Remember Me
Private Mark Hitchcock knew he was in trouble. The sun was nearly at its zenith and still no sign of the other members of the patrol. He wiped a hand across his mouth, trying to brush some sand away, then shielding his eyes as he scanned the horizon again.
During an attack on a German convoy, his jeep had been caught by a stray shell. He had seen Troy tossed from the back and scramble to seek the shelter of a nearby dune.
He had tried vainly to control the jeep as it spun out of control, but it had been a losing battle; the vehicle had overturned, tossing him free. He had rolled a few times to get away from the car. Suddenly the ground beneath him had disappeared and the light blinked out as he hit the bottom of the pit.
He had regained consciousness a few hours later and, after testing himself for injuries, had managed, with difficulty, to clamber out of the pit he had fallen into.
The ruins of the battle lay about him; his own jeep now a burned-out husk, but no sign of the others. He knew that they would not have left him willingly, so something had happened to prevent them searching for him.
Slowly he made his way over to the remains of the German vehicles. After a few minutes searching, he discovered more tracks that did not belong to the destroyed convoy. Closing his eyes, he pictured another German column coming up upon the patrol, the swift battle that had ensued. He was certain that the others had got away, because he knew they would have destroyed their jeep before letting the enemy have it. Further inspection revealed the tracks of the other jeep.
That had been four hours ago. Hitch had begun to walk in the direction of the lone jeep; he could tell from the tracks' pattern that they were looking for him. He could also see that they thought he had wandered off into the desert during the confusion of the battle.
He swallowed again and coughed as his throat protested against being so dry. Stopping, he wrapped his arms about his middle, trying to lessen the pain that flared from his ribs; he was certain that he broken a few. He slowly sank to the ground as dizziness followed the coughing. He felt the dry heaves swamp over him and, leaning over, he retched into the sand. After he had finished, he slumped back, totally drained.
***
Troy lowered his binoculars and wiped at the sweat that had gathered about his eyes.
"Any sign?" Moffitt asked from his identical position on the other side of the dune.
"No..... Damn it," Troy answered, raising his glasses once more to scan the area. He felt frustration boil up in him; how could Hitch have just disappeared? Sam's last sight of his young driver had been of him struggling with the vehicle just before he tumbled from the airborne jeep.
"Do you think the Germans have him?" Moffitt asked, lifting his own glasses for another sweep of the area.
"If we couldn't find him at the battle site, I don't see how they could."
"We never really had time to search properly."
Troy turned to face the Englishman. It was true they had been chased away by the other German convoy, but they had made a determined effort to find the young man before they left. "He must have wandered off. Maybe he got concussed and turned about.... it's easy to happen," he finished, remembering his own nightmarish trek across the desert. He worried at his lip; he didn't like to think that Hitch might be going through the same fears.
Finally admitting that this was getting them nowhere, Troy said, "Let's get back to the jeep and head for the battle site. Maybe we did miss something." As he spoke, he turned and headed back to Tully and their jeep, which waited for them at the bottom of the incline.
Moffitt watched him go and suppressed his own sigh of concern. Hitch was their youngest member and, although he was quite capable of looking out for himself, they did tend to be a little over-protective. Especially Troy.
The ride back to the ruined convoy was made in silence. With Tully driving, the other two men kept their eyes firmly upon the passing landscape, watching for any sign of their missing member.
Once back at the convoy, Troy leapt from the jeep even before it had stopped moving. A set of tracks had caught his eyes. Slowly he followed them about until he came to a stop a short distance from the burned out jeep.
Seeing the hole that now appeared beneath his feet, and the telltale signs of someone having climbed out of it, he motioned Moffitt over. "What the hell is this?" he asked, pointing at the pit.
Moffitt went to one knee and carefully scanned the area. "It looks like a well of some type." Reaching out, he picked up some sand and slowly ran it through his fingers. "It's very old and obviously dried up a long time ago." He looked about, then added, "I would say that, because of its position between these dunes, it's been protected from the winds and not yet filled up with sand."
"Hitch must have been thrown down here; that's why we missed him the first time."
Standing, Moffitt rubbed the sand from his hands. "He must have climbed out after we'd gone."
"Sarge..." came a cry from Tully. Troy spun toward him. "Someone went off in this direction.... Looks like they were following our tracks," Tully continued, pointing towards the lowering sun.
"That's got to be him," Troy said. "Let's get moving. With any luck we'll reach him before dark."
Moffitt looked at the sky and kept his thoughts to himself. Night had a habit of falling rather suddenly out in the desert. He also knew that the cold that came with it would not do the lost man any good.
Just over an hour later they came over a rise. Tully halted and reversed just as swiftly as he had advanced. Troy and Moffitt spilled out and ran the short distance to the top. Throwing themselves down and lifting binoculars, they watched helplessly at the activity in the valley below.
"Dietrich," Troy hissed as he saw the man bend over an obviously unconscious Hitchcock. He stopped when he realised that he had moved forward, and only Moffitt's hand upon his arm had prevented him from rising and giving their position away. Sighing in frustration, he watched as the German officer held a water canteen to Hitch's lips, saw a cough rack the young man's body and then go limp again.
Dietrich stood up and motioned for two men to lift the youngster and carry him to one of the trucks. After Hitch had been placed inside, he waved the rest of the convoy on and climbed into the back of the truck. Slowly the detail pulled away,
"We'll have to follow them at a distance," Troy said, heading back to the jeep.
"Best if we can keep the dunes between them and us," Moffitt advised. Troy nodded his agreement, his lips set in a fine line.
***
"Troy.... Troy...." mumbled Hitch in the back of the lorry, his head tossing from side to side.
Dietrich wrung out a cloth and placed it upon the other's fevered brow. Then, leaning back on his heels, he looked at the boy under his hands. He allowed a frown to settle upon his forehead. 'What was the boy doing out in the middle of the desert alone? Where were the other members of the patrol?' He knew that they would not have willingly left Hitchcock to die out in the blistering heat.
"Troy!!!" called Hitch, starting up, fighting against the hands that restrained him.
"Stay still," ordered Dietrich, concerned by the ramblings of his prisoner. His voice, or at least his tone of authority, seemed to reach the boy, as he fell silent. Satisfied, Dietrich sat back and looked at the youth. He was too young to be the hardened fighter he had proven himself to be.
"Troy?" Hitch asked again. This time his voice was low, concern filtering into his words.
Dietrich leant forward, intent on informing the youth that he was now a prisoner of war, but the boy's next words stopped him.
"Are you Troy?" There was now a definite ring of panic in the other's voice as he asked the question.
"Do you think I am?" questioned Dietrich slowly.
Hitch made to lean up, but the pain prevented him. Instead he answered, "I... I feel... that I.... know you?"
Dietrich gently rested his hand upon the trembling arm. "Don't worry, everything's going to be alright."
Hitch settled back, content for the moment to take Dietrich's word. The rocking motion of the van soon lulled him into sleep.
The German captain sat back and contemplated the turn of events. He had felt the fear in Hitchcock and was almost certain that it was not an act. As he pondered the recent events, he wondered if he could turn the situation to his advantage.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the German camp. Dietrich ordered his men to carry the still sleeping American into the medical tent. He informed the doctor that he wanted the other's wounds tended, and he was to be notified when the boy awoke.
***
Troy was annoyed. They had followed Dietrich's convoy back to his camp and had seen Hitch carried into the medical tent. Sam was sure that his young driver was still unconscious. This was causing him more concern, as he had no idea how seriously wounded the boy was.
"What are we going to do?" Troy turned to find Moffitt laying beside him upon the dune.
"Wait until dark, then get a closer look."
"Dietrich might be expecting that," stated the tall Englishman.
Troy raised his binoculars to hide his expression from his friend. "We don't really have a choice," he stated firmly.
There was a long pause before the other answered, "Do you want me to come with you?"
Troy considered the other's offer then, shaking his head, replied, "No... I want you and Tully on your jeep, ready to give me covering fire if I see an opportunity to get Hitch out."
Moffitt looked up at the sun; it had long passed its zenith and was now falling gracefully towards the distant landscape. "Should be dark within the hour."
"Let's get Tully and move the jeep, then bed down for some sleep. I get the feeling that once the show starts tonight, it's going to be a long performance."
***
Hitch awoke with a start. He was laying upon a cot; his clothes had been removed and his wounds bandaged and tended. He raised a hand and gently touched the sore point upon his forehead.
"You've got yourself a beauty of a bruise there," a voice stated from his left. He tilted his head and waited for the room to settle after his actions. "Still a little bit dizzy, I see."
"Where am I?" he asked, frowning at the fuzziness of his memory. "How did I get here?"
The other was just about to answer, when another voice ordered, "That will be all, doctor."
The man in the white coat straightened and, after nodding towards his commanding officer, left the tent.
"Do you know who you are?" the handsome man questioned, coming to stand by the cot, looking down at the wounded boy.
Again Hitch's hand lifted to his temple, as if to ward off the pain that flared there. "Hitchcock?" It was spoken as a question, not a statement.
"That's correct, and I am?" the voice was gentle, the tone encouraging.
Again Hitch frowned. Finally he said, "Troy... are you Troy?" The answer did not seem to please the other man, and Hitch tried harder to picture another name with the face. With a sigh, he confessed, "I can't remember." He ended upon a sob. "Why can't I remember?" Frustration rose and he gripped at the blanket.
Dietrich, seeing the pain this was causing the other, reached out and touched the clenched hand. It relaxed under his fingers. "It's more than likely the head wound. Don't worry.... Just try to rest." He stood as he finished speaking.
"Are you a friend?" Hitch suddenly blurted, needing to know the answer.
Dietrich considered the question before he replied. "Yes... for now," he added in a quiet tone as he left the tent.
Hitch lay for a few minutes, running the conversation back over in his mind. He felt that he could trust the man who had just left him, yet, in the back of his mind, he knew that something was wrong and, all was not as it seemed.
With a sigh he settled back, his energy drained. Before he knew what was happening, he had drifted back into sleep.
***
Troy glanced up at the moon and hoped that the light it cast across the desert would not give the Germans a target to fire at.
He had left Moffitt and Tully just below a nearby dune, and now made his way carefully towards Dietrich's camp.
As he approached the tent he had seen Hitch carried into, he paused to allow a guard to continue on his tour. Then, pulling his knife out, he made a small slit in the canvas. He stopped and listened for any conversation within the tent. All was silent. The guard at the entrance was leaning slightly to his left, his boredom wrapped about him like a cloak.
Moving swiftly, he approached the sleeping form of his young driver. Reaching out a hand, he gently laid it across the other's mouth. The contact dragged Hitch from his slumber, and he arched up and cried out at the pain this caused. Troy's hand prevented the sound from leaving the tent.
"Hitch... it's me...Troy."
"Troy?" The voice sounded weak, confused.
"Can you walk?" Sam asked, keeping his hand close to the other's mouth just in case.
The answer was slow in coming but, when it did, it was tinged with determination. "I think so."
Troy pulled the blanket back and helped Hitch into his clothes. "Just stick by my side and do as I say."
Hitch nodded and nearly fell into Troy's arms as the other reached out to support him.
"Got a blow to the head... scrambled me... can't seem to..." He stopped, not sure what he wanted to say.
Troy frowned, not liking the breathless tone of his friend. "Let's get out of here and we'll talk about it later."
As he finished, the tent flap opened and Dietrich entered, his gun at the ready, a smile upon his lips. "I've been expecting you."
Troy had raised his own weapon upon Dietrich's entrance, but slowly lowered it when he realised that the two guards behind the German would make short work of Hitch and himself. With a smile, he raised his hands.
"Your gun, please, Sergeant." Dietrich asked, moving forward to relieve the other man of his weapon. Then, seeing Hitch sway dangerously, he reached out a hand and helped him sit back upon the bed.
"Did this man tell you he was Troy?" asked Dietrich, motioning his gun towards the tall American.
"Yes... I mean he is.... isn't he?" Hitch finally asked, confusion once more clouding his world.
Troy felt like cold water had been tossed over him as he turned to stare at his young driver. The look he received back was of total blankness. No true recognition showed in his face. "Hitch..." Sam began, but fell silent when he realised that he didn't have any words to cover the situation.
"This man is an American spy...." Dietrich began. "You," he pointed towards Hitch, "were sent to infiltrate his group, but they discovered your true identity and left you for dead... after beating you."
"That's a lie," hissed Troy, moving forward, but the raised weapons of the guards stopped him.
"Why did he come for me tonight, then?" asked Hitch.
Dietrich smiled. "Once they knew that we had found you, he had to come and kill you... before we could question you."
"Hitch, don't listen to this.... " Troy snapped, his anger at Dietrich's twisted plot fuelling him. "Remember Moffitt and Tully.... the Rat Patrol.... You're my driver, and I came for you tonight because you got separated from us this morning, during a raid."
Hitchcock looked from one man to the other, then at the two guards by the door. "I can't remember," he cried, rubbing anxiously at his forehead. "I can't remember." Suddenly he leapt up, his actions catching all four men by surprise.
He charged into Dietrich, pushing him back into the guards, who fell under the weight of their commander. Hitch's intention was to get away from the men who confronted him, but his actions had given Troy the opportunity he wanted.
Snatching up his own weapon that Dietrich had dropped, he trained it upon the men who lay at his feet. Then, reaching out a hand, he pulled back the staggering Hitch, who had lost his direction upon encountering Dietrich.
"Sit down," Troy snapped, tossing Hitch back in the direction of the cot. The younger man lay dazed upon the bed. "Dietrich, would you like to do the honour?" He indicated a tray of bandages and pointed at the guards, his meaning clear.
"I need only call out to have this tent filled with my men," stated Dietrich, not moving.
"And I need only one bullet to end your life. Now, do it." There was no leeway in his voice, and reluctantly the captain began to tie his men up. When he had finished, he stood up and turned to regard Troy with a raised eyebrow.
"And now what will you do, Sergeant?" asked Dietrich, knowing that to tie him up, Troy would have to lower his weapon.
Troy smiled and, before the other man could react, he had caught him a blow across the forehead. The man fell like a lightning-struck tree. Sam spun and, reaching out, pulled Hitch to his feet. The boy swayed and nearly fell; Troy caught him under the arms and helped him from the tent.
The camp was still bathed in darkness. Dietrich had not informed his soldiers of the trap he had set. Troy pulled Hitch along with him, keeping low. Soon, the camp was behind them. By the time Troy reached Moffitt and Tully, he was all but carrying the younger man.
Moffitt raced to meet them as Tully gunned the jeep to life. Between them, they manhandled the youth into the back of the car. Troy slipped in behind Moffitt and Tully, and shifted Hitch's unconscious form into a more comfortable position.
***
The sun was high in the sky by the time they stopped the jeep. Hitch had drifted in and out of consciousness during that time. Troy had given him sips from their water supply, but was unwilling to give him too much until he was fully conscious.
"We'd best find a place to hole up in until the sun's past its zenith." Moffitt said, lifting his hand and shielding his eyes. "There's a cave about two miles from here," he continued, pointing Tully in the direction he wanted him to take.
"I think we could all do with some sleep," Troy said, looking down at the face of his young driver. He had not yet had time to explain what had happened back at the camp, and was unsure if he could really explain it properly.
***
The cave was cool after the heat of the day. Troy and Moffitt helped carry Hitch into the cave while Tully covered the jeep, effectively hiding it from view.
"How is he?" Tully asked as he joined the others. Handing Moffitt their meagre medical supplies.
Troy looked up from his kneeling position beside his friend. "Moffitt?" he asked as the Englishman continued his check of Hitch's injuries.
"The ribs have been well-wrapped, the cuts nothing to really worry about, but the head wound..." He reached out and gently probed the wounded area. Hitch flinched under the tender administration.
"Troy," he gasped consciousness returning.
"I'm here, Hitch," Sam said, leaning closer.
Hitch blinked up at him, confusion written across his face. Suddenly it cleared and, with a gasp, he recognised the man who had come to kill him. He felt adrenaline flow as he pushed Troy away from him. Scrambling to his feet, he kicked out at Moffitt, who fell under his totally unexpected attack.
Tully reached for him, but stopped as a weapon suddenly appeared in Hitch's hand. Swallowing hard, Hitch stumbled backwards. "Keep away from me," he gasped.
"Hitch," Troy said from his fallen position, "put the gun down. You're safe now."
"You're going to kill me," Hitch hissed, lifting the gun and pointing it at Tully as he made a move towards him.
"Tully... Moffitt, don't move, let me handle this," snarled Troy, coming slowly to his feet. "Hitch... Dietrich lied to you."
"No," groaned Hitch, "you lied to me... you've brought me... here to... kill me," he gasped, coming to a stop as his back came into contact with the cave wall.
"No," Troy said, slowly moving forward.
"Don't," cried Hitch, the gun in his hand shaking as he pointed it at the American. "I'll kill you," he threatened, lifting his other hand to steady the weapon.
"I don't think you will, Mark... I believe that deep down inside you know who I am, and you won't hurt me." As he spoke, Troy kept edging forward.
"I can't remember you," Hitch cried, tears starting to form within his eyes. "Please, I don't want to kill you." He was now almost pleading. His breath was coming in short gasps, his face pale, perspiration across his brow as he swayed before them.
"Troy," Moffitt warned, concerned by the reaction this confrontation was having on the younger man.
"Stay out of this, Moffitt," snapped Troy, his attention fully tuned to the shaking boy before him. "Who am I Mark?" Before the other could answer, he yelled, anger entering his voice, " Who am I?"
Hitch jumped at the tone, but did not answer as tears of frustration began to trickle down his face. "I don't know you...." he whispered. "I can't remember..." Slowly he began to slide down the wall, his energy spent.
Tully moved as if to spring forward, but a sharp glance from Troy stopped him in his tracks. "Who am I, Hitch?" Sam asked. This time his voice was gentle as he reached down and gently removed the gun from the slack fingers. Reaching out a hand, he tilted the bowed head up. "Who am I?" he asked again more firmly.
"Troy...." came the shattered, hesitant voice. "...Sam Troy."
Troy knelt down and gathered the shaking man in his arms, human contact the only form of healing he could give at the moment. "What am I to you?" he questioned softly.
Hitch shuddered and, gulping in a breath, answered, "You're my sergeant." He paused then added more firmly, "my friend." Then he looked at the other two men, who were shocked by the scene they had just witnessed. "That's Moffitt," he said, lifting a hand and pointing unsteadily at the tall Englishman. "And Tully," he finished, struggling out of Troy's grasp. "We attacked a convoy, the jeep got shelled...' He closed his eyes, struggling to pull the veil from his mind's eye. "I got lost. I can remember the desert... Dietrich found me and..." He stopped as his memory flooded about him. "My God, I almost shot you," he gasped, paling under the implication of his recent actions.
Troy was swift to console him. "It's not your fault, Hitch. Don't worry, you'll be alright now."
"I can remember it all now," Hitch said, gratefully accepting the drink Moffitt held out to him. His hand shook and the water spilled over the ground. Troy reached out and helped him sip at the water.
"I think you should try to rest now," Moffitt said, kneeling down on the other side of Hitch. He reached out a hand and felt his forehead. "You're running a slight fever." Seeing Troy's concerned look, he hastened to add, "Not unusual, concerning the strain he's been under."
Hitch allowed himself to be helped back to the blankets. As he lay upon the roughly made bed, he watched the other three men as they shifted about the cave. Tully made ready a fire. Glancing over at him, he smiled. Hitch sleepily returned it. Moffitt was gathering the makings of coffee and Troy... Looking up, Mark saw Sam sitting by his side. Reaching out, Troy pulled the covers more firmly about Hitch's body. "Just try and get some sleep."
"Don't worry Sarge... I'm alright," Hitch whispered as sleep crept over him.
Troy looked down at his young driver. Seeing sleep claim him, he smiled. "You've always been alright in my book, son."
THE END
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