David Troy was not having a good day. He had been driving for the past two hours in the unbearable heat of the African sun, a few miles behind their lines, trying to get to the rendezvous point where a plane was waiting for him, but the little staff car he'd been driving had broken down on him, and he had been forced to walk about 3 miles to a nearby unit in order to acquire another vehicle. It had been too long of a day already by the time he had trudged into the camp, and matters were not made any better when the Captain was told he would not get another mode of transportation until the next day.

And so, he was given a small tent to make his home for the night, and he did his best to forget the rotten day he'd just had and get some sleep. He wasn't very successful on that front either, since not even half an hour into the night, he was awoken by an explosion and ran outside to find that the American Outpost was under attack by Germans. Dave didn't even have any time to react before he found himself looking down the barrel of a machine gun.

He gave a sigh and surrendered his weapon, muttering to himself, "Perfect."

The man at the end of the gun shouted something in German and he was shoved towards several other soldiers that had been rounded up by the Germans. He gave his captors a glare as he fell in with the group and mirrored his fellow prisoners, putting his hands on his head.

As soon as he felt that their eyes were no longer on him, he wormed his way through the men around him to the soldier that had been in charge of the Outpost, and whispered, "What's happened, Sargeant?"

"I'm not sure Sir… our unit isn't big and should be completely off their radar, the only reason they might need this place is to send a message, we don't have anything they could want-" The man fell silent as a guard passed close by, scrutinizing them for a moment before moving on. Then the Sergeant finished, "Unless they were looking for you, Captain."

"I can't figure what they'd possibly want with me…" David stopped himself from finishing that thought as the memory of being trussed up right next to several landmines as bait for his older brother pressed itself to the forefront of his mind.

"Well, maybe they just stumbled upon us by chance?" The Captain and Sergeant glanced at one another and Troy snorted quietly.

"I guess this night just couldn't get any worse, could it?"

The Sergeant had no opportunity to respond to him before a German soldier demanded the attention of David and the other three dozen men that had been captured with a loud, "Achtung!"

A tall, Weasley-looking German Captain strutted up to them with a slimy grimace on his face, and offhandedly spoke to the group of allied soldiers,

"Zere is a man ve are looking for-a Private by ze name of Tully Pettigrew. Where is zis man?" The name seemed vaguely familiar to Dave, but he said nothing, and when no one else spoke up, The German Officer spoke again, with more contempt, "Who is in charge of zis pitiful attempt at an Outpost?"

David and the Sergeant shared a wary look before the latter took a step forward, bringing his hands down to salute, "Sergeant Charles Carson."

"Ah. Sergeant." The Hauptmann looked down his nose at the sturdy American with a less than inviting smile, "Where is Private Pettigrew? I vas informed zat he vas here at zis camp. So." His creepy smile faded and was replaced with a snarl. "Where is he?"

"I, uh…" Sergeant Carson glanced at Captain Troy, and then peered around his group of men for a moment before finishing, "I don't know, Sir."

"Have you forgotten?" The man sneered at Carson, casually waving his gun closer to the Sergeant, who responded reluctantly,

"He was, uh, here this morning, I saw him working on one of our trucks… he must have left without telling me." Carson seemed relieved that the Private was not present, and nervously stood his ground.

"Is zat so?" The Hauptmann stared into the group of men, shouting an order in German to his own men, several of whom started wandering around the camp, searching tents and vehicles. The Officer's eyes landed on David, and he spoke again in English, "You. You are a Captain. Step forvard."

David felt a gun poke him in the small of his back and he did as he was told, glaring up at the German Captain.

"What is your name?"

"Captain David Troy." The man's eyes widened and he stood for a moment in silence, watching David, before a disturbing smile slowly spread across his face.

"Captain Troy, hmm?" He swaggered forward, "You don't happen to have a bruder by ze name of Samuel Troy?" Dave felt himself stiffen at the mention of Sam, and he defiantly met the Hauptmann's eyes,

"So what if I do? Wha-" he never had the chance to finish his sentence before he heard a warning shout and then shots rang out from somewhere behind him. Everyone whirled around to see that an American soldier had somehow gotten onto a jeep and was firing the large machine gun attached to it, peppering the Germans around him with bullets. Troy took the opportunity to slug the German Officer and shouted for the men behind him to do likewise.

Chaos broke out in the camp's clearing, and David found himself in a full on wrestling match with the tall Hauptmann. He got the man on the ground, but got a fistful of sand to the face and subsequently the fist itself. A bit more blind tussling, and then he felt the metal of a gun under his chin. Right as he stopped struggling, a gloved hand grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind him.

"STOP ZE FIGHTING OR YOUR CAPTAIN WILL DIE!"

As Dave's vision cleared he saw Carson angrily throw down a gun, the allied soldiers around him following suit. As soon as some semblance of order was restored to the clearing, the Hauptmann shouted a few commands in German, and the rebellious soldier who had pulled the crazy stunt with the 50 caliber was dragged over to their group, blood starting to soak his right pant leg where he was pressing his hands, no doubt where a bullet had passed through moments before.

"Sergeant. Read his dog tags." The breathless Hauptmann behind David twisted his arm tighter when he struggled, and Carson stepped towards the wounded soldier, who was mutely glaring at the two German soldiers holding him up, teeth clenched in pain. The two comrades made solemn eye contact before Carson gently grasped the metal tags hanging from the man's neck inside his jacket and leaned forward to read them.

"Private-" Carson stopped and stared up at the wounded soldier in front of him, and then spoke again, "Tully Pettigrew."