The Price To Pay
Private Mark Hitchcock watched the two jeeps as they disappeared into the distance surrounded by a cloud of dust. Turning, he slowly made his way back to the waiting woman who stood slightly to one side, an empty water jug still held in her hand.
Mark smiled at her and cast a quick glance about the small watering hole. Her tent was the only one in the area and he felt satisfaction well within him. He knew that Tully would return in a few hours to pick him up.
Reaching out a hand he grasped her slender fingers, letting her lead him into the tent, his stomach tightening in anticipation. As they entered, he was surprised to see that only one lamp was burning and it cast eerie shadows about the room.
A shuffling noise to his left caused him to turn swiftly in that direction, his hand slipping down for his gun. The action was never completed as the butt of an old rifle caught him across the back of the head. Soundlessly he slumped to the ground, his cap tumbling across the floor.
The Arab who had brutally slugged Hitchcock knelt down beside his unconscious form, his rough hands searching for a pulse. The fluttering beat reassured him that the youth would live. His hand slipped down the body in an easy search, removing any weapons that were hidden about the supple form, then, reaching up, he tilted the head, smiling at the striking good looks. Gingerly he fingered the blond hair, then with another satisfied smile, he stood up and motioned for his men to bind the young private and secure him across one of the horses. Hitchcock, with his blond hair and stunning good looks, would bring a good price in the slave market.
Turning to the woman who had baited his trap, the Arab spoke a few harsh words that sent her scurrying towards her own mount. She knew that it would be in her best interests to be as far away as possible from this place when the young American's friends returned for him.
***
Tully knew something was wrong as he approached the tent. Lifting the flap he entered, his gun at the ready. The darkness was almost complete, only the bright sunlight from the opening threw any light within its confines. Tying the flap back, Tully made a quick search. He left the tent, his concern for his young friend growing as he clutched the Red Legion cap in his hands. Moving slowly, he scouted the area. A short while later he returned to the jeep, his intention to find Troy and explain his growing fears. The tracks about the tent had spoken of a few men with horses, maybe camels, but the most worrying aspect was the direction the Arabs had taken... heading away from the Allied camp, directly into the desert and German territory.
***
Hitch groaned and tried to stop himself from moving, but with little success. It took a while for him to realise that he was, in fact, tied and held prisoner over the back of a horse. Opening his eyes, he blinked at the swaying ground below him. Swallowing hard a few times, he managed to push back the bile that rose within his throat. Limply he lay there, letting the animal move as he concentrated on staying conscious, fighting the blackness that threatened as he tried to remember the events that had led to his present predicament. He did not even notice the darkness that slipped in to claim him again.
***
Troy watched Moffitt as he moved about the small watering hole where they had left Hitch earlier that day. "Well?" he finally snapped as the Englishman came back to the tent once again.
Moffitt looked up at his friend and saw the deep concern he was unable to hide in his eyes. "Five, maybe six camels, two horses went in that direction." He pointed into the desert. "One, the woman I would guess, headed back towards our camp."
"What the hell happened?" Troy snarled, his anger too great to remain still.
"I would guess that they were waiting for us or... more to the point... Hitch."
Sam glanced up at that, asking, "Hitch... Why?"
Moffitt chewed his bottom lip, not sure if he wanted to express his growing concerns to his leader. Then, seeing the steely glint enter the other's eyes, he continued, "Mark is a strikingly handsome man, and his reputation has spread quite a distance out here."
"His reputation?" Tully questioned, squinting at the other two men.
Moffitt let out a deep sigh and finished, "He would bring a good price in the local market."
"Local market?" Troy began, then stopped as the words sunk in. "Slave traders," he spat, disgust filling his handsome features, his own mind slipping back to the time when he had nearly been sold into slavery along with Captain Dietrich.
Each man stood in silence for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts of Hitch's possible suffering. Troy clutched at the red cap he held and asked, his voice strained, "Where's the nearest market?"
"It's behind the German lines, about a day and half from here, "Moffitt supplied, knowing that they would be following the kidnappers.
Making his mind up, Troy ordered the other two men into their jeeps. "We're heading out as soon as we have the supplies."
"What about command? "Moffitt asked, knowing that the general would never allow them to go off on a wild chase after one missing man.
"We've got five days' leave," snapped back Troy. "How we spend it is up to us." He shot the other two men a quick glance and got the answering nods he knew he would.
Moffitt silently got back into his jeep. He did not explain that if they did not catch up with Hitch before he was sold, they would have little chance to find the young man once he disappeared into the desert with his new master.
***
When Hitch next awoke he was pleased to note that he was no longer slung over the swaying beast, but propped uncomfortably up against some rocks. He groaned as he tried to lift his head, blinking as the world slowly came into focus. A short distance away some men were gathered about a brightly burning fire. He could hear them, but could not understand the language. Letting his head fall back, he tried to ignore the dryness that tingled in his parched throat.
A sharp voice barking an order at him in a tongue he did not understand caused him to open his eyes. He groaned at the pain this action caused and would have let his head fall back, if the other had not grabbed his hair and forced his head up.
He blinked at the bearded man who knelt beside him. Seeing the offered cup, he accepted the drink and grimaced at its bitterness, but he was too thirsty to wonder at its strange taste. Finishing that cup, he accepted another. This time the water was clear and he eagerly quenched his thirst, allowing some of the cool liquid to spill over his mouth and run down his chin.
Finally his head was released and he let it fall back, resting against the rock, looking up at his captor. As he did so, he felt a sweeping lassitude steal over his body and knew with sudden fear that the first cup of water had been drugged. He opened his mouth to protest, but it refused to obey him. Laying there, he watched with growing horror as the other man reached out and gently wiped his blond hair from his eyes. What his captor said he had no way of knowing, but the tone was very clear to the young and suddenly frightened youth.
The Arab leader, seeing the fear reflected in the pale face under his hands, smiled and gently patted the cheek. He would have liked to taste the boy, but knew that the price in the market would be that much higher if the merchandise was untouched. Slowly he stood and made his way back to the fire. As he moved, he rubbed absently at the swelling within his pants. With a grin of satisfaction he settled back, secure in the knowledge that it had been right to go for the boy: he would bring a pretty price, and he knew just the place to sell the lad. There were men who would pay a very high price to taste the lips of that man/child.
***
Dietrich awoke with a start. He took a few seconds to gather his thoughts and then settled back with a slight sigh. He was safe within the camp of his Arab friend, Sheik Mohammed. He had arrived the night before, on a week's extended leave. At first he had been unwilling to leave his men, but the doctor had been insistent that his recently healed wound needed time to knit properly and that would only be done away from the battlefield. Reluctantly he had agreed.
Mohammed had been more than pleased to see his honourable friend, who had saved his young lover, Ishmael from almost certain death. Since that time they had become firm friends, with the wealthy Sheik opening his camp to the German officer at every opportunity.
Mohammed entered the tent and stopped at the entrance, asking and receiving permission to enter. "You sent Jasmine away last night." He paused then added with a slight smile, "Was she not to your taste?" He raised an eyebrow at his own words. Both men knew that his preference tended towards his own sex.
Dietrich smiled and replied, "I was very tired and still recovering, I meant no offence."
Mohammed brushed his words aside as he sat down upon some cushions, "It is of no matter, you are here to rest. My home is your home, whatever you want is yours."
"You are too generous, my friend, " Dietrich said earnestly. He knew that he should despise the man before him, because Germany frowned upon his perversion, but to Hans the man before him had only shown genuine friendship, and a wisdom of ruling his people with honour in these troubled times.
Mohammed regarded Dietrich for a few moments then said firmly, "I think your mind is not yet made up. Your duty controls you too much, you need to relax and I know just the thing." As he spoke, he waved the waiting women into the tent and watched them silently as they prepared the food. As they left he finished, "Tonight you will accompany me, there is a rather special... showing tonight, and I think you might find what you're looking for there."
Dietrich reached for some food, smiling at the same time. "Thank you, my friend, but I am quite happy the way I am, "he stated firmly, hoping that it would put an end to the matter. Then, seeing the glint within the other's eyes, he relented graciously, "But if you want me to accompany you, then it would be my pleasure."
Mohammed sat back, well pleased with himself. He was almost certain that Dietrich needed to relax and, if he saw anything at tonight's sale that interested him, then he would buy it as a gift for his honoured friend.
***
The day passed in a drugged haze for Hitch. They had tied him to a horse that morning and he had sat slumped within the saddle, too weak to even offer a token resistance.
The sun beat down upon his exposed body, causing him to dip in and out of consciousness, the blow to his head still throbbing, growing with intensity with each step the beast took. When they had stopped for lunch, he had all but fallen from the beast when they had released him, and he felt himself being carried to the shade where he slept within its cooling confines.
He had not resisted as a cup was held against his lips and the same bitter brew of the night before was forced down his throat, nor the hands that stripped him of his clothes and bathed his fevered body before new clothing was replaced. Not the confining uniform of his army, but the cool cloth of an Arab. Slowly he sank deeper into the drugged sleep, not even noticing when he was carried and placed upon the horse's back again, nor the body that climbed up behind him to hold him in place.
***
Troy lowered the binoculars and swiped a hand across his sweating brow. They had been following the Arabs' trail since the night before, and still had not gained on them. He suppressed a sigh of frustration and headed back to the waiting jeeps.
"How much further do you reckon?" he asked as he approached the jeeps, throwing his binoculars carelessly into the back.
Moffitt glanced up at the sun before answering, "Three, maybe four hours."
"OKay, lets roll it," Troy snapped, starting his jeep's engine and roaring off in the direction Moffitt had indicated.
Tully started his own vehicle and followed the other. Shooting a quick glance at his partner, he asked, "You don't think we're going to make it, do you?"
Moffitt closed his eyes and swiped at the sweat that rested upon his brow. "If we don't reach Hitch in time, then it won't matter a damn how long it takes us to find him."
Tully swallowed at the implications and revved more power from the vehicle under him.
***
Dietrich looked about the crowded room and had second thoughts about accompanying Mohammed. The trip into the town had been pleasant, and they had been shown to the best seats in the place once they arrived: a wide table up close to the stage, which was rough in its construction but seemed worthy of the surrounding room.
Drink was brought up to the table and Mohammed requested an alcoholic drink for his friend. Dietrich swallowed the warm brandy with ease, the bite causing him to cough once and wipe at his mouth as his friend smiled at him.
The room was fast becoming filled with smoke, and Dietrich wondered once again why Mohammed had brought him here. It was not like his friend to frequent a place like this, of that Hans was sure.
Suddenly the feeling of the place changed from relaxed enjoyment to anticipation as the lights fell and a main beam fell upon the stage. A fat Arab waddled onto the stage and began to speak in rapid Arabic, waving his arms about in the air to visually describe his words.
Dietrich settled back to watch the show. He unconsciously rubbed at his wounded shoulder and grimaced at the pain this caused. Mohammed, seeing this movement, leant forward and motioned to his arm. Dietrich shook his head at his friend's concern. The handsome Arab settled back into his chair, but kept a cautious eye upon his friend. He had not considered that the trip might be too exhausting for the healing man.
A woman walked onto the stage, moving with a gentle ease that caught Dietrich's attention as the bidding began. With a feeling of growing horror, he realised just what this place was. He began to stand up, but Mohammed's strong hand upon his arm prevented him.
"This is disgusting," he hissed, unable to hide his anger.
Mohammed frowned in confusion, then released his friend's arm, realising that he had unintentionally angered his friend. "I'm sorry, but I thought you would like to choose your own companion," he stated, still not sure why Dietrich was offended by an event which was an everyday occurrence in his world. "This is a way for men and women to gain value in our land."
"They are no better than slaves," Dietrich hissed, lowering himself back into his chair when he realised that he was gaining unwanted attention from the other patrons. He swallowed his revulsion and knew that he would have to stay until the end; the room was so crowded that he would be forced to push his way out... an experience he would not relish with his injured arm.
Mohammed, seeing Hans settle back into his seat, nodded in satisfaction that the German officer would not cause a scene. "Enjoy the display," he advised. "You might find what you've been looking for," he added with a smile. Had he not found his life's love in such a place?
Dietrich sat silently while the sale continued on into the evening. As the drinks arrived he swallowed in deep gulps, his own anger at not realising what this place was growing with each swallow.
Finally the sale seemed to be coming to an end. The last lad was being led off to be paid for by his new owner, when a commotion off the stage caught the auctioneer's attention. Waving the men back to their seats, he slid off to reappear a few moments later, a large smile fixed upon his lips.
Dietrich listened to his words with growing horror. He only managed to catch a few of the words that were spoken very quickly in Arabic, but he knew enough of the language to know that an American was the next item up for sale.
He nearly leapt from his seat as a stumbling Private Mark Hitchcock was led onto the stage, a rope tied firmly about his wrist as he was jerked forward. A murmur of approval rose from the crowd as they were caught and held by the beauty of the man standing, swaying, upon the stage. He was dressed in a very loose-fitting garment that left little to the imagination, and his hair was a halo of golden light about his pale face.
Dietrich felt his breath catch at the sight before him. The youth, he could tell, was not really conscious of his whereabouts as he blinked owlishly at the patrons within the room, who yelled obscene words at him in Arabic.
The auctioneer began the bidding, which proved to be fierce as eager hands shot up to raise the price of the blond youth upon the stage. "Mohammed," Dietrich said, turning shocked eyes upon his friend who sat back, enjoying the view of the lad. If not for Ishmael, he might have considered bidding for the lad himself.
Mohammed turned at Dietrich's voice and saw the horror reflected with the handsome face. "You want him?" he asked, leaning forward, eager to appease his friend's earlier anger.
Hans Dietrich shot another look at Hitch as he swayed upon the stage and knew that he had seconds to act as the bidding now seemed to be between two main rivals. "Yes," he hissed firmly. He would do anything rather than see such an honourable opponent sold into slavery.
"50,000," Mohammed said loudly, his words spilling across the room, silencing the others as they gasped at the sum.
"51,000," came a voice from the other corner of the stage. Dietrich looked at the hulk of the man who placed the bid.
"55,000," shot back Mohammed, a smile filling his face.
The fat man turned his eyes upon the blond prize and considered his worth once more. "56,000," he finally stated, knowing that he would get his money back from the patrons of his brothel.
"60,000," snapped Mohammed almost lazily, knowing what the other man wanted the youth for and secretly pleased that Dietrich had intervened to save the lad.
The fat man shook his head and backed off his bidding. The auctioneer said the offered price a few more times, then yelled his joy at such a high-priced commission.
Hitch was led stumbling from the stage as Mohammed stood, motioning for Dietrich to follow him, which he did with great haste. They were stopped a few times by well-wishers who wanted to congratulate Mohammed on such a beautiful purchase.
Backstage was just as dirty and disgusting as Dietrich feared it would be, with a strange sickly smell assailing his nostrils. All that was forgotten as he spotted Hitch being pushed up against a wall, an elderly Arab pushing himself against the lad. With a snarl of rage, he left Mohammed to pay the price offered and, moving swiftly to Hitch's side, pulled the startled man from him and shoved him backwards, causing him to fall to the ground. Hitch let his head fall forward, looking at Hans through drugged eyes. He tried to summon up a snarl to greet the German, but with his support suddenly gone, his legs gave way and only Dietrich's arms about him prevented him from crashing to the ground.
Mohammed appeared at his side and, taking the weight of the unconscious lad from the still healing German, he lifted him up into his arms and motioned for Dietrich to lead the way out the back of the building. It was only then that Dietrich placed the smell of burning flesh. Glancing down, he saw that Hitch now wore the red mark of a recent brand upon his upper left arm: it was an ugly red pulse of flesh that still seemed to bubble, in the shape of a winged hawk. He felt bile rise in his throat as he realised that the Arab had not been attacking Hitch, but branding him with Mohammed's seal of slavery. Mohammed's guards were waiting for them as they left. Gently the Sheik lowered the slack body into the back seat, and made way for his friend to sit beside the slave he had bought for his pleasure.
Dietrich was concerned by the laxness of the American, and knew that he had been heavily drugged. Part of him was relieved, because the pain of the branding would have been intense otherwise. Lifting an eyelid, he knew that it would be quite a while before the drug left the other's system. Reaching for the offered blanket, he gently wrapped it about the lad as Hitch began to shiver. The light clothes he was wearing left little to the imagination and offered no real protection against the cold of the night or the shock that was setting in. Placing his arms about Hitch, he stared stonily into space as the long journey back to camp began.
***
Troy smashed his fist down upon the hood of his jeep; they had arrived too late to save Hitch. They had travelled into town during the early hours of the morning, only to discover that a handsome American had been sold the night before.
"Do you know where to find this Sheik Mohammed's camp?" he asked Moffitt, who was changing back into his army uniform.
"He's quite a powerful man in these parts." Moffitt frowned as he tried to remember if he had ever met the man. Shaking his head, he had to admit -
that while he had heard of him - he had never, during his travels with his father, met the man. "Nobody I spoke to seemed willing to divulge where he's camped, but I would guess it would need to be near one of the big oases. His camp is pretty big."
"So, what do we do... visit them all?" questioned Tully, his own face drawn with fear for his friend.
Troy looked back at the town and nodded. " If we have to."
"That could take days," stated Moffitt. "Maybe even weeks, if he decided to move his camp."
"Are you saying we should leave?" snapped Troy, rounding on him, anger in his every movement.
Moffitt stopped and glared at Troy, his own anger close to the surface. He took a deep breath and counted to ten before answering, "No... What I am saying is that it might be best to inform H.Q. that we are after some vital information, and that it will take a few days to gather."
Troy let out the breath he had been holding and apologised. "I'm sorry, Jack." He reached out and grasped the Englishman's shoulder. "It's just that..." He stopped, unable to voice his concern for his handsome young driver.
"I know, Sam," Moffitt said, knowing what had prompted his friend's anger. "We had better backtrack a few miles before we radio H.Q., then we can head towards the Sizare Oasis... it's about forty miles to the east."
***
Hitch fought valiantly against the drug that was sluggishly slipping through his system. He vaguely remembered a strange dream, where he had stood in front of a roomful of jeering men. That had faded when he saw Captain Dietrich standing before him and felt a burning white pain in his arm. With a gasp of fear he started up, only to slump back weakly as the room spun about=20
him.
"Here... drink this, Private Hitchcock." A glass was held to his lips. He weakly fought against it, remembering the drug he had been given, but he lost the battle and drunk the contents. The fruit juice was cool and so sweet to his dried throat that as he began to thirstily gulp at the liquid. The cup was lifted away from his lips. "Easy," commanded the voice, before the cup was again pressed to his lips. This time, he obeyed and sipped at the liquid.
With gentle care, his head was lowered back onto the pillow. He slowly looked about the room. He could see that it was a tent, a very elaborate dwelling... colourful cushions and carpets covered the floor area, while the walls were hung with expensive drapes. He was resting upon a very comfortable bed. He blinked as his vision drifted in and out of focus, until finally he took in the concerned expression of Captain Hans Dietrich.
"I thought I dreamed you," Hitch slurred.
"You were certainly in the middle of a nightmare," commented Dietrich drily, remembering the shock he had felt when he saw the brutal injury the other had sustained to the back of his head. Mohammed's doctors had assured the concerned German that this injury, on top of the drugs and the shock of the branding, was the main reason the youth was unconscious for so long, and why he was even now fighting against a slight fever.
"Got attacked from behind," Hitch tried to explain, his mind still a turmoil of confusion. "Did you...?" he began.
Dietrich shook his head as he reached for some more juice. "No... you were taken by slavers," he finished, noticing the shocked expression that filtered across the other's face. As the huge blue eyes rose to meet his, he nodded with amusement for the first time since finding the young private. "Yes, I bought you... well," he amended, "you were bought for me, by a friend."
"Like hell," snapped Hitch, struggling to rise. His efforts proved useless as he slumped back, darkness threatening his consciousness.
Hans leapt forward, pushing the young man back, disturbed by the paleness that swept across the other's features. "You must rest, you've had a brutal blow to the head. That alone could have dire consequences, but on top of the drugs, it could prove fatal."
"You bastards," was all Hitch managed, as he slipped into the arms of unconsciousness once more.
Dietrich knelt for a few moments by Hitchcock's side, his own feelings threatening to overcome him. He had reason to hate this young man, to want to see both him and the other members of his team destroyed. Yet, when he had seen him looking so helpless and vulnerable upon that stage, he had felt only rage that such a brave warrior should be treated in such a manner. Because of this, he was now torn between reporting the private's presence and having him sent to a prison camp, or contacting Sergeant Troy and informing him of his whereabouts.
Dietrich slowly stood and made his way back to the cushion he had been resting upon. For some reason, he felt irrational anger towards the leader of the Rat Patrol. How could he let such a fate befall the youngest member of his team? He had always admired the sergeant for his devotion to his men. Yet, now... now he wondered at the events that had led to the capture of the youth, realising with a sudden jolt that he did not even know if the other members of the team were still alive.
***
Sam Troy was annoyed; this was the second oasis in as many days. They were low on fuel and time was fast running out, and still no sign of Hitch.
"Well?" he asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of his tone.
Moffitt had once again been in to the camp about the oasis, looking for any sign of the young American. "They estimate Mohammed's camp to be about a day's ride in that direction, near the Modeby waters."
"We don't have enough fuel for that distance," Tully stated quietly, removing a matchstick from between his lips.
Moffitt smiled and replied, "There is a German fuel camp about seven miles to the west; we should be able to make it before nightfall."
Troy was leaping ahead of the Englishman. "Get in, grab some fuel, then head for Mohammed's camp."
"It'll mean leaving Hitch there for another night," stated Tully, not liking the idea.
"We can't do a damn thing without fuel, Tully," snapped Troy, pulling out his map and indicating that Moffitt was to pinpoint the location.
"Mohammed's camp is too far away to reach it by tonight, anyway," Moffitt said by way of smoothing the other two men. "Anyway, it might be wise to rest up tonight, find the camp tomorrow, then try to get him out tomorrow night."
Troy nodded his agreement. "It will give us time to scout the area."
That decided, the men set off in search of the fuel they desperately needed.
***
The last two days had seen a steady improvement in Hitchcock's condition. By the second day, he was able to sit up in bed and pick at his food. Although his head still hurt, the drug was nearly gone from his system, leaving only a nagging desire for more and the nightmares.... The desire he pushed further from his mind with each passing hour; the dreams, they were harder to live with, but he was trying to cope with them.
"How are you feeling today?" Sheik Mohammed asked as he entered the tent.
Hitch resisted the urge to pull the light sheet further up his uncovered torso. "Better," he mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on a point above the other man's head.
"You were most lucky that Captain Dietrich desired you, otherwise you would, even now, be working in one of the more select brothels," Mohammed stated as he moved to sit down beside the youth. He smiled slightly at the uneasiness he felt radiating from the trapped man.
"So you've said," stated Hitch, remembering his embarrassment when Mohammed had first told him of his intended fate until Dietrich had intervened.
"Is there anything else you require?" Mohammed asked, taking pity upon the man and holding out a garment for him to cover over his bare chest. Hitch snatched at the item and silently pulled the jacket on, feeling better once the buttons had been securely done up.
"My freedom?" he asked, his tone bold, his eyes meeting the sheik's for the first time.
Mohammed was caught and held by their blue intensity. A slight smile played about his lips. If only.... He pushed that thought aside; he would not upset his present lover for a mere whim. "That is not mine to give. You belong to Captain Dietrich, to do with as he pleases." He paused, then added in a subdued tone. "He is a very honourable man."
Hitch swallowed and replied, his voice not as steady as he would have liked, "I am fully aware of the captain's honour." He knew that he would have little defence if the German officer should show any inclination to claim his slave, and would get no help from the Arabs at the camp if that should happen. Yet he knew that Dietrich was not that way inclined.
The German officer stopped at the entrance of his tent, listening to Mohammed as talked with the American.
"He thinks very highly of your patrol," Mohammed continued, tilting his head to one side, measuring the other's reaction. He had known in his heart that Dietrich had only saved the lad because of his honour, but he did not mind - if it pleased the other man to do so, then it pleased Mohammed to help him.
"Like I said, the captain is a man of honour," Hitch replied, his tone lowered, the slight whisper of exhaustion creeping into his tone. He tired very easily since his ordeal and Mohammed, seeing this, rose, saying gently, "Dietrich will have to bring you to dine with me in my tent one evening. I would love to hear how your patrol has managed to defy him for so long."
Hitch lay back and watched him leave the tent. He wanted to remain awake, but the effort of just sitting up seemed to drain him with frightening speed, especially since his failed escape attempt the night before.
Mohammed stopped when he saw Dietrich waiting by the tent opening. "He is very handsome... and very brave." He was referring to the night before, when one of his men had caught Hitchcock trying to leave the tent . The youth had been staggering by the time he reached the entrance and had had to be carried back to his bed.
"He is that, allright," Hans said, a slight smile upon his lips. "I would love to throw them all in prison and toss away the key," he added, a glint entering his eyes.
Mohammed laughed out loud, commenting, "Then who would you have to fight?"
"The rest of the Allied forces."
"Ah... yes, but think how dull that would prove to be." Mohammed was still laughing as he wandered away across the camp. Dietrich watched him for a few moments, his own amusement lighting his eyes, then, turning back, he entered the tent.
He stopped when he saw that Hitch was sprawled in sleeping abandonment, his body at an angle as his head was tilted up upon the many pillows. Gently, Dietrich moved him until he was resting in a more comfortable position then, with a sigh, he pulled the sheet up. He smiled when he saw the jacket that Mohammed must have given him. The rich blue material, he knew, would only draw out the colour of the sleeping man's eyes. He wondered if Mark was even aware of how attractive it made him.
Moving over to the other bed, Dietrich lay down. He was still recovering from his own wounds, and had fallen into the habit of snatching a few hours' sleep during the heat of the day, himself. He had no worries about Hitch trying to escape again. Mohammed had placed a guard upon the tent entrance after his attempt the previous night.
***
"Any sign of Hitch?" Moffitt asked as Troy once more scanned the encampment below them.
"No... but there is a guard on one of the tents over there." As he spoke, he handed the binoculars to Moffitt who looked in the direction he pointed.
"Could be.... I could always go down and have a look about," Moffitt volunteered.
Troy turned over and lay on his back in the sand. "Too dangerous. We're pretty certain this is Mohammed's camp, and I don't want to arouse his suspicions." Slowly he began to edge down the hill. "Let's move away from here and get some sleep."
"Troy!" Moffitt exclaimed, his grip on the glasses tightening. "Dietrich," he gasped.
"What?" snapped Troy, moving swiftly back up beside Moffitt, who handed him the glasses.
"By the tent with the guard." Troy followed the line along and, sure enough, there was Captain Dietrich waiting by the entrance, as if listening to something. A short while later an Arab walked from the tent, a few words were exchanged and then they moved apart, both laughing.
"What do you think?"
"I don't know," Sam honestly replied, "but I don't like it... Let's get back to Tully and put some space between us while we try and figure it out."
As Moffitt followed Troy down the sliding slope, he could not make up his mind if he was pleased to find Dietrich at the camp or not. He was sure that the German would not let any harm befall Hitch. He paused; did the captain have any control over the events that happened in the camp? He hoped so, because that might have been Hitch's only chance of surviving a rape attempt.
***
Hitch awoke with a start. He had been dreaming about the night of the auction: the jeering faces, the feel of another male body pressed close to his. With a groan he rolled over, clutching his arm across his middle as his stomach threatened a revolt.
"Are you alright?" Dietrich asked from his own bed.
"Yeah... fine..." The words were shaky and held little conviction.
"Shall I call for the doctor?" Hans asked, rising from his bed and moving across the room.
Hitch knew that if Dietrich tried to touch him, he really would be sick. The thought of another man's hands.... He leapt from the bed and stumbled back away from the advancing man.
"Just stay away from me," he hissed, waving a hand in front of him to ward the other man off. "Don't touch me... Keep your filthy hands off me." The voice had risen slightly with hysteria.
"Hitch?" Dietrich asked, slowing to a stop, real concern for the other man written across his face. "Try to calm down. You're safe here.... no one will hurt you."
"You're damned right about that," another voice entered the conversation and, turning, Dietrich found himself looking down the barrel of a machine gun. Lifting his eyes, he saw the enraged face of Sergeant Sam Troy. The expression upon his face informed the captain that he had at least heard part of the conversation and had come to the wrong conclusion.
"Sergeant, your man is unhurt," he offered, raising his hands to show that he possessed no weapons.
"No thanks to you," snapped the sergeant, moving further into the room to reveal an equally shocked Moffitt standing behind him.
"Your Private has suffered a serious head injury. He's confused and..." began Dietrich, knowing it was important that the man believe him.
"Shut up," Troy snarled, pushing him roughly back. The German fell back easily under the shove. "Come on, Hitch," continued the sergeant, moving towards the still-shaking man. He reached out to grasp an arm, intending to reassure Hitch, but the reaction he got was extreme as Mark yelled out in shocked surprise and began to fight Troy with all his strength. Sam dropped his weapon to meet the furious attack.
Dietrich sprang forward and, a few moments later, both men had the injured man subdued upon the floor. The blond still struggled, but he was growing visibly weaker.
"What the hell?" gasped Troy, just as an Arab voice from outside demanded to know if everything was alright. Dietrich shot a glance at Troy and Moffitt, weighing his chances of seeking assistance. Then, realising that the moment was lost, he took a deep breath and shouted back in his broken Arabic that Hitch was having a nightmare and he could handle it. After a few seconds, the footsteps moved away.
"He's had a few dreams like this... after the first time, I found it best not to approach him until he was fully awake."
"Sarge?" Hitch asked hesitantly, blinking up in confusion at the man who lay half across him.
Troy leant back and reached out a hand to brush the blond fringe from the sweating forehead. "How you feeling, kid?" His voice was gentle.
"Not so good," came the quiet reply. Troy frowned; for Hitch to admit to feeling rough, the boy must be in serious trouble.
"Moffitt," Troy said, slowly standing. "Show our good captain back to his bed and make sure he stays there until morning." As he spoke, he helped Hitch sit up.
"When did you arrive?" Hitch asked, looking up at the other man, his eyes still partly glazed.
Troy smiled down at him and answered slowly, "Just now, you were having a..." he paused, not sure what to call it, then taking Dietrich's own words, he continued, "a nightmare."
"I seem to be having a few of those of late," Hitch replied, a slight frown upon his face. Reaching up, he rubbed his hand through his hair, wincing as he made contact with the bandage about his head. "Never can seem to remember what it's about, though."
"Don't worry about that now... we've got to get out of here," Troy said, helping Hitch to his feet. The other swayed before he caught himself.
"He should not be moved, the doctors said..." Dietrich never finished as Troy butted in.
"Listen, Dietrich, I'm grateful you saved his life and, well... whatever else you saved him from, but I'm not leaving here without him and that's final."
Dietrich opened his mouth to protest again, but Moffitt swiftly placed a rolled up piece of cloth in it and tied the gag firmly in place. After he had finished, he moved to Hitch's other side.
"Ready?" Troy asked, as he went and glanced out the opening they had made in the back of the tent.
Both men nodded, although Hitch did tilt as this action, but Moffitt had him firmly about the waist. As they left the tent, Hitch stopped. "Thank you, Captain.... thank you for everything."
Dietrich could only watch in open frustration as they made their escape. One part of him was relieved that he did not have to make a decision about Hitch's future, the other was furious that once again the Rat Patrol had bested him. With an inward sigh, he leant back and concentrated on relaxing. It was still a few hours until morning.
***
The trip back to headquarters was a nightmarish event for Mark Hitchcock. Although the others tried to make him a comfortable as possible, he still slipped in and out of his dreams, waking with as cry of fear that would cause the others to spin in his direction, until he would slump back exhausted and slip into another troubled sleep.
It was this continuing event that worried the other three men the most. Troy explained his fears to the doctor at the Allied hospital where they had taken Hitch, and was relieved when the doctor had returned a few hours later to inform them that it was more than likely the residue of the drug that Hitch had been given that was heightening his fear. Once it was totally out of his system, he should make a fairly swift recovery and the dreams would fade.
***
Mohammed himself had discovered Dietrich tied up in his bed the next day. While the Arab leader was angry that a guest of his should be treated in such a way, he could also see the humour in the situation.
Dietrich was not so forgiving, and was determined to get back to his unit where he could fight the Patrol on his own terms again.
Mohammed did put his mind at rest over one issue of concern: Private Hitchcock had been sold for a fairly large sum of money, and now any unscrupulous Arab might take it into his head to kidnap the man/child for sale into slavery. Mohammed was swift to reassure him that, as far as Arab law was concerned, Private Hitch now belonged to the German officer and, if at any time he was captured by any Arabs, he would be returned to the captain for the reward offered by Mohammed for any runaway slave.
Dietrich could see the humour in that, at least, and was determined that the next time he had Sergeant Troy within his grasp, he would take great delight in informing him of the fact.
***
Tully returned to their quarters a few days later, a smug smile upon his face. When questioned about his short disappearance, he had stated that he had found the woman who had set Hitch up, and made a call upon a certain Arab who was bragging about settling a debt he had against a young American who had slept with his girl.
When questioned further, Tully would only say that the man would recover eventually, and that he had kindly donated a fairly large sum of money to a local orphanage.
This seemed to satisfy Hitch, who had been released from the hospital that morning with strict instructions on remaining in bed for at least another four days, and he knew from experience that one of the others would always manage to be about to make sure he stuck to the doctor's orders.
The doctor had informed him that he would never be able to get rid of the scar upon his upper arm, but that in time it might fade. He doubted that it ever would, but then, it didn't really bother him because it wasn't as if Dietrich was ever going to claim his property... was it?
THE END
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