there in the dark, Dietrich tried not to dig too deep into his thoughts. He looked toward the window when a sudden flash of light illuminated the room, followed by a low roll of thunder. Thundersnow. Fascinating. Dietrich turned his attention back to the book in his lap, but froze when he saw a long, black shape on the blanket with him.

Lightning flashed again and the cobra slithered up to him, blue eyes glowing in the dark. "The deer and the snake have met," she said. "Your abyss draws near."

Another flash. Anah had vanished. Dietrich glanced at the window, then at the blankets. Nothing. Sighing, he rubbed his face and said aloud, "Why are you telling me?" When he got no response, he couldn't help but feel as though something very dark was on the horizon. What is the abyss? Does it bear any similarity to what I went through earlier this summer?

The tidal wave that was his memories crashed over the wall he had built in an attempt to keep them in the recesses of his brain.

"They are arresting people all over Germany, Johann!" Dietrich shouted at Tausemann. "Surely, this is a perfect excuse to arrest me, even though I had nothing to do with this plot!"

"Unless you met with one of Stauffenberg's people, you will be fine!" Tausemann said. "Calm down and think this through rationally!"

"There is nothing rational here anymore! They have been watching me ever since I left North Africa—"

"If the Gestapo wanted to arrest you for what happened to Augenstein, they would have done so already. Otherwise, why did they bug your apartment? You have not done anything suspicious since North Africa, what reason could they arrest you for now?"

"Johann, will you get it through your thick head that they do not care? I showed a shred of defiance. They will come for me, and I will not let them!" Dietrich took his P38 from the table and placed the cold muzzle against his right temple.

"Hans, stop! Put the gun down!" Tausemann shouted. "Are you mad?!" He lunged to take the gun from Dietrich, who stepped back.

"I will do it! I cannot take this anymore! I will not let them arrest me!"

"Listen to me, Hans! Give me the gun! We can talk this through!"

Dietrich's hand was shaking as he took the P38's thumb safety off.

"Hans, please. Stop and think about this for one second. You are worked up and stressed. I understand you are frightened, but this is not like you. Your men still need a leader."

"What sort of a leader am I?! They will all suffer when they learn that I am a traitor! I am not worth anything to anyone! I have failed at everything that I have set out to do!" His index finger moved to the gun's trigger.

"Remember your prophecy, Hans! You are important! Do not throw your life away! There is hope!"

Something was preventing Dietrich from pulling the trigger, even though he badly wanted to. Instead, he found himself lowering the gun. "What does the universe want with me?"

"I wish I knew. All I know is what you told me." Tausemann took the P38 away. "The Allies landed in France last month. There is hope that this will all end soon. That is the most important thing we need now."

The last clear memory Dietrich had of that day was collapsing into a shivering, sobbing mess, followed by Tausemann having him sit in the library with a cup of tea while the major talked to him. When he returned to the present, Dietrich was shivering in a similar manner, covering his head and struggling to pull himself together. A vision flashed across his mind, one of him stepping close to the ravine he was having dreams of back in North Africa. He had put one foot over the chasm, and the voices begged louder and harder for him to jump.

He had very nearly jumped.

Is that the abyss? Dietrich's shivering worsened. No. No, that cannot be the abyss. I refuse to believe that is the abyss.