A Private Matter


Back to: The Price To Pay

Sergeant Troy lay back upon his bed and looked up at the canvas ceiling above him. With a deep meaningful sigh he stretched and, reaching over, picked up the bottle of warm beer that he had placed beside the bed earlier, his mind drifting. The Rat Patrol had just returned from another tough assignment, and Troy was taking time out to catch up on some much needed rest.

Hitch and Tully had disappeared upon their return, having already made arrangements to meet a couple of native girls in the local tavern. Moffitt had received a book from his father during his absence, and had vanished into some quiet corner to spend a few pleasant hours lost in the history of a half-forgotten race.

Troy had also slipped away, but to his own tent, where he had spent the last few hours catching up on lost sleep. That was until a passing truck had caused him to start awake, reaching automatically for his gun. Realising that he was safe, he slumped back upon the bed, looking at the ceiling and wondering if he would ever get used to waking up without reaching for his weapon.

An altercation outside his tent pulled his attention back to the present. He tilted his head to hear better: he could tell that it was Hitch and Tully who were arguing, and it sounded brutal. He frowned; it was not like his two friends to argue. Glancing at his watch, he noted that only a few hours had passed since they had left him. Suddenly the flap entrance of his tent was thrown up and Hitch stormed in, his face white with anger. Troy could also see that he had been drinking... heavily. Tully followed him, a concerned frown upon his handsome features.

"Just stay out of it," Hitch tossed back at the Kentuckian. "If I want to do it... then it's my damned business."

"Not if it cost you your life," came back the quiet-voiced reply.

Hitch spun, his drunken fury evident as he opened his mouth to retort. Troy never gave him the time as he butted in, annoyed at the disturbance, "Do you two mind? I'm trying to get some sleep here."

Both men paused, surprised to find him still there. Tully gave him a level look before he removed the match from his mouth and, pointing it in Hitch's direction, stated, "This darn fool wants to get that brand burned off."

"Burned off?" Troy repeated, darting a look of incredulity at Hitch. "Are you out of your mind, you heard what the doctor said."

The man in question opened his mouth to answer, then seeing the angry look in his sergeant's eyes, he threw up his arms and turned his back to them both, his fury radiating across the tent.

"Burned off?" Troy stated again, this time turning his glance upon Tully in the hope of further explanation. Tully was looking intently at Hitch's back, as if his glance alone would make the man turn to confront him.

Troy reached out and slapped Tully's shoulder, drawing his attention back to the question. Tully clenched his lips together, then throwing up his hands to show his own confusion began, "We met the girls as arranged. Everything was going fine... we had a booth at the back of the tavern. Saul, the owner, knows us, so the drink was flowing freely... too freely," he said, shooting Hitch a meaningful look. Still getting no reply, he went on, "Well... things were starting to hot up." He paused and looked at Hitch again; the strikingly handsome youth had not moved a muscle and gave no indication that he was even listening to Tully.

Sighing, Tully continued, "The girl with Hitch caught his injured arm; feeling the welts, she explored further, saying something about 'her hero'." He stopped, suddenly looking sick as he remembered the scene that had followed the discovery of the mark of ownership. Then, catching a stern look from Troy, he swallowed hard and went to continue.

Before he could utter a word, Hitch spun and shouted, pulling his shirt off to reveal the still nasty-looking stigma. "She saw this and said that I was a whore; a cheap, common slave..." He gulped to a stop, the words she had screamed at him as she backed away still burning into his memory. She had mostly been speaking in her own language, but her intent was clear from her expression, her disgust. As far as she was concerned, she had been kissing something that was way beneath her; Hitch had dirtied her reputation by trying to be friends with her. "I'm now considered to be the lowest form of life about here because of this." He poked at the recently burned flesh, then winced at the pain that flared.

"Stop that," snapped Troy, shocked by the expression in Hitch's eyes. "She's just a silly little fool... that's all."

"Is she?" Hitch snapped, alcohol still roaring through his veins, unable to blunt the shock he had felt at the events in the small tavern. "Then why did Saul kick me out of the bar?"

"Saul?" Troy said, a frown covering his handsome face. "The owner... he asked you both to leave?"

"No," Hitch ranted, his eyes fever bright. "Not Tully... Tully was welcome. No, it's me he kicked out; apparently it's taboo to help runaway slaves."

Troy moved over and grabbed Hitch by the shoulders, giving him a hard shake, as if the movement could stop the bitter words from tumbling out. "Stop it, Hitch... you're no damned slave... or a whore... or any of those other things you seem to think that brand makes you."

"Ain't I?" Hitch asked, his tone slowly turning to one of defeat, his voice slightly slurred by drink, his expression as close to tears as Troy had ever seen.

"Damn it, Hitch, we don't have time for this..." Troy shot back, not sure how to handle his young friend. Normally Hitch was the most rational one of them, but since he had been branded he had treated them all to an emotional roller-coaster ride, and now it had to stop... stop before it cost one of them their life.

"Troy..." Moffitt's calm tone from the opening of the tent was like cold water being thrown over the three men. Troy spun to look at Moffitt, and could see from his expression that he had overheard the conversation and had not been surprised by it.

"You knew this might happen?" he accused before he could stop himself, then wished that he had bitten off his tongue instead, as he felt the whipcord body under his hands tense even further at his words.

Moffitt winced at Troy's choice of words. Moving further into the tent, laying his book gently down upon his own bed, choosing his words with care as he moved, he answered, "Not exactly knew... suspected might be a better word."

"Then why the hell didn't you warn me?" snapped Hitch, pulling out of Troy's grip and advancing on the Englishman. His anger had now found another target.

Moffitt opened his mouth to answer, then stopped... how could he explain the true implications of what he had learned about the tribal mark the young private now wore upon his upper arm? "I had hoped that you - being an American... that it would have made a difference."

"Well it doesn't, does it?" Hitch snapped back, pulling his shirt back on and stiffly buttoning it up. "So, the sooner I get rid of this damned mark the better."

"Hitch," Troy said, his tone one of reason. "You heard what the doctor said; the only way to get rid of it out here would be to have it burned over, and if you tried that you might lose the use of that arm."

"He said there was a chance... a chance that I might lose the use of it, not that I definitely would," snapped the young man, the excess of drink making him determined to have his own way.

Troy shot him a look of pure disbelief. "And you'd take the risk?" His tone showed what he thought of Hitch's mental ability at that moment.

Hitch rounded on him, his temper finally provoked too far. "Yes I would. Do you have any idea what it's like...? The look in their eyes when that whore started screaming..." He paused, closing his eyes before finishing, "It'll be all over the camp by tomorrow... the rest of Africa by the day after." As he spoke, he moved towards the entrance of the tent, his face determined.

Tully swiftly moved to block the pathway of the younger man. "And destroying the rest of your life is the answer?"

Hitch glared at him before he stated, his tone adamant, "It's got nothing to do with you... or the army. It's a private matter."

"That's where you're wrong, pal," snapped Troy, also blocking the other's pathway. "You have no private matters as long as you're a member of my team." He stopped, then added in a inflexible voice, "There isn't a doctor on this base that would help you remove that stigma, and I'm sure as hell not about to let you go into town to find some back street butcher, who couldn't care if you survived or not..." Troy never finished as Hitch took a flying swing at him, his fist coming up and catching the sergeant under the chin, knocking him backwards onto the bed. He bounced, then tumbled to the floor, his reality fading for a few vital seconds.

At the first sign of attack both Tully and Moffitt had leapt in, but the young man was fighting with a desperation borne of too much alcohol and it took several frantic minutes before they held him struggling upon Moffitt's bed. Even then he was trying to attack them, until Tully used his body weight to prevent any further movement.

"You can't stop me," Hitch was yelling, his voice becoming rough from his struggles. "You might keep me here today... tomorrow... but you can't stop me... you can't."

Moffitt struck him hard across the cheek with a clenched fist and Hitch slumped within their grasp. Tully looked at the Englishman in shocked surprise as Moffitt slowly disentangled himself from the unconscious man, then indicated that Tully was to help him lift Hitch so that he was laying upon the bed.

"He's right, you know," Moffitt said, shaking the hand he had used to strike the younger man with. "We can't watch him all the time."

"This is ridiculous," Troy snapped, struggling to his own feet and brushing his uniform free of sand. "There is no reason for him to react like this; it's just a wound... like any other he's sustained."

"I don't know," Tully commented, pulling a blanket up over his friend. "The Arabs turned pretty nasty in the tavern... I mean, that girl really freaked out."

"It's part of their culture," Moffitt explained. "They are bred to believe that slaves are beneath their contempt, that way if they capture one, they will return them to their master..."

"I don't give a damn about that, it's Hitch I'm concerned about... and he's not a part of their culture," Troy snarled, his temper fraying at his own inability to understand the full implications.

"Troy," Moffitt snapped back, "to understand the solution, you have to first understand the problem."

"Is there a solution, then?" Tully put in, his tone hopeful.

Moffitt released a sigh and shook his head, realising that he had chosen his words badly. With another sigh, he tried to explain, "There shouldn't really be a problem. I mean... Hitch isn't an Arab; his culture... I mean, America... with its innate sense of freedom...." He stopped, knowing that he wasn't explaining it quite as he intended.

Troy glared at the Englishman for a few moments before he moved over to stand in front of Moffitt and repeated Tully's question, biting out the words slowly as if talking to a backward child, "Is there a solution?"

Moffitt swallowed and looked away from the other two men, his glance finally coming to rest upon the young man laying on the bed. Licking his lips, he began slowly, "I spoke to some friends of mine..."

"And?" Troy grated the word out. He hated it when he had to drag every syllable from the Englishman. "Moffitt..." His voice held a tone of warning.

"It'll mean that he'll have to be branded again," Moffitt finally said, knowing what the others' reaction would be, and they did not let him down.

"But the doctor said he could lose the use of his arm," Tully stated, looking from Troy to Moffitt, his face an innocent picture of total confusion.

Moffitt shot him a look of pure annoyance before he continued, "Not the same place... further down the arm, under the original mark. It will state that he was given his freedom; it happens upon occasion... if the slave saves the master's life, or proves himself worthy of the honour... but it will only work if you use the tribal brand."

"I don't believe this," Troy muttered, sitting down on his own bed as his legs suddenly went weak. "You mean he'll have to go through that... that branding again?"

Moffitt turned slightly green at the thought, but answered firmly, "It won't be the same; we can get one of the doctors here to do it... give Hitch a local anaesthetic... it'll be like having a tooth out."

Troy considered Moffitt's words as he watched Hitch slowly climb back to consciousness. The young man was groaning, head twisting upon the bed. Troy was not a fool; he was well aware that once Hitch had made up his mind, it would take a walk across a minefield to change it. Looking up at Moffitt, he asked, "You think you can duplicate this freedom brand, or whatever it is?"

Moffitt considered the question for a few moments before he nodded. "The mark of freedom, like the mark of purchase, is the same all over the country... it's just the family name that needs to be added. I should be able to make something up... but it might take a day or two."

Troy bit his lips, considering his options. Taking a deep breath, he ordered, "You get started on the brand, I'll have a talk with Dr Wellington... see if he's willing to go along with this...." He stopped, not sure what to call it, then changing track he said, "Tully, you keep an eye on Hitch and don't let him leave. Tell him we might have a solution to his problem, but make sure he stays here."

Tully looked down at his blond-haired friend and nodded solemnly. It would take a German armoured division to get Hitch past him.

***

Hitchcock had been apologetic when he had regained consciousness, his shame for his recent actions causing him to be almost docile when Tully informed him, in no uncertain terms, that Troy had ordered him to remain in the tent. He made no attempt to leave. Tully, for his part, accepted the apology with the sincerity that it had been given, telling the younger man that it didn't matter and that he had been hurt worse in their bar fights... although he still refused to move away from the doorway.

Hitch was resting quietly when Troy returned to the tent. Upon his return, the youngest member of the Rat Patrol had jumped to his feet, swaying dangerously before Tully's supporting hand helped him steady. "Sit down before you fall," Troy had snapped, and Hitch slumped back in compliance, all pretence of fight drained.

"Moffitt thinks he has a solution to your problem," Troy pushed on, not giving Hitch a chance to speak, knowing the remorse the other would be feeling and unwilling to deal with the guilt-wracked youth on top of his other problems. He spoke swiftly and decisively, explaining in detail what had been decided.

"And Dr Wellington has agreed?" Hitch asked, his tone one of subdued shock.

"What choice do we have?" Troy snapped back, then catching the hard glare Tully threw at him to back off, he sighed and continued, his tone milder as he commented, "The alternative is having you disappear into some back street... isn't it?"

Hitch swallowed hard and refused to meet the other's look, staring instead at his boots. Finally he said, "That was the drink talking."

Troy watched the bent head, then relented slightly and, reaching over, he gently tugged at the blond hair, causing Hitch to look up in surprise. "It's not going to be a cake-walk, Hitch, and it's going to be damned painful... not the actual branding - like Moffitt said, that part will be like having a tooth pulled," he hastened to add. "But you'll have to remain in hospital for a few days because of the chance of infection."

Hitch swallowed hard, feeling bile rise as he remembered the last time: the slave market, the bodies crowded into a small room before he was pulled out and auctioned to the highest bidder, the drug swirling about his blood giving it all a feeling of a dream. That was until the smell of burning flesh almost caused him to gag as he realised that it was his own. "It's got to be done," he said, his voice tight with emotion.

"Dr Wellington did suggest wearing something over it - maybe a bandage - keeping it covered at all times except when you're here... with us." Troy held out little hope of Hitch accepting the compromise.

True to form, the other man shook his head. "It wouldn't work; the sand would get in it... it might come off during a mission... it could cause more trouble than it's worth.... No, the best way is to just get another mark, like Moffitt said."

Troy leant forward. "Think about it... that's all I'm asking."

Hitch frowned and swallowed hard. How could he explain it? "Troy, it's all I've been able to think about. That whore at the bar wasn't the first... ever since I got back I've been getting comments...." He stopped, unable to carry on, and Troy felt his anger rise as he realised what some of those comments had entailed.

"Moffitt said it would take a few days to get the arrangements made, I don't want you on your own during that period." Troy held up his hand to forestall any arguments. "That's an order, Hitch. If you can't do that, then forget it." The youngster considered the man before him and knew that he would not win this particular argument, so with a nod he decided to give in gracefully. "Okay," Troy smiled, tapping the knee before him. "Now, why don't you go back to your own tent with Tully and try to get some proper sleep?"

"That's it, then. Moffitt will get the..." he paused, then continued slowly, as if choosing his words with care, "everything ready... and Dr Wellington will do it." He seemed shocked at the speed with which matters had been arranged.

Troy lay back on his bed and stretched out, stifling a yawn as he agreed, "Unless you want time to think about it." He gave the perfect picture of someone totally at ease.

Hitchcock looked from Troy to Tully, then back again. Shaking his head slowly, he stood and made his way towards the opening, saying, "No... no, I just thought there would be more to it... that's all." Then he was gone, Tully trailing after him.

After they had gone, Troy leapt up from his bed and made his way to the tent opening, watching his men as they walked across the compound, his face etched with concern.

***

The operation had been relatively simple. In the end, Dr Wellington had decided to use a full anaesthetic after talking to the young private and seeing the shadow of dread barely hidden in his eyes. Now the other three Patrol members stood looking down at the sleeping boy, his arm swathed in pristine white bandages. With his hair all awry, he looked far too young to be caught up in such a bitter war.

"I'll be keeping him here for the next few days... that type of wound is prone to infection," Dr Wellington explained. "This damned country has no respect for the body."

"Did you have any problems with the operation itself?" Moffitt questioned.

Wellington raised a hand to wipe at his forehead. "No... everything went fine, although I didn't like doing it at all... don't know how the natives manage it - awful smell - but it should heal cleanly."

"Thank you for all your help, Doc," Troy said, not taking his eyes from his young driver. Dr Wellington, realising that he was being dismissed, smiled and made his way across the ward to speak to another patient.

"Well, it's finished," Troy continued, his tone one of relief. Moffitt was unable to suppress the sigh that arose from Troy's comment and the American leader of the Rat Patrol waited a few impatient seconds for the Englishman to explain his reaction to the words. When no answer was forthcoming, Troy asked, "What was that sigh for, Moffitt?"

"Nothing," Moffitt replied too quickly, then he winced as he realised what he had done.

"Jack..." Troy threatened. He was not in the mood for a run-around.

"It's nothing, really," Moffitt insisted, only causing Troy's concern to grow.

"Out with it, Moffitt," snapped Tully, his own temperament having been tested over the past few days.

Moffitt considered brushing them off, but stopped when he caught the tight expression upon their faces and knew that they would read though any fabrication he might attempt to make. Sighing deeply again, he slowly explained, "There could be one drawback to this solution."

"Drawback?" Troy questioned, his temper barely held in check. "You didn't mention any drawbacks when you came up with this idea, Jack."

"That's because I didn't know about it," Moffitt shot back, not enjoying the glares he was receiving. "I mentioned it to Hitch this morning, before the operation... well, as soon as I found out... but he was still insistent about going ahead with it."

Troy considered counting to ten, but only got to five when he asked the question, his deceptively pleasant tone a warning of danger to those who knew him well.

"If Hitch should be returned to his 'master' at any time, he could be executed for having that mark of freedom upon his arm."

"Is that all?" Tully said, smiling with relief. "Dietrich isn't likely to have Hitch killed for that, now, is he?" Then, seeing Troy's perplexed look, he hurried on, "Oh, come on, Troy... Dietrich might shoot him for being an American soldier, but for being an escaped slave?" He let his words hang; all three men were aware of the German captain's sense of honour.

"It's not Dietrich you're worried about, is it?" Troy asked Moffitt, knowing that the Englishman was concerned for another reason.

Sergeant Jack Moffitt considered his words with care before he stated, "Sheik Mohammed is a very powerful man in this area, and he would take the escape of such an expensive slave very seriously."

Total silence ruled for a few moments as the implications of Moffitt's words slowly sunk in, until the handsome leader of the Rat Patrol finally hissed one word: "Shit."

THE END


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