Author's Note: This was inspired by an exchange with fellow Rat Patrol writer texaslass2000 on her WordPress blog, involving screaming fennec foxes and how Dietrich could use them to simply deafen the Rats.

It was extremely difficult for Captain Hans Dietrich to look young Corporal Turnau in the eye—mostly because the boy was on the ground and being swarmed by ten fennec foxes. Soft, sand-colored fur and huge ears covered Turnau's head and torso as the small foxes crawled all over him, and Dietrich could hear him laughing and saying that the animals' whiskers were tickling him. With a heavy sigh, Dietrich put his hands on his hips. He bit his lip, then managed to say, "Corporal?"

Turnau pulled one of the foxes off his face. "Yes, Captain?"

"We need to have a discussion about your… companions here."

The laughing stopped. "What about them, sir?"

"I know you raised them, but the unfortunate reality is that we cannot keep all of them. I let you keep them because they were too small and helpless to survive on their own, but now that they are grown up, they must be returned to the desert." Dietrich maintained a somewhat stoic expression, though a dull ache was enveloping his heart. Turnau loved those foxes and so did everyone else in their unit. Curse my damn compassion. "However… I am willing to compromise and tell you that you can keep one of them. One will be easier to manage."

"That will be difficult to choose, Captain," Turnau replied.

"I know, but do make it quick." Dietrich turned away, fearing that if he looked at the ridiculously cute spectacle before him any longer, his heart would weaken to the point where he allowed Turnau to keep all the little foxes. No. Be logical, Hans. We cannot look after them forever. He returned to his tent to have his morning coffee and a cigarette. He wasn't seated for very long when a very sad-looking Turnau came in, holding the palest one of the ten foxes in his arms.

"Captain? I… decided I will keep Edelweiss," he said.

"Honestly, if you could not decide, I would have suggested her," Dietrich said, a small smile crossing his face. "She does not scream nearly as much."

"That was what I was thinking. She will not alert the Rat—"

"If you say their name, they will come." Dietrich's smile faded. "Choose your words carefully, Corporal."

"Right. She will not alert them." Turnau glanced around nervously, as if those two damn jeeps were going to come flying over the nearest dune at any second. "What do you want me to do with the other foxes, sir?"

"Bring them to my tent, Corporal. I will take Lieutenant Wintsch and we will bring the foxes to an area where they can start a new life."

Turnau nodded. "Thank you, Captain. That is all I want for them." He kissed the top of Edelweiss's head before turned to get the other foxes.

Within the next few minutes, Dietrich was trying to keep the nine fennec foxes somewhat contained while finishing his coffee. They were dashing around his tent, screeching and making all sorts of noise while digging the blanket on his cot, or knocking things off his desk. Dietrich stood with a cigarette in his mouth and an entirely apathetic look on his face. He took the cigarette out of his mouth, and sighed, "This is really not all that different from what Troy does on any given day, so what is the point in getting angry?"

One of the foxes made a squealing sound at him while leaping on the desk, knocking over a framed photograph of Dietrich when he received his promotion to captain shaking hands with then-General Erwin Rommel shortly after the campaign in North Africa started.

Dietrich finished his cigarette. "Fine. It is time for all of you to go." He put his cap on and went around picking up all the foxes. They were quite squirmy in his arms as he marched out of his tent in search of Lieutenant Wintsch. He found the lieutenant in the mess tent.

"Good morning, Captain. How—" Wintsch's blue eyes widened when he saw the fidgety, screeching, furry mass in Dietrich's arms, "—are you?"

"We are finding a new place for these fine creatures to live," Dietrich said. "There is a small oasis a few miles south of here that will be perfect for them."

"Sir, I thought Field-Marshal—"

"We will be back long before he arrives. Could we please go before one of these things decides to start chewing my arm?"

Wintsch nodded. "Yes, Captain."

The water hole at the center of the oasis was deep enough for Sergeant Jack Moffitt to comfortably submerge most of his body and keep his face just above the surface. His eyes were closed and his ears were below the water's surface. The only sensations he could hear and feel was the water gently rushing by, and the desert sun against his face. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to feel that relaxed—or relaxed at all.

What briefly came to mind were memories of when he and another student traveled to Tunis—without his father's permission—and swam in the Mediterranean by moonlight. That was years ago and felt worlds away, even though Moffitt and the rest of the Rats were currently in Tunisia.

He tried not to dwell on the war, and let himself get lost in the carefree memories of a full moon shining down on the vast sea when his head broke the surface of the water after diving in. He kept himself afloat, gazing and smiling at the huge, bright moon above, its reflection broken by the gentle movements of the Mediterranean. It was broken further by his friend finally working up the courage to dive in as well, sending waves in Moffitt's direction.

A shadow passed over Moffitt. He opened his eyes to see Private Mark Hitchcock holding a palm frond tied to a long stick and waving it over him. Hitch grinned while chewing a stick of bubblegum, watching Moffitt lift his head above the water. "Thought I'd add to the experience," Hitch said.

"I appreciate the effort, but I was relaxed enough, thank you very much," Moffitt replied.

"Yeah, Sarge couldn't tell if you were asleep, dead, or in some kind of a trance." Hitch pulled back the palm frond. "We're gonna head out pretty soon."

"Feels like we just got here." Moffitt got out of the water, and sat under a date palm.

"We've been here for quite a while, but I'll go let Sarge know you're not dead. Or hypnotized."

Moffitt rolled his eyes, and figured he would stay where he was to air-dry. At least it had been a quiet and peaceful day so far. No urgent missions. It was a nice change of pace, though it allowed feelings of homesickness and longing for simpler, happier times to fester and weigh him down. With a sigh, Moffitt leaned back against the trunk of the date palm. He tried to enjoy what little time would be left here, as he knew that by the end of the day, things would be back to normal.

He sat upright when Private Tully Pettigrew came running into the oasis, his unbuttoned shirt flapping and his reddish-blond hair swept back by the breeze as he went. "Moffitt! Moffitt! Hey! We got trouble!"

Moffitt was quick to stand and follow Tully over to where Sergeant Sam Troy was lying on his stomach in the sand with his binoculars. "What's going on?" Moffitt asked.

"Dietrich. That's what's going on," Troy said. "He's headed this way."

"Is he alone?"

"It's just him and a driver. Looks like Lieutenant Wintsch." Troy looked up at Moffitt. "Go get dressed. You and Tully wait for me in your jeep."

"You want to go after Dietrich?"

"He's alone. Should be relatively easy to nab him."

Moffitt frowned, an uneasy feeling suddenly clawing in his stomach. "I don't know. Something's telling me that's not a good idea."

"We might not get an opportunity like this again. We're going after him."

Moffitt didn't argue, and went with Tully to their jeep to throw his shirt and trousers on before tying his scarf around his neck.

"You think this's a bad idea?" Tully asked.

"Yes, and I don't know why," Moffitt replied.

"I feel the same, but—" Tully shrugged, "Sarge is in charge. He knows what he's doing."

"Let's hope he does in this case." Moffitt got on the back of the jeep, positioning himself behind the mounted Browning M2HB, and waited for Troy's instructions.

Dietrich had managed to get the nine fennec foxes into one basket that someone had bought from a Bedouin merchant. Once he and Wintsch were leaving the camp in Dietrich's Kübelwagen, the foxes had settled down somewhat, their big ears pressed flat against their heads from the wind kicked up from the ride. He was still contemplating whether or not he really made the right decision in telling poor Turnau that he couldn't keep all the fennec foxes anymore. He found the young corporal to be a capable soldier, especially since he had survived three encounters with the accursed Rat Patrol. That right there should have earned Turnau a medal, but, unfortunately, Dietrich doubted the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht would consider "surviving the Rat Patrol" a worthy enough achievement for its own medal.

"We are coming up on the oasis, Captain," Wintsch said. He glanced over his shoulder at Dietrich. "May I say that I will miss these little fellows?"

"You may, Lieutenant," Dietrich replied, flatly. He looked down at the basket, and tried not to look into the big brown eyes of the foxes. Damn you. You are not winning me over with your cute appearance. Off you go. Bye-bye.

"Captain!" Wintsch shouted.

Dietrich's eyes widened when he saw the one—well, two things he absolutely didn't want to see that day. Two jeeps, armed with big .50-caliber machine guns and one of carrying an unbearably familiar passenger wearing an Australian slouch hat, coming toward him. Dietrich found himself wondering if he had fallen asleep and was having yet another nightmare, but the intense heat and sand whipping around felt too real. He shifted the basket, standing and trying to unbuckle his Walther P38's holster, and cursing. What sin could he have possibly committed that day to warrant this as a punishment? Was it taking the foxes away from Turnau? Dietrich sure hoped not.

One of the foxes tried crawling out, digging its claws into his right shoulder. Dietrich grunted in pain, and tried getting the panicked animal back into the basket. The jeeps were coming closer, and Dietrich was fumbling around with a basket of foxes and his holster. All the foxes were screeching, and since that was their primary method of communication, Dietrich couldn't tell if it was from fear or if they had something sickeningly delightful about his predicament. His blood started running ice-cold and his life flashed before his eyes when he turned for all of a second and found himself briefly staring down the barrel of Troy's machine gun. Just one of those bullets would tear his head clean off—

Dietrich realized he had been holding his breath, and that Troy didn't take what would have been the easiest shot in the whole war. His head was still firmly on his shoulders, and the jeeps were still trying to encircle the Kübelwagen like metal vultures. He also realized he had a squirming fox in his hand. They are not cruel enough to hurt animals. That is why Troy did not take the shot. Even if the Rats weren't willing to shoot, Dietrich had to get him off his back somehow. He certainly wasn't going to let them follow him. "Lieutenant! Get us closer to Sergeant Troy's jeep!"

"'Closer,' sir?!" Wintsch's voice was high with terror.

"Yes! Closer!" Dietrich braced himself, still holding the fox. Within seconds, the Kübelwagen and the jeep were nearly scraping each other. The huge barrel of the Browning was in Dietrich's face again.

"Nice day, Captain!" Troy shouted over the roar of both engines.

"Indeed it is a nice day, Sergeant!" Dietrich replied. "In fact, I brought you and your men a present! Catch!" He timed his throw, and tossed the fennec fox in his hand into Troy's jeep. He wasted no time in tossing a second, third, fourth, and fifth into the jeep as well. Two of the foxes took a liking to Hitch, forcing the bespectacled private to slam the brakes.

"What the hell is this?!" Hitch shouted. "Hey, don't take my glasses!"

Dietrich allowed himself to smile—a real, genuine smile—as the foxes crawled on and screamed at Hitch and Troy. "Alright, Lieutenant! After Sergeant Moffitt and Private Pettigrew!"

The Kübelwagen pulled away, leaving Troy, Hitch, and their new passengers in the dust. One jeep down, one to go.

Moffitt could see there was something in Dietrich's arms, and whatever it was, it was preventing Troy from shooting. When Dietrich's vehicle got closer to Troy's jeep, Moffitt couldn't shoot, either, as he risked hitting Troy and Hitch. Then he saw what was in Dietrich's arms.

"What the bloody hell is Dietrich doing with a basket of fennec foxes?" Moffitt asked aloud. He was no stranger to the tiny critters, having run into them more times than he could count on expeditions with his father. They were cute, yes, but had a tendency to screech at everything, regardless of their mood. Trying to shoo them away from dig sites did nothing, as some were bold enough to just sit there and scream at whoever was trying to get them to leave.

Moffitt could see Dietrich had timed things up so he could lightly toss several foxes into Troy's jeep. Hitch brought the jeep to a halt as foxes began crawling all over him and taking his glasses. Troy nearly fell off the back, trying to avoid letting foxes crawl up his legs. They still screeched at him, forcing Troy to cover his ears. Moffitt, a fairly good lipreader, turned bright-red upon seeing Troy's mouth form some extremely colorful curse words directed at his furry assailants.

With Troy and Hitch completely out of commission, Dietrich and Wintsch turned the Kübelwagen away from them. There were still four foxes left in the basket, and a rather determined look on Dietrich's face. Cold dread shot down Moffitt's spine when he realized he and Tully were next in Dietrich's little plan of attack. Oh, no, no, no, no… Moffitt looked at his driver, barking, "Step on it, Tully!"

Tully obeyed without hesitation, and began weaving to make it riskier for Dietrich and Wintsch to get alongside them. Neither of them counted on the blond lieutenant in the German vehicle being a driver in equal skill to the Kentuckian, and Moffitt found himself spitting out curse words that would surely earn him a slap from his mother when Wintsch managed to match the Kübelwagen to the jeep's weaving pattern.

"What in the blazes—" Tully was stopped dead by Dietrich dropping a screeching fennec fox in his lap. It promptly plucked his matchstick from his mouth. "Hey! That ain't yours!"

Another fox was tossed in. Tully tried to swerve away from the Kübelwagen. Moffitt clung tight to the Browning and threw his long and lanky body forward when it looked like the jeep was going to tip over. Thankfully, Tully managed to keep the jeep upright, but wasn't able to avoid Dietrich's skillful placement of a third fox in the back of the jeep as Tully brought it to a stop. Moffitt stared helplessly at it as the little creature opened its jaws and screeched at him while clawing his pantleg.

He then heard a whistle, followed by Dietrich saying, "Sergeant Moffitt! Catch!"

Moffitt held out his hands, but the last fox landed right on his face, smothering his goggles with pale, tawny fur. The fox climbed up his head, and kicked his beret off, squealing up a storm while Moffitt covered his ears and shouted some rather un-British words in Dietrich's direction as the Kübelwagen tore off, disappearing in a cloud of sand and dust.

"These things'd give the roosters back home a run for their money!" Tully shouted over the incessant screeching. He turned to Moffitt. "Why are they so loud?!"

"Hell if I know!" Moffitt shouted back. He gently nudged a fox away with his boot. "Out with you! Shoo!"

The Rats scrambled from their vehicles, trying to get the screaming foxes under control. Even Troy looked a little afraid of them as he dashed away from one that managed to climb on top of his Browning and tried stealing his hat. Once he was with the others, a much more furious look came over his face.

"That was downright diabolical of Dietrich to do, Sarge," Hitch said, cleaning his glasses.

Troy sighed. "It was. I'll give him that."

"We weren't even looking for him today," Tully said, trying to diffuse the situation. "I wouldn't be too mad he got away. Besides—" he stared at Troy, brown eyes boring into the sergeant, "you'd probably let him go in the end."

"Yeah. On my own terms," Troy snapped.

A fennec fox trotted over to him, jumping up and nipping the back of Troy's leg. Troy hissed out a curse.

Moffitt sighed. "Well, this was positively bonkers."

"You could say that again," Hitch said.

"I say we just go home and not say a damn thing to anyone." Tully took another matchstick from his pocket.

"You know what? I agree with that," Troy growled. "Leave the little snots here and go home."

Moffitt adjusted his beret and goggles, brushing strands of tan fur from them. "I will add my vote to that. This will be spoken of by no one to no one. I might tell my father, though."

Troy glared at him. "'By no one to no one, Moffitt. Including your dad. Tell him after the war."

Moffitt grinned, knowing Troy didn't read his outgoing mail. His father would definitely hear about this, and a part of him looked forward to it. Despite losing an opportunity to capture Dietrich, the use of fennec foxes was at least humorous, and Moffitt felt he had been needing a little more humor in his life lately. Surely, his father would appreciate that as well.

Dietrich returned to camp with an empty basket and full confidence that the fennec foxes were alright. He knew the Rats wouldn't hurt them, and it was as nonlethal a distraction as he could possibly think of. Whether or not they would try to get revenge using similar methods was another story.

As he got out of the car, he turned to Wintsch. "Your driving was excellent today, Lieutenant. You ought to be proud."

"Honestly, I am just glad we both survived, Captain," Wintsch replied.

"As am I. Go rest up and prepare for the field-marshal's visit." Dietrich turned to head to his tent and put on a clean uniform. He paused when Corporal Turnau came jogging up to him.

"Captain!" Turnau said. "Are the foxes—"

"Safe and sound, Corporal. I left them in a place with plenty of food, water, and shelter. They will be happy."

"That is good to know, Captain. Thank you."

"Not a problem. Go make sure your unit is ready for Field-Marshal Rommel's inspection."

"Yes, Captain." Turnau whirled around and sprinted deeper into camp.

Dietrich smiled as he headed into his own tent. He certainly needed to clean it after the foxes had trashed it earlier, but it was a quick and easy clean. He never thought he would be glad that Turnau had found and raised those litters of foxes, but those foxes could have very well saved his life that day. He knew Troy had always been hesitant on actually killing him, but with such an easy shot in front of him? Dietrich dreaded to think of what would have happened if Troy's own compassion hadn't stopped him, whether it was due to his respect for the captain, concern for the animals, or both.

At the same time, Dietrich knew that staring down the barrel of that Browning and fearing Troy would press the trigger was burned into his memory, and fully accepted that it would become yet another recurring nightmare.