Author's Notes: Private Featherstone and Private Hilfer belong to tallsunshine12. I was granted the opportunity to use them in a story, and whipped this one up in a flash. My plot bunnies tend to grow fast and refuse to sit still.


Southern Tunisia, January, 1943

The last time Private Clyde Featherstone had seen an Egyptian cobra, it was dangling on the barrel of someone's Lee-Enfield rifle, being carried as far away from camp as possible. The snake in question was a mottled, sandy color, with pitch-black eyes, and furiously hissing at the soldier carrying it away from its prime basking spot on the tread of a Matilda tank.

Now, he was staring at a similar snake, but this one was entirely black, with bright, blue eyes. And it was wrapped around Sergeant Jack Moffitt's shoulders, looking quite calm and content with where it was.

It had to be fake. Featherstone never took Moffitt as much of a prankster, but surely this was some kind of practical joke. "Good morning, Sergeant," Featherstone called as he approached the taller, skinnier Englishman.

The cobra moved. Nope, that was not a joke. That was a real, live cobra.

"Good morning, Private. I was certainly hoping you'd be my driver for this assignment," Moffitt replied, shaking Featherstone's hand.

"I volunteered." Featherstone cast a look to the cobra. "Can you please—"

"Oh, I'm sorry. This is Anah." Moffitt held up Anah's head. "She's a bit of a long story—well, she's only about five feet long, but I'll explain when we get indoors. Care for a spot of tea?"

"Yes, please." Featherstone cast an anxious glance at the snake when she turned her attention to him.

The rest of the unit known to both the Allies and the Germans as the Rat Patrol were gathered around a small table in their tent. Sergeant Sam Troy was cleaning the sand out of his M1911. Private Mark Hitchcock was playing solitaire, and Private Tully Pettigrew was sharpening a bayonet.

Water had already been boiled for tea, and bags were placed in two tin cups. The strong smell of black tea filled the tent, prompting Troy to glance over at his British compatriot. "Didn't you already have a cup with breakfast?"

"I did," Moffitt replied. "Now I'm having another. There is no such thing as a poor excuse for having more tea."

"One of these days, Moffitt, the medics are going to find that instead of blood in your veins, it's just tea."

"Well, wouldn't tea be easier to find than B-negative?" Hitch asked.

"Ain't that the truth," Tully muttered.

"Instead of smelling salts, just put tea under Moffitt's nose." Troy allowed himself to grin, then looked at Featherstone. "How're you doing, Featherstone? Good to see you'll be on this assignment. Can't think of anyone else who can match Tully in a jeep."

"I'm doing well today, Sergeant, thanks for asking," Featherstone replied. "I was given a brief description of our mission today, but I was wondering if you knew a little more."

"We have to deliver scouting reports to Major Dandridge," Moffitt said. "He's had Captain Dietrich as a neighbor for a little while now and that hasn't been pleasant."

"It can be pleasant if you know how to deal with him," Troy added.

"Pleasant for you, maybe." A somewhat distant look passed through Moffitt's gray eyes. He shook his head, and tried to remain focused. "It'll be many, many miles of open desert. Very little places for shelter, and we'll have to cross over a wadi. This is a very bad time of year to be doing that."

"I've been caught in flash floods before," Featherstone said. "Not fun, but I trust we both know what we're doing."

"Naturally. I was nearly drowned in one during an expedition with my father. I was…" Moffitt looked up, deep in thought, "sixteen, I think."

"Must've been terrifying," Hitch said.

"I'm not the greatest swimmer, so—" Moffitt nodded, "it was indeed terrifying."

"What I don't like is that you two are going to be on your own," Troy said.

"You mean 'three?'" Moffitt held up Anah again.

"Your pet chatterbox doesn't count."

Confusion crossed over Featherstone's face. "Alright. I need to know what the deal is with the… snake."

"Earlier this month, we were unexpectedly pulled into a mission to destroy a crystal ball in an ancient temple," Moffitt explained. "I had been shot and captured by the Germans, while having dreams about cobras crawling all over me. While recovering, I learned that the SS was after this crystal ball, and that it was guarded by an entity known only to scholars as the 'uraeus queen.' Long story short, this uraeus queen—Anah—had chosen me and one other person to destroy the crystal ball so she could be free. She also told us of a rather odd prophecy involving Dietrich. '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.'"

"That does sound odd," Featherstone said.

"It's nonsense," Troy mumbled.

"It's not nonsense," Moffitt sighed. "I already know I'm the snake."

"I'm not saying magic and the supernatural in general are nonsense. I'm just saying it seems like nonsense that out of everyone, Dietrich is the one who has an ancient gobbledygook prophecy written about him. That doesn't make any sense. Tell me—" Troy gestured to Anah, "what could possibly be so special about Dietrich?"

"Quite a lot, actually," Anah said, lifting her head from Moffitt's shoulder.

Featherstone's eyes widened upon hearing the cobra speak. "So, she… talks."

"Oh, yeah. And never shuts up if you get her going," Troy said. "Not only that, good luck getting a straight answer about anything from her."

Moffitt shook his head, biting his lip. "There are no clear-cut answers with the supernatural. Regardless of what the prophecy means, the fact remains that Dietrich was chosen and there's no changing that." He returned his gray gaze to Featherstone. "I'm sorry, it's a lot to take in."

"No, it's fascinating, and you seem to have taken to this… knowledge quite well."

"It was strange at first, but it's not something anyone can change."

"So, does this mean if the opportunity arises, we can't kill Dietrich?"

"It would be ill-advised," Anah said.

"I doubt we'll run into him on our way to Major Dandridge's headquarters," Moffitt added. "And if we do, step on it."

Featherstone nodded. The Rats certainly didn't lead boring lives, that was for sure.


Private Kurt Hilfer didn't like the look on Captain Hans Dietrich's face. It was one bearing all the characteristics of another sleepless night. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. A complete lack of interest in the tray of rations in front of him. The only things Dietrich seemed interested in putting in his mouth were coffee and a cigarette. It was worrisome, but it wasn't anything new. It hadn't been new for quite some time.

"Do you need something, Private?" Dietrich asked, not bothering to look up from the documents strewn on the desk.

"Giving you your breakfast, sir," Hilfer replied.

"Give it to someone else. I am not hungry, and there is a lot to do today. I have to head out for a conference with Field-Marshal Rommel in less than an hour. You studied the map yesterday, correct?"

"I did, sir."

"Good." Dietrich pushed the tray out of his sight. "Bring that to the infirmary, so a less fortunate man may eat."

"Sir, you need to—"

Dietrich glared at him. "Bring it to the infirmary, Private."

Hilfer concealed a wounded expression. "Yes, sir." He took the tray and left the tent, blinking as he stepped out into the sun. The sky was clear and aside from the tents, there was nothing stopping the sun from beating down on the dwindling group of men and vehicles that made up the captain's reconnaissance unit.

"Again?" A medic let out a heavy sigh when he saw Hilfer entering the infirmary with a tray.

"Again," Hilfer replied. "My apologies."

"The captain needs to eat more than one meal a day," the medic said. "Ever since he came back from that… dreadful place… the temple… he has been neglecting himself."

"And he refuses to discuss what happened," Hilfer added.

"He trusts you, Private. We need to know what is going on in order to help him. His health cannot continue on this downward slope."

"It has been nearly three weeks. I cannot get him to say anything."

"Something needs to change, or I will have to go above him to get him some help." The medic's gaze softened. "You are going to see Rommel today. Perhaps—"

"I will see what I can do." Hilfer lowered his voice.

"I would appreciate it. Good luck today, and safe travels."


Troy watched the lone jeep carrying Moffitt and Featherstone leave the camp with a nasty twinge of unease in his gut. Good things never happened when one of his men were sent out somewhere alone. He trusted Featherstone. That wasn't the problem. He couldn't pinpoint what the problem was, and he didn't like that. He started pacing around the tent like a caged jackal, restless and anxious, though he didn't show it on his face.

"What's the matter, Sarge?" Hitch asked.

"We should be with Moffitt," Troy said.

"Featherstone and Anah will take care of him."

Troy bit his tongue at the mention of Moffitt's snake companion. "Anah has been nothing but trouble ever since she was brought back."

"I hate to say it, but how has she been trouble?" Tully asked. "She hasn't done anything wrong."

"Other than constantly whisper in our ears about being mindful of signs and crap like that. We have a job to do. Worrying about the supernatural isn't part of it."

"She's got a point, though. Growing up, Granny always told me to pay attention to what's around me."

"That's just common sense."

"I dunno, Sarge. This feels… different," Hitch said. "Anah, I mean."

"Look, she cares about Moffitt, I'll give her that, but this whole prophecy business is the last thing that needs to be on our minds." Troy sat on his cot, uncertain of how to proceed. "We'll wait. Moffitt and Featherstone are due back tonight. If they're not back by then, we're going after them."

Hitch glanced at Tully. Troy wasn't going to bother getting authorization from Captain Boggs or anyone else, and that came as no surprise. The two drivers went back to their activities and accepted that there was a possibility they would be heading out in the dead of night to rescue two Englishmen and a talking cobra. They both nodded, and Troy was glad he could put faith in them.

The uneasy feeling wasn't letting up as the hours ticked by. In that time, Troy had double and triple-checked every weapon in their personal arsenal. They were as spotless as they could get in the desert, and in perfect working order, as if they had just come off the factory floor. It wouldn't be long before Troy ran out of things to do, and boredom was the last thing he wanted to deal with. It meant he would have to enjoy the company of his thoughts, and those weren't exactly good company at times.

Hitch's voice prevented him from having to deal with that. "You coming to lunch, Sarge?"

The uneasiness presently occupying his stomach didn't exactly make Troy willing to eat. "Yeah. I'll be there in a minute."

Hitch lingered a bit, as if he was waiting for Troy to follow through on his word. Eventually, Troy put out his cigarette and walked with Hitch to the mess tent. He half-expected Moffitt to be there, having his tea, talking about whatever random facts about the desert were on his mind in that moment. Without Moffitt, it was much too quiet, and Troy wasn't particularly interested in hearing about whichever nurse Hitch had chased off this week.

"Maybe we should just go after them now," Troy said.

"What, Sarge?" Tully asked.

"Go after Moffitt and Featherstone now."

"They're probably at the major's base by now, Sarge. Nothing to worry about."

There's plenty to worry about, Troy thought. Flash floods, Dietrich, magic, jeeps breaking down. Everything. He waited until Hitch and Tully weren't looking to rub his face and give a silent sigh. Something's not right. He went back to picking at whatever the cooks were passing off as food. An anxious stomach combined with the general unappealing look of what was on the tray made him even less willing to eat.

"I think it's supposed to be mashed potatoes today," Tully said. "I think. I reckon Granny would beat whoever made this with a rolling pin."

Hitch smirked. "My mother wouldn't give this to the damn raccoons that raided our trash every now and then."

"Whoever heard of mashed potatoes with no butter, no garlic, and no salt?"

"Apparently, whoever made these. Just boiled them, mashed them, and served them."

"And turned them into powder first."

"It's still food. Eat it," Troy said. He finally put a spoonful of the glob on his tray in his mouth. It was definitely potatoes, and Tully was right—they had no salt.

"You know what else goes good in mashed potatoes?" Tully said.

"What?" Hitch asked with his mouth full.

"Sour cream. Gives them a nice texture."

"I'll have to try that when we go home."

Troy kept glancing at the empty seat across from him and wondered what wisdom Moffitt would have imparted on this conversation about mashed potatoes.


Featherstone breathed a sigh of relief when he and Moffitt crossed the wadi with no issue. Then again, that didn't mean there wouldn't be any problems on their return trip. Still, he was glad that things had gone smoothly so far.

Well, as smoothly as it could go. The ride was quite bouncy and the terrain was never the same from one mile to the next.

"Oh, this would be far more fun with horses!" Moffitt called over the sound of the engine.

"Not nearly as fast, though!" Featherstone said.

"Who cares? I'll take a horse any day!"

"It must've been pretty disappointing for you when the Scots Greys made the switch to tanks!"

"It was! Fortunately, I kept my horse! I miss him dearly, though."

"After the war, we'll have to meet up and go riding together!"

"I'll certainly take you up on that offer!" Moffitt grinned. "I must warn you, though—I'm not sure what horses you're used to riding, but mine's a pure Arabian, and built for speed!"

"Is that supposed to intimidate me? I've ridden some Thoroughbreds that've won some rather prestigious races!"

"No, I don't think so. Does it?"

"Not in the slightest!"

Even if they were on a mission together, for Featherstone, it was nice to just talk with someone. It helped him feel more human, and he imagined it was nice for Moffitt as well. Better yet, Moffitt could talk to one of his own countrymen without having to explain the meaning of certain words. Despite being from different regions, at least the culture was the same—the only thing the two couldn't discuss was rugby, as the teams they supported were bitter rivals. They could ignore the oppressive heat as they went, focused completely on something else—pleasant thoughts of home, whether it was the moors of Northumberland or the rainy streets of Cambridge.

"How about you, Anah? Whereabouts did you come from?" Featherstone asked.

The cobra was silent for a moment. "I… was a witch's familiar in Ptolemaic Egypt. She tethered me to the crystal ball before her death."

"You're a spirit!"

"Mostly. I am immortal, and powerful, but I am not the most powerful magical being on Earth."

"Might I ask… what sort of powers do you possess?"

"Telekinesis, some healing, telepathy, clairvoyance." Anah grinned. "I can set things on fire with my mind."

"Don't ask her to demonstrate," Moffitt said.

"I won't," Featherstone replied.

"I can also make Moffitt's tea just the way he likes it," Anah said.

"It's a pity you can't conjure up some biscuits to go with it," Moffitt added with a smirk.

"If I could, I would."

"That would be very nice. Maybe some crumpets, too. Jam-filled scones," Featherstone said. He gave a heavy sigh while reminiscing about his family's home cooking, and quickly changed the topic. "So, how did the others take to her?"

"Hitch and Tully accepted her pretty quickly. Troy…" Moffitt looked unsure of himself, "Troy doesn't like Anah all that much."

"I noticed. He thinks this prophecy is utter nonsense."

"Indeed."

"How do you know that you're the snake in this prophecy?"

"Anah told me. Now, we just need to learn who the other three are—the jackal, bear, and deer."

"And I told him that he already knows the jackal," Anah said.

"Yes, that doesn't exactly narrow anything down."

"You will learn eventually. Just not now."

"See—" Moffitt looked at Featherstone while pointing to Anah, "that right there is why Troy doesn't like her."

"I can see how that would be right frustrating," Featherstone replied.

"Quite, but she is a good conversation partner. My father will get a real kick out of the fact that she actually lived in ancient Egypt. It's not every day you get to experience things like that."

The rest of the trip went without issue. Moffitt and Featherstone delivered the scouting reports to Major Dandridge, and decided to have lunch and tea before heading back. There was plenty of time for them to return before nightfall.

"That went surprisingly well," Moffitt said when the two returned to their jeep. "I actually found this to be enjoyable."

"I wouldn't say that just yet." Featherstone got into the driver's seat. "We haven't made the return trip."

"Fingers crossed and lots of praying it'll go just as well."

Conversation was scarce as they drove back to camp, and Featherstone wasn't sure why. He had an odd feeling nagging in the back of his head, and kept glancing around. His gaze settled on Anah. She said she's clairvoyant. If she doesn't sense anything wrong, I shouldn't be worried about anything. Featherstone drew in a breath, and tried to focus on driving.

The feeling only intensified, and he was finally able to pinpoint what it was—they weren't alone out there.

Nothing was more terrifying than the feeling he wasn't alone in a place with no cover.

Featherstone looked briefly at Moffitt, who was sitting up straight and scanning the horizon. "You sense it, too. We're being followed."

"Not sure about 'followed,' but we're certainly not the only ones out here right now."


Hilfer never got a chance to speak with Rommel himself about what was going on with Dietrich. The two officers spent several hours alone in a room, discussing who-knows-what, while Hilfer took advantage of the time to make sure the captain's Kübelwagen was topped off on fuel and still in good shape. The car is in better shape than the captain, Hilfer thought somewhat grimly.

He sat in the shade of a date palm while having his rations and water, keeping watch over the Kübelwagen. It was unlikely, but there was always the possibility that the Rat Patrol would show up to ruin everyone's day. Several minutes went by with no signs of anything out of the ordinary. Movement caught Hilfer's eye, and he spotted a black snake slithering out from under the car. It paused to taste the air, then kept going on its path away from the base.

Snakes were quite a common occurrence here. Hilfer had seen his fair share of them, but he found himself curious about this particular sighting. He was pulled from his thoughts by someone coming up behind him, and recognized the tall and increasingly thin shadow of Dietrich.

"Private, finish your rations, then we are heading home," Dietrich said.

"Yes, sir." Hilfer looked back in the direction of the snake, which had paused to look at them as well. His blood chilled when he saw the snake's hood.

Dietrich looked a bit uneasy as well. "Naja haje. Egyptian cobra."

Hilfer remembered the Egyptian cobra from his handbooks on venomous wildlife to avoid while stationed here in North Africa. Out of every snake he knew he could encounter, this was the one that had the worst bite. He considered himself grateful to not have seen someone be bitten by one—or have been bitten himself. He had come close with some of the vipers, but never a cobra.

This individual was far enough away that Dietrich and Hilfer could get in the Kübelwagen without issue. Its hood gradually lowered, and it seemed to be tracking Dietrich with its big black eyes. Once the captain was in the vehicle, the cobra lost interest, and slithered off into the hot sea of sand that lay before it.

The two were supposed to return to camp by sundown. A sudden gust of hot, sandy wind forced Hilfer to squint and pull his goggles down over his eyes. Next to him, Dietrich was seated, looking deep in thought. The ride wasn't silent, with the engine and the sand and the wind around them, but the lack of conversation made it seem a little too quiet. Hilfer wasn't surprised, as Dietrich hadn't been up for talking on their way to the conference.

Hilfer slowed a little as they came to a lumpy blanket of dunes that stretched out endlessly ahead of him. Much of the sand was extremely soft and could bog down a vehicle if a driver wasn't careful. Sweat beaded and ran down Hilfer's face as he cautiously navigated the waves and ripples of sand. There was nothing that denoted shelter in sight, and the last thing Hilfer wanted was to get stuck out here with no means of shielding himself or Dietrich from the sun.

He could see flatter, rockier terrain ahead. The sun was gradually getting lower, though not yet low enough to start painting the desert in the rich, warm colors of sunset. He spotted an eagle circling overhead, too far to pinpoint what specific species. Young Rüppell's foxes and fennec foxes were occasionally seen playing and wrestling in the sand, though Hilfer couldn't watch them for long. He noticed Dietrich watching them.

Their flawless drive suddenly took a turn when Dietrich decided, without saying a word, to stand in the car. Hilfer could just hear the incessant clucking of the medics turning into mother hens, demanding Dietrich sit in a moving vehicle so he didn't get himself hurt or killed. He learned a long time ago that telling Dietrich to sit was a futile effort, and gave up within a few days of being assigned to the captain's unit. Dietrich knows what he is doing, Hilfer thought.

A strange feeling made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and a chill ran down his spine when he started to feel that he and Dietrich weren't alone. The chill worsened when he spotted a single jeep leading a trail of sand and dust. "Captain, look!"

"I see it," Dietrich replied. "Move in closer. We can take them by surprise."

Hilfer did as he was told without question. He could hear Dietrich checking the magazine of an MP40 behind him, and hunched over the steering wheel as the captain opened fire on the jeep. Sand burst up around the tires of the jeep as it dodged the bullets. Hilfer recognized the impressively tall and reed-thin figure skillfully slithering back to the Browning M2HB mounted on the back of the jeep. Sergeant Moffitt! This will not end well! He found himself weaving and dancing the Kübelwagen to avoid rounds from the Browning. Now the big question… where is the other jeep? Rarely is one seen without the other.

He was deafened by gunfire as the skirmish continued. Eventually, he realized there was no other jeep coming. It was just this one alone. He also realized that Dietrich and Moffitt weren't shooting at each other, but at their vehicles' tires.

The jeep and the Kübelwagen were steadily getting closer to each other. As they did, Hilfer noticed something wrapped around Moffitt's shoulders. Something long and black. He swore with terror when he saw the cobra rear up and spread its hood.

Moffitt's face was mostly obscured by his blue scarf and goggles, but Hilfer could see an anxious and determined look in his eyes. The lanky Englishman held onto the Browning while pulling his Webley revolver from the cloth holster on his belt.

Dietrich had shoved a fresh magazine into his MP40, and promptly began firing again at the jeep's tires. The right rear tire went out with a bang, sending the vehicle swerving almost uncontrollably. Moffitt clung tight to the Browning while aiming his revolver at Dietrich. Hilfer grit his teeth and turned the Kübelwagen into the jeep as hard as he could. He heard the revolver go off, but the round went harmlessly into the air.

Neither of the opposing forces were aware of the fact that they were headed straight for a drop-off into the looming wadi. Moffitt's driver, who Hilfer could see wasn't Private Pettigrew, was more focused on keeping his passenger on the vehicle and avoiding the bullets from Dietrich's gun. Hilfer was equally focused on keeping Dietrich from falling out, but focus turned to fear when the front wheels of the Kübelwagen were no longer on solid ground. His stomach was suddenly in his throat. He heard a female voice screaming, and his vehicle struck the desiccated ground at an awkward angle, sending him flying out of the driver's seat. Just before the world went black, he felt something wet and warm spatter over him.


Troy's uneasiness came to a head when the sun was low in the western horizon. By this point, it hadn't gone unnoticed, and it was Tully who had the courage to try and get some answers out of his sergeant.

"What's going on, Sarge? You've been acting funny ever since Moffitt left," Tully said.

"He shouldn't have been sent out alone," Troy replied.

"But he wasn't alone. He's got Featherstone and Anah, just like Hitch said. Featherstone's a damn good driver, and Anah's magic. Moffitt's gonna be fine."

Troy opened his mouth to argue, but he found himself slightly envious of how calm and confident Tully was. That was, after all, why Troy wanted and kept Tully on his team. The typically silent Kentuckian was levelheaded and had a knack for killing tension. Dealing with Troy's tension, on the other hand, was a whole other animal. Tully could easily get Hitch or Moffitt to calm down if they were agitated. They were more expressive with their anxieties. Troy wasn't. Then again, he wasn't really expressive in general. He smiled, showed anger when warranted, but beyond that, especially in situations like this where they had some downtime, nothing.

"Sarge?"

Troy pulled himself from his thoughts. "Give them one more hour. If Moffitt and Featherstone don't show, we're going after them. Get Hitch and make sure the jeeps are ready to go."

Tully didn't argue. "Right, Sarge."

That next hour passed by sluggishly. Troy had gone through more cigarettes than he would care to admit, creating a rather distinct cloud over the Rats' little section of camp. What little patience he possessed wore thin, like a poorly constructed rope. Each individual fiber was being pulled apart and snapped in two, until only one fiber remained. When that fiber snapped, Troy sprang into action, cussing quietly to himself as he searched around the camp for any signs of Moffitt and Featherstone's return.

Nothing. Great.

Troy returned to the jeeps. Hitch and Tully were already seated and awaiting Troy's instructions. He didn't have to say a word as he climbed in next to Hitch, hardly having time to adjust himself as the bespectacled private started driving out of camp.


The last thing Featherstone remembered before losing consciousness was Anah screaming Moffitt's name. He didn't think such a powerful being would ever, or be able to feel fear, but he recalled it clear as day. She was genuinely afraid, and despite her being a snake, a creature Featherstone had never associated with human emotions, he felt sorry for her.

His left arm and leg were scraped up and badly bruised from striking the ground and sliding across it away from the jeep. Featherstone struggled to sit up, wincing in pain as he turned to his right. The sky was beginning to darken. The east was already shrouded in the blackness of night, while the west was vibrant with deep reds and oranges as the sun melted below the horizon. As his senses returned, he was struck with the strong, metallic scent of blood. He turned to see the crashed Kübelwagen. The passenger side door was covered in blood, and Featherstone's eyes followed the red trail to Captain Dietrich, who was lying on his back not too far from where the wreckage of his car had landed. The right side of his abdomen had been torn open and was bleeding profusely. The captain's driver was nearby, facedown and still unconscious.

"Featherstone? Are you alright?" Moffitt's voice cut through the silence.

Relief crashed over Featherstone. He crawled around the wreck of the jeep to see Moffitt was lying on his back as well—but Anah was wrapped around his neck, sitting eerily still. The British private made his way over to Moffitt, but was greeted with a hiss. Anah flared her hood and turned to Featherstone.

"Easy, Anah. It's alright," Moffitt said. He winced when he moved his head.

"I take it you're injured?" Featherstone asked.

"Whiplash," Anah said, her hood starting to retract. "I need at least an hour to fully heal it."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'll be bruised up in the morning, but other than that, I'm alright," Moffitt said. "How are Dietrich and Hilfer?"

Featherstone glanced over at Dietrich. "The captain is pretty badly wounded. It looks like he cut his side open on the door of his vehicle when we fell into the wadi."

"And Hilfer?"

"Unconscious. I can't see any obvious injuries."

"He might have broken bones. Go check him. I'll be fine."

Featherstone nodded before shakily standing and limping over to where the smaller German lay. Hilfer's hands were scraped and bloodied, as was his right cheek. There was more blood that didn't appear to have come from Hilfer. Probably Dietrich's. Featherstone gently probed him for any head, neck, or back injuries. When he found nothing, he carefully moved Hilfer onto his back. Featherstone looked at Dietrich in the corner of his vision. He's bleeding like a faucet. Someone's got to stop it before it kills him. After making sure Hilfer was comfortable, Featherstone went over to Dietrich. Cripes, that's a lot of blood. Quickly and carefully, Featherstone began cutting Dietrich's shirt off, using it as a towel to clean away as much blood as possible. The wound in the skinny German's side was quite wide. That'll need stitches. A lot of stitches. For a brief moment, Featherstone questioned if this was something he could handle. Don't think too hard about it. Get this bleeding under control, then worry.

There was no doubt that Dietrich was going to need a transfusion. Featherstone lifted up Dietrich's tags, lying against the man's very visible ribs. A-positive. Damn. I'm AB. That counts out Moffitt, too. He silently cursed as he continued trying to soak up the blood flowing freely from Dietrich.

The sun disappeared further below the horizon, plunging the frantic, bloody scene into darkness. Featherstone looked up at the night sky, then back down at his German patient. This is going to be a long night.