Archive of Our Own ^beta

Prompt 9 – Bruises
Prompt 17 – Nowhere Else to Go
Prompt 22 – Bleeding through Bandages

June, 1969

Cambridge, Great Britain

The sound of the rain pelting against the leaves and the crickets chirping was strangely familiar. The cool, green hues of the forest at nighttime. Even the placement of the trees. All of it was familiar.

Hans Dietrich stood at the entrance of the overgrown trail, covered by a plain, brown cloak, a Christmas gift from Anah that she had sewn for him last year, staring hard into the forest as he pondered where he had seen this place before. A rainy wind came through, spraying his face with water, and the memories finally bubbled up to the surface, like a burst pipe underground…

The wind had come from a similar direction, but it was full of sand. Dietrich would be hard-pressed to find a place in North Africa where the winds weren't laced with sand. He remembered during his first few days there, how he loathed the feeling of grit in everything. He got used to it, but he certainly didn't like it. The desert was far from the flat, lifeless place that it was depicted as in so many stories. In many ways, it was full of life. It wasn't all flat, and the landscape could change quickly. Almost too quickly at times.

He still dreamed of other places. Places full of water, of rain, of cool, green hues. He dreamed of the sound of crickets. Here, in the desert, there was only the sound of canids—foxes and jackals—calling to each other. Birds of prey shrieking overhead. The occasional hiss of a snake if he approached too close.

Dietrich's unit had set up camp not too far from a ragged group of Afrika Korps soldiers. How ragged, Dietrich didn't know. All he knew was that they were waiting to be resupplied, having been beaten senseless by LRDG units over the last several months. He didn't know the commander, or any of the individual soldiers, but he was going to meet with the commander, a Major Rehberg, that afternoon, at the major's request.

The night before, Dietrich dreamt of standing in front of an overgrown trail, wearing a plain brown cloak. The sound and feel of the rain in his dream had been so pleasant after years in the desert. He wished he could have stayed there, in that dream. Duty called, though, and so he was on his way to meet Rehberg, accompanied by Lieutenant Wintsch. They stopped just outside the camp, and as Dietrich went to step out of his Kübelwagen, he spotted something rear up, and heard a hiss. A sandy-colored Egyptian cobra looked him in the eye for a moment before its hood slowly retracted. It lowered its head, turned away from Dietrich, and slithered off into the vast, open desert lying to the west of the camp.

"Are you alright, Herr Hauptmann?" Wintsch asked.

"Yes," Dietrich replied. "Just… admiring the local wildlife." He got out of the vehicle, motioning for his lieutenant to follow him. Looking around, Dietrich saw that many of Rehberg's men looked miserable. He couldn't exactly blame them. War was miserable, but this was a misery beyond what he typically expected. Morale was low. Very low. The men still acknowledged and saluted him, and Dietrich would respond in turn. Inwardly, he felt sorry for them.

An older, but well-built man stepped out of a tent. "You must be Hauptmann Dietrich," the major said. "Generalfeldmarschall Rommel spoke highly of you. I find that interesting considering you have not been faring well against… a particular LRDG unit."

Dietrich didn't care for Rehberg's boldness in bringing up his lack of success against the Rat Patrol, but he maintained cordiality. "I have no intention of giving up until that unit is dealt with. However, that is not why you requested my presence, is it?"

Rehberg grinned, but it was not a grin of happiness. There was something dark to it. Dietrich saw Wintsch gulp and shudder in the corner of his vision. "On the contrary, Herr Hauptmann, I have something you might be very interested in. Very interested. Come." Rehberg beckoned for them to follow.

Dietrich and Wintsch exchanged a look, then followed close behind the major. He led them to a tent next to the officers' mess. A sharp, metallic scent, mixed with something acidic, struck Dietrich's senses. He was gripped by cold horror when he saw Sergeant Jack Moffitt lying in the sand, his hands and arms bound against his chest, and his ankles tied together. He was gagged, and his shirt and signature blue scarf had been stripped off. His beret and goggles had been tossed aside nearby. Massive bruises and cuts of varying sizes covered his arms and torso. Fresh and dried blood painted his skin. Concern filled Dietrich when he noted that the acidic smell was vomit, but he relaxed when he didn't see any traces of blood within the puddle in the sand.

"We caught this one yesterday evening," Rehberg said, approaching Moffitt. "The pests were going after the supply tent, tried throwing grenades into it. My men were quicker, and threw the grenades back. An explosion knocked this one off his jeep. We took advantage of him being stunned, and grabbed him. Oh, his friends tried to turn around and rescue him, but by sheer luck, we fended them off."

Moffitt looked up at Dietrich. There a pleading, yet terrified look in his wide gray eyes. He made a sound, muffled by the cloth gag. The next sound he made was a pained grunt when Rehberg pressed his boot down on one of the larger bruises on Moffitt's right side.

"Not a word from you, pest!" the major growled.

Dietrich tried not to flinch at Rehberg's awful treatment. He swallowed. "Major, this man is now a prisoner-of-war. We must treat him as such."

"He is a commando. He will get no fair treatment. I would have shot him, but I want to know about how to stop his unit, and how to catch the rest of them."

For a moment, Dietrich returned to the present. To the rain. He was heading down the path, frequently adjusting the hood of his cloak so it didn't blow off. He wondered why he was here. Why he saw this place so long ago. He stopped when he heard a male voice calling, "Someone! Please help!"

Dietrich's blood froze. Jules? He would have started running if it wasn't raining and muddy. The last thing he wanted to do was slip and injure himself. He stopped once. "Jules! Jules!"

He returned to the past, looking down at Moffitt, who was trying to curl into a ball. "Given that the sergeant is gagged, Herr Major, I suspect he told you nothing?"

"He refuses to talk," Rehberg said. "Even though we beat him." He started pacing around Moffitt's wounded form in a somewhat predatory fashion. "We deprived him of food, of water, of sleep." He got down in Moffitt's face. "We made him cry and scream and beg and yet he still said nothing." Rehberg took a fistful of Moffitt's black hair, lifting his head. Involuntarily, Moffitt started whimpering in pain, so Rehberg dropped his head. "Shut it!"

The cold horror was replaced with heat as Dietrich's blood began to boil with anger. "Major, I have been after these men for weeks. I know how they think. Let me take him into my custody and I will interrogate him."

"Every time they wind up in your hands, they escape," Rehberg said.

"This time will be different. Sergeant Troy will have no knowledge of this. He still thinks you have Moffitt. If I take Moffitt now and Troy attacks your camp, he will have nothing to gain, as he will not know where Moffitt was taken."

Rehberg looked like he was seriously thinking about that. He kept looking down at Moffitt, who was trembling fearfully. Moffitt squeezed his eyes shut, wincing and letting out a quiet groan of pain. Rehberg's face reddened. "I said, no noise!" He raised his leg to kick Moffitt again, the toe of his boot angled for the lanky Englishman's groin.

Dietrich returned to the present once more. He was now running, full-speed, narrowly dodging deep puddles of mud and rainwater. "Jules!"

Things went quiet for a moment, then the voice cried out, "Dietrich! I hear you! Help me, please!"

Here, the smell of blood was faint, especially compared to the rain. Dietrich eventually found Jules, Moffitt's teenaged son, lying on his back against the muddy banks of a swollen creek, his left leg having been caught in a tree root. Relief flooded Dietrich. "What happened here?"

"Something spooked Nightrunner. He took off from where I was camping," Jules said with a grunt. "Tried following him and I didn't realize this riverbank wasn't stable."

"Does anything feel broken?" Dietrich asked.

"No. Scraped up pretty bad, though."

"Alright. Can you try sitting up? Here, take my hand."

Take my hand.

Right before Rehberg kicked Moffitt in an area no man wanted to be kicked, Dietrich said, "Major, I have supplies that I will trade you for this sergeant!"

Rehberg's boot stopped inches from Moffitt. He looked at Dietrich. "What sort of supplies?"

"I can spare water and ammunition."

The major thought for a moment. He looked back down at Moffitt. "Fine. That is fair. You had better be right about his companions."

Dietrich expected Rehberg to hurl more abuse at Moffitt, but instead, the major roughly lifted the poor man and pushed him in Dietrich's direction. Unable to stand with his ankles tied, Moffitt fell back into the sand.

"I want to see those supplies this evening," Rehberg said.

"You will have them." Dietrich turned to Wintsch. "Lieutenant, cut the ropes around his ankles."

"That is a huge risk you are taking, Captain," Rehberg said.

"He is my responsibility now, Major. I will take whatever risks necessary. Besides, it may make him more cooperative." Dietrich watched Wintsch saw through the ropes with his service knife, followed by the lieutenant slowly lifting Moffitt into a standing position. Wintsch normally stood several inches shorter than Moffitt, but the lanky Englishman's hunched and battered appearance now made him look much smaller. Dietrich noticed Moffitt was trying not to use his left leg. I will assess his injuries in the vehicle. He waited until Rehberg left the tent, then leaned over to pick up Moffitt's shirt, scarf, beret, and goggles, before turning to leave the tent himself.

Dietrich and Wintsch led Moffitt out of the camp. Moffitt covered his face when he was brought out into the sunlight. His anxious cowering and obvious limp made him look so vulnerable. He and the rest of the Rat Patrol really had been a problem over the last several weeks. Moffitt could be disposed of here and no one would ever know.

But Dietrich would know. He would have that on his conscience for the rest of his life. He had his rules, and he didn't consider killing a disarmed combatant to be proper. Nor was he ever going to obey the Führer's "commando order" that went out a little over a month ago.

There was also something deep inside telling him not to harm Moffitt. It was something more than just his morals, but he couldn't identify what it was.

Once Moffitt was loaded into the back seat of the Kübelwagen, Dietrich climbed into the front passenger seat. "Lieutenant, there is an oasis south of our camp. About a twenty-minute drive. Take us there."

Wintsch looked confused for a moment, then started the vehicle. "Yes, sir."

"Do not make it look like we are going anywhere but our own camp," Dietrich added.

Wintsch nodded. He drove out of Rehberg's camp, heading west, then turned to a southwest direction after a while.

Dietrich looked over his shoulder at Moffitt, who was lying on the seat as still as possible. All Dietrich could do was pray his first-aid kit was adequate for the time being. When they reached the oasis, Dietrich turned to Wintsch while pulling his kit and Moffitt's belongings out of the back of the vehicle. "Take the car and go back to camp, retrieve water and ammunition for Rehberg, deliver them to him, then return here."

"Yes, sir," Wintsch replied. "May I ask something?"

"Of course."

"Are you not worried about the sergeant attacking you?"

"Not in his condition." Dietrich set the kit down, then turned back to his vehicle. He pulled out his own knife, and began cutting the ropes holding Moffitt's arms to his body. After removing the ropes, Dietrich watched Moffitt stiffly try moving his arms. He also removed the gag, and tossed it aside before holding out his hand. "Take my hand, Sergeant. I will help you out."

Moffitt stared up at him for a moment, saying nothing. He looked stunned, and Dietrich couldn't tell if it was shock due to his experience, or confusion that Dietrich, a man he was supposed to be fighting, was helping him. Moffitt then took Dietrich's hand. His grip wasn't strong, so Dietrich had to compensate while helping Moffitt sit up and move out of the vehicle.

"Lay down in the shade," Dietrich said while helping Moffitt over to the edge of the oasis. He turned to Wintsch. "Head back to camp and carry out my instructions."

"Yes, sir." Wintsch went to hop back into the driver's seat, but then reached into the back to take out a radio and headset. "Just in case you need assistance."

"Thank you. Hopefully, I will not need it." Dietrich turned to Moffitt once Wintsch had left. Moffitt looked a bit unsteady, and would have collapsed if he hadn't gripped the narrow trunk of a tall and possibly ancient date palm. He slumped down, looking relieved to be under the shade of the tree, and now staring up at the clusters of dates that sprouted from the tree. He winced and grunted each time he put any weight on his left leg, until even sitting was painful, and he moved onto his back. Dietrich approached him as nonthreatening as he could. "Your leg, Sergeant. What did the major do to it?"

"Wasn't him," Moffitt murmured, voice cracking a little from a long period of disuse, and a lack of water. "Twisted… fell off the jeep."

Dietrich unscrewed the cap of his canteen, and put his hand under Moffitt's head to lift him before putting the canteen to his lips. Moffitt drank greedily from the canteen, nearly pulling it from Dietrich's hand. Dietrich was still gentle in taking it away, not wanting to spill any water. Moffitt stared blankly for a moment, taking deep breaths as he started to become more alert. He winced in pain, grunting as he said, "My leg, it's… it's not broken. W-What's wrong with it?"

"Possibly dislocated. Best-case scenario, only subluxated."

Moffitt nodded. He made eye contact with Dietrich. "Well? When will the interrogation begin?"

"Never, if you can believe that. I do not torture people. You should know that."

Moffitt was quiet for a few long moments. "So, what are you doing? There must be something you want."

"Only removing you from Major Rehberg's custody. The man clearly does not know how to properly handle prisoners-of-war." Dietrich's hand hovered over Moffitt's hip. "May I?"

Moffitt didn't respond.

"I am not going to injure you further. I promise." When Moffitt continued to hesitate, Dietrich gave a quiet sigh. "Sergeant, you have nowhere else to go. Troy does not know exactly where you are. Yes, he may find you here by the end of the day, but would it not be preferable if you were no longer in pain? Trust me, you will feel better if you allow me to fix it."

"Alright," Moffitt said in a quiet voice. "I suppose this is a truce."

"Agreed," Dietrich replied.

Moffitt being so thin let Dietrich feel the condition of his hip more easily than he probably should have. After a brief test of Moffitt's mobility, Dietrich felt he could assume his injury was a mere subluxation than a dislocation. Easy to fix. Dietrich had more experience than he really wanted with popping joints back into place. It was a skill he had to learn when dealing with his two older brothers' abuse, along with his mother's. His uncle, Gerhardt, had set and reset young Dietrich's hips, shoulders, and wrists several times, and eventually Dietrich himself learned how to set them. It was more difficult to do on himself, but it was essential when no one else was around to do it, and especially after Gerhardt passed away.

The coolness and the sound of pattering rain pulled Dietrich from his strangely vivid memory. Jules was wincing while trying to pull himself up the bank of the creek. Dietrich helped get him onto the path, so he wouldn't fall. The blood on Jules's leg looked almost black in the darkness of night. "Can you stand?" Dietrich asked.

"I'm not sure." Jules awkwardly turned, trying to get up. "My leg… blast it, it's not broken, I swear!"

"May I check it?"

Unlike his father all those years ago, Jules didn't hesitate to let Dietrich examine his leg. Like his father, Jules was on the thin side, allowing for his bones to be more easily felt. Dietrich had a sneaking suspicion that Jules's injury was exactly the same. Of course. Why else am I experiencing déjà vu? He still checked as thoroughly as he could. "Your hip is subluxated. I can fix it."

"It's going to hurt, isn't it?" Jules said.

"It will a little." Dietrich really didn't want to hear Jules scream. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course. Just do it."

Dietrich whispered a prayer before positioning Jules's leg, then pushed it back into place with a loud pop. Jules's sudden howl of pain echoed his father's, and Dietrich was swiftly returned to his flashback.

Moffitt's scream shattered the silence of the desert. Dietrich imagined only a truly heartless human being wouldn't be able to grimace or sympathize. He imagined that Rehberg was likely that, given how he mentioned that he had made Moffitt scream, cry, and beg the previous night. I simply could not let Moffitt continue to be tortured. Dietrich gave Moffitt a chance to recover, then opened his first-aid kit, hoping he had enough supplies to clean and bandage the worst of Moffitt's cuts. At least the cuts weren't as large as the bruises. Those would fade in time, but they were currently so big and numerous that Dietrich had to be cautious with manipulating Moffitt, as the slightest touch made him hiss and recoil.

Dietrich went slow as he cleaned and bandaged each cut. He was surprised that Moffitt was continuing to trust him, but he wondered if it was because the Englishman didn't have the strength to fight. After the cuts were bandaged, Dietrich went to pick up Moffitt's shirt, but froze when he felt something long and heavy inside. He remained still as an Egyptian cobra, this one paler in color compared to the one he ran into at Rehberg's camp, slithered out of the shirt. It fled rather quickly, disappearing into the dunes near the oasis. Once the snake had gone, Dietrich returned to Moffitt, and held out the shirt. "Here. Apologies for the lack of laundry services."

"That's alright," Moffitt said. He put the shirt back on, then glanced up at Dietrich. "Thanks."

Dietrich tossed him the scarf next. Moffitt stared at it for a moment, then began tying it around his neck. Only years later would Dietrich learn the significance of that scarf, how it was a gift from Moffitt's father on his tenth birthday, not long after his first trip to the Sahara. Jules would receive a similar scarf, but his was a dark teal.

Speaking of him… Jules leaned on Dietrich as the two headed through the dark, rainy forest back to where Jules was camping. It was strange to think that Dietrich didn't have any concerns about Jules going camping on his own when they discussed it earlier that day. He pinned it down to having faith in Jules knowing what he was doing. Of course, Jules got the "be careful" talk from his mother, Vanora, while his father and Dietrich gave him some advice and wished him well. It had been something he wanted to do for a while, and demonstrated that he was going to be careful. His horse getting spooked wasn't his fault, and at least he hadn't gotten more seriously hurt.

Jules tested his leg when they reached the campsite. Little by little, he could put more weight on it, but didn't want to push it. He went slow while crouching down to enter his tent and get his first-aid kit. Dietrich sat near him, huddled under his cloak. "Nightrunner could be anywhere at this point," he said.

"He is branded," Jules said. "If someone finds him, they'll take him back to the farm that bred him. At least Dad knows Nightrunner's breeder."

"Hopefully, he does not get stolen. Arabians of that quality are worth a lot of money."

"I know. That worries me, too." Jules opened the kit to start cleaning and dressing the scrapes on his leg. "Can I ask why you're out here?"

"Dreams," Dietrich replied.

"Ah. Good thing you came out here when you did. I owe you one now."

Dietrich shook his head. "No need. You fighting the magpies a few years ago was enough."

"Alright. Still, thanks. Maybe I'll convince Anah to make you a batch of cinnamon buns."

Dietrich wouldn't deny that a cinnamon roll, fresh and hot out of the oven, would be nice right now. He was starting to feel cold, but wouldn't return to bed until Jules's horse was found and returned safely.

He also wondered why he had been dreaming of this night back during the war.

His thoughts returned to the past. Moffitt was propped up against the date palm now, with Dietrich standing guard. A gentle wind carried sand down from the dunes, rustling the big fronds of the tropical trees and shrubs that had grown up around the oasis. It was peaceful here, quiet enough for Dietrich to think of what to do with Moffitt now. If it was Troy he had captured, he reckoned Troy would have been chitchatting nonstop, regardless of how badly injured he was, in an effort to drive Dietrich insane. Moffitt was quiet, occasionally glancing up at the dates, so Dietrich preferred him greatly.

Overall, Dietrich was impressed that Moffitt's injuries hadn't been more severe. Some looked worse than they were, as Dietrich didn't want to use up all of the bandages, which led to some of Moffitt's wounds bleeding through the bandages. He was certainly shaken up by his experience, but that wasn't a surprise. Dietrich still felt angry with Rehberg, but kept telling himself that getting angry wasn't worth anything at the moment. He kept trying to decide what to do. The most logical thing was to bring him back to his camp and arrange for him to be sent to POW camp, so that was what Dietrich would do. With a decision made, Dietrich sat in the sand by the water and allowed his mind to wander. Letting his mind wander wasn't always a good thing, as his mood had a tendency to dip when left alone with nothing to do, and it was oftentimes difficult to either pull himself out, or put on a mask that suggested to his men that everything was actually okay.

Dietrich left his thoughts and turned when he heard Moffitt's stomach growling. He cursed in his head over not taking rations with him, but quickly realized they had something much better than rations here. "You are free to retrieve the dates from that tree if you wish," Dietrich said.

"I would if I hadn't just injured my leg," Moffitt replied.

Dietrich stood, and approached the palm with his hands on his hips. He checked the trunk for bugs, then jumped up to begin climbing. He didn't have to climb too far, but he was careful when lopping off a sizable bunch of dates so they didn't fall into the sand or water. He climbed down, hugging the dates to his chest. The dates themselves looked delicious, though Dietrich was aware that they were best when pitted. His caution overrode his trust, so when he cut a portion of dates to hand to Moffitt, he said, "If you can remove the pits yourself, wonderful. Otherwise, I am not giving you a knife."

"Well, that's a pity, isn't it?" Moffitt said. "I thought we were just starting to trust each other."

"I have had less experience with you than I have with Troy, if you want complete honesty. Not only that, we have barely spoken in the last several minutes we have been here."

"Even though you captured me back while I was still in the Scots Greys?"

"Yes, but that only happened once, and we hardly spoke. Troy and I were chained together, and forced to endure hours in each other's company."

"Why do I get the feeling that was a greater challenge for you than it was for Troy?"

Dietrich looked at Moffitt in surprise. "You mean he is not just annoying for me?"

"No. As much as I like him, I will admit there are times when I wonder what possessed me to stay with his unit. He can't stand tea. Every morning, I hear him complaining about the smell of my tea."

"I prefer coffee in the morning myself, but a well-made cup of tea is something to savor."

"It is heaven to me." Moffitt used his teeth to cut open a date and remove the pit before putting it in his mouth. "Hmm… these dates are, too. Reminds me a bit of the Medjool, but a little sweeter. A perfect dessert date. Probably even good for cooking. I reckon a sticky toffee pudding would be quite indulgent with these."

Dietrich's knowledge of dates was limited to his own research before he was sent to North Africa. He knew there were different cultivars, but that was about it. They were reliable in terms of nutrients, as they were a staple of the native people in the desert. He didn't particularly pay attention to the little things when eating.

"The last time I was in Tunisia, I found someone selling dates stuffed with mascarpone," Moffitt said. "Delicious little things. Nearly ate a whole box of them. Now it's become tradition for my father to send them to me for Christmas."

A pang of jealousy pierced Dietrich's heart. "You are… close with your father?"

"Yes. We had a rough patch years ago, but everything's alright now."

Dietrich tried to distract himself by focusing on cutting out the pits of the dates in front of him. My father never really acted like he was present. He stared down at the dates and the knife in his hand. Not sure if that was preferable to my mother. He quietly drew in a breath. "Well, I will make sure you will be around for him. When my lieutenant returns, we will take you back to my camp, and arrange for your delivery to a prisoner-of-war camp." He looked over at Moffitt, knowing that he had only just joined the Rat Patrol just under a month ago. Troy will find someone else to take his place, just like how he replaced his previous gunner.

"It's been a good run," Moffitt said. His expression changed. He seemed a bit sadder, then Dietrich heard him mutter, "My fault I got captured anyway… like every other time."

Dietrich wasn't sure that was something Moffitt wanted him overhearing, so he acted like he didn't hear him at all. He sliced open another date, took the pit out, and put the fruit in his mouth.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about a rescue effort," Moffitt said aloud.

Now Dietrich looked at him. "What makes you say that?"

Moffitt didn't give a response at first, then he shrugged. "I just don't think you will."

Once again, it would be a few years before Dietrich truly understood that. Back then, he never thought he would become the one person who had been the most helpful for pulling Moffitt out of some of his bad habits, the worst of which being his seemingly limitless self-doubt.

Dietrich returned to the present, helping Jules stand. The rain had subsided a little, but they were both still soaking wet and shivering. "I was following Nightrunner's tracks when the creek bank collapsed," Jules said. "Looks like his tracks are still here. You didn't see him, did you?"

"I would have said something if I did," Dietrich replied. "Lead the way."

Instead of crossing the creek directly, like Jules had tried to do, the two went to a small, old bridge, crossing before heading down the path back to where Dietrich had found Jules in the first place. When they found horse tracks, they followed them. Eventually, the path left the woods, emerging out onto an open stretch of land. The horse tracks left the path, disappearing onto a grassy space between the path and a sheep farmer's field.

"I don't want to be going onto someone else's property," Jules said. "I doubt they were even awake to see Nightrunner. No use asking." He looked at Dietrich. "What do you think?"

"Even a spooked horse will not run forever. I say we go around the fence."

"Okay."

"How is your leg?"

"Starting to feel a bit better, but still sore."

"You are lucky it was not a full dislocation."

Jules nodded in agreement, then began walking through the grass, staying alongside the fence containing the sheep. Dietrich was close behind, looking around for any signs of a black Arabian horse. While he didn't find the horse, he did spot a different black animal perched atop the last corner post of the fence. A large raven. Rain dripped from its beak as it looked up at Dietrich, then spread its wings and flew off. It stayed fairly low to the ground, so Dietrich could tell the raven was headed—

"Northeast!" Dietrich called. "We should head northeast."

"That's the direction of home," Jules said. "You think Nightrunner went home?"

"We will see."

Apart from the two snakes earlier, there hadn't been many animals appearing in Dietrich's memory. He remembered sitting with Moffitt for a long, long while, only getting up once to check his wounds. As he suspected, some of the bandages had blood seeping through them, so he taped another layer on top of them despite his supplies now running low. Wintsch would return within the hour anyway, right? Dietrich certainly hoped so.

"I could go for a cup of tea," Moffitt said, breaking the silence.

"Unfortunately, tea is not part of the standard German loadout," Dietrich replied while taking out his cigarettes and lighter for a smoke. "I would offer a hot drink if I had the means."

"That's alright. You've been a gracious host so far, although that is largely due to the fact that you haven't kicked or punched me just for breathing."

"I suppose a 'thank you' is warranted from me, then." Dietrich glanced around, watching for his vehicle and listening for the sound of its engine. Instead, he heard the harsh call of a raven, perched at the top of the date palm. He watched the raven for a moment. At the time, he knew ravens were magically powerful. Their presence was rarely without significance, but for a moment, Dietrich wondered if this raven was just passing through. It preened itself for a little while, then gave three croaking caws. Dietrich looked in the direction that the raven was staring at, then saw the head of a jackal appearing over the crest of a dune. The jackal sniffed the air, then climbed over the dune, trotting south, deeper into the dry heat.

When the jackal was out of sight, Dietrich heard the sound of a Kübelwagen's engine. Something about it was a bit louder, and Dietrich wondered if he needed to have the mechanics look at it. He would have preferred that to what he actually saw and heard when he stood. Wintsch was being trailed by two uncomfortably familiar jeeps. Dietrich could see Troy behind the Browning M2HB mounted on the back of his jeep, and nearly began shouting and waving his arms to tell Wintsch to duck. When several seconds passed without any shooting, Dietrich became confused. What the hell are they doing?

Wintsch stopped not too far from the oasis. He left the vehicle very calmly for someone who was being followed by the Rat Patrol, but Dietrich noticed that the jeeps had stopped as well. "Herr Hauptmann," Wintsch said. "I brought the supplies to Major Rehberg, but… there has been a change."

"What happened?" Dietrich's gaze shifted to Troy, watching him carefully.

"When I arrived at the major's camp, I was informed that he was bitten by a snake—his aide told me it was a cobra. Rehberg deteriorated quickly. They are trying to get a replacement as fast as possible."

"That is truly a shame," Dietrich said. He didn't personally like Rehberg, but refused to wish death on anyone.

"And, our friends here were on their way to rescue Moffitt when we ran into each other. I… told them what happened." Wintsch looked at the sandy ground. "I am sorry, sir, I did not want them attacking Rehberg's men for no reason, especially while they are leaderless."

"Your concern was about the lives of those soldiers. I cannot fault you for that," Dietrich said. In the corner of his eye, he saw Moffitt standing and testing his leg. He then turned to Troy. "I think I know what you want, Sergeant, but I will still ask why you have decided to drop by."

"He's standing behind you, Captain," Troy said. "That's it. We'll take Moffitt and leave."

"Sergeant, have you not learned by now that I will ask for something in return?"

"Alright, name it."

Dietrich decided to keep it simple this time. "Do you have an extra roll of bandages? I used the last of mine dressing Sergeant Moffitt's wounds."

Troy turned to Tully. "We got an extra roll. Give it to him, Tully."

"Right, Sarge." Tully got out of his jeep, walking around to the back to retrieve a first-aid kit.

Troy looked back at Dietrich. "Alright. What else, Captain?"

"That is all, Sergeant." Dietrich turned to Moffitt. "I suppose this is the end of our truce. You can walk alright?"

"Nothing a bit more rest can't fix," Moffitt replied. "Thank you."

Dietrich held out his hand, which Moffitt took to shake firmly. "Until next time."

They saluted each other before Moffitt headed to his and Tully's jeep, leaving Troy standing in front of Dietrich and Wintsch. "I guess I owe you one, now, Captain," Troy said, "For saving Moffitt's life."

"Perhaps," Dietrich replied.

Troy looked like he wanted to say something more, but ultimately chose not to. He saluted Dietrich, then turned to head back to his jeep.

Wintsch looked up at Dietrich while the jeeps were driving away. "What are your orders, sir?"

"We go back to our own camp, Lieutenant," Dietrich replied. "That is all. I would say this was pretty standard fare for us."

"Nobody died. I would say that is not our standard."

"No, but I will prefer it to the alternative." Dietrich got in the passenger seat. "Actually, wait, Rehberg died."

"Yes, but not because of the Rat Patrol."

"True." Dietrich wouldn't learn about his prophecy for another month, and by extension the roles that various animals were going to play. He would eventually learn about Moffitt's gifts with snakes, and how snakes had always seemed be attracted to him throughout his life, even before Moffitt himself learned about his gifts. Then, of course, there was meeting Anah. Dietrich doubted that Rehberg would have gotten far with beating Moffitt had Anah been around.

His memory finally came to an end as he and Jules were arriving at Moffitt's property. He could see that all the lights were off, as well as a black horse standing by the fence.

"Nightrunner!" Jules called. "Bloody hell, you had us both worried." He jogged up to the horse. "I don't know what scared you, but I'm glad you're alright."

"What are you going to do now?" Dietrich asked.

"I should go back and pack up the tent," Jules said. "I'll borrow the car. You can stay here if you want."

"You are not going to resume camping?"

"I'll try again another time, when it's not raining so hard."

"Sounds fair. Would you like assistance?"

"No, thanks. Go inside and get warm."

Normally, Dietrich would have refused to barge into someone's house at such a horrid hour, but he was cold and wet and starting to become tired of being cold and wet. He sighed before unlocking the door and heading inside. He took off his wet cloak and draped it near a radiator. Despite his best efforts to suppress it, he still gave a loud sneeze. He remained still when he heard rapid movement, and saw something black with glowing blue eyes racing along the floor from the bedroom.

Anah climbed up onto the kitchen table, telekinetically turning on the lights and revealing herself on the table with her hood flattened. When she saw the intruder was only Dietrich, she immediately retracted her hood, stopped hissing, and slithered over to the counter. "Oh, it is only you, dear," Anah said. "Bless you. Are you starting to get sick?"

"No, Anah, I just came in from the rain—" Dietrich tried to say.

"So you are cold! Go sit. I will light a fire and prepare a soup."

"I—"

"It is a preventative measure, dear."

Dietrich decided it was best not to argue. Almost as soon as he was seated on the couch, Anah lit a fire in the hearth and began rushing around the kitchen to make soup. Five minutes passed before the bedroom door opened, and a sleepy, groggy Moffitt shuffled out. He was only wearing a pair of shorts, and unlike in Dietrich's memory, his torso wasn't battered and bruised. It did bear several scars, though, mostly from various surgeries over the years. "This had better be a dream," he grumbled. It took him a moment to realize Dietrich was there. "Where did you come from?"

"My hotel," Dietrich said.

"Why are you here?"

"Long story."

Moffitt turned to the kitchen. "Anah, what are you doing?"

"Making soup, dear," Anah said.

Moffitt drew in a breath. "Do you know what time it is?"

Anah feigned innocence. "It is five past twelve at night, dear."

"Anah, nobody in their right mind makes soup at midnight. Why are you making soup?"

"Because I sneezed," Dietrich muttered.

Moffitt let out a long and heavy sigh. He rubbed his face. "Anah, we've been over this. Put the pot away, put the chicken away, put the garlic away—don't you hiss at me, young lady! Put everything away, this instant!" He watched Anah for a moment before looking at Dietrich. "I'm so sorry about all this."

"It is alright. I do owe you an explanation for why I am here, though."

They reached a compromise with Anah and allowed her to make tea. While Dietrich explained that he went to the woods due to being called by a dream and found Jules, he paused his story when Jules entered the house, himself cold and wet. Anah immediately prepared tea for him as well, and snuggled up with him on the couch. Fortunately, she didn't try slithering off to make soup again. Dietrich continued describing what happened. Moffitt, still looking quite tired, sighed before saying, "Well, any number of things could've spooked Nightrunner. At least you're all okay." He took a sip of his own tea. "What sort of dream were you having?"

"It was less a dream and more a… a memory. A memory of a dream," Dietrich said. "Do you remember the time in North Africa when I rescued you from Major Rehberg?"

"I do," Moffitt replied. "What about it?"

"The night before I rescued you, I was dreaming about being in the woods here."

Moffitt looked down at his tea. "I… try not to think about any of the times I was tortured during the war, but I do remember you stopped the major before he kicked me—" he cleared his throat, "—somewhere rather painful."

"You had injured your hip, too."

"Yes. Minorly, but, yes. You put it back into place."

"I had to help Jules with a similar injury."

Moffitt nodded, then turned to his son. "Jules, would you mind giving Dietrich and I a moment alone, please?"

"Sure." Jules stood, taking Anah with him when he went into the parlor.

"Do you think there's any significance to you remembering this?" Moffitt asked in a low voice.

"Frankly, I am unsure. Everything turned out alright, for you and Jules," Dietrich said.

"Don't think I haven't thought about what could have happened if you didn't show up when you did. If the major kept beating me, and… if he had managed to kick me there, I have wondered if the consequences would've included Jules never existing."

"The magpie prophecy aside, Jules has been one of the best things to happen to you."

"Yes. I can't imagine life without him. I suppose I owe you another 'thanks' for that."

"No need to worry about it." Dietrich took a sip of his tea. "Perhaps it was a reminder to be grateful of all the things that happened to bring us closer."

"That's one way to look at it." Moffitt grinned a little. "I'll choose to see it like that."