Title: True Knight's Duty
Author: Deb Hicks
Summary: Late in the war, Troy asks Dietrich's help for a dangerous undercover mission into SS Headquarters.
Note: Third in the "Duty" series; sequel to Cost of Duty. Originally printed in FLANKING MANEUVERS 2

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The morning rain had left the clay drive slippery, and the back wheels spun slightly before the car eased forward. The house was a fair size, surrounded by very old oaks and massive pecan trees. Troy killed the engine as he reached the end of the drive at the back of the house.

There was enough of a chill in the air that he was thankful he was still wearing his uniform coat. From nearby came the cluck of chickens and further away he heard the grunt of pigs. With a smile of pleasure at the homeliness of the place, he stepped toward the screened back porch. An interior door squeaked open and slammed back just as he started to knock.

"What can I help you with, son?" a heavily accented voice called out.

Removing his hat, he paused as the outer door opened to reveal a gray-haired woman, barely five feet tall, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She had the kind of hard working face that could have been sixty or eighty, though when she smiled he leaned more toward sixty. Before he could say anything, her eyes sharpened on his uniform.

"I'm Mrs. Tatum. You'd be here about Dietrich, I'd say," she stated.

Nodding, Troy said, "Yes, ma'am. I've come..."

"You're not gonna make trouble for him." It was not a question.

"No, ma'am," Troy tried again, smiling.

"He's been a good worker," she continued. "And he's a nice boy, for a Kraut, better than some of that 4F white trash we gots around here."

Seeing that she was working up to a good speech, Troy interrupted by saying, "I'm not here to bother Major Dietrich. I'm Lieutenant Sam Troy and...."

"Well, for goodness sakes!" She came down off the stone step and grabbed his arm. "Why didn't you say so, son? Come in, come in."

Troy found himself pulled into the spotless country kitchen. A pot of something smelling of smoked meat was boiling on the wood fired stove. Mrs. Tatum motioned him toward a chair at the small kitchen table.

"Sit down, sit down," she ordered. "Are you hungry?"

Fond memories made Troy smile. Tully's mother had asked him the same thing upon his arrival. "No, ma'am, I had breakfast."

"How about some iced tea?"

"Yes, ma'am, that would be fine." Troy looked around, wondering where Dietrich was.

As if reading his look, the woman said, "Hans is in the back field. He'll be in for lunch soon."

As she talked, she pulled a pitcher of tea out of the icebox. Pouring two glasses, she handed one to Troy. "Thank you, ma'am."

He took a sip, and was startled by the sweetness. His face must have given him away as Mrs. Tatum laughed lightly. "Yankee boy? Never seen a Yankee yet used to real tea. And stop calling me ma'am. Everyone calls me Miss Ruby."

Taking a more cautious sip, Troy asked, "If it's not too much trouble, Miss Ruby. I'd like to see the major..."

He found the other glass of tea thrust toward him. "That's why I poured two, boy. Hans will be glad to see you. Lordy, he has told some tales on the two of you."

Opening the door as Troy rose, Ruby pointed across the small dirt yard. "See that gate this side of the barn? Go through it and follow the trail."

Putting his cap back on, Troy stepped down. "Thank you."

"Be careful of the mud. I'll set another place for lunch," Ruby said as she closed the door.

Wondering at the supposed slow pace of the South, Troy shook his head and started down the path. A short walk later, through a patch of heavy trees bordering a small creek, he emerged into an open, newly plowed field. It was a colorful sight, the bright orange clay complementing the blue sky, tall dark green pines, and brown underbrush. Halfway across the field, heading away from him, was a man walking behind a plow. Grimacing slightly as he sank into the plowed soil, Troy started out.

He hadn't been sure what he expected to find. When he stopped a few yards behind the man, surprise was his main response. Major Hans Dietrich, dressed in only a pair of gray prisoner pants and leather work boots, was walking steadily along behind a large red mule. His back was not as tanned as Troy had seen it in the Sahara inferno, making his hair seem darker by comparison. The leather reins resting on his neck highlighted the fuller muscles; Dietrich had gained a little weight, losing the gauntness of the desert. Most shocking though, the German POW was singing softly, interrupting only once to gee the mule. Troy took another step forward and the mule's ears swiveled back toward him. Dietrich's training had not grown rusty, and he turned quickly to see what the mule had heard.

They stared at each other for a long time. Troy watched an amazing range of emotions flicker across the German's rugged features, shock fading quickly into relief and finally into pleasure. Dietrich came to sharp attention and saluted. "Sergeant," he said, then, noting the bars on Troy's shoulders, amended, "Lieutenant Troy."

Looking down at the two glasses in his hand, Troy shrugged. "If you'll take one of these, I'll be happy to return it, Major Dietrich."

Dietrich took the glass, eyes still locked on Troy's face. Troy returned the salute. As he did Dietrich smiled. The smile was relaxed and friendly, making the shadows that always haunted the man's expression fade a little. Troy started to say something, and saw the scar. It ran from the center of Dietrich's chest to his left flank and was almost as wide as long. Troy looked up, unable to control his dismay at the severity of the wound that had caused the mark. Dietrich only shrugged, offering no comment to either the scar or Troy's discomfort.

"I wasn't sure you had made it through these last eighteen months, Ser... Lieutenant," Dietrich said quietly. "What brings you to the middle...?"

Dietrich's question was cut off by a long, loud bray from the mule. Dietrich laughed, a pleasant sound that added to Troy's amusement. "Maggie would like to know why we are standing here when there is work to be done?" Dietrich translated.

Not ready to face the German's question, Troy motioned forward. "Should we let Maggie get on with it?"

"Would you prefer to wait at the house?" Dietrich asked. He turned and adjusted the reins.

"No," Troy said with a smile. "It's a pleasure watching someone else work hard."

Dietrich only raised an eyebrow. "Yay, Maggie."



"I'm surprised you got him in," Ruby said. "He eats in the field most days."

Watching through the screen door as Dietrich unharnessed Maggie, Troy said, "Dietrich never did like inside spaces."

Ruby went to open the front door as the midday sun heated the tin roof. Dietrich had stepped to the water pump and was washing off. Troy could see the man's pleasure even through the shade of the trees. He understood it; water was something he would never take for granted again. His smile faded a little. Soon he would have to answer the question Maggie had interrupted in the field. It had seemed an easy explanation until now.

"You've come to take him, haven't ya?" Ruby asked quietly from the stove.

Troy took a deep breath. "I'm not sure."

He was afraid Ruby would ask other questions he didn't want to answer, but she remained silent as Dietrich came in. Dietrich's hair was wet though neatly combed and he had put his gray shirt back on. He remained standing as Ruby sat large bowls down for each of them and a basket of bread in the middle. As she went to sit, he pulled out the chair for her.

"Thank you, sir." She smiled at him.

Troy waited politely for Ruby to start eating, and was a bit taken back when she offered prayer first. It had been a long time since he'd heard of prayer of thanks; it brought back memories, and a touch of hope. The meal of red beans and rice was tasty and filling, disappearing quickly as they ate in silence. Ruby finished first, having taken a smaller portion. She went to stand, motioning to Dietrich even before she did.

"Stay, boy."

Dietrich obeyed and Troy found himself smiling.

"You boys get more if you want it," Ruby urged. "I got washing to do. I imagine you'd like to talk without some noisy old lady around anyhow."

Before Troy or Dietrich could refute the statement, she grabbed a basket of clothes from near the door and went outside. From the barn, Maggie brayed at her. The sound made Dietrich smile fondly. Awkward silence filled the kitchen for a moment, then Dietrich said conversationally, "Maggie is an excellent mule. I had never worked with one before. On our farm we used a team of Belgium mares."

"Your family's farmers?" Troy asked in surprise.

Sorrow touched Dietrich's face and he looked away. "Were. The army took the horses and the other livestock."

"I'm sorry," Troy said sincerely.

Dietrich looked up, dark eyes filled with familiar shadows, shadows increased by the mention of war. "Why are you here, Lieutenant?"

"How about 'Troy?'" he suggested. "Hitch and Moffitt still call me Sarge."

If Dietrich noticed his avoidance of the question, he let it ride for the moment. "So, the Rat Patrol still exists?"

"We're all still alive, if that's what you mean," Troy said. "Tully was sent home after his brother was killed on New Guinea and his father died."

The farm sounds again claimed the kitchen, soft and comforting. Troy glanced down at his bowl. "Want some more?"

"No," Dietrich said lightly. "The food here is too good; I will look like Churchill soon. Though I have not yet... cottoned to grits."

The last was said with the dry wit that Troy knew so well. It reminded him of long ago and far away, though he knew it to be neither. Taking a deep breath, he looked up again, caught the intense brown eyes. His reason for coming suddenly seemed wrong, though he admitted that the mission was only one of two reasons he was here.

"I came," he started without warning, "to ask you to get back into the war."

Dietrich dropped his gaze, but not before Troy saw the tiniest bit of disappointment in the dark eyes. He swallowed and added honestly, "And to see how you were."

The German stood, took their bowls and moved to the kitchen sink. "I would think whatever brought you here will require a long explanation," he said levelly.

"Yeah, it might. Or you can just say no now and save me the time."

"You've come a long way. The least I can politely do is hear you out."

"Okay, fair enough." Troy took a deep breath.

"But," Dietrich interrupted. "I have to finish plowing the back field."

"I got a better idea," Ruby said from the back steps.

She came in, sat a dry basket of clothes on the table. "'Stead of me dragging my old bones up on that wagon tomorrow, why don't you and Lieutenant Troy go fetch that load of feed in his car?" Picking up a cotton towel, she started folding it. "Y'all can talk on the trip and drop off the supplies at Clyde's on the way home. Fact is, you two might well as stay over there. Place has two bedrooms, 'stead of a barn."

At that statement, Troy looked sharply up at Dietrich. The taller man smiled at him. "The barn is quite a bit more comfortable and private than the barracks at Ft. Rucker, I assure you."

"Ain't much," Ruby admitted. "But it's got a floor and a bed."

Troy watched Dietrich hopefully. He wanted to talk to the man, and for the first time in their strange existence, this seemed the chance.

Dietrich stared into space for a moment, considering. Finally he nodded. "That sounds like a very reasonable suggestion, Miss Ruby."

"Good," she said. "I'll get the money. And I'll pack you some food for supper."

With the same smooth efficiency that seemed to go with being a farm wife, Ruby had everything ready and packed in minutes. As Dietrich climbed into the passenger side of the car, she leaned in next to him, spoke to both of them. "You be mindful of that white trash, hear?"

Dietrich took a sharp breath and his jaw tightened. Troy couldn't help asking, "What happened?"

"Gingrich boys," Ruby said coldly. "Ain't got a lick of sense between 'em. They saw Hans standing by the car and went to whaling on him."

At Troy's obvious amazement, a slight smile touched the German's stern features. "If I had fought back, I would have been returned to Ft. Rucker," he explained. "Fortunately, Miss Ruby came to my rescue."

Ruby snorted. "Weren't nothing. I just grabbed Ozra's shotgun and told 'em what I'd do with it if they didn't tuck tail and run."

"And they..." Troy prompted.

"Tucked tail and ran," Dietrich said dryly.

The sudden image of the ninety pound, five foot nothing grandmother coming to the rescue of the six foot soldier was too much and Troy started laughing. He tipped his hat to Ruby and pulled the car toward the road. As they hit the gravel, a soft laugh sounded from Dietrich.

"It was a very impressive display," he admitted.



The town was typical, from the little of the South Troy had seen. Two roads came together to form a square around a half-acre memorial to some Civil War hero; an event marked by a cannon or a statue. Around the square, small businesses lined the roads: gas station, grocery, diner, doctor, two feed and seeds and several that Troy couldn't identify. Several more were closed.

The man at the feed store smiled at Dietrich and inquired about Miss Ruby as they loaded Maggie's oats, then peanuts and seed corn. The friendliness of the place struck Troy and he wondered at the easy acceptance of an enemy soldier in their midst. The fact that many of the farms would be lying idle if not for POW labor probably went a long way toward making the families friendly. Finally, they were back on the road with a small detour to deliver a sack of onions to one of the other farms Dietrich knew.

Troy continued his story of the Rat Patrol's reassignment, very aware of the uneasy silence from his rider. Dietrich seemed to be already considering the future conversation, an idea that Troy did not feel good about. He wanted Dietrich on this mission with him; he had admitted that all along. What he was only just now realizing was how much he simply wanted the man with him, not as a fellow agent out to finish the war, but as a friend. He refused to consider any other thoughts beyond that of friend.

It was almost dusk by the time they reached the second farm. Dietrich climbed out and immediately started unloading the supplies. The loud squealing of pigs demanding feed filled the evening. Dietrich hefted a sack of peanuts over his shoulder and started for the barn. Troy tossed his coat into the back seat and grabbed a sack.

"It is interesting, don't you think, Troy, that so much is different about our countries, yet here and there, pigs all have to be fed."

"You work this place too?" Troy asked.

"Yes. I came here first, one of three from Ft. Rucker. The owner is stationed in New York as a clerk." Dietrich grunted as he threw the bag into the bin. Troy tossed his next to it. "I volunteered first for the garment factory in Dothan, but after only a few weeks knew it was not for me."

A few crickets chirped at the growing dark as they went back for another load. "Why'd you volunteer at all?" Troy wondered. "Officers aren't required to work."

Dietrich gave him a look of disgust. "Several reasons. Boredom, and the camp was overrun with Nazis." He started off with another sack. Troy followed, also with another. "I also wished to know more about America, about her people and not just her soldiers."

Sitting his bag in, Troy looked up at the taller man. "What have you found out?"

Dietrich's eyes met his, filled with a longing that Troy had seen too many times before in many others, a longing for home. "I found that America is a lot like Germany. It is a country filled with generous people, a few idiots and many contradictions." Going back for the last load, Dietrich added, as if to explain his statement, "When I was first escorted to this town, I was in the care of a Negro guard. We stopped at the cafe in town. The three of us, all POWs, were allowed to eat inside. Our guard had to eat sitting on the curb."

Troy nodded, agreeing even as his defensiveness toward his country sprang into his words. "At least he was still alive. Could you say the same had he been in your country?"

The German straightened as if struck. Troy immediately held up his hand, stopping any reply. "I'm sorry. I had no right to say that."

"You have every right," Dietrich said calmly, "to speak the truth."

Wanting to stay on something safe, Troy said levelly, "You gonna get the pigs while I feed the chickens?"

Dietrich gave him a short nod, a slight smile. "There is one boar here I will enjoy having for dinner."



They sat back away from the table. Miss Ruby had packed more food than Troy could remember seeing at one meal in a long time. While some of it had been new to his Midwestern tastes, he had learned after Africa and England to try anything. Dietrich had proven his earlier statement of enjoying the food too much by finishing off two helpings of everything. Troy laughed at the pleased look on his face.

"You're going to have to start pulling that plow yourself soon to work meals like this off."

Dietrich nodded. "Agreed."

Without prompting, he got up, retrieved and washed the empty dishes, putting the leftovers into the bucket of slop on the porch since there was no ice in the box. Troy smiled as he watched the other man moving with the same quick efficiency that marked everything he did. He also found himself watching the grace in the fluid moves and strong muscles. Jerking his eyes away, he sighed. There was no putting it off. As Dietrich finished cleaning, Troy went out to the car and retrieved a briefcase. He paused for a moment to watch the sun disappear into the low hills. What right did he have to ask Dietrich to risk his life? Especially against his own countrymen? How could he ask one of the most honorable men he knew to turn traitor?

He remembered what was in the briefcase. Tightening his hold on the leather covered handle, he went inside. Dietrich looked up from the table as he came in, eyes asking questions. In silence, Troy opened the case, took out the folder and laid it in front of the German. He sat down, to watch and wait.

It didn't take long. There were fifty photographs, all captioned, and half that number of written reports. Dietrich's expression might have been stone, until he closed the folder, then his eyes closed and a long, shuddering sigh shook the lean frame. Outside an owl hooted from the barn. It was the only sound in the slowly cooling evening.

Dietrich came to his feet, clutching the table. "I would like to step outside," he said shakily. "You have my word I will not..."

"Take as long as you need."

Dietrich disappeared into the dark southern night without ever meeting Troy's eyes.



He was gone half an hour. Troy was sitting near the radio listening to The Big Show when he heard the back door close quietly. There followed the sound of running water. He turned up the oil lamp, turned off the radio and waited. Dietrich sat down stiffly opposite Troy in a wooden rocker and looked up. The water Dietrich had splashed on his face couldn't hide the tracks of tears. Troy keep his reaction under tight control, knowing the man wouldn't want his sympathy or pity.

"What is this about, Troy?" Dietrich asked.

"Those pictures," Troy started, "are Russian. They've liberated nearly a dozen such camps. So far, in the west anyway, we haven't come across any, though we undoubtedly will. In all the camps, most of the records have been burned."

"The war in Europe will be over by fall," Troy continued. "When knowledge of the camps is released, the world is going to want to know who gave the orders, how many camps were there, how many people died in them. We need proof...."

"Proof?" Dietrich demanded harshly. "How much more proof is needed than what you have shown me?"

"What I've shown you is that the SS ran labor camps, that some commandants starved and tortured their captives. But we know the truth - these are death camps, built for the sole purpose of murdering human beings! We need to have proof of what went on and how many civilians were shipped there. We need the men responsible."

He paused, then laid all the cards out. "We're going to Berlin, to SS headquarters and see what we can find." Dietrich met his eyes and the worry was very clear. Gesturing to the pictures, Troy admitted softly, "I have no right to ask you to go back. You were innocent of any..."

"Innocent?" Dietrich snapped. He came to his feet, whirled away, then turned stiffly, hands clasp behind his back. "I was in Germany in '34, Lieutenant, when they took away Jewish citizenship. I was there in '38 when the streets were littered with glass from a thousand Jewish shops and the ashes of synagogues. I saw Gypsies rounded up for no other reason than being Gypsies."

Dietrich straightened, regret and disappointment hard in his voice. "I was a good soldier, Troy. I did not concern myself with politics. I stood by and watched innocent people, ruined, beaten, killed, driven from Germany -- and I did nothing! Innocent? No. No one is innocent who stands by and watches such things happen."

He dropped back into the chair, looking suddenly old and tired, like the last time Troy had seen him in Tunisia. Regret hit Troy hard but something else overrode it, a deep desire to relieve Dietrich's self-inflicted misery. Dietrich was silent, staring down at the braided rug. Leaning forward, Troy drew Dietrich's attention, met the deep brown eyes.

"Then do something about it now," he said firmly.

Dietrich took a sharp breath. "Why me? There are more experienced commandos, men who would know more than I about this sort of thing."

"That's true," Troy agreed. "Lots of reasons. One, you're a German soldier, not a Nazi. There are a lot of people who don't know the difference. By helping us, you'll be showing those people the difference, as well as the fact that when you found out what was going on, you were willing to do something."

"I am to be used for propaganda," Dietrich said harshly.

"Yes," Troy said without regret. "The second reason is that you know SS headquarters. We know you went back there after leaving Tunisia, at Rommel's request."

"I was only there for two weeks," Dietrich explained. "As liaison between Rommel and the Waffen-SS."

"That's more than anyone else." Troy paused, thinking through his next words carefully, even though he had thought them over several times before. He held the man's gaze. "I knew you would want to do the right thing. And, I want you beside me to finish this thing."

He watched, for once completely unsure of the German's reaction. As with everything about the man, it was not a simple response. Once more Dietrich stood, walking to the window and staring out into the dark, calm night.

"I'm surprised you...." His deep voice drifted off. "I would have hanged you that last time, Troy."

"I know," Troy replied. "I thought we agreed we were both doing our duty? Things have changed."

Dietrich was silent for a long time. Troy found himself drawn to the tall figure. He came over and stood next to the handsome German. Giving into the urge, he laid his hand on the tense shoulder. For a moment the muscles under his grip remained tight, then slowly relaxed. Through the dusty glass Troy could see a small animal moving in the blackberry bushes that lined the field. "I have to leave by tomorrow afternoon to catch a flight at Savannah Army Air Base."

Dietrich nodded, all his attention turning away from his surroundings and toward some distant time and place. Troy stepped away, sensing the withdrawal. He glanced at his watch, surprised that the whole conversation had taken barely half an hour. A yawn hit him, as the fatigue brought on by the long flight, the longer drive, and the tension of the last few minutes settled in his body. He rubbed suddenly tired eyes.

Looking up, Troy said gently, "Whatever you decide, Dietrich, it won't change my opinion of your honor or courage."

The gold light put out by the single lamp was caught in the dark gaze as Dietrich looked down at him. Dietrich's hand came up, reached for Troy's cheek and stopped. Dietrich took a step back, though his expression was warm, his mouth touched with just a hint of a smile. Troy refused to acknowledge the sudden heat along his spine, the desire for Dietrich to bestow the touch he so obviously wanted to give. But Troy knew that anything he said or did now would be wrong, would seem as if he were trying to persuade Dietrich to join him for selfish reasons.

Dietrich stood very still for a moment, then he gave the characteristic nod and said, "Lieutenant, I accept your offer."

Surprised at the sudden decision from the normally thoughtfully man, Troy waited, wondering if he would get more of an explanation. After a minute, he merely smiled. "Good."

Dietrich returned the smile quickly, then walked toward the other bedroom. "I assume we have an early trip."



"I've made arrangements to have another POW here tomorrow," Troy explained. When Ruby remained silent, he added hastily, "He's another trustee, like Dietrich. He'll be..."

"You gonna watch out for him?" Ruby asked softly. She laid her crocheting down, looking straight at him. "He ain't well, you know."

That brought Troy's attention away from the barn where Dietrich was packing. "What?"

Ruby shook her head. "He's gonna be mad as a wet hen, me telling you. But, I figure, better you know. That scar he thinks I ain't seen, sometimes, specially on cold days, it causes him pain, steals his breath."

Troy flinched at the thought. He had been injured enough to know how much cold weather could bother old wounds. Berlin in February was cold. "How bad?"

"Bad enough I found him in the field one real cold day, doubled over. Maggie came back alone, still harnessed. Knew he was in trouble."

"Damn," Troy whispered softly. "Ah, sorry, Miss Ruby."

She smiled at him. "It's okay, honey. I been known to say a few bad words myself once in a while."

Troy stood. "I better go talk to him."

Ruby nodded, went back to crocheting.

The barn was dark, though the room Dietrich had been staying in was nice enough. It did indeed have a wood floor, a kerosene heater, a shuttered window and a narrow, Army-supplied cot. Dietrich had a small case on the bed, was putting a few books into it when Troy came in. He glanced up, started to smile and stopped, alerted by Troy's expression that something was wrong.

"How bad is it?" Troy demanded, gesturing impatiently to his own chest.

Dietrich sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Quite bad, sometimes." He looked up. "But not bad enough to stop me from going."

"Dietrich," Troy started, then paused, trying to find the words. "I know you can do this job but I didn't come after you to see you kill yourself..."

"Troy," Dietrich cut him off. "I have to do this. Not only...." He paused, then stared at the floor. "I didn't know about the camps. I did know about the trains."

"What?" Troy asked, confused.

"After Anzio, I was given leave. It was my first trip home in three years." He turned back to Troy and smiled very slightly. "It was a trip I had not expected to ever make." Troy nodded, remembering Dietrich's belief that his homosexuality had been discovered. The smile faded into a wistful look at the pleasant memories, a look that just as quickly changed back to the careful control. "I was on my way to my new posting at Cassino when I was stopped by a train. It seemed quiet odd to me that what seemed a supply train of considerable size would be headed into Germany from the east. I was especially surprised to find the train guarded by SS. The guards ignored me. When one turned his back I opened one of the boxcars."

The smooth voice grew hoarse as Dietrich continued, "It was full of people. Jews mostly, but others; I saw a priest in the back, ... and children. There was a woman, near the door; she looked at me, at my uniform, at my face.... and she tried to hand me a baby. I reached for it... and one of the guards shoved me aside, slamming the door closed." He took a slow breath. "I sat in my car for three hours."

"You said once that we had only duty - to the army, our countries, our men. I went back because the only thing I had left was my men, to see as many as I could to get home alive."

"Even that eluded me." He raised his hand to his chest, rubbed over the scar. "I saw the shot coming. I simply didn't have the heart to move out of the way."

Finally, Dietrich met Troy's eyes. "I am not the soldier you knew in Africa, Troy. That man was lost at a railway crossing near Neustadt. I would like to think I can find him again. I would like to think this is the chance, not just for me, but for those people on the train."

Troy stood quietly for a minute, then he stepped forward and once again put his hand on Dietrich's shoulder. "You don't have to find him, Captain," he said, deliberately using the old rank. "I don't believe he's gone."

The shadows Troy had gotten too good at seeing faded a little and Dietrich brought his hand up to cover Troy's. "Thank you, Sergeant."



"Now you boys watch out for each other, hear?" Ruby said firmly. "I want you both back here in one piece."

Troy smiled at Dietrich as he laid the one small case in the trunk of the car. "Don't worry, Miss Ruby, I'll have him back in that field in three weeks."

Troy slammed the trunk and they stood in awkward silence for a moment. Ruby raised her apron and wiped at the tears on her cheeks. "I'll be holding you to that," she said, her voice breaking just a little. "Maggie might not cotton to the next boy. She don't like just anyone."

Dietrich stepped forward and wrapped the small woman in his long arms, hugging her for a moment before putting a single kiss on her cheek. "You are a fine woman, Miss Ruby and I will be glad to get back."

Crying hard now, Ruby pulled away, waving one hand at them. "Get on with you then. It's a long trip."

"Yes, ma'am," Troy agreed quietly.

He extended his hand to her only to find himself taken in a tight hug, her head coming to just under his chin. Returning the embrace, he patted her back a little clumsily. Over her head Dietrich smiled warmly at him. Feeling the heat of a blush, Troy eased away. Ruby once again wiped her face on the apron.

"Git," she said, "'fore I make a complete fool of myself."

They climbed into the car and Troy started the engine. As he started to pull away, Ruby shouted. "Be careful!"

The car pulled out through the red clay toward the road. As he hit the solid gravel, Troy took a sideways glance, checking Dietrich's reaction. There was sadness in his expression, and determination. Sensing Troy's gaze, the man looked over at him. His chin came up and he nodded once, a sign to Troy that he had no regrets, that what they were about to do was worth the loss of safety, worth the dangers.



The car heater hadn't helped in the least, leaving them both still wet and shivering by the time they reached the hotel turned barracks. Troy and Dietrich ducked inside as the driver unloaded the three bags. The lobby was warm and spacious, decorated in dark woods and old furniture that seemed to be holding up well to the onslaught of American officers. Troy spotted Moffitt right away as he rose from a chair near the large fireplace. Hitchcock followed and they came slowly across the crowded room to join their leader.

Troy cast a quick glance at Dietrich. While he had not said anything to the tall German, he was a little worried about the meeting of the old enemies. The two men striding over the ancient rug had changed, just as he and Dietrich had. There were a few more scars, inside and out, a few more things to haunt their nights. They had seen the war on a far dirtier level than what they had faced in Africa.

"Sarge," Hitch greeted him with welcome familiarity, shaking his hand. "Welcome back."

Moffitt also extended his hand, smiling warmly. "Troy. Good to have you back."

"Good to be back, except for the weather," Troy commented.

As one Moffitt and Hitch turned to Dietrich, who was standing quietly a few steps behind him. Moffitt came to stiff attention, saluting sharply. There was only a heartbeat of hesitation, then Hitch did the same. Troy watched Dietrich almost smile, then he too came up straight and returned the salutes.

"Major," Moffitt said blandly, extending his hand. "Welcome to the Rat Patrol."

A flicker of what could have been annoyance touched the fair features, then Dietrich took the offer, clasping Moffitt's hand for just an instant. Dietrich turned to face Hitchcock, his hand out. For a moment the two men regarded each other over a chasm of experience and history. After a minute, Hitch gave a small smile, and took the German's hand. Troy let out a sigh that he hoped no one noticed.

"Damn, Dietrich," Hitch said suddenly. "You get any colder you gonna turn into a snowman."

Troy came around, taking a good look at his companion. A fine tremor shook the officer, though Troy decided it could have just as easily been him that was shaking. Nodding toward the stairs, he said, "Come on, Major, we'd better get a warm bath and some dry clothes before the briefing."

Dietrich's eyes lit up. "A real bath? Please, lead on, Lieutenant."

The others laughed at his enthusiasm. They handed the bags off to a private then started for the stairs. Moffitt walked beside them. "The briefings been rescheduled to 1000 because of your late flight."

"Good," Troy commented. "We can clean up, get some dinner and a decent night's sleep."

The two Patrol members stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "We'll meet you for dinner, Sarge," Hitch volunteered.

"Mess is down that hall," Moffitt instructed. Glancing at his watch, he asked, "Two hours enough time?"

Troy glanced at Dietrich, judging the man's condition, and finding a glare in answer. With a slightly lopsided smile, he said, "Yeah. It'll do."



Troy closed the door behind them, shedding his clothes with quick moves. "Geez, two days in the South and you forget how cold Belgium can be."

Tossing his wet shirt into the corner, he turned to see Dietrich also stripping out of his soaked clothes. The man was shivering, his lips tight with pain and his breathing shallow. Troy flinched as he realized he was complaining over being wet while his companion had a lot more to complain about. In the window overlooking the stormy Atlantic, lightning flashed.

"Hit the bath, Dietrich," Troy ordered, worry turning his voice sharp. "It'll help."

"If you would like to go..." Dietrich started.

"Dietrich, shut up and get in there," Troy snapped. "The last thing you need is a cold."

Dietrich straightened, unused to Troy being so open with his orders. "Sorry," Troy said quietly, though he couldn't quite control his amusement. "Go on."

In awkward silence Dietrich gathered a robe from his duffel and retreated to the bathroom. Just as he closed the door, he glanced back. For a moment the dark eyes met his and it seemed Dietrich wanted to ask something. The moment passed quickly and he merely reached into the room and tossed a towel back to Troy.

Rubbing the terrycloth over his hair and chest, Troy stared thoughtfully at the door. He had seen the question; he had felt the same warmth singing in his own blood since he had seen the man walking in the bright winter field. Sitting down, Troy closed his eyes and forced himself to think about the feelings he had been very carefully avoiding. This was not a situation where their lives were in danger; this was not a desperate last evening when he didn't want to think about the future. If he made love to Dietrich, it would be a free and open choice; there would be no excuses, no extenuating circumstances.

Dropping his wet pants to the floor, Troy pulled a robe out of his own bag and wrapped it around him. He lay back on the bed with a sigh, stretching his back and checking the room. The place was very nicely furnished with solid furniture and a new radio. The additional Army cot in the room seemed strangely out of place. He watched the rolling ocean through the rain pounding on the window. It was no wonder the bayside hotel had been a favorite with the European elite until taken over, first by the conquering Germans, then by the Allies, as a barracks for visiting officers. Lightning flashed in the large window, lit the stormy sea.

He watched the white capped waves, letting his thoughts drift, thinking of his brother, of Dietrich, considering the memories and doubts over their strange relationship. Most importantly, he thought of whether he wanted a third encounter. There was only one thing he was sure of - he would not be the one to start the action. The two times they had shared each other's company, he had been the one to initiate the encounter. Both times Dietrich had responded, had seemed to enjoy, if only for a while, the sex and the company. But the shadows had returned each time. While sex with no strings was normal for him, Troy wanted, needed to know that Dietrich was interested, not that he was just desperate. As to his own reaction, he decided to let instinct carry him. It had kept him alive this long, he would continue to trust it. With the hard part out of the way, he settled back to wait his turn at the bath.

Twenty minutes later Dietrich came out of the bathroom, hair still wet, dark blue cotton robe tied tightly about his waist. The exhaustion from the flight had lessened, the hot water giving the handsome German's face more color. Troy stood, motioned toward the bed.

"Grab a couple of hours, Dietrich," he instructed. "We've got time before dinner."

"Perhaps I will," Dietrich mused.

Troy stepped toward the bathroom. As he started to close the door, he saw Dietrich drop his robe to slip under the covers. The shiver that echoed along Troy's back had nothing to do with the wind outside the window.



Dietrich shifted, tugging at the long sleeves of the American uniform. Troy watched him fidget. "It fits fine," he volunteered.

Glancing down, Dietrich said dryly, "American uniforms are rather plain, aren't they?"

Troy smiled slightly. "Well, the German one did fit you better. At least I thought so the first time I saw you in one of ours."

Dietrich gave the memory a slight frown and a shake of his head.

"What?" Troy asked.

"After my attempt at impersonating your unit, Troy, I came to the conclusion that your successes in Africa were not due so much to careful planning as sheer luck," he said blandly.

Troy stiffened. "I'm not sure whether to be insulted by that or not, Captain." Then he smiled, "We did seem to have our share, didn't we?"

"Much to my regret," Dietrich admitted.

Troy settled his cap on, motioned toward the door. "Tomorrow we'll see how we both look in black."

"An SS uniform is not something I ever thought to find myself wearing," Dietrich admitted.

As they started for the stairs, Troy laughed, "How do you think I feel about it?"

Moffitt and Hitch waved them into the room from a table near the window.

"You two look better," Moffitt told them as he sat down.

Outside the storm had increased in intensity, making Troy wonder at the chances of their actually flying out at dawn. In a room that must have seen some of the finest European cuisine there was no longer a choice on the fare. As soon as Dietrich and Troy sat down, two plates filled with potatoes, a very small slice of fish and a pile of canned lima beans appeared in front of them. Troy exchanged a look of dismay with Dietrich, both of them obviously thinking back to another dinner they had shared. In the same instant they laughed. Moffitt and Hitch stared at them.

"The lieutenant and I," Dietrich explained, "were recalling a more pleasant fare."

"That wouldn't be tough," Hitch added.

"Now, now, Hitch," Moffitt chided. "It is hot and it's not powdered eggs. Let's be thankful for what we have. And they do have one thing to recommend the place - beer."

Even as he said it four dark ales appeared in front of them. Dietrich smiled slightly in approval, Troy wasn't as enthused over the heavy drink, but it was something to wash down the not-so-appetizing meal. The conversation died as they ate, the silence around them a little awkward. For a long time Troy let the silence grow, unsure of what to talk about. Finally he settled on the old standby, the weather.

Motioning toward the window, he said, "Think we'll get out through this?"

"We may be postponed a few hours but it is due to clear," Moffitt answered.

"Once the front is passed," Dietrich picked up, "it could turn rather cold."

Troy frowned, remembering the German's chest. Dietrich didn't meet his gaze, merely continued to regard the rolling ocean. "Do you know," he suddenly said, "I almost volunteered for the U-boat corps?"

"What stopped you?" Troy wondered.

Dietrich turned and gave him the half-smile he knew very well. "I was a bit claustrophobic."

"How did you manage in a tank?" Hitch questioned.

"Well, perhaps claustrophobic is not correct," Dietrich surmised. "It was not so much the small space as the thought of all that water overhead."

"I can understand that," Troy laughed. "Though I'm sure some of those guys would cringe at the thought of all that sand."

As they finished, one of the civilian waiters appoarched the table. "Lieutenant Moffitt, are you ready for that item yet?"

Wiping his mouth, Moffitt glanced around the table. "Yes, I think now would be fine."

Troy watched his old friend, saw the mischievous smile that spread across his face. A promise made long ago suddenly came to mind. The blue eyes met his and Moffitt nodded. A few minutes later, as Hitchcock and Dietrich finished their meals, the man reappeared carrying a champagne bucket. Both the blondes stared at the bottle.

With great fanfare, Moffitt poured drinks all around. Only when all four glasses were filled did the tall Brit met the German major's gaze. "If you recall, Major, our last meeting was not so, ah, comfortable." Despite the words the tone was light and Dietrich remained relaxed. "However, since your... carelessness lead to my timely rescue I could hardly hold a grudge."

Troy met the hazel eyes, knowing where the conversation was going. Moffitt raised his glass. "To the man who shot Major Wansee," Moffitt said plainly.

Dietrich took a sharp breath. The moment held, and Troy could see the turmoil in Dietrich's dark eyes. Finally, he picked up the glass. Raising it slightly, he said softly, "Perhaps it would be better to toast the man who saved Miss Arno?"

It was Moffitt's turn to smile. "Ah yes, of course. To the man who saved Miss Arno and the medical supplies."

They each downed about half their glasses. After a pause to appreciate the taste, they drained them. "You have excellent taste in champagne, Lieutenant," Dietrich commented.

"The original idea," Moffitt said as he poured again, "was to buy the man with the good aim his favorite vintage, but since I haven't found that out yet...." He let the sentence go unfinished, and once again the two men stared at each other.

Finally, Dietrich gave the slightest incline of his head, a sign they all knew meant he had reached a decision. "Perhaps after the war you will have the chance. I personally have always favored, say a '28 or '32 Ruinart."

Moffitt smiled, raised his glass. "Speaking of excellent taste."

Again the golden liquid disappeared and again Moffitt refilled the crystal. The silence now was not as awkward. It was Hitch who finally gave into the curiosity unleashed by the alcohol.

"How did you end up getting captured, Major?" he asked levelly.

Troy watched Dietrich's reaction, unsure of his willingness to talk. The German only shrugged. "I was wounded at Cassino and taken to a hospital in Rome. Five days later the Allies took the city." The chocolate colored eyes met Troy's and Dietrich smiled crookedly at him. "It was actually to my good fortune. The German medical staff had long since used up the supplies of morphine and what little penicillin they had. Had the Allies not taken the hospital I would have very likely died."

Troy took a sharp breath at that idea. Their gazes held for a long minute, then Troy raised his glass again. "To good timing."

As they sipped the fine wine in silence, their attention was drawn to the storm raging outside.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Moffitt said quietly.

"Scary," Hitch corrected.

The two words suddenly struck Troy as perfectly describing what he thought he wanted to share with Dietrich. Fear at those kinds of thoughts being so upper in his mind made him lower his glass. Before he could say anything, Dietrich blinked and yawned.

"Oh, my," Dietrich said quietly, gaining all three men's attention.

"What?" Troy demanded, worried though he wasn't sure over what.

The handsome German looked over at him, his expression an odd combination of amazement and confusion. "It would seem that I am feeling the drink tonight."

The carefully worded statement and dazed expression, made Troy smile. Moffitt laid a hand on Dietrich's arm. "How long has it been since you had anything alcoholic?"

Dietrich frowned, thinking hard. "About two years."

"Two years!" Hitch laughed. "Damn. No wonder."

Troy stood, reaching down for Dietrich. "Come on, the last thing we need around here is a drunken German major. Let's get you to bed."

For one terrible moment, Troy wondered if Dietrich would say anything to the wording of his order. But the man only gave his hand a disdainful look. "I am capable of walking, Sergeant."

"Lieutenant." The others corrected automatically.

Dietrich glared at them as he came to his feet slowly but steadily. "Good evening, gentlemen. Thank you, Lieutenant Moffitt for the excellent vintage."

Moffitt and Hitchcock came to attention and gave the man a sharp salute. Dietrich straightened, returning it then started for the stairs. Troy smiled after him.

Hitchcock laughed. "Pretty strange, huh, Sarge?"

Shaking his head, Troy moved to follow Dietrich. "'Night, guys. See you in the morning."

Troy detoured to the bar long enough to retrieve a pitcher of water and two glasses. When he walked into the room it was in time to see Dietrich sit down a little heavily on the bed and rub at his arms.

"Are you okay?" Troy demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he reached for the house phone. "I'll have them turn up the heat..."

A hand touched his arm. "I am fine, Troy," Dietrich assured him. "Stop worrying about me."

Frowning, Troy said, "Moffitt and Hitch complain about the same thing." He sat the water down, poured two glasses and handed one to Dietrich. Walking to the window, he sipped slowly at his glass. "I didn't use to be so bad about it. It's like, now that I can see the end, I'm determined that we all get through it."

Dietrich came up beside him, also staring out into the night dark sea. "I am honored that you count me in that company, Troy."

Troy turned, looking up into those intense dark eyes. He wanted to let it drop, afraid of where it might go, but he gave into his instincts. "You've been as much a constant in my life as the guys." He shook his head, turning once again to the window. "Do you know how many times one of them asked why I let you go?"

"How did you answer them?" Dietrich asked.

"I never answered them," Troy admitted with a smile. "After a while they would just sort of smile, like, hell there he goes again."

Dietrich broke the gaze. Staring out at the ocean, he said softly, "My men never questioned me. Your luck and your men's determination always seemed enough to explain your escapes."

Behind Dietrich's back, Troy's smile widened a little, his suspicions finally confirmed. "I figure at least three times you helped our luck along."

"I am not proud of having helped enemy soldiers!" Dietrich snapped, spinning away. His smooth voice leveled out again as he added, "But you and your men were honorable, when those around and above me would have fought the war through any means. There is a limit, even in war. Rommel knew...."

Dietrich took a sharp breath, stopping abruptly. Troy could see that wound was still too new. Returning to the table, Troy set his glass down. "How did we get on this anyway?"

Turning, he stopped. Dietrich was leaning on the wall next to the large window, staring into a distance that only he could see. Once more shadows filled the room. Troy didn't know what to say, or whether he should say anything at all. Taking a slow breath, he stepped forward and laid his hand on Dietrich's shoulder. The German jumped just a little, continued to stare into the stormy night.

Troy hated feeling useless and helpless, both of which he was feeling now. "What?" he demanded, a little harder than he intended.

Shaking his head, Dietrich stepped away, sat on the edge of the cot. "It is nothing." With a wry smile, he said, "It seems I am becoming a maudlin drunk."

Standing directly in front of him, Troy glared down. "You're not that drunk."

A flash of anger filled the lean face just before Dietrich glanced away. "Then we should put it down to weariness perhaps."

Troy sighed, recognizing the tone from one Moffitt would use. Pushing the officer would gain him nothing. He dropped it, startled by his disappointment at the return of the strained silence.

Moving away, he refilled their glasses. "Want some coffee instead?"

"No, thank you," Dietrich said politely. "I think the best thing I could do is to get some sleep."

Seeing that the man had been serious about the weariness, Troy nodded. "Okay. Take the bed."

The dark eyes flashed up at him, reflecting the lightning dancing on the ocean outside. "You do not have to coddle me, Troy. I am..."

"Do you argue with everyone all the time?" Troy demanded.

"No," Dietrich returned, coming to his feet and staring purposefully down at Troy. "I only argue with annoying American officers."

Troy glared back, several sharp retorts coming to mind, then, unexpectedly, he found himself smiling. "That's not true," he said, poking Dietrich in the chest. "You argued with me when I was only a sergeant."

The sudden humor caught Dietrich by surprise. He blinked and very slowly a smile lifted the full lips. "I stand corrected."

"Good," Troy said.

Before he could say something else his senses became very aware of the man standing close to him; the strength in the lean body, the soft breathing, the slight smell of aftershave and starch, the color of his eyes. All the images Troy had so carefully told himself he didn't want to remember from twice before flooded back, leaving him helplessly staring into the dark eyes. Turning quickly, knowing if he didn't he would break his own promise, knowing he would be the one to reach out, he stepped toward the bathroom.

A strong, cool hand cupped his chin, urged him around. Dietrich leaned in very close, close enough to kiss, though he didn't try. Troy stared, unable to think for a moment. Dietrich studied him in silence, hand firm on his chin, eyes searching for something. Troy waited, afraid to let his desire show, afraid of what he wanted.

"I know," Dietrich started, "that you are not like me, Troy..."

Troy covered Dietrich's hand with his own. "No, I'm not. I enjoy the company of a beautiful woman." He watched disappointment fill Dietrich's expression. "But I've discovered that I can also appreciate a handsome man."

Dietrich's reaction was almost comical; he straightened, his mouth dropping open a little. "Close your mouth before I take advantage of it," Troy laughed.

Dietrich's sable eyes softened. "A good soldier takes every advantage."

Troy tilted his head up and did just that, claiming Dietrich's mouth in a slow kiss. The hand on his chin stroked up his cheek and through his hair as he wrapped his arms around Dietrich's waist. Twice before he had felt the strong body under him, and each time the emotions that had controlled him had been different. On a moonlit desert night, Troy had been carried away with curiosity and the absurd desire to chase away the sorrow that seemed so much a part of Dietrich; in an ancient stone prison, fear and loneliness had caused him to seek comfort in sex. Now, he wanted to feel that strength again, wanted to feel that comfort again, wanted to offer the same to Dietrich. His lips parted, sucking Dietrich's tongue deep; Dietrich's arms came around his shoulders, pulling him very close.

Troy reached for the buttons on Dietrich's shirt, impatient fingers flipping them open. A strong hand wrapped around his wrist, held his hand still. He broke the deep kiss, looking up in question. Dietrich smiled softly at him.

"For this la... time, Troy," Dietrich said smoothly, "we have all night. Control your impatience."

Bristling at the slight on his foreplay, Troy pulled back. Before he could protest, the nearly spoken assumption that this would be their last time together reached him. He frowned, not knowing what to say, not wanting to admit that Dietrich was probably correct. He had searched out the man this time, using the excuse of the mission. After the war they would go home to families, to work, to normalcy. The thought held longing and loss. Tilting his head up, he kissed along Dietrich's lips, brushed his fingers down one lean cheek.

Dietrich's fingers moved away from his wrist, started their own slow opening of Troy's shirt. Dietrich kissed along his collarbone as the shirt was pushed off. Ignoring the whirlwind of thoughts, Troy let himself go with the gathering storm the wet trailing of Dietrich's mouth started. What Dietrich wanted was not a quick farewell fuck, Troy knew. He wanted to feel the respect they held for each other translated into sensuous moves. Smiling, Troy reached for Dietrich's shirt with the intention of making each move memorable.

Troy kissed the smiling lips and Dietrich chuckled softly. Troy smiled, treasuring Dietrich's laughter. Lowering his head, Dietrich flicked his tongue over Troy's nipple, sending desire shooting through his veins. Not to be left out, Troy flicked one thumb lightly over Dietrich's already taut nipples, while the other hand continued down and unzipped Dietrich's pants. At the same time, Dietrich reached for Troy's pants. There was a moment of mutual entanglement before Troy stepped away.

"Might be easier one at a time," he suggested.

The tall German's response was to go to his knees in front of Troy, urging him to sit on the bed. Troy's pants were opened and slowly eased down. Dietrich kissed across Troy's stomach, over each hip, down the outside of each exposed thigh. The kisses trickled like warm rain into his blood. Troy reached where he could, stroking through Dietrich's soft hair, teasing around each ear. By the time the shorts were pulled off, his cock was jutted up over his stomach. Dietrich seemed wholly devoted to his task, very carefully ignoring the dark cock to unlace Troy's boots and pull away the last of his clothing. Only then did Dietrich look up, sable eyes glittering with lust. He leaned into the palm Troy had pressed to his cheek, turned his head far enough to kiss Troy's fingers.

Dietrich stroked along his back, kneading the muscles. Sighing, Troy leaned back for just a moment to enjoy the feel of the strong hands. Kisses flowed down his throat. He ran his hands up Dietrich's chest, touching almost reverently over the harsh scar - and felt the damage under the tight skin.

He looked up, unable to keep the worry from his tone as he asked again, "How bad?"

Reaching out, Dietrich took his hands, eased them away from the wound. "I lost part of a rib and some of the lung," he said blandly. With a wry smile, he added, "Some of us didn't have the luck of the infamous Rat Patrol."

"How many times did I hit you?" Troy wondered.

"Twice," Dietrich said without rancor. He pointed first to one shoulder, then slightly under the other. "Here and here."

Suddenly realizing that Dietrich was very likely to ask the same question, Troy felt a blush start up his face. Dietrich's eyes narrowed as he saw Troy's embarrassment.

"You are blushing, Troy," Dietrich said, puzzled.

"Yeah, well," Troy smiled. "You know you hit me once."

"Yes?"

"It was really twice." Without any more explanation, Troy turned and pointed to a long, white graze scar that decorated his left ass.

He glanced up to find Dietrich's bottom lip held firmly in white teeth as the man tried valiantly to not laugh. It was no use. One look at Troy was his undoing; he started to laugh, deep and full, nearly doubling over. Troy watched, completely taken with the officer's merriment. After a minute, Dietrich got his amusement under control and wrapped his arms around Troy's waist.

"Had I known I would become personally involved with my target, I might have missed," he said lightly.

"You're the only other person who knows about it," Troy confessed. "I managed to get back without Moffitt seeing it."

Dietrich again fought to stop the glee. "Yes, I can see where that would be a rather a serious blow to morale."

The dark eyes sparkled with sensual delight, any shadows having fled for the moment. Troy went to his knees on the hardwood floor, picked up where he had left off, kissing down the lightly haired chest all the way to the top of Dietrich's shorts. Shoving the shirt off, Troy slipped a finger into the belt loops on Dietrich's pants, tugged him up. Once he was on his feet, Troy used the same fingers to push the pants down. At the sight of the full cock, he smiled up.

"Impatient Americans, huh?" he joked.

Hands carded through his hair and Dietrich bent double to kiss him. When their mouths parted, Troy transferred his attention to Dietrich's legs, licking along each smooth thigh, letting his cheek barely brush the straining erection. With a hand on each narrow hip, Troy urged him back to the bed, before tugging the tight, high boots off. He stood, and was surprised when Dietrich did the same. Strong arms took him in a tight hold, and Dietrich kissed him slowly, deeply, the touch filled with longing and desire.

He eased away, startled by the intensity of the emotions Dietrich was sending, and by their equally strong return. Dietrich smiled at him, features warm and relaxed.

"You are very handsome, Troy," he whispered, claiming another soft kiss.

A tickle of surprise edged along Troy's mind. He had used the term with Dietrich earlier but as a joking comment. To hear another man use the term in regard to himself left him feeling uncomfortable. That feeling brought on a flood of confusion. The arms locked around him loosened as Dietrich felt him stiffen. The blond stepped away, though he kept his arms resting on Troy's shoulders.

Dietrich's expression held understanding and a touch of sadness. "The words surprise you."

The mere term caused Troy to think about his answer. Romance implied something more than sex, something he couldn't recognize between himself and Dietrich. Or maybe he was making more out of the words than he needed to. With a sigh, he said, "I've never been on the receiving end before."

Nodding, Dietrich said, "Women aren't encouraged to seduce men, so men aren't used to that kind of talk."

Troy thought about that for a minute. He had no problem with pillow talk when with women - was this so different? He took a long, careful look at the man who had been both enemy and lover. Dietrich was very fair, his light dusting of hair turning darker as it went lower, turning almost gold around the thick cock. Dietrich radiated a quiet strength, as much from his personality as from the sharply defined muscles. The stark scar gave him a mark of vulnerability in notable contrast to the steel in his eyes. Troy suddenly smiled.

Pulling Dietrich close, he kissed down the long throat. "You're gorgeous," he whispered huskily. "As beautiful as anyone I've made love with." With one finger, he traced the underside of the large cock. "And a person could get real jealous over that."

Dietrich shook his head at the abrupt change of mind, hands skimming along Troy's back. "Are all Americans so crazy?"

"Are all Germans so talkative?" Troy returned, hands tightening on Dietrich's ass.

"Not when they have something better to do." Dietrich kissed him again.

Troy eased them back into the bed, stretching out next the man. He paused, admiring the play of light against Dietrich's skin, the pale gold contrasting with the sun-darkened arms. Slowly, Troy let his hands follow his eyes, amazed by the softness of the skin across Dietrich's hip and stomach, so different from the Sahara-toughened arms and throat. Dietrich was quiet, lying still, a gentle smile on his face at Troy's exploration, sighing softly as Troy's hands floated over his hip. Dietrich's hands slipped around Troy's back, urging him down. Leaning forward, Troy claimed a hard nipple as his other hand traced down Dietrich's long leg.

Dietrich moved, rolling them over, eyes dark as he studied Troy. The callused hands drifted down Troy's stomach, pressed inside each hip, filling his blood with lightning. He arched back, moaning. Weight pressed against him, a heavy cock prodding his stomach as Dietrich claimed his mouth. Holding Dietrich's head, he plunged into the German's mouth, tasting the last remnants of champagne. His move was rewarded with a deep moan from Dietrich. Thunder rolled outside, seemed to settle in Troy's nerves, making them tremble. He rolled over, pressing Dietrich down into the large bed, still locked in the deep kiss.

He kissed down the strong chin, along Dietrich's throat and shoulders, before once more claiming a nipple. Hands skimmed down his back, kneaded his ass, flicked ever so lightly down the crevice.

"Yeah..." Troy moaned, sliding his cock across Dietrich's.

Leaning back, he rolled the wet nipple between his fingers, turned his attention to the large cock lying against Dietrich's flat stomach. Carding through the thick curls, he traced the large vein with one finger, watched the shaft twitch in response. Shifting, he ran his tongue up the solid flesh, felt the beat of Dietrich's pulse through the tight skin. Dietrich moaned softly.

The slender hands reached for him, trying to urge him over but he resisted. Troy wanted to bring Dietrich as much pleasure as he'd been given during their last encounter. Pressing his tongue hard against the flared head, he heard Dietrich utter something in agonized pleasure. Troy smiled as he slowly eased down the hot shaft, tongue playing around the head, teeth barely grazing the tender flesh. Bringing his hands into play, he tightened one on the base of Dietrich's cock while he rolled the tight balls with the other hand. The soft curls tickled his chin and nose, the hot flesh slid across his tongue, deep into his throat. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the taste and feel, let himself enjoy each. Dietrich groaned, hands tangling in his hair, holding him steady.

The shaft thrust up, nearly choking him. He pulled back a little, sucking harder. The handsome German uttered a soft cry, thrusting in short, hard to control jerks. Troy gripped the base of the large cock firmly and started moving, picking up a rhythm that matched the stormy sea, rocking them both. The balls under his hand tightened. Troy eased off, knowing the signs, hearing it in Dietrich's uneasy breathing, feeling the tempest threatening his own senses.

He stared down at the cock that shone with his saliva. The image of what Dietrich had done to him during their last meeting ripped through him. He looked up, met the dark gaze. "Don't go anywhere."

Dietrich started to protest, but Troy silenced him with a quick kiss. Troy stepped to the bathroom, to the kit he had brought with him. Winking at Dietrich from the door, he came back to his original position, carefully keeping one hand behind his back.

"Troy..."

"You're talking too much again, Dietrich," Troy said quickly. "Close your eyes."

After only a moment's hesitation, Dietrich complied, a soft smile taking years off his face. Troy tried to unscrew the lid silently but he saw a ripple of excitement go across Dietrich's flat stomach at the sound. Stretching out between the long legs, Troy flicked his tongue featherlight over the weeping head of Dietrich's cock, watched the lean face darken with pleasure. With no more warning than that, he resumed his sucking. Dietrich cried out, arching up into the wet heat of Troy's mouth. Troy was quick; his hand, slick with the Vaseline, slipped under the hard balls, trailing down the taut skin before the entrance to Dietrich's body. Dietrich was panting again. Troy could feel his struggle to keep from thrusting, from giving into what his body so clearly wanted. Slowing his rhythm, he felt the muscles under his hands and mouth loosen a little as Dietrich stepped away from the thunder in his blood.

On the next thrust up, Troy slipped one finger carefully into the tight ass. The effect was lightning on a stormy sea. Dietrich cried out, the flares of light dancing through his blood and transferring into Troy's. Troy moved away, leaning up on one elbow to watch, entranced as his finger sank into the fine ass. The feel of tightness and heat, the grip of smooth interior muscle, sent a new image, hotter than lightning, more dangerous than the stormy sea to fill his imagination. He took a sharp breath - heard it echoed by Dietrich.

Looking up, he saw Dietrich's face tight with strain. "Tell me," Troy requested softly.

"What?" Dietrich whispered, eyes barely opening.

"Tell me." Troy watched, knowing the man's thoughts here as well as he had in the desert.

Dietrich's eyes shifted to the ceiling, seeing into an image that Troy knew was the same one he had seen. Troy wiggled his finger deeper, twisted it in the tight passage, crooked it to stretch the entrance, touch the muscle from inside. A hard gasp answered his moves. Dietrich's hands floated down his cheeks, calling his attention back up.

"I would very much like to be taken by you, Troy," Dietrich said softly.

Troy took a sharp breath, the images he'd had becoming solid, real and frightening. "Are you sure?" He whispered.

Dietrich eased away from Troy's teasing finger, sat up and took Troy in his arms. The kiss was breathstealing, tongue dueling with Troy's. When they moved apart, Troy saw the longing and lust in the glittering eyes. Still holding Troy's gaze, Dietrich reached into the jar, spread the thick gel between his hands and very sensously, very carefully coated Troy's cock. The slippery hands, tight and sure, sent erotic winds across Troy's nerves. Leaning forward, he took Dietrich in another kiss, moaning against the soft lips. He eased away, and the inviting touch faded.

"Okay." Troy smiled. "I guess you're sure."

The expression Dietrich returned was full of excitement and desire. Once more he tasted the German, felt the desire pounding through Dietrich's blood. Moving away, Dietrich rolled to his stomach, started to come to his knees. Troy put a hand on his arm.

"How long's it been since you've done this?" he asked, kissing along the perfect ass.

Dietrich gave a small shrug. "A while."

"Then lie on your side," Troy instructed. "It'll be easier that way."

The bland comment caused Dietrich to roll partially over and stare in amazement at him. Troy only smiled. "Some of the ladies in Benghazi were open to variety."

Dietrich considered the statement. After a minute he gave the characteristic nod. "Let us be thankful for variety."

Rolling back around, Dietrich raised one leg, giving Troy free access to his ass. Troy swallowed, fighting away the urges that rolled through him. He stretched out next to Dietrich, molding his body around the taller one, cock brushing along the lean ass. Dipping into the jar again, Troy coated his fingers, trailed slowly across the tight muscle. As he eased one finger back into Dietrich he kissed along his shoulders, ran his tongue around the man's ear, tugged on the fall gold hair. Dietrich moaned softly, tilting his head back into the teasing touch, shoving back against Troy's hand. Troy added a second finger.

Dietrich gasped, pushing back hard."Yes, Troy, please..."

Troy wanted very much to give into the German's demands, but he also wanted to make the pleasure last, wanted time to savor each new sensation and let Dietrich enjoy each new crest. He reached over Dietrich's narrow hips, gripped the large shaft and stroked it slowly. His other hand gripped his own cock, guiding it to the oiled entrance to Dietrich's strong body. Dietrich groaned softly, thrusting into Troy's hand. When Dietrich next lifted to meet Troy's hand, Troy pushed gently into the willing body. Dietrich cried out, arching away. Troy's arm tightened around his hips, holding him steady.

Kissing along the tense neck, Troy whispered, "Easy. Breathe." The muscles around his shaft were solid and he could feel the trembling running through the lean body under him. "Relax. I don't want to hurt you."

"It's all right," Dietrich said tightly. "It takes a minute."

Troy's hand tightened around Dietrich's shaft. He thought back to his encounter with the whore in Benghazi, to what she had done when he'd fucked her. Leaning forward, but keeping his hips still, Troy again teased around Dietrich's neck, hand pumping steadily.

"Want you to enjoy this," Troy whispered. "God, it feels good."

He felt a little of the tension fade from the stiff body. "Tell me," Dietrich repeated Troy's order.

"You fishing for compliments?" He joked. Dietrich started to answer but Troy continued, "Want me to tell you how hot and tight you are? How good you feel under me? Want to know how much I want to stay inside you forever? How close to coming just doing this much is making me?"

Dietrich laughed softly, more of the rigidness fading. Very slowly, Troy eased further into the tight, slick passage. Flicking his thumb over the large cock, he kissed along the broad shoulders. With his other hand he pressed hard at the base of Dietrich's spine, searching for the bunch of nerves one of his evening ladies had once shown him. The muscles around his cock loosened and he slipped in further, filling the slick passage, balls pressed against the fine ass. There was a sudden, hard gasp from Dietrich. Troy smiled. Pulling back just a fraction, he repeated the move.

"Gott...." Dietrich gasped.

The man shoved back, hard, desperate for the touch, for the lightning. Troy echoed the need as he thrust in, sheathing himself completely in the fair body. They held there for a moment, each savoring the union, the waves of lust flooding their nerves. Wrapping his arms around Dietrich, Troy held his position, afraid, even now of hurting Dietrich with his body's impatient demands. Dietrich's arm came around, hand tightened on his ass, urging him forward.

"You ready?" Troy questioned.

A deep, husky chuckle answered him. "More than ready."

Still, Troy was cautious. He pulled back, nearly sinking under the feeling of hot muscle as he did. Dietrich gasped again, muttering under his breath. Troy slid back in, deeper, slowly building the moves.

"Please, Troy..." Dietrich pleaded again.

The smooth voice, pleading for him, was Troy's undoing. With more force than he intended, he shoved into the narrow ass. Dietrich rose to met him. The waves in Troy's blood rose, threatening the dam he had carefully held around his passion. He tried to control it, tried to keep the moves slow and calculated, but Dietrich twisted, pulling his cock deeper with each thrust. He closed his eyes, let himself feel the slow glide of his cock along the slick muscles. Dietrich groaned, burying his face against the pillow. Troy watched the strong muscles along Dietrich's back ripple as he moved, watched the narrow hips pound against the bed. He brought his hand around, pumped the large, hot cock.

"Troy..." Dietrich drew out his name, pleading again.

The tempest howled through Troy's blood and he surrendered to it. With a groan of animal passion, he started driving, plunging deep, hands hard on Dietrich's hips, pounding into the tight ass. Under him, he could feel the storm raging through Dietrich's body, could feel the lust surging past all control. He moaned, biting hard on Dietrich's shoulder, feeling the muscles ripple under his lips. The waves washed away the last of his awareness, reducing the world down to the pleasure of his cock sinking into tight, oiled muscle. From somewhere far away, he heard Dietrich cry out, felt the come cover his hand. The storm won, the dark tide taking him under, drowning him in erotic pleasure. His seed flooded Dietrich's body.

Long, dizzy minutes went by as Troy held there, feeling the last of the ripples echo through his blood. He sighed, heard it repeated by Dietrich. Slowly, he withdrew, slipping over to lie in front of Dietrich. Once, in a night cold tent, he had not known what to do afterwards; now, instinct took care of any worries. Sliding close, he wrapped his arms around Dietrich. Dietrich stared at him a moment, and Troy smiled at the absence of shadows in the man's expression. Troy took a deep breath, shaking off the feeling of drowning in those fathomless eyes. It was up to him. He knew without any doubt that he could stand up, move to the cot, and tomorrow Dietrich would still stand beside him. Shoving all thoughts away, he slipped closer, slid his arm over Dietrich's damaged side and pulled the man close.

"Troy?" Dietrich's rich voice questioned.

He was afraid to answer. "Yeah?"

"Do you think we could avail ourselves of the bath again before we leave?"

Seeing the normalcy as a lifeline, Troy laughed. "No problem."



"The best we can hope for is a list of commanders and camps, though it is probably only wishful thinking," Colonel Jackson informed them. He pointed to the blueprint spread out on the table. "Assuming the rooms are still in one piece, this is the most likely place."

Troy cast a quick glance at Dietrich, checking to see if this fit with what he remembered from the SS headquarters. Dietrich leaned back, looking thoughtful. His move was not missed by Jackson.

"You have a comment, Major?" He asked a little sharply.

Dietrich did not respond to the tone. Instead, he studied the building plan for a minute. "There will not be a list of commanders," he said firmly.

The bland answer took the anger out of Jackson's sails. Curious now, the colonel sat down, meeting the German's gaze. "Okay. Has this been a waste or is there something we can find?"

"Himmler is not stupid," Dietrich explained. "He knows the end of the thousand year Reich is soon. Anything obvious will have been destroyed or moved."

"Then what can we find?" Moffitt questioned.

"Accounts," Dietrich said, looking up at the Englishman. "The SS is very particular about keeping books. Accounting books are not considered highly secretive. But they would have things like payments for train service, receipts for labor."

"Will that do it?" Hitchcock demanded, brushing his hair back under his red cap.

"Yeah," Troy added. "Because books and invoices will also have locations and signatures."

Dietrich nodded; leaning forward, he pointed at a room in the opposite wing than the one indicated by Jackson. "This was the bookkeeping section."

"It still is," Jackson confirmed. "Though we don't know the extent of the damage in any of the buildings."

"So," Troy summarized, "we take bookkeeping while Moffitt and Hitch run through personnel."

"Uh, Colonel," Hitch started a little nervously. "How bad is the bombing going to be while we're in there?"

At that the colonel smiled and slapped a hand on the corporal's shoulder. "You're in luck there, son. According to our weather reports, Berlin's going to be socked in for at least three days. It gives you a chance to get in and out before the bombs start falling again."

Very tactfully, Dietrich cleared his throat. Once more the colonel regarded him. "Something else, Herr Major?"

"The cover story," Dietrich started, "relies on..."

"All of us passing for SS," Troy picked up in good, if accented German.

"No problem, Major," Hitch continued in the same language.

Troy couldn't control his smile as Dietrich stared in complete surprise. "I told you I was a fast learner," he said, still in German.

"They've been very determined," Moffitt offered.

Dietrich blinked. "Yes, I can see where the problem is not as much of a problem as I thought. There is one small complication."

"Yes?" The colonel prompted.

Dietrich's amused gaze met Troy's. "You still sound like an American speaking German."

Troy bristled slightly, his pride dented at having his painfully learned German questioned. "Well there isn't a hell of a lot we can do about it, is there?"

"Actually," Dietrich continued, "there is." That gained him a quick look from the other three. "He could be exactly that, an American. Germany is not the only country to have.... defectors. Just after the war started there were many Americans who, for one reason or another, came to fight with Germany."

"Good point," Moffitt conceded. "It might also help."

"How?" Jackson asked.

"Novelty," Moffitt offered. "Having Troy as Dietrich's aide won't raise an eyebrow. But having an American defector might offer a diversion if we need it."

Jackson looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'll get his papers changed to reflect that." The colonel came to his feet. "If that's all, gentlemen, I suggest you get a big lunch. Your flight leaves in two hours."



The flight was rough, following the cold front as it swept down through Germany. They landed at Kempton, the absolute edge of the western advance, and were met by two men from the local German resistance. Three hours later, Troy waited for Dietrich and Moffitt to finish getting outfitted. Hitchcock was already set and had gone to check the staff cars they would use for the last, most difficult part of the trip. It would take eight hours for them to reach Berlin, even though it was only a little over eighty miles away. Most of the roads were in ruins. He stared down at the papers in his hand. There were more required now than there had been only a few months before, during their first mission into Germany.

"Lieutenant?" someone questioned in German behind him.

He turned to find Kronering, the resistance leader standing just inside the door to the small headquarters. "Yeah?"

The man stared at him for a moment. "I do not like the idea of you taking Major Dietrich in with you."

Anger flashed into Troy's expression. "Look, Major Dietrich is just..."

"Major Dietrich," the man continued, "is a highly decorated Werhmacht officer. I do not believe he would defect."

"I don't care what you believe," Troy snapped. "Allied command believes him - and I believe him. He goes."

Before the agent could continue his arguments, a slight coughing sound was heard from behind Troy, and the man glared over Troy's shoulder. Troy turned, to be confronted by two very competent officers dressed in the ominous black and silver SS uniforms. Deep brown and bright hazel eyes met his.

"Damn," Troy admitted. "You two look real convincing."

"Scary," Hitchcock added, coming in from the cold. He paused to knock some of the snow off his heavy coat. "How come they look nastier than we do, Sarge?"

Troy met Dietrich's gaze and smiled. "Must be the personalities."

Dietrich straightened and cast a quick glance at Moffitt, who only shrugged back. "If you are quite finished, Lieutenant, may we get on with this?"

Despite the seriousness of the mission, Troy couldn't resist one more comment. "Are you sure that one is fancy enough for you? We could always add a few medals."

Ignoring him, Dietrich asked Moffitt, "Has he always been this irritating?"

Moffitt looked back at Troy, mischief sparkling in his eyes. "Oh, yes, he's always been quite the comedian."

Still without looking at Troy, Dietrich started for the door. "I'm surprised you didn't do the Wehrmacht a favor and shoot him yourself."

Moffitt also walked passed his friend without meeting the returned glare. "I was very often tempted. But that would have meant breaking in a new sergeant."

If Dietrich had anything further to say it was lost in the howl of the wind as he opened the door. Hitch smiled at Troy as he followed the other two, letting Troy know that he had somehow come out the loser on that exchange.

"Both cars are in front, Sarge," Hitch said, letting him off the hook.

"Okay," Troy said. "We leave now, you and Moffitt follow in an hour."



They arrived, as planned, just after dawn, having supposedly flown in after escaping the Russian advance. The trip had left them looking haggard enough to pass for men fleeing the enemy. They had come through two checkpoints, though they were designed more to keep people in Berlin than out. Troy took a deep breath as the staff car came to a stop in front of the block long, ornate building that housed the most dangerous branch of the Reich. Taking his cramped hands off the cold steering wheel, Troy turned to Dietrich - and was stopped by the sorrow in the man's face. It was easy to figure out where the sadness came from. Troy had never been in Berlin, but through the rubble and charred ruins, there were still glimpses of glory, still signs of the Reich at the height of its pride and power. He considered trying to say something but knew that nothing would help, so he fell back on practicality.

"Let's go, the others won't be far behind."

Dietrich took a very deep breath, sighed it out slowly. He closed his eyes for an instant; when he opened them again, his control was firmly in place, determination etched through the sorrow. Glancing at Troy, he said, "I hope you are prepared to recite all the appropriate SS propaganda?"

Troy nodded. "I can shovel it with the best of them."

His wording gained him a puzzled look but Dietrich didn't ask. Acting the perfect aide, Troy came around and opened Dietrich's door. They made their way over the broken sidewalk. The door, reinforced with raw wood planks and flanked by sandbags, was opened by a boy who couldn't have been more than sixteen, though he wore an SS uniform, complete with death's head pin. A shiver snaked down Troy's back as he followed Dietrich into the headquarters; it felt as if he were walking into a tomb.

They marched to the large, damaged desk, Dietrich in front. Together they came to attention, raising their arms in sharp Nazi salutes. The man at the desk, the perfect Nazi ideal, blond, tall and blue-eyed, took a quick look at the insignias on Dietrich's uniform and came to his feet.

"Heil Hitler!" he announced.

Dietrich nodded, handing over both of their sets of papers without saying anything. The sergeant, examined them in great detail, taking a quick glance up at Troy. "You are American?" He questioned.

"Is there a problem, Sergeant?" Dietrich demanded in a sharp tone.

The tone and look Dietrich gave the man made him pale. "No, Herr Major!" With a great deal of haste, he handed the papers back. "Everything is in order. Herr Himmler is in conference. It may be several..."

"You will not need to bother the Deputy Fuehrer," Dietrich said smoothly. "I am here to inspect some company records only. We have had a arduous trip, Sergeant. Is there a place we can refresh ourselves, perhaps get some food and drink?"

Troy listened in admiration to Dietrich's quiet, calm voice, watched it put the desk officer at ease. "Yes, sir. Visiting officers quarters are in the basement. Second flight of stairs on the left, sir."

"Thank you." Dietrich started away, then stopped, as if in afterthought, adding, "There is another officer, Captain Tauber, coming in to report, notify me as soon as he arrives."

"Right away, Herr Major."

Dietrich lead the way down the deserted hall. The lack of personnel confirmed what they already knew - anyone who could carry a gun was in the field. They came to the first set of stairs and Dietrich took a quick look around, then casually walked on toward the back of the building. Troy moved in closer to him.

"Herr Himmler wasn't supposed to be here," he whispered urgently. "Think that could be a problem?"

Dietrich continued walking, though his expression turned thoughtful. "It may be to our advantage. He may keep the upper echelon occupied while we are here. And, if we are called to report, our papers are quite legitimate, if a little old."

"Yeah, the advantage of chaos," Troy said. "With communications going to hell, things and people can get lost real quick."

The stairs they needed were only a few yards in front of what had been a partial glass door. According to their map, the bookkeeping section was in there. The glass was long gone and the damage boarded over. Troy cast a quick glance at Dietrich. They had no way of knowing if the rest of the wing were damaged or even whether the section they were looking for was still there. There was nothing to do but follow the plan. They headed for the officers quarters.

There was another guard at the bottom of the stairs. He came to his feet, raised his arm. Dietrich returned the salute more offhandedly this time, raising his hand only from the elbow, though Troy remained more enthusiastic. The man, older than anyone Troy could remember seeing in uniform, held out his hand.

"Papers, please, Herr Major?" he requested.

"Again?" Dietrich barked.

The man only shrugged. "I am sorry, Major, but as long as Herr Himmler is in the building we must be very sure."

Sighing, Dietrich nodded. "Yes, of course."

The papers once again gained Troy a strange look, but they were waved through without incident. As they moved down the hall Troy glanced at his watch. It was nearing ten hundred. The room they had been directed to looked as if it had once been a cell, though it sported a small bathroom in the back, and the door was solid, a refuge from the round the clock bombing. A cynical smile crossed Dietrich's face.

"The rats have been chased into their own holes," he commented.

Troy barely heard him, he was too busy considering a dangerous idea. Dietrich turned to him, started to say something and stopped. After a minute, he chuckled slightly, gaining Troy's attention.

Dietrich was studying him. "You are like the rabbit in the cartoon. I could almost see a light bulb above your head."

"Bugs Bunny," Troy said offhandedly. "And it's not an idea yet. What are the odds that Himmler may have something important with him?"

With a shrug, Dietrich admitted, "There is no way to tell. I suppose it is possible that he may be here to deliver some information or take something out."

Troy pulled out his cigarettes, frowning at the German brand. He offered one to Dietrich, then lit them both. Pacing the length of the twelve foot cell, Troy could feel Dietrich's gaze on him, waiting. Finally, he sat on one of the two small cots.

"Okay. You and I are going in to inspect the books. Moffitt and Hitch will take care of personnel." He met the clear intense gaze. "If we don't find anything, we should be able to figure out where Himmler is staying."

The meaning of his words galvanized for Dietrich. He took a quick breath, tilted his head slightly. "You are proposing that we burglarize Deputy Fuehrer Himmler in SS headquarters in the middle of Berlin?"

"Yeah," Troy said firmly.

Dietrich stared at him as if he had completely lost his mind. At that moment, Troy wasn't so sure he hadn't. The mission they had come in on was dangerous enough; what he was suggesting was just shy of suicidal. A new thought struck him, made him take a quick breath.

"I can't ask you to do it," Troy said firmly. "We had a deal when we came in."

Dietrich sat down opposite him on the second cot. "But you intend to go through with this insanity?"

Slowly, Troy nodded. "Yeah, I am."

Cold silence claimed the Spartan cell. "Would you agree to a compromise?" Dietrich asked. "Only if we don't find anything in either of the other departments, do we try for Himmler's briefcase."

"Not we," Troy corrected. "This is my crazy idea. I go in."

"No." Dietrich's voice was firm, carrying all his considerable command experience behind the single word.

Troy immediately bristled. Coming to his feet, he said, "You're not in command here, Dietrich, so don't..."

"Arguing will not do you any good, Troy." Dietrich also came to his feet. "We came in together. We will complete this mission together and we will go out together."

"This is not part of the mission!" He had endangered the man's life enough, he couldn't ask any more of him.

"Keep your voice down," Dietrich hissed. "There are always people listening."

The rebuke smarted. Troy stepped closer, grabbed a handful of Dietrich's black coat. "I will not have you ..."

Dietrich's hands came up, took his wrists in an iron grip. But when he spoke, his voice was level, logical. "I came to Berlin to help stop this insanity. If it seems our best evidence is in Himmler's keeping, then we will get it out."

The reality of what Dietrich was risking came back into focus, overrode the fear Troy felt. The anger faded from his muscles. He eased his hands from Dietrich's hold and stepped away. Casually, he reached out and straightened the German's coat. "Okay."

There was a moment's pause as Dietrich adjusted to his sudden change in temperament. Then the tall German smiled, amusement glittering in the dark gaze. "Your German is better when you are angry."

"Well," Troy observed casually, "too much more and you would have found out how good my Army slang is when I'm mad."



The phone rang less than an hour later, confirming the arrival of Captain Tauber and his aide. Dietrich told the desk officer to hold them there. Troy took a deep breath.

"Show time, Major," he said lightly.

With a completely level tone, Dietrich said, "I trust you will be the one to explain your new plan to them. I don't think they would believe me."

"Yeah," Troy said. "I'll take the blame."

Picking up his briefcase, Dietrich started up the stairs with Troy just behind. As Dietrich reached the top of the sagging stairs, one of the steps gave way under Troy, throwing him forward into Dietrich's back. A quick grab by Dietrich for the rail stopped both of them from a nasty fall. Troy sat down heavily, barely stifling a loud curse. Dietrich knelt beside him, reaching for his leg. Before Troy could say anything, a sharp, nasal voice cut him off.

"Is he injured?"

At the top of the stairs a short, thin, weasel faced man with round gold glasses stood in front of two large, Aryan guards. Troy took a sharp breath. Dietrich came to his feet and stiff attention.

"Heil Hitler!" he stated firmly.

Troy struggled to gain his feet. Ignoring Dietrich, Himmler waved Troy down. "Stay. Are you injured, Sergeant?"

"No, sir," Troy returned sharply. Very slowly, not wanting to complicate things by being ordered to the infirmary, he gained his feet, forced his leg down, refusing to wince.

One of the guards leaned forward and whispered something to Himmler. The small eyes over the large, angled nose widened. "You are an American?" He demanded.

Before Troy could reply, Dietrich took over, falling back to protocol. "Herr Himmler, I'm Major Von Damme. This is my aide, Sergeant Hillyard."

Himmler's sharp gaze took a sweeping look down Dietrich's uniform, but immediately his interest returned to Troy. "Are you an American?"

"No, sir!" Troy said adamantly. "I am German. I am Aryan. I returned home to correct a mistake my father made by leaving. I live to serve the Fuehrer and the Fatherland."

"How long have you been home?"

"Since 1939, sir."

The words had been practiced enough that they flowed smoothly, a mix of outrage and arrogant pride. Troy held his strict posture, waiting. Beside him he could feel Dietrich's worry. After a minute, Himmler smiled.

"The SS is pleased to have you back, Hillyard. When we have won this war, we will need men like you to help control your ex-countrymen." The deputy Fuehrer paused, then nodded. "I would be pleased if you two would join me for dinner tonight, seventeen hundred."

With that order, he turned and marched away. For a long second neither man moved, too shocked by the sudden meeting. Finally, Dietrich turned, started to say something and stopped. After a minute he simply shook his head in obvious disbelief. Troy looked up at him, and sighed in relief.

"It just keeps getting stranger, doesn't it?' he commented.

Dietrich snorted. "That is, I believe, an understatement."

Troy took a tentative step forward, favoring his ankle. Dietrich slipped a hand under his elbow again. "Are you hurt?" he asked levelly.

"Nah, little sprain," Troy assured him. "It'll be okay in a couple of minutes."

"When we reach the desk, I will send someone for ice," Dietrich said calmly. He stopped any protest by adding, "A good officer always looks after his aide."

There was a hint of warmth in the rich voice, but when Troy looked up, there was only the concerned German officer. They made it to the small office and Dietrich urged Troy down in the nearest chair. Moffitt and Hitch both moved closer, looking concerned.

Troy waved them off. "Just a little twist. There's some ice coming."

As they waited for Troy's ankle to recover, they confirmed their plans. Moffitt and Hitch had orders to check personnel. Troy and Dietrich were to check with bookkeeping. They were looking for a company commander who had been robbing his own men's payroll. At the end, Troy threw in the other part of the plan. If Dietrich's look had said he was crazy it was now confirmed by Moffitt's expression. Even Hitchcock, who had put up with a lot of crazy ideas, looked slightly shocked at this one.

"Look," Troy said defensively, "if we find what we need, great. But if not, I don't intend to have come this far without taking every option."

The logic and determination were inescapable. It was, naturally, Moffitt who finally broke the silence. To Dietrich he said blandly, "You were right. I should have shot him."

"We'll met here at fifteen hundred," Troy continued. "We'll pass our film off to you two. Dietrich and I are staying the night."

Hitch looked confused. "Why?"

In the dry tone they all knew so well, Dietrich said, "We have been invited to have dinner with Herr Heinrich Himmler."



For the rest of the afternoon everything went in their favor. The two sections they needed to search were mostly intact. Even more to their advantage, and as Dietrich had predicted, having Himmler in the building had drawn most of the security away from the non-sensitive sections. The guard in charge of bookkeeping barely glanced at their orders before waving them back toward the rows of files. It was only when they were safely out of hearing range that Troy turned to Dietrich.

"How will they be filed?" Troy asked, glancing around at the intimidating amount of cabinets.

"By company."

Troy nodded. "Okay. We know the companies the Russians have run into, let's start there."

For six hours they slowly and methodically went through the files, tracking down the units they knew, then following others that were mentioned in those reports. The two mini-cameras they had brought clicked continually. And with every report and with every piece of paper, Troy's horror grew. He had seen the pictures; he had been told it was bigger and more widespread then anyone knew, but the numbers that kept adding up as they followed the paper trails were unbelievable and undeniable. An irrational surge of anger bordering on hate filled him. He wanted to grabbed Dietrich, demand to know how any country could do something this heinous.

He turned toward the man, his anger demanding release. Dietrich met his eyes - and what Troy saw there stopped him. Dietrich's face was cold, set as if in stone, but in his eyes was a maelstrom of emotions: anger, shame, guilt, and sorrow. Troy's anger faded, but even the respect and friendship he shared with the man could not turn it completely. Dietrich took a sharp breath, seeing the questions in his eyes. He lowered his head, giving only one sharp shake.

"The camera is empty again," he said quietly.

Troy took several deep breaths, reminding himself of the job. "We'll save the last roll."

Dietrich looked up. "Why?"

"Because we need more," Troy said sharply. "I don't want anything unproved. Look at these signatures, Dietrich! Thirty - forty names, but you know there's more. I want the rest, the ones behind this, the ones who ordered those trains to run!"

For an instant, he expected arguments. But Dietrich only nodded. "Agreed."

Striving to get past the anger that was very close to expression, he glanced down at his watch. "We're a little early. Let's go wash up, then meet the guys."



When they entered the briefing room, Moffitt was sitting at the desk, briefcase in front of him; Hitch was propped against the window ledge, staring out. The blond glanced up, and launched himself at Dietrich, catching the major with a hard blow to the jaw. Dietrich staggered back, hitting the wall.

"You fucking Kraut murderer!"

"Hitch!" Troy jumped in front of the younger man, blocking the next swing at Dietrich. At the same time, Moffitt grabbed Hitch from behind. Dietrich had regained his balance now and took a menacing step forward, outrage written across his lean features. Troy's hand caught the center of his chest, shoved him away. "Get back!"

With the two men separated, Troy turned his attention to Hitchcock. "Now, what the hell..."

Hitch jerked away, glaring at Dietrich, then he moved back to his spot at the window. As he settled onto the cold wood, he looked up at Troy. Troy took a sharp breath at what he saw on the handsome face. The boy that had come into the war had been gone for a long time; Hitchcock was a soldier, had killed and seen killing, but for the first time Troy saw real hate in the sky blue eyes. Taking a deep breath, he looked to Moffitt.

"What did you find?" He asked, knowing it had to be something pretty powerful to set off the normally calm American so strongly.

Moffitt shook his head and now Troy saw the dismay in his old friend's gaze. "Letters, reports on schedules of deportations arrivals, numbers of arrivals. Building plans. A few contracts for labor to be supplied." With a sigh, he admitted, "Most of the stuff is signed by supply officers and desk personnel though, we still don't have anyone higher up."

Troy eyes cut toward Hitch, but it was Moffitt he directed his question to, "Then what..."

"It's not what we found, Sarge," Hitch explained coldly. "It's what we heard."

"In the same room two guards were talking about their last assignment, a place called Buchenwald." Troy watched the hardened desert soldier pale a little before continuing softly, "They were talking about the camp assignments, about how many bodies it took to get a good fire going, about...." Moffitt shook his head.

"They were laughing," Hitch hissed. "They were bragging about how many they had seen gassed in one day, about how wonderful it was when Hitler visited, how right he was about the Jews and the rest."

The young soldier came to his feet, closing once again with a very still and silent Dietrich. Troy moved between them, though Hitch merely stared over his shoulder, demanding of Dietrich, "How could you follow that monster? You knew what he was! How could you do those things to people?"

"Hitch," Troy said firmly. "Leave it..."

"It was so subtle, so seductive," Dietrich deep voice answered.

Dietrich moved past them, walking to the desk, then sitting carefully down in the chair. When he looked up, it seemed to Troy that the shadows were so thick he almost couldn't see the man. In a flat, level voice, Dietrich asked, "Do you know what it is to live without hope or pride? To watch your family struggle to get enough to eat? To have no future and none to offer your children?"

Troy wanted to stop him, didn't want to hear the excuses, was torn between the pain he felt for Dietrich and the anger that still echoed through his veins.

"I went to military school," Dietrich continued, "but even that was no future, the ranks were stagnant. It was something to do, a pittance to send to my struggling family." He took a deep breath, staring down at the scarred wood floor. "Then Hitler came."

"And he brought us jobs, a future, hope, pride," he continued. "We had work and food, what did it matter that we couldn't vote, that we couldn't read a free press? There was pride and medicine, so what did it matter about who we could marry? What did it matter what happened to the Jews and dissidents? There were holidays at the sea and new cars, so who cared about the professors and pastors that disappeared from their classrooms? Then the war came, and everything Hitler had said seemed to be true. We were invincible, meant to save the world, to show the world how wonderful life would be under his rule."

The smooth voice had grown gradually quieter. "He gave us what we thought we wanted, and a piece at a time, we gave the devil our souls."

There was a long, cold silence.

"Excuses," Hitch growled. "Lousy excuses. Does a lot of good for the thousands dead."

"Hundreds of thousands," Moffitt whispered.

Shaking off both the sympathy and the anger, Troy said sharply, "Cut it, Hitch. We're here for a reason."

Only a little chastised, Hitch turned back to the window. Troy tore his gaze away from Hitch, looked toward Moffitt. The English officer looked up, hazel eyes dark with the same conflict that warred in Troy's mind. Moffitt nodded, signaling his understanding. Lastly, Troy's eyes narrowed as he faced Dietrich. The man was sitting completely still, hands folded in his lap, head down.

"All right!" Troy barked forcefully enough to gain everyone's attention. "We have a mission or does anyone here remember that!"

He pulled out the rolls of film. "We got something at least," he explained. "Some fifty or sixty names, to back up what you have."

Handing the rolls to Moffitt, he ordered, "You and Hitch hit the road. Dietrich and I are going to try our hand at cat burglary tonight."

"Sorry, Troy," Moffitt said with a smile. "But we aren't going to be able to leave you two alone to get into trouble."

"What?" Troy said through clenched teeth.

Hitch said, in a voice that was almost normal, "Look, Sarge."

Troy glanced to the window Hitch was gesturing at, then walked over and looked out. The front had come in with a vengeance, bringing a blizzard to white out the landscape and effectively trap the team inside SS headquarters.

"Damn," Troy muttered.

"It will blow out by morning," Dietrich said behind him, his voice rougher than normal.

Troy continued to stare out the window, thoughtfully chewing on his lip. "You two are to get whatever quarters they might have. If we get caught, you're to get the hell out of here as soon as you can."

Silence claimed the group, exactly as he had expected. Whirling around, he glared at his two teammates. He could feel the stubbornness take hold in the room, the same determination that had seen them out of so many spots in the Sahara. "Look, I know what you're thinking, but this isn't the Libyan desert. This is the middle of Berlin. That film is too important to risk for us. You take it and you get the hell out of here. Is that clear?"

He stared at Moffitt, reminding him without words of other missions when they had been forced to leave one behind. Luck had ridden with them on those missions, and Troy could only hope it would again. But for now, he needed their word. All of this was communicated to Moffitt with a single look. Silence, then finally, a hard sigh from Moffitt.

"All right, as soon as we're able, we'll be out of here."

There was a slight sound of protest from Hitch, but when Troy looked over at him, he nodded. Troy smiled, not trusting the agreement from the young soldier in the slightest, remembering too many other times when he gotten the same agreement. Moffitt would take care of it though; of that he was also sure.

He turned back to Dietrich, found the hard, controlled German officer that had so often faced him in the desert. The brown eyes regarded him from very far away but there was a quick, single flash of a half-smile.

"Sergeant," Dietrich said, "I believe we have a dinner engagement."



Troy was still limping slightly so they retrieved another bag of ice as well as towels and water. Behind them at the desk, Moffitt and Hitch arranged a room for the night. They went downstairs without so much as a backwards glance. Once the door was closed Troy sat down with a tired sigh. Dietrich sat opposite him, shoved the single chair in his direction.

"Put your foot up," he ordered casually.

Loosening the top button on the tight wool uniform, Troy followed the German's order, willing for the moment not to think too much about anything. Dietrich gently eased the boot off and checked the slightly bruised ankle. Troy watched as the long fingers probed carefully. After a minute, Dietrich seemed satisfied that Troy was telling the truth. He packed the towel with ice and wrapped it around the ankle. Shaking his thoughts away from Dietrich's gentle touch, away from the memories those gracefully hands brought, Troy glanced down at his watch.

"We've got about an hour," he observed.

Dietrich only nodded, once again very far away. Troy flinched away from the quiet.

"Hitch is a hothead," Troy told him. "Once he calms down..."

"What are you going to do when the war is over?" Dietrich asked quietly.

The question was so unexpected that for a long moment Troy didn't answer. "I own a business, a construction company," he finally explained. "My senior accountant's been taking good care of it. I'll go back to it."

Dietrich looked as surprised by this as Troy had over Dietrich's family being farmers. "A businessman? You don't seem..."

Troy waved him off. "Not me. I work the sites, give orders to the guys, negotiate with the suppliers. Albert takes care of all the paperwork and shit like that."

A very slight smile touch Dietrich's mouth at his description. Leaning back with a sigh, Dietrich said, "I used to think I would be in the Wehrmacht forever. Now..." He smiled, chasing some of the shadows away. "When I was working Miss Ruby's, I thought perhaps that would be a good thing to do, go back and farm. Afterwards there will be a need for farmers."

Troy remembered a long ago conversation, a desperate speech made to a wounded man. "I said once that Germany will need men like you, Dietrich. I still think that. You're a leader, whether you want to be or not."

Dietrich gave him a searching look. "From the reaction of Hitchcock, there may not be a Germany remaining to need anything."

"I don't think so," Troy said thoughtfully. "America's not like that. Can't say what the Russians might do though." He looked up, hoping to dispel some of the gloom. "Your hometown is in American hands, so you can forget that excuse."

"Perhaps," Dietrich conceded, with a soft smile, he added, "But dealing with American mules is easier than dealing with German politics."

Troy smiled back, letting the seriousness fade for the moment. "Guess we'd better start getting spruced up since we're gonna meet the boss."

While Troy sat, Dietrich handed him his medals and silver braid. They generally straightened the uniforms as befitting a dinner with the second highest ranking officer in the Reich. Troy watched Dietrich as he moved, as he talked about inconsequential things like the weather. But his thoughts were on the future, on the acknowledged fact that once the mission was over, he would never see this man again. The thought cut at him, left him suddenly with an empty spot in his chest, a feeling he'd had once before.

"I thought you were dead," he said without preamble. Dietrich looked up at him, frowning, waiting for more. Troy sighed, remembering the sudden hole in his small world. "After the Germans pulled out of Africa. I couldn't find you on any prisoner list, and after what you told me in Mohadid's camp...."

He let the thought trail off, not even sure of why he'd said anything. Dietrich sat down opposite him, studying him closely, more closely that Troy was comfortable with. The floor suddenly demanded his attention.

"You searched for me?" Dietrich questioned, surprise in his rich voice.

Troy looked up, was captured by the glow in the dark eyes. "Yeah." With a shrug he tried to play it down. "You'd been part of my world for a long time, Dietrich."

Slowly, a soft smile touched Dietrich's full mouth. "Thank you."

"For what?" Troy asked.

"For caring," Dietrich said simply.

Very aware of his companion's smile, Troy fell silent and reached for his boot. A strong hand wrapped around his wrist.

"I would have done the same," Dietrich admitted.

Troy wasn't surprised by that admission. "I know."

Retrieving the boot, Dietrich helped him slide it on. "How did you find me?"

"Just kept checking until your name showed up." Troy explained.

He grimaced as he tugged on the boot, but it offered enough support that once it was on, his ankle felt better. He started to stand, felt Dietrich's strong grip slip under his arm to steady him. Another thought from a long ago conversation hit him. He reached out and gripped the major's upper arm. The muscles under his hand were like steel.

"Dietrich," he said quietly. "I want your word on something."

"If possible," Dietrich said cautiously.

Several ways of wording the statement came to Troy but he decided, as always, to take the direct appoarch. "I want you to promise to get out of the way."

Dietrich straightened, remembering his words in a dark Alabama barn. He met Troy's gaze, his expression warm and open. "You have my word, Troy, with one exception."

"What?" Troy demanded.

"As long as you are not behind me," Dietrich said firmly.

Troy started to protest but Dietrich's look held him. All the emotions he had seen in the dark eyes played through his mind. The sorrow and anger were still there, but there was also a sparkle of amusement and something else Troy refused to acknowledge. He swallowed hard, giving the strong arm one more squeeze.

"Then I'll just have to stay beside you," he said firmly.

Dietrich's head came up, defiance straightening his back. "Shall we ... 'shake it?'" he asked wryly.

"Yeah."



Throughout dinner Troy fluctuated between heaven and hell. The mess was in the basement, in a room obviously converted to the purpose. The meal they were served was incredible; a huge plate of rare steak, noodles dipping with cream sauce and steamed cabbage. The conversation was civil and normal. Himmler seemed fascinated by Troy's stories of Chicago, asking about the gangsters that controlled the city. Troy fed his delusions. Dietrich was ignored. Troy glanced over at him at one point and noted that the Wehrmacht major was almost put out by the treatment.

The subject turned to the war, as they had known it would. Himmler began to talk in earnest of the secret weapons that would soon arrive at the fronts, turning the war once more in favor of the Third Reich; how they would once again be free to make sure the danger of the non-Aryan races would never trouble the world again. Troy listened in rapt attention, none of it faked. For months there had been rumors of new weapons but none of the captured spies or officers knew anything, and no evidence had been found by any aerial reconnaissance. Still, he listened, hoping for some details through the praises of the Reich's scientists. After a few minutes it was very obvious that the SS leader was merely parroting things told to him by Hitler.

It was as dessert was being served that Himmler turned the discussion to the very topic of their mission. Casually, as the waiter finished pouring a fine port, he asked Troy, "The races in your country have mixed freely for many years, Sergeant, what percentage of the population do you feel we will have to eliminate?"

Troy gave him a thoughtful look. "I am not familiar with the status of most Americans, Herr Himmler. I think it will depend on the section of the country."

"Of course," Himmler agreed. "There are also more subhuman races to take care of besides the Satanists Jews."

The man stared at Troy, obviously waiting for an answer, for an elaboration on the list. "Yes," Troy explained. "There are the Negroes in the north and south; in the west, there will be a problem with Mexicans and Indians."

The little man suddenly laughed. "We will leave the west to our allies in Tokyo - for now."

As suddenly as the conversation had changed, it turned again. "So, Sergeant, are you a family man?"

"Not yet, sir," Troy replied, keeping his voice normal. "I disowned my family when they would not see the wisdom the Fuehrer was giving us. I hope to one day marry, but felt it was my first duty to fight."

Himmler looked impressed. "You are a good SS officer. If we had more men like you, this war would have been over sooner."

With that he rose, as did everyone around the small table. "If I do not see you before you leave tomorrow, have a safe trip." He came to strict attention, raised his arm. "Heil Hitler."



It was only when they reached their room that the normalness of the conversation about genocide, coupled with the violent reaction by Hitchcock, made Troy realize that the end of the war would not mean the end of the questions or repercussions. The world would come to know the truth, and what that would mean he didn't want to think about. Would Germany be destroyed completely by it? Would there be massive retaliations? Would Dietrich be safe even in America?

"Sweet Jesus," he finally muttered, sitting down and closing his eyes. "When does it end?"

"Troy," Dietrich said gently.

Troy opened his eyes, looked across at the man. Dietrich had aged; in one evening all the years, all the pain he had seen and caused, had settled around him. And the last thought, that this man needed to be safe, was the only thing that Troy could suddenly worry about.

"We have to get you someplace safe," he stated.

To his surprise, Dietrich smiled. "Do not worry about me. And don't underestimate your countrymen." At Troy's startled expression, he said, "Do you forget so soon how much we think alike? There will be no massive killings once this is revealed. The world is too weary, too tried of killing and fighting. Once the men responsible are known, the anger will be aimed righteously at them."

The words soothed his fear over his friend's safety, though it did nothing to relieve the longing for an ending. "You always were pretty smart for an officer," he commented, forcing the lightness. Facing the inevitable, he dropped his heavy coat off and said, "Let's take a look at the floor plan."

They spent the next half-hour making their plans. It would be simple enough. There was a series of large bedrooms in the sub-basement. Across the back a crawlspace was connected to the surface to provide ventilation. They would use the similar system on their level to get out. As they finished the plan, Dietrich glanced at his watch.

"I think three hundred to be our best time. The guards will be lax, and the Deputy Fuehrer should be well asleep. That gives us four hours."

"Yeah, sounds good," Troy agreed.

The quiet settled in around them, turning Troy's thoughts to home and war's end. "You know you don't have to go back," he told Dietrich. "After we pull this off, the Army can arrange for you to spend the rest of the war in a camp in France. That would put you closer to home after it's over."

The idea seemed to take Dietrich by surprise. He tilted his head slightly, squinted at Troy. "No," Dietrich finally said. "I believe the war will end soon, but wars do not always follow logic. I do not wish to stay in a camp." With a wry smile, he added, "Besides, I gave my word to Miss Ruby to finish the north forty before spring."

"Okay," Troy smiled. He realized that the depression he'd fought before had vanished during the last few minutes, though he wasn't sure what replaced it was much better.

Thinking their one night of erotic pleasure would be their last, Troy now found himself facing two new facts. If their mission tonight worked, they would be back to the Allied lines by dark tomorrow and Dietrich would be on his way back to America by the following evening. And they had the next four hours together. The sadness he felt over losing a man he had come to value as a friend was in direct conflict with the sudden, overwhelming desire he had to feel Dietrich beside him once more. He looked up, nothing more than that, sure that what he was thinking was carefully hidden.

Dietrich laughed. "I never realized how suicidal you seem to be, Troy."

Troy's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Dietrich came across the small space in one stride, sat next to Troy, and very slowly trailed his fingers down Troy's jaw. Troy took a sharp breath, smiled crookedly.

"Guess you were right about us reading each other." With a frown, he said, "I'm not suicidal though. I'm only going to kiss you if that door locks."

Dietrich stepped immediately to the door, his quick move making Troy smile. When he turned back, the disappointment was so clear on the lean face that Troy couldn't help but laugh. Dietrich came back to his previous seat.

"You have snatched the rope from a drowning man and laugh about it?" he demanded. "It locks from the outside."

Troy met the dark eyes again, and what his own expression gave away caused Dietrich to lean back a little. Without a word, Troy stood, shoved the lone chair in the room under the door handle, turned and grabbed Dietrich's arm. Before the taller man could question or protest Troy tugged him into the impossibly small bathroom in the rear of the room, slamming the door behind them.

"Troy," Dietrich finally found his voice. "There is hardly room in here for two to stand, much less..."

Troy silenced him the easy way, by claiming his mouth, pressing into the unrestrained welcome. He tangled his hands in Dietrich's soft hair, pulled him close, trying to feel him all over. Dietrich sighed, wrapping his arms around Troy, returning the desperate hold.

Easing away from the sensuous mouth, Troy said hoarsely, "All you have to do is stand there." With a wicked grin, he added, "And hang on."

It was, Troy realized, exactly as Dietrich described, a suicidal move. Any minute someone could declare a search or Moffitt and Hitch could decide to check on them. Or Himmler could call them for some after dinner chatting. He didn't care. If this was going to be their last night together, he was determined that both of them enjoyed it. Dietrich's buttons came undone as he kissed his way along the German's smooth chest, licking around the scar, flicking his tongue over each nipple. Dietrich's fine hands stroked through his hair, feeding sweet fire into his veins.

"I can't do anything from..."

"I told you what you need to do, Dietrich," Troy said. "Or are you going to argue with me on this too?"

For a moment it looked as if Dietrich were going to do just that, then a slight smile touched the handsome face. "Very well, Troy, I assent to your orders."

With that he leaned back, grabbing the door handle with one hand and the towel rack with the other. The stance could have almost been a challenge if not for the soft glow in the sable eyes and the way one side of his mouth tilted up. Troy studied him for another moment, letting himself memorized the fair features, long throat and lightly fuzzed chest. Leaning forward, he kissed across the square jaw, followed down the long throat, pressed against the artery, felt the hard pulse under his lips. The pulse transferred to his already heated blood, raised the pressure in his cock. His hands slipped under Dietrich's open shirt, outlined each bone. With one hand he pulled Dietrich down for another lingering kiss, with the other Troy unbuckled his own belt, unzipped his fly. Breaking the kiss, he stepped back and freed his hard shaft.

Dietrich glanced down, his hand coming off the rack. Troy caught it, kissed along the narrow wrist. "You have your orders, Major," he reminded him firmly.

"But..."

This time Troy stopped him by very slowly unzipping his pants. With his gaze still holding Dietrich's, he slipped his hand into the loose black pants and pulled Dietrich's large cock free. Dietrich gasped at the cold air and Troy's hot touch. Troy stroked very lightly along the swelling shaft, fingers running just over the flared head, down over the rolled back foreskin. His mouth fastened on Dietrich's nipple and he sucked hard. With his other hand moving slowly up the solid flesh, Troy shoved his tongue deep into Dietrich's mouth, savoring the taste.

He pulled back to stare into the glowing eyes. When he had started, his only thought was for both of them to enjoy a final night; now, he wanted to feel each movement Dietrich made, wanted to watch what he could do to the proud German, wanted to remember every sound and texture. His grip became tighter, more insistent. Dietrich's eyes slid shut.

"Tell me," Troy whispered.

"What?" Dietrich asked, breathing a little harder now, hips starting to move.

"What it felt like when I was inside you," Troy explained.

Dietrich gasped as if he could feel the erotic assault again. He shook his head. "No."

Troy smiled, kissing his throat again. "Tell me."

"I would only embarrass you with too much romance."

Looking up, Troy knew he very much wanted to hear the words. Still, he kept his voice easy. "We're in a 3 x 3 bathroom inside SS headquarters where I'm about to give you a hell of a blow job. A little romance wouldn't hurt."

Laughter flooded the dark eyes and Dietrich's hand came off the door handle, touched featherlight along Troy's cheek. "Do you remember those mornings in the desert, after the cold and before the heat, when the world was... taking a breath?"

Troy nodded, remembering those too perfect moments of peace and promise.

"That's what it was like." Dietrich leaned forward and kissed just the side of Troy's mouth. "Is it what you wanted to hear, Troy?" His voice was so low Troy felt it as much as heard it. "Did you want to know that your touch filled my soul as well as my body?"

The intensity behind the words more than startled Troy, it terrified him. He froze. Dietrich couldn't be saying what Troy thought he was. He shook his head, denying what every sense, every instinct was telling him - Dietrich was in love with him. That couldn't happen. Men didn't fall in love with each other; they enjoyed the sex, the rough and tumble. Troy stared up into the expression on Dietrich's face, and saw the truth.

"It is as bad as one of your American cinemas, isn't it?" Dietrich whispered, his hand sliding into Troy's hair. "A wartime romance, two strangers become lovers and are destined to part."

Still struggling with the firestorm of emotions, Troy forced a smile. "Casablanca all over again," he tried to joke.

The darkness in Dietrich's eyes was back but he found a smile. "And will we always have Berlin, Troy, or shall we part now?"

Troy paused, thinking through the offer Dietrich was making that they now part friends without any more involvement. It was tempting, not so much for himself, but he didn't want to make the future parting any harder on Dietrich. He fell back on the cool persona that had carried him through many encounters with this man - both ones where he'd wanted to help and ones where he'd wanted to harm.

He closed the slight distance between them. "Tell me you won't regret this, Dietrich and I'll promise to make you remember."

Dietrich kissed him, not lightly, not tenderly, but with a desperation that Troy had never felt from the normally-controlled German. Troy sucked on Dietrich's tongue and felt the heat, momentarily lost to shock, come flooding back into his nerves.

"Lean back," he whispered as they broke the kiss.

Dietrich did just that, once more taking the stance braced between door and wall. Troy took the now flaccid cock in his hand, fingers running lightly through the thick curls. Dietrich sighed, closing his eyes as the touch carried him away. Troy watched, torn between the sight of the fast filling shaft and the lust on the other man's face. Once more he started at the top, kissing along the prominent collarbones, across the wide shoulders and down to tease at the taut nipples, savoring the taste of the warm smooth skin. As his tongue flicked out, Dietrich moaned softly and one hand pressed hard against the back of Troy's head.

As much as he wanted to take all night, as much as he wanted to savor and treasure, Troy could feel the sense of danger starting to tingle in the back of his mind. He obeyed it, picking up speed. The kisses now took on a sense of urgency as he made his way down the flat stomach, licked across the narrow opening allowed by the pants. Dietrich steadied himself with one hand, slipped them all the way off.

With the restricting garment out of his way, Troy paused to let himself look at the jutting cock, admiring the velvet skin over hard steel, the way the single vein twisted around the dark red shaft. With a single move, he slipped Dietrich's whole shaft into his mouth and deep into his throat. Dietrich let out a near yell of surprised pleasure. As Troy's tongue swirled around the tight head, Dietrich started muttering in German and English.

Troy's own cock throbbed in time to the pulse he could feel through the hard flesh. The first time he had done this, he had been more interested in making Dietrich feel good, now he let himself feel and think about what he was doing. The cock was wide in his mouth, filling it, resting heavy against his tongue.

"So good, Troy..." Dietrich moaned.

He pulled back, let his hands join his mouth, one rolling the hard balls, the other teasing back over the tight entrance to Dietrich's body. Troy's tongue flicked out, pressing against the slit, catching the slight drop of pre-cum. The taste was sharp, almost sour. Slowly he tilted his head, ran his tongue down between the balls, trailed down the taut piece of skin to the puckered muscle. The smell of hot musk filled his senses. Troy touched over the ridged muscle, licked slowly back up, and swallowed the large cock.

Holding himself up with both hands, Dietrich slid his legs further apart, silently begging for more. Troy glanced up, saw the sweat covering Dietrich face despite the chill in the room. Dietrich's narrow hips were barely moving as his hand continued the light teasing. Troy could feel Dietrich's heat, could hear his heartbeat, could feel the control it was taking not to thrust, not to demand that Troy finish it. Troy let saliva dribble down into the thick gold hair and onto his fingers.

Now, he started to suck hard, forming a tight base around the swollen shaft with one hand while the other pressed just barely into Dietrich's body. Dietrich cried out, shoving back on the slender invader. His movements grew harder as he gave himself to the driving need, the instinctive rhythm. Troy braced himself against Dietrich's sharp hip with one hand, kept teasing Dietrich's ass with the other.

"Troy..."

There was a struggle for control in the deep hoarse voice; control that Troy wanted to destroy, wanted to see lost, as his had been lost in the lean, fair body. He shoved his finger deeper into the slick entrance, moved his mouth faster, sucking harder.

"Yes, yes..."

Dietrich let go. His hips moved frantically under Troy's hand, the cock shoving deep into Troy's throat, desire flaring higher. Troy smiled to himself, hanging on as Dietrich gave himself to the heat. Troy could feel the tightening of the balls, the way the interior muscle clamped around his finger. Dietrich's cock swelled a little more and he shoved in deep, twisting. Troy revealed in the sight of Dietrich lost to passion. The tall German was pressed against the door, hips forced out, head back, hair clinging to his forehead and temples. His lip was held firmly between barely visible white teeth, the passion etched so strongly on his face it was almost pain. The muscled body under Troy's attention tightened, locking as Dietrich came. Hot fluid flooded Troy's throat, and he let himself taste it, feel it.

Troy felt the incredible fire from Dietrich's body fill his own. He shoved his finger deeper, thought of feeling the tight ass around his cock. Tension sang through his nerves; he pulled back, grabbed his own cock, pumping hard. Almost immediately white liquid splattered his hand as release whipped through him, hard and satisfying. For a long moment he knelt there, one hand holding his softening cock, the other still pressed in Dietrich's ass. He looked up, found those intense dark eyes watching him with open tenderness.

Dietrich came down to the cold stone floor, wrapped Troy in his long arms and kissed him deeply. A soft echo of passion floated through Troy's body, leaving him feeling nearly dizzy. When Dietrich broke the kiss, Troy leaned forward, letting Dietrich hold him up, much as he had done for the other man once in a dark prison. This time, when he leaned back, he completed the kiss he had wanted to bestow that night. They stayed there, in silence, lost in each other's touch until Dietrich coughed sharply.

With a deep breath, Troy broke the spell by saying, "Come on, Dietrich. You're gonna get a cold down here."

Coming to his feet, Dietrich extended a hand down to Troy. When they were both up, Dietrich brushed his fingers across Troy's temple. "We'll always have Berlin," he misquoted with a soft smile.

Nodding his understanding, Troy said, "Let's grab some sleep. It's going to be a long night."



"Dietrich?" Troy questioned softly.

They had managed to doze a little, exhausted by the sex. It hadn't lasted long. They had both had been lying in the dark for nearly an hour, neither speaking. For that hour Troy had been trying very hard not to think. He was a man who let instinct lead him, who liked action and straightforward answers. But tonight, even with a heavy mission facing him, his mind refused to let go of the questions Dietrich's wordless admission had started: questions about his own feelings, about the future and plans.

"Yes?" Dietrich soft voice carried through the darkness.

"Did you ever hate me out in the desert?" Troy asked.

A deep chuckle answered him. "Intensely." There was a pause. "Not you personally so much, at first, but rather the fact that you were the first unit to really cause us serious harm, the first stumble on the road we had conquered."

Troy nodded to himself, understanding. The German Army had swept through most of Europe and North Africa with little opposition. For the proud Werhmacht captain to find himself being continually stopped by a rag-tag four man team must have been quite a dent in his ego.

"That first mission with Moffitt," Troy said lightly, "was the first time I saw you up close." He laughed. "Damn. I'm surprised the look you gave me didn't melt the jeep."

He heard Dietrich shift. "I remember."

The man fell silent but Troy knew the question he wanted to ask. "I didn't hate you much," Troy confessed. "Except for when one of the guys got hurt. Mostly, you were a challenge, an obstacle to get around." Troy added softly, "Sometimes... I saw... I understood how much it bothered you to lose men. I was sorry for that."

There was more silence, not as comfortable as before but not cold either. Finally, encouraged by the night that hid him from Dietrich's too understanding gaze, Troy asked, "When did you stop hating me?"

"I can't honestly tell you," Dietrich admitted. "It was not just things that happened between us, it was the way the war started to go, some of the things I was ordered to do."

"Like pinning that yellow star on that kid?" Troy guessed.

"Yes." Dietrich was unsurprised by Troy's observation. Quietly, he said, "I can tell you when my nightmares changed."

Troy sat up, staring into the shadows surrounding Dietrich. "Nightmares?"

"When the enemy stopped being a silhouette in a jeep, when I knew your face, I dreamed of you killing me," Dietrich explained. "Then, after the incident with the wrecked Kubel, I stood over your body. That version bothered me more than the other."

Troy took a sharp breath. "That was..."

"Very early on," Dietrich offered. "But even then, you believed me right away." Wryly, he added, "Well, almost right away." The man moved, like Troy coming to sit on the edge of the cot. "Why?"

"I knew enough about you to know that you were sneaky as a fox but you didn't lie as a rule. You had no reason to lie then," Troy explained.

Dietrich stood, switched on the lamp beside his cot. "It is time."

Nodding, Troy stood, pushing away all the other questions, both those to Dietrich and those to himself. "At least black is a good color for what we're about to do."

They dressed in silence, slipping on the black shirts and pants, leaving off the shining medals and heavy jackets. Besides their guns, they each had a small penlight while Troy carried the one camera. In just minutes they were both ready. Dietrich looked up from hooking his belt. He held his hands out toward Troy; they were shaking very slightly.

"Commando work is new to me," he admitted.

"What about the time you tried to pass for me?" Troy reminded him.

"Hardly the same thing," Dietrich said. "I didn't go crawling through small spaces to accomplish the task."

"Welcome to the exciting world of espionage," Troy said sarcastically.

Troy moved toward the bathroom and the crawlspace entrance. Dietrich stood by the front door as he unscrewed the vent cover. "Ready," he called back over his shoulder as he laid the metal grate aside.

Dietrich joined him. Troy reached for the edge to boost himself up, and a firm hand on his arm stopped him. When he turned, Dietrich reached out, touched Troy's cheek, ran his long fingers across his lips, then he leaned in and kissed him gently. It was a soft touch, a tender touch, a lover's touch. Troy drew back. Dietrich only smiled. Troy swallowed hard, scared by the feelings that cross-ripped through his own chest.

Stepping away, Dietrich then merely pointed up. "Go," he said quietly.

With a deep breath, Troy did. Pulling himself up into the space that was barely big enough for his shoulders, he wondered briefly whether Dietrich would be able to manage in the tight passageway. Dietrich looked deceptively slender but he had wide shoulders and in the tight turns his long legs might prove awkward. Dietrich's hand touched his leg, urging him forward. Knowing it was too late to worry about it now, Troy moved. They were committed.

Twenty minutes later, Troy slid down the wall into the parlor room of Himmler's quarters. Dietrich came down lightly behind him, though Troy could hear his harder breathing. The cold trip and twisting turns in the crawlspace had irritated Dietrich's old wound. There was nothing he could do. They spread out, moving silently around the dark room. After a minute, Dietrich's light blinked off, signaling a find. Troy joined him at a low table; an attache case sat on it.

"It's not even locked," Troy said in amazement.

"Himmler has always overconfident," Dietrich said. "He has always believed the SS should have been in complete control of fighting the war, especially after the bomb attempt on Hitler."

As Troy held the light, Dietrich scanned the papers. "Well?" Troy demanded impatiently.

"There is no direct reference to the camps, but this is a list of top SS personnel still active and the areas in which they are currently stationed."

"Good enough," Troy agreed.

Dietrich kept reading as he spread the papers out. Holding the light on them Troy clicked away. There was a sudden mutter of disbelief from Dietrich and the pages stopped moving. Troy looked up.

"What?" Troy asked sharply.

"Himmler has been replaced at the eastern front," Dietrich said, reading from the paper. "Just today. Wenck was made commander."

"Wenck," Troy whispered. "He's good."

Dietrich nodded. "The Russians will be very interested in this."

"Nice bonus," Troy said, laying the paper flat and filming it.

A nagging worry started at the base of his neck as they continued through the stack. He knew the feeling, had certainly had it often enough in the Sahara. Something of his internal warning must have reached Dietrich, or maybe it just seemed to Troy that he started flipping the pages faster. It seemed like forever before the camera clicked empty. Nodding, Troy signaled Dietrich that he was finished, shoved the camera deep into his pocket and buttoned the flap down securely. Dietrich's smile was feral, eyes glittering with the danger and the accomplishment.

"All right," Troy started, "let's get...."

Light flooded the room. Troy and Dietrich whirled as one, both guns coming out. For one critical moment the young guard standing at the door stared at them, obviously shocked to find someone inside. It was just long enough

"Halt!" The soldier yelled, scrambling for his weapon.

Troy fired, his shot throwing the soldier back into the wall. Dietrich grabbed the papers they had been filming.

"Leave them!" Troy shouted, confused as to why he was taking them.

Dietrich ran for the door; Troy a step behind him. Shouts sounded from up the narrow stairs and a light flashed on in the Deputy Fuehrer's bedroom. Troy started to push past Dietrich. For a single heartbeat Dietrich's eyes met his, then the German brought the barrel of his gun across Troy's cheek. Pain exploded in Troy's head and for a second the world vanished into bright light. When reality snapped back in, he was on the cold stone floor next to the dead guard. He looked up, too stunned to even feel betrayed. Dietrich tossed something toward him and he flinched back before realizing it was the German's gun. Dietrich moved into the stairwell.

Troy pushed himself up, gaining his feet by holding onto the wall - his gun was still in his hand. Staggering into the hall, he found Dietrich standing only a few steps up, hands raised.

"Shoot me, Troy," Dietrich demanded harshly in English. "Shoot."

Footsteps echoed down the stairs. Troy looked up, nearly falling as dizziness swept over him.

"Damnit! Shoot!" Dietrich shouted. "Don't let them take me! You know what they will do! Shoot!"

Two guards thundered onto the landing, rifles out. One of them leapt forward, slamming his rifle into Dietrich's stomach, sending him to the ground, retching. The second guard also raised his weapon, started to bring it down across Dietrich's back.

"Stop!" Troy ordered.

The man did, much to Troy's surprise. Dietrich was doubled over, fighting to get air into his lungs, coughing. Before Troy could say anything, before he could even think about what to do, one of the men they had shared dinner with, a colonel, appeared behind the two guards. Three more guards were behind him. They all came to attention as Troy felt a presence behind him. Turning, he wasn't surprised to find Himmler standing in the doorway, wearing a velvet robe over his pajamas.

"What has happened here, Sergeant?" he snapped.

What Dietrich had set up was now easy to see, and Troy had no option but to follow it. Forcing himself straighter against the wall, he explained, "I became suspicious of Major Von Damme when he left the room without waking me. I followed him here, though regrettably not in time to save the guard. I believe the major has some papers that belong to you, sir."

At those words the colonel slammed his knee into Dietrich's ribs, sending him crashing to the bottom of the steps. Troy swallowed hard, refused to let himself look down. The colonel retrieved the papers that Dietrich had dropped and handed them to Himmler. Holding his breath, Troy waited to see if the story was going to work. After an eternity, Himmler nodded.

"An excellent job, Sergeant," he approved. "Go have your injury tended."

For a second, Troy didn't know what he was talking about; then vaguely he felt the hot blood running down his face. "Yes, sir."

Himmler gestured contemptuously at Dietrich. "Take this one to a cell. Find out who he was going to pass the papers to. Sergeant," he said crisply, "tomorrow at noon you will take him out and shoot him."

Troy tried again to come to attention. "Thank you, Herr Himmler, it will be an honor."

"Heil Hitler," Himmler intoned.

The others on the stairs answered. Two of them moved to drag the dead guard out of the room. Himmler disappeared back into the room, locking the door behind him. Troy turned, using more will then he thought he had to look down at Dietrich. The major had gained his hands and knees, his breath coming in tight gasps as he tried to control the pain. The guards jerked him to his feet directly in front of Troy. The sable eyes met Troy's - and for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Troy could see real hate in the dark gaze.

They dragged Dietrich away.



"Troy!" Moffitt grabbed his arm and jerked him into the room. "Thank God. We heard the shots and shouting. There were guards everywhere, we couldn't get out of the room. We thought they were on to you."

"Yeah, Sarge, we thought you were dead," Hitchcock said with a sigh of relief.

"Sit down. Looks like you've taken a rather nasty hit, old son," Moffitt said as he knelt in front of him, inspecting his cheek and the small, neat bandage that crossed it, covering the cut.

Once he was down, Troy merely sat for a moment, trying to think past the headache that seemed to reach all the way to his feet. "They have Dietrich."

The other two exchanged quick looks. Moffitt put a glass of water in his hand; Troy hadn't even seen him pour it. "What happened?"

In an amazingly few sentences, Troy told them how Dietrich had set himself up to be captured while protecting Troy and the film. "I couldn't shoot him," Troy finished softly.

An understanding smile touched Moffitt's face. "No, you never were very good at that sort of thing."

Troy gave him a wan smile, remembering the other time he'd been forced to decide whether to kill a prisoner or risk a rescue. Levelly, he added, "Tomorrow at noon, I'm to execute him in public, so everyone can watch."

Silence claimed the Rat Patrol as the implications of what Dietrich must be going through sank in. All three had been in the hands of the SS enough to know that eight hours was enough to kill most men. It was Hitchcock who shifted, breaking into Troy's thoughts.

"Guess we'd better get him out," Hitch said firmly. "You're not very good at shooting friends, Sarge."

Troy stared at him for a moment, surprised. "I thought you'd be just as glad he was gone."

Flinching in embarrassment, Hitch said, "You know me, Sarge, sometimes I talk before I think. Dietrich's not a bad guy."

Moffitt stood and paced away, wearing a look that Troy knew only too well. When he turned back, Troy saw the danger-induced glitter in the hazel eyes. A spark of hope flared in his cold blood. They were together and they had eight hours to come up with a plan. What did it matter that it was the middle of Berlin? What was the SS against the three of them?

"All right," Troy said crisply. "We need a plan."



The time passed with infinite slowness. At dawn, Moffitt and Hitchcock left the building, taking the much paid for film. Troy spent the rest of the morning pacing the length of the small cell, trying not to think, trying not to feel. Finally, he gave into the exhaustion, lay down and dozing off, drifting into dreams of soft skin and coffee-colored eyes, sinking into nightmares of blood and loss. He came awake with a cry and the image of Dietrich dead in his arms. Sitting up, he leaned forward into his hands. They had come so close, had almost made it out, both of them. Even though the war would have meant the end of their strange relationship, Dietrich would have been....

Troy took a deep breath, shook himself hard. Dietrich wasn't dead! And he wasn't about to let him get killed! They had managed to become more than friends after being more than enemies. They had kept each other alive in the inferno of the Sahara and he intended to do the same here. He cared... The word stopped him. He did care, he admitted that, and he enjoyed the sex more than any he'd ever had. But.. Taking a deep breath he faced the question he'd been so carefully avoiding. Did he love Dietrich?

There was no chance to find the answer. For now he made himself think only of the first problem - getting him out alive. Holding onto that determined thought, Troy dressed slowly, adding all the braid, silver and medals, as a proud SS officer would do when given such an important task. Finally, he slipped on the heavy wool coat. Briefly, he thought of trying to take Dietrich's coat but gave it up; there was no reason to give a condemned man a coat.

He walked to the cells. The guard saluted him. This guard was not an inexperienced youth or old man. "You're early, Sergeant."

"Yes," Troy answered. "I wish to talk to him myself. I've been his aide for some time."

The guard accepted this, though his eyes were cold. "Traitors like him don't deserve a bullet. It is too quick."

"It is the Deputy Fuehrer's order," Troy said neutrally.

"It is a wonderful thing, to save Herr Himmler. You must be very proud."

"Yes, it was fortunate I was there," Troy said.

He knew he should add some trite propaganda about it being all for the Fuehrer but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. The door swung open in front of him and he stepped into the dim room. The guard closed the door behind him, casting further darkness into the stone cell. A single bulb cast a pitiful circle of faded yellow light around a figure tied and slumped in a reinforced, heavy wooden chair. Blood dotted the stones around the chair.

As Troy took a step forward, Dietrich stirred, sensing someone near. He shoved back into the chair and tilted his head against the rough wood. Troy swallowed hard, fighting back both the urge to curse and the nearly overwhelming urge to touch him, promise they would get out. He walked slowly around the chair, hands clasp firmly behind his back.

"You have not talked yet, Herr Major," Troy said casually. "Did you think it would buy you more time? That Herr Himmler would stay my hand so that we could get the information?"

He knelt by the chair, looked up at Dietrich. The man had been expertly beaten. From the way he leaned to his bad side, Troy knew they had spent most of their effort there. Surprisingly, only a few bloody scrapes and bruises marred his face. The German's harsh breathing filled the small space, signaling possibly internal injuries. Steeling himself, he looked up into Dietrich's eyes. He expected to see hate shining in the dark eyes, but what he found was even worse. Defeat dulled the expressive eyes. Sudden fear stole Troy's voice, his words of reassurance never reaching his lips. Dietrich turned away.

"So," Dietrich whispered in English, "despite everything, fate wins out."

"Fate?" Troy questioned, also in English.

"That one of us would kill the other," Dietrich sighed.

Anger shot through Troy's nerves, anger at Dietrich for giving up, anger at himself for caring, anger at the world for giving him this man, then trying to take him away. He reached out and grabbed Dietrich's chin roughly, ignoring the flinch of pain and surprise.

"You goddamn stupid, stubborn Kraut," Troy hissed. "If you think I let you go through this just so I'd have to shoot you, you fucking well haven't been paying attention! Moffitt and Hitchcock are out there. They have never let me down. Never. I don't care if this is the middle of fucking Berlin, we will get out of this."

Troy shifted, making sure his body blocked any view from the door. His hand moved off Dietrich's chin, slipped up into the blood-encrusted hair. He brought his other hand up, ran it lightly over Dietrich's split lips. It was a soft touch, a tender touch, a lover's touch - and Troy let everything it meant reach his eyes.

"We will get out of this," he promised.

Very slowly, like ice melting under a spring breeze, the defeat and despair faded from Dietrich's expression. What replaced those two dark emotions was hope and confidence.

"Moffitt and Hitch?" Dietrich questioned.

"Yes," Troy said firmly.

Before he could say anything else, the door behind him creaked open and he turned the soft touch into a hard shove, slamming Dietrich back into the chair. The colonel stood in the door, three guards behind him. He regarded Dietrich as one would a slug.

"The snow has let up, Sergeant. It is time." Motioning to the guards, he snapped, "Take him."

Two of the men came forward. These guards looked fit and healthy, more like the SS Troy was used to dealing with. They unsnapped the leather belts holding Dietrich down and reached to jerk him up. Dietrich glared up.

"I will walk on my own," he stated clearly, all his command experience behind the tense order.

Almost on instinct, the men backed away. Bracing himself against the arm of the chair, Dietrich pushed up, clamping his lips tight to keep from uttering a sound. Troy flinched inside as Dietrich walked slowly across the room, his expression staying cold. The remaining guard and the colonel walked in front of him; the other two then Troy followed. It was a slow procession made in complete silence.

The front had cleared, leaving the day bright, beautiful and bitterly cold. The bombings would start again soon. Troy noted with some relief that there were only a few people on the streets. A large, black Mercedes, its paint still gleaming, waited on the curb. One guard shoved Dietrich roughly inside and he cried out as he hit the back of the seat. The two guards sat in front. As Troy started to join Dietrich in the back, the colonel tapped his arm.

"Leave this with the body." He handed Troy a piece of cardboard with the words "A traitor to the Fuehrer" on it in red letters.

"Yes, sir." Troy came to sharp attention, raised his arm stiffly. "Heil Hitler."

He climbed in, thankful to be out of the cutting wind, even more thankful to be moving away from SS headquarters. Then, to his dismay, two more soldiers on motorcycles fell in behind the car. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Dietrich. The man was slumped over, obviously only barely conscious after the hard shove. Troy frowned. They had taken Dietrich's condition into consideration when planning their moves. What worried him was that the two guards might not wait to move into the square but would want Troy to just shoot him near the curb. That thought vanished as he realized that he was dealing with trained SS. The order had come from Himmler; they would follow it to the letter.

Dietrich coughed harshly, and Troy forced himself to turn toward the window, trying to ignore his friend's struggle for breath. The trip was a slow, agonized tour of a city in ruins. The only consolation Troy could find was that it gave Dietrich time to recover. Twenty minutes later, the car turned onto what had been a wide main street. It was now barely recognizable as somewhere people had once lived. At the next intersection, a few blackened trees marked the entrance to what must have been a beautiful park. The ruin of trees, a twisted iron gate, and a few piles of rumble were the only things discernible through the snow.

The two blocks leading to the park were lined with people, all waiting patiently for their turn at a well. A Hitler Youth in a too large helmet holding an ancient Italian rifle regarded them from next to the pump. The car stopped at the park gate, the two motorcycles moved in behind them. Many of the civilians looked up, watching through knowing eyes. Troy could see the fear in their expressions, fear of the men in black.

Climbing out, Troy motioned at Dietrich with his gun. "Get out."

Slowly, the ex-Panzer captain climbed to his feet, leaning against the door for support. The two guards moved around to flank him. The ones on the motorbikes remained seated. Troy checked over the park's entrance.

"In front of the gates," he informed the guards levelly. "When it is done, you can hang the body on the pillar."

"Traitor!" someone in the crowd yelled.

Troy took Dietrich's arm, jerked him away from the car. He could feel Dietrich shivering through the thick cotton shirt. Dietrich yanked out of his hand, very slowly forced himself up straight, though Troy could see the cost of his pride.

"I will walk," Dietrich said tightly.

"Stay here," Troy ordered the two others. The men on the motorcycles had made no move to join them.

As he followed Dietrich toward the gates, Troy once again scanned the area, touching the extra gun in his pocket. The civilians were a complication, though Troy was confident that if any shooting started they would flee. The walk was slow, a few more taunts filled the cold morning, though for so long a line, the crowd was noticeably quiet. Irrational anger grabbed Troy, made him want to scream at the people, to demand how they could be so blind with the world dying around them. Still, he kept his mind on the area, searching for their salvation.

They were at the gate. Troy glanced around once more, only now looking at Dietrich. The man was as white as the snow, pain etching his features with hard lines, blood spotting his lips from where he held them against the chills and pain. Troy met the dark eyes, tried to let his confidence reach his old enemy. There was no sign of Moffitt and Hitch.

"Down," he ordered.

Dietrich sank slowly to his knees, staring straight ahead. All Troy could do was stall. "This man has been found guilty of treason," he stated firmly. He had no idea if he were giving himself away with the speech, if it was something the SS would do or if they would have just thrown Dietrich down and executed him. Committed now, he continued by adding, "Traitors to the Reich are worse than the Allies. They are an abomination to the German people."

Four guards. Troy had a clear shot at the two near the car. As his mind ran through the possibilities, he brought the Luger in line with Dietrich's face. The impassive eyes met his, they were filled with calm, waiting for whatever fate next had in mind. Troy's stomach clenched as he looked down the cold steel barrel. He knew this feeling, this soul-sickening moment of aiming at a friend. Before he had done so with every intention of pulling the trigger, and couldn't. Now, with no sign of Hitchcock and Moffitt, his intention was to try whatever desperate play he could.

His expression gave him away. Dietrich paled even further. "Troy..."

On the snowy street behind him, there was the sound of a fast-moving car. A quick glance over his shoulder let Troy see an open staff car slide to a stop next to the Mercedes. The four soldiers also looked toward it. Now! Troy spun, went down on his knees in front of Dietrich and opened fire. The two guards behind the car went down under three shots from his Luger. At the same time, Moffitt surged up over the back seat of the staff car and opened fire. The two on the cycles sprawled into the heavy snow without even touching their weapons.

Troy reached back and grabbed Dietrich, hauled him to his feet. Shoving the extra gun into the German's trembling hand, he shouted, "Go!"

"Sarge! Down!" Hitch's voice cracked through the thin air.

The sound of a rifle bolt being drawn sent Troy spinning around, shoving Dietrich away. The boy in front of him was perhaps fourteen, maybe less, small and very blond with wide blue eyes; the rifle he had aimed at Troy was nearly half his height. Troy noted all of this in a single deadly instant of hesitation. Four shots filled the bright sunshine. The boy's shot slammed into Troy's chest. The other three bullets picked up the too young soldier and threw him against the ruined gate. Troy never saw him fall; he was suddenly on the ground, staring up into the perfect winter sky, trying desperately to drag air into his lungs.

"Troy!" Moffitt's voice, just covering Dietrich's soft call and Hitch's outraged cry.

Troy watched with vague detachment as his blood steamed in the cold air. Dietrich knelt over him, face ashen. Shouts sounded somewhere, no screams.

"Get... away..." he tried to order.

Moffitt grabbed Troy. "Mercedes!"

He fought against the waves of darkness as he was pulled to his feet, somehow managing to stay conscious. Moffitt was a solid comfort next to him; Dietrich offering a newer but no less needed kind of support from the other side. From nearby he could hear gunfire and knew instinctively Hitchcock was guarding their backs. They were suddenly at the door of the black car. He caught a glimpse of the line of civilians. The people were still in line, braving the bullets in their need for water.

"Me first," Dietrich barely able to speak for the hard gasps he was taking.

The world was starting to fade around the edges, his vision becoming blurry. He was lying on the backseat, head in Dietrich's lap. He heard a heavy door slam.

"Go! Go!" Hitch ordered urgently.

The car lurched, fishtailing on the ice before gaining hold. Then they were speeding away from the horrors of the dying city. The voices that filled the car were vague and far away, though he could hear the edge of fear and adrenaline in each of them.

"Lie still, Troy," Dietrich insisted.

"Hitch?" Moffitt asked somewhere at the edge of Troy's hearing.

"Okay," Hitch answered. "He just creased me."

One of his men was hurt; that much reached through his own pain. "Hitch?"

"Hitchcock has a minor graze along his upper arm," Dietrich explained carefully. "He will be fine."

"Here, Captain." Hitch's voice again.

Hitch offered a piece of cloth to Dietrich over the high backseat. Troy wondered what the cloth had been. Agony wiped all thoughts away as Dietrich pressed hard against the wound. Troy arched up with a cry.

"How is it?" Moffitt demanded.

Troy's vision was narrowing down, his hearing fading under the buzz of approaching unconsciousness. He could hear Dietrich's soft, worried voice telling the others his condition. Troy felt out the wound over the pain caused by the bouncing car. He'd been hit high, just under his left collarbone. The faint taste of blood trickled into his throat. Taking a slow deep breath, he could feel the agonizing cramp of torn muscles, could feel the hot blood running steadily under the bandage Dietrich was pressing down. The coat he was wearing was soaked through front and back. The pain was fading, and he suspected it was because he was slipping into shock.

"Damn..." he whispered.

"Lie still, Troy," Dietrich repeated his quiet plea.

The ex-Werhmacht captain looked as shocky as Troy felt. The numbing cold in the old car had them both trembling; Dietrich's hand was shaking so hard it was no surprise he couldn't get the bleeding stopped. Dietrich looked down at him, and the darkness Troy was starting to slide into must have been clear in his eyes. He tried to smile, tried to get past the fear.

"Guess you were.... right about fate." Dietrich stiffened, but Troy finished hoarsely, "Least you... didn't shoot... me."

The dark eyes were suddenly very close, and a rough hand grabbed his chin. "You stupid, stubborn Yank!" Dietrich snapped harshly. "Do you think we have gone through all this just to lose you now? Hitch and Moffitt are here. They have never let you down. Never." The grip on his chin became an almost imperceptible caress. "And I'm here. We will get out of this."

"Hang on," Moffitt said.

Troy choked back a groan as the car slid sideways, then lurched to a sudden stop.

"Why are we stopping?" Dietrich demanded, fear making his voice sharp.

"Because," Moffitt explained calmly, "if we're going to get past the city guards, we are going to have to do something about you two. And it will have to be quick; the telephones are still operating, and word will be sent out to look for this car."

"What do you suggest?" Dietrich asked.

"Trunk," Troy whispered.

Dietrich shook his head. "Too cold and rough."

"Only a little way," Troy reminded him.

Silence claimed the car as there others waited for a better suggestion. There was none coming. Finally, Troy saw Dietrich nod. "Very well."

Two doors opened, and Troy saw that they were parked inside what had once been an apartment building. It was now an empty shell, burned and broken. He wondered what had happened to the people who lived there. Would they rebuild once it was over? Would anyone want to live in this place again? Dietrich's hand tightened on his shoulder, drawing his attention.

"Let us do the work," Dietrich whispered.

"Not you," Hitchcock argued.

"He's right, old son," Moffitt said from behind Dietrich. "You don't look like you can hold yourself up, much less help with Troy."

Dietrich merely nodded, accepting the facts. "I will get in first."

"Keep your hand there until I can get it," Hitchcock said, pointing to the still-bleeding wound.

The agony that was fading came back with nerve-shattering force as Dietrich slipped out. Troy couldn't stop the cry of pain, his eyes clamping tightly closed. The rest of the move was lost in a blur of hot and cold. It was only as he was laid in the dark trunk, mostly on top of Dietrich's equally cold form, that he felt he could breathe again. Dietrich's hand came around and pressed down again, sending new agony through him.

"Moffitt," Troy called softly.

"Right here, Troy." A strong hand touched his shoulder.

"Dietrich's hurt," Troy reminded him. "Thought I'd... better tell you... case I can't later."

The hand on his arm shook it slightly. "I'll look after you both as soon as we're out of the city."

There was movement, then the lid came down, sealing them into dark like a tomb. Dietrich's long arms held him gently against the jarring ride. He could feel the tremors in the lean body under him. A thousand thoughts seem to be getting caught in his pain. Troy wished he could see Dietrich again, could study the handsome face. He wished he could tell Dietrich how sorry he was the German would have to live with his nightmare. All thoughts vanished as the shock finally won out.



Warmth, wonderful and all encompassing, was his first sensation. The comfort lasted a few minutes before reality crashed in like a V-1. Troy tried to jerk up. Hands on his arms and agony along his chest shoved him down into the bed.

"Easy, Sam," Moffitt said very gently. "Don't want to undo all the good doctor's work, now do you?"

Opening his eyes very slowly, Troy focused on the man sitting close to the bed. Moffitt's soft voice had called him out of many nightmares. It seemed whenever he was hurt, he'd wake to those concerned hazel eyes. The memories demanded his attention.

"Hitch?" he asked hoarsely.

Moffitt reached for a pitcher of water on the small, handmade wooden nightstand, poured a glass. "Hitch is fine. The wound barely took a dozen stitches."

The British lieutenant slipped his hand under Troy's head, held him as he drained the glass. Troy blinked hard as a wave of dizziness washed through him at so minor a move. "Before you ask, you're in a hospital in Bergshock. We made it here two days ago, more or less. You've been out since before we left Berlin."

"It worked?" Troy asked concerning their trunk trick.

"Perfectly," Moffitt said with pride. "They waved us through with nothing more than a cursory glance. Thankfully they didn't notice the blood covering the backseat."

Moffitt had answered all the standard questions, but there was a new addition to their world. "Dietrich?" Troy said a little more clearly, the water having cleaned his throat.

Turning to fill the glass again, Moffitt said easily, "We thought we'd lost you, old son."

It was not the answer Troy had wanted, but he heard Moffitt's worry through the level tone. Sliding his fingers across the white sheet, he touched Moffitt's arm. "I'm okay, Jack."

With a deep sigh, Moffitt nodded. After a minute, he looked down at Troy and offered him a forced smile. "Yes, so the doctors tell me. They said the wound is not terribly bad, it was the shock and blood loss that nearly did you in. You took nearly three pints of blood."

Another kind of cold was seeping into Troy's blood now, one encouraged by Moffitt's continued avoidance of his question. There were hazy memories, mostly of pain and cold. But he remembered Dietrich being there, always holding him. Then the solid, too-real sound of a body falling. He tried to tighten his hand on Moffitt's forearm without much success.

"Dietrich's dead," Troy said the words calmly. "Isn't he?"

"No, no," Moffitt assured him. "But twelve hours in the cold car, on top of the beating and the old wound...." Softly, he said, "He has pneumonia, a bad case. The doctor's aren't sure if he'll pull out of it. There was very little I could do for either of you."

Troy could still see the toll the long trip had taken on his friend. "Did your best. I need to see him..." Troy said urgently.

Moffitt only shook his head, holding Troy down. "Not today, Sam."

Troy swatted at the offending hand, realized there was no strength in the blow. He could barely get his head off the pillow. But he could, and did, reach out to Moffitt once more.

"Please, Jack," he requested softly. "Let him know I'm alive."

"He knows, Troy," Moffitt assured him. "Hitch is with him. We've been taking turns between you. You have to rest. The doctors said it will take time to rebuild your strength."

The room was fading out, proving Moffitt's point. His expression must have reflected his desperation. Moffitt's patted his hand.

"Tomorrow. You'll be better then," Moffitt told him. "I'll figure out something."



"If we get caught, you ordered me into this," Moffitt whispered into his ear.

Troy only smiled. Moffitt had been right; a new day had made a big difference. While he was still dizzy and in pain by the time Moffitt had him in the wheelchair, he was careful not to let Moffitt know that. Despite that, he was feeling a lot better than the day before. The announcement from Hitchcock that Dietrich was also showing signs of improvement helped as much as the night's rest. Now, if he could just get through this visit without getting caught, he knew, somehow that everything would be all right.

The twenty feet down the hall seemed like miles but finally Hitch eased the door open. With a slight push, Moffitt sent him inside, nearly to the bed. "We'll stand guard," Hitch promised. "Don't be long."

Giving him a thumbs up, Troy rolled himself forward one-handed, flinching as the move pulled on the stitches and torn muscles. The hiss of oxygen being fed into the clear tent filled the room, not quite covering the sound of harsh breathing. It seemed like forever since he'd heard Dietrich breathe normally. The wheels bumped the bed. Troy leaned forward and lifted a few inches of the thin cloth, refusing to notice the way his hand was shaking.

Dietrich was partially raised to help his breathing, his eyes were closed but his mouth was tight with the struggle to draw air. If this were an improvement, Troy was glad he had not seen Dietrich before. In just three days, the German had lost weight, now looking as thin and gaunt as he had during their escape from the slavers. He was pale, skin almost translucent in the harsh overhead light. Troy swallowed hard, covered Dietrich's slender hand with his own. The touch reached through Dietrich's doze, and very slowly his eyes opened, focusing with difficulty on Troy. Troy gave him a wan smile, forcing it through the guilt.

Tightening his hand, he said, "Welcome back."

Dietrich coughed hard, but the hand under Troy's turned over and returned the grip, though with little strength.

"Damn," Troy said suddenly. "I never meant for this to happen. You have to know..."

"Troy," Dietrich's voice was a mere breath. "Okay?"

Troy looked up into those sable eyes. "Yeah," he choked.

"We made it," Dietrich said, the words read almost as much as heard.

And Dietrich smiled at him. Troy's chest tightened. The smile was soft, filled with sunlight not shadows, filled with relief, and a pride that Troy had not seen since early in North Africa. The same tidal wave of emotions that had swept through him in a storm-darkened room now hit him again. Troy swallowed, wanting more than anything to take Dietrich in his arms, assure both of them that the shadows were gone for good.

Raising the hand held tight in his, he took one quick glance at the door. Slowly, he kissed the man's wrist, let his lips linger over the too warm skin and narrow bones. He kept his eyes locked on the dark gaze above him, and as in the SS cell, he let Dietrich see and understand the implications of the gesture. The smile filled with pleasure.

"We made it," Troy confirmed quietly.



The second day their luck ran out, an event that ended with Moffitt and Hitchcock both exiled from the hospital and Troy confined to a room near the nurse's station. The nurses took pity on him, though, and kept him informed of Dietrich's condition. The man continued to improve, though it was clear that Troy would be leaving sooner than he would.

The Army demanded his attention as soon as he was released four days later. Without warning and without time to do more than just get word to Dietrich, the three of them were shipped back to Antwerp. They were posted to the same hotel they had stayed in on their way out, a lifetime ago, it seemed to Troy. For two days, they went over all they had seen and heard. Moffitt had already given all the vital information, especially the news of Himmler's replacement on the front, information already forwarded to the Russians. When command ran out of questions, Troy was informed that Dietrich had been released and would be joining them. He was to see the German on a transport plane the next day. After that, the desert rats turned commandos were granted three days' leave.

Moffitt drove that afternoon to spare Troy's still-healing shoulder. The drive through a light snowfall was quiet, filled with the same comfortable silence that had usually surrounded them in the desert.

"Hey, Jack," Hitch said as they reached the edge of town. "You can drop me at that little pub at the crossroads."

"Leave hasn't officially started yet, you know," Troy reminded him.

"Ah, Sarge, you know me," Hitch complained. "I'll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow. With all this snow a man needs something to keep him warm."

"Something?" Troy questioned lightly. "Or someone?"

"Bright eyed and bushy tailed?" Moffitt questioned as he brought the jeep to a stop in front of the local drinking establishment. "You did spend too much time with Tully."

Hitchcock smiled at them as he climbed out, waving before disappearing into the dark building. Troy exchanged a quick smile with Moffitt. Moffitt swung the jeep back onto the main road. A few minutes later they stopped in front of the hotel. Troy gently stretched his shoulder, flinching at the new ache the damp weather had started.

"Okay?" Moffitt asked.

For a minute Troy considered the question. They had been commended by command; they were all going on leave, and best of all, he would get to see Dietrich off, to have a final good-bye. That thought brought a wave of sorrow, and an equally strong wave of terror. What was he going to say to the man? Could he really be feeling what he had let Dietrich see in the hospital? It was crazy. Still, it was a chance for a night together to talk. Looking up at Moffitt, Troy grinned.

"Yeah, pretty good actually," Troy said brightly.

Moffitt returned the smile, then very casually asked, "Wonder when Dietrich will get in?"

Troy didn't answer, but as he started to climb out of the big staff car, he noticed Moffitt's patented, puzzled stare being directed at him.

"What's bothering you?" Troy demanded.

Moffitt took a deep breath, then cleared his throat and very levelly said, "Dietrich is in love with you."

Shock left Troy completely speechless. When he finally found the words of denial, it came out a weak, "You're crazy."

"To quote our favorite corporal, 'Who was there, Sarge, you or me?'" Moffitt said. "I watched him when we moved you. I saw the way he looked at you. He was in pain, could barely breathe, but the only time he flinched was when you cried out."

Troy closed his eyes, turned away, trying not to think of what Dietrich had gone through; trying to think of what to say to deny...

"Ah."

The simple, single word, brought him whipping back around. Moffitt's expression was one of serious consideration and not a little puzzlement. Troy felt the blood drain from his face. Moffitt frowned.

"Where ever did you find the time?" he asked sincerely.

"Jack ..." Troy started, having no idea what he could say to his friend.

The warm hazel eyes met his and Moffitt smiled. "Would it make you feel any better if I told you I can understand the attraction? Not that I'm so inclined but I've lived enough in other cultures to understand the... need that draws two warriors together."

"Warriors?" Troy finally found his voice. He looked out at the ruined landscape, remembered the pain of seeing Dietrich in the hospital, remembered a boy hit by three bullets. "You make it sound so... heroic."

A strong hand touched his arm. Troy once more found himself staring into Moffitt's warm expression. "Sam, whatever happens, now or after the war, we will always be friends."

The loyalty and love he had always felt from Moffitt washed through him. "Thanks, Jack."

"Yes, well," Moffitt shook off the seriousness. "I'll park this beast and see you for dinner tonight"

Before Troy could even begin to decide what to say or not say, Moffitt waved jauntily and gunned off. He smiled at the disappearing car. He should not have been surprised, not with Moffitt. Shaking his head at the proper Britisher's complete dismissal of the whole thing, he started inside.

A quick stop at the desk yielded three telegraphs. Halfway up the stairs, the exhaustion hit, leaving him weary to the bone. The doctors had told him to take it easy, an order that command had not been particularly interested in allowing him to follow. Shaking his head, he thought briefly of Hitchcock, wondering where that youthful energy he used to have had gone. The old wounds that echoed with each step reminded him very vividly of the answer. He opened the door, intent on a hot bath and bed.

Twenty minutes later he stretched out on the solid bed, but sleep was held off by the questions chasing around his mind. Was he in love with Dietrich? Or was it merely desperation, curiosity and the strangeness of the war? What did he want? And what of Dietrich? When they had talked, their futures had been normal, separate, sane. Troy slammed a fist into the pillow. He wanted a normal life! He told himself he wanted the things every American male wanted - a home, wife, children. But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Dietrich's lean body and dark eyes. It was over an hour of the same endless circle before exhaustion won out.



A whisper of sound woke him, instinct held him still until his mind caught up with his location. Cautious, even knowing where he was, Troy rolled over quickly, barely noting the dark windows as he spotted the tall figure in the wingbacked chair.

"Dietrich?" he questioned as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark.

Switching on the single lamp by the chair, Dietrich regarded him quietly. "Good evening, Troy."

Glancing at the bedside clock, Troy frowned. He'd been asleep for almost six hours. A note in Moffitt's neat handwriting leaned against the clock. "Didn't want to wake you. See you in the morning. Dietrich's in."

"When did you get here?" he demanded.

"A few hours ago." Leaning heavily on a knarled wood cane, Dietrich walked over to stand near the bed.

"A few hours? Why didn't you wake me!" Troy started to complain, then he saw the exhaustion still evident on Dietrich's handsome face. "Never mind," he finished softly.

Pushing the covers away to expose half the warm bed, he held out his hand. Dietrich had taken a sharp breath in preparation for the argument, now he eased it out in a long sigh. Propping the cane on the side of the nightstand, he sat down and removed his shirt. Troy traced his fingers down the long back, wincing at the sharply defined ribs. Dietrich shed his pants and undershorts. Moving slowly, he stretched out next to Troy, smiling as his hand roved down Troy's arm, over one hip.

"I feel as though I am a condemned man who keeps winning a reprieve," Dietrich said softly.

Troy felt the side of his mouth rise; he knew exactly to what Dietrich was referring. "Yeah. Seems like we've managed three last nights now."

Dietrich chuckled, a low rich sound that Troy had learned to treasure. "Yes, so it would seem. Tomorrow..."

Troy claimed his mouth, silencing any thoughts on the future. Wrapping Dietrich in a loose hold, he pressed them carefully together, very conscious of Dietrich's frighteningly frail appearance and his own aching arm. Slowly stroking through the fine hair, Troy sighed.

"Let's worry about tomorrow, tomorrow," he said firmly. Stilling Dietrich's wandering hand, Troy said, "Heard from a couple people you know."

Sliding away far enough to reach the telegrams on the night stand, Troy picked two up and handed one to Dietrich, who was regarding him with open puzzlement. As he opened the telegram, a slow smile washed over the pale face.

"It would seem Miss Ruby is rather annoyed at me for getting hurt." He looked up at Troy, squinting as if they were still in the desert. "You told her."

"Yeah," Troy admitted. "Wanted to warn her to take it easy on you."

Looking back at the short message, he added, "She has several meals planned to help me recover."

Holding up an opened message, Troy said, "Yeah, she was pissed at me for letting you get hurt," he said with a smile.

"Why do I believe you didn't mention your own injury?" Dietrich prompted.

"I'm not the one going back to plowing." Troy handed him the other unopened telegram.

This time Dietrich's reaction was completely different. His eyes widened for a moment, a look of disbelief coloring them. Troy watched, worried a little as Dietrich's breath caught. Very slowly, Dietrich refolded the yellow page before dropping his gaze to the crisp white linen sheets. When his eyes met Troy's, tears glistened in the sable depths. Troy's chest tightened.

"Damn, Dietrich, I didn't think it would be bad..."

A sharp shake of Dietrich's head stopped him. "It's from my mother. She is alive and well. She thought.... I was dead." He paused then and took another deep breath, coughing a little. "The house and crops were destroyed. She is staying with our neighbors and getting food from the Americans. They have promised to help her find a plow horse. She is happy that it will be over soon and I will be coming home."

He coughed again and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Troy took over in the silence.

"You hadn't said, but I knew that sometimes families didn't know about German prisoners, unless the Red Cross got word to them," he explained. "I called the American major in charge in that area, had him look for her, tell her you were okay."

When Dietrich looked up, the tears had faded, the glitter now from relief and joy. "Thank you, Sam."

Giving Dietrich a strange look over the use of his first name, Troy merely shrugged. "No big deal. The Red Cross would have done it eventually anyway."

Dietrich eased closer and Troy's fingers drifted over his cheeks, down the long throat. Dietrich sighed, sliding even deeper into Troy's warm arms. Troy kissed along the smooth forehead, eased his hands down to squeeze lightly on the narrow ass. Dietrich grew a little heavier in his arms as he stroked the hard back. With a soft sigh, the ex-Panzer captain gave himself to sleep.

For an instant Troy was annoyed. This was not how he had planned on spending their night. He looked down at the pale, peaceful face, and he found himself smiling. As easily as that, all his questions were answered. His decision was made.



He drifted in pleasant dreams this time, in images of strong, callused hands that played over his body and chocolate-colored eyes that glittered with laughter. Troy sighed, stirring out of the dreams to the sound of a slight cough and the touch of a hot hand. Blinking, he looked down, and met the gaze he'd been dreaming about. Only the blue-pink of sunrise through the window convinced him he was awake. Dietrich smiled up at him, his hands carding carefully around Troy's morning erection without quite touching. Troy reached out and stroked down the stubbled cheek.

"I thought I was dreaming," Troy whispered.

"You were," Dietrich confirmed. "I thought perhaps to help it along."

Troy reached for his hand, tried to urge him up, wanting to feel the heat and weight of the too-thin body. Dietrich resisted. The long fingers tightened around Troy's shaft, teasing, bringing a gasp from him.

Before Troy could protest Dietrich's exclusion, the dark eyes again met his. "Let me do this for you," Dietrich requested. "Let me watch."

Any thoughts of refusal vanished in the sudden pressure the slender hand exerted around his cock. Troy moaned, closing his eyes, lost in hazy images, fired by dreams and reality. Dietrich stroked hard, then soft, using gentle touches to build on the dream images. One hand drifted down Troy's leg as the other carried him higher, caused his nerves to shimmer. Troy gasped with each change in altitude, with each easy touch. He was there suddenly, unwillingly, in that moment of crystal perfection. Crying out, he grabbed Dietrich's shoulders in a tight grip and spilled his seed over the German's fine hand.

For a long moment they lay there: Troy drifting in the cool air, Dietrich still stroking his leg. With a sigh, Troy forced his eyes open, and smiled into the sable gaze that met his.

"You are as wonderful to watch as I thought you would be," Dietrich told him.

"You're gonna give me a swelled head," Troy joked.

Dietrich canted an eyebrow at him, gave his softening cock a pat. "I thought I already had."

Laughing Troy spread his arms and Dietrich slipped up to join him. Pulling them together, Troy said, a little guiltily, "I didn't do anything for you."

"I am not recovered enough to need any attention this morning," Dietrich confessed.

"Nice way to wake up," Troy admitted.

"Nice way to say good-bye," Dietrich whispered.

Troy wasn't surprised by the statement. Dietrich knew it was the only way for them - the sane thing to do, to finish the war out and go home, return to a normal life. It was a wise decision, a logical decision, one Troy could have predicted Dietrich would take. Troy smiled. As much as he and Dietrich thought a like, this time they were not anywhere close.



They walked slowly across the frozen tarmac, Dietrich leaning on the cane, breath almost normal now, staining the early morning with white. Because of Dietrich's condition and the success of their mission, Troy had managed to get him flights all the way back to Fort Rucker, instead of the prolonged ship passage. Troy kept the slow pace, hugging his coat tighter against the cold that seemed to settle into his shoulder. The morning had been a quite one, filled with the kind of trivial conversation designed to cover the deliberate avoidance of something unpleasant. Troy hated good-byes, and from his reaction, he could tell Dietrich felt the same way. He wondered briefly if the slow walk to the plane was as much to prolong the company as anything.

Finally, they stood at the bottom of the plane's gangway. Dietrich sighed, turned toward him. Troy watched, filled with a strange pride. The man standing straight and tall before him was the same determined German officer he had first seen leading a column across the hard desert sand. He nearly smiled, correcting that thought, this Dietrich had lost all his shadows, not merely those brought on by the war. That thought warmed Troy more than the heavy coat.

"It seems we are at the end of our time together, Troy," Dietrich said quietly.

Troy nodded, knowing what he really meant, not knowing how to make the parting any better. "Yeah." A hint of sorrow entered his voice. "Are we going to make the promise to write, to keep in touch?"

Dietrich put his hands behind his back. "I think promises will be hard to keep when sanity returns to the world."

So, this was it, Troy realized. Dietrich hoped to return to normalcy, wanted them to go on with their lives, a life that didn't include wartime romances.

Smiling softly, Dietrich said, "We will always have Berlin."

Dietrich extended his hand. Troy stared at him, wanting more than anything to hold the man close, tell him exactly what the future held for them. He had to settle for letting his expression convey what his body couldn't. He shook Dietrich's hand, then saluted and had it returned. A roar overhead made them both look up. In perfect formation a wing of bombers flew over them.

"It's not over yet," Troy told Dietrich.

"No." Dietrich agreed, turning toward the plane.

"Hans," Troy called. Dietrich looked back. "I wasn't talking about the war."

Surprise widened the sable eyes, and for a long moment disbelief claimed the handsome face. A heartbeat went by, then Dietrich squinted against the bright sun, and gave a single, decisive nod. Troy smiled back.

THE END

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