Work Text:
The desert sun beat down mercilessly on the two jeeps-- with fifty-caliber swivel-mounted machine guns on the back-- that sat at the base of a sand dune. Leaning on the hood of one stood a broad American with a strange hat, talking to a tall, dark-haired Englishman who leaned casually with his back on the jeep, his arms crossed, and a black beret in his hand. In the driver's seat of the other jeep slouched another American with one arm slung over the seat beside him, and the other cradling a helmet.In his mouth a matchstick waggled absentmindedly.
All three perked up as a young blond half-ran, half -slid down from the top of the dune towards them.
"See them, Hitch?" asked the broad American, obviously the leader, standing up from the hood.
"Convoy's there, Sarge. Right on time." Private Mark Hitchcock, often known as Hitch, replied.
"Okay then. Moffitt, you're with Tully. Hitch, in the jeep." Nodding calmly, the Englishman climbed onto the back of the other jeep, holding onto the machine gun's handles while the other American put on his helmet and goggles and started the jeep.
"Ready, Troy." said Sergeant Jack Moffitt, donning his black beret and goggles. Private Tully Pettigrew and Hitchcock reached back and removed the cloth tubes meant to keep sand out of the machine gun barrels. With Troy in the back, Hitchcock started their jeep, and both vehicles shot across the sand towards the doomed German convoy.
+
Bullets and grenades flew everywhere. Sergeant Troy's Rat Patrol was beating the convoy hard as usual, with their machine guns, their skill, and just a plain bit of common luck.
Up in front, Tully and Moffitt were doing the most damage, with Tully doing his best to put the jeep at a good angle and Moffitt skillfully peppering the German vehicles until they exploded, shooting flames-- and many of their passengers-- skyward in a bright orange blast. To their right and a few yards behind, Hitchcock and Troy were leaving several sprays of flame in their wake, with Troy saving ammunition by throwing a hand grenade at two to set the gas tanks on fire. Just as he was tossing a well-placed grenade at yet another unfortunate vehicle, their jeep made a clanking sound and stopped. Hitchcock got out and hid behind the jeep, knowing full well just how vulnerable he was, being without a weapon.Troy stayed where he was, helping as best he could to keep the convoy scattered and running.
Knowing that none could be allowed to get at the almost helpless pair, Moffitt and Tully continued to pursue the lessened and fast-fleeing convoy. When that was done, they returned to find Hitch and Troy poking around inside the jeep, talking. When Troy noticed them, he directed Tully to it and asked, "Can you fix it?
The private put his head in and murmured, "Mm. Looks like something cracked, and now it's leaking. It hasn't been for long, so it should still run fine if it's fixed. Problem is, the best I can hope for is patching it and hoping that it holds until we can get back, where I *can* fix it."
"Then patch it and get it running as fast as you can. Hitch, help him." Troy told them, going over to talk with his fellow sergeant about the shortest possible route from their current position to headquarters. Hitch moved to help Tully, who was already getting the necessary items, when he paused and stood stock still for a long time.
"Sarge?"he asked in a small, slightly worried voice.
"What?" Troy said, looking up.
"Did you hear that click?"
"Click?" Moffitt asked incredulously, at the same time that Troy said "What click?" making it obvious that neither had.
"Tully?" Hitch asked, turning his head to look at the private. The blank stare he got in return was enough to tell him that Tully hadn't, either. Sighing, he took hold of his red hat and ran a hand through his short blond hair.
"I could feel the click. Down there." he said, pointing at the patch of sand at his feet. The other three exchanged quick, worried glances, and Moffitt slowly crouched at Hitch's feet and began scraping a pit in the sand right next to the young private's left shoe. A look of concern crossed the Englishman's face and he looked up at Troy, nodding grimly.
"If you had moved," he said to Hitch, "I'm not certain that any of us could have made it more than a few yards alive-, if any of us *had* lived."
"Landmine?" Troy asked, dreading the answer. Moffitt nodded again and bowed his head miserably. If Hitch died, none of them would ever really recover from the shock. If Hitch died, that would be one more small victory for the Germans, with one less member of the Rat Patrol to harass their convoys and steal secret information. But most of all, his death would give a measure of satisfaction to a certain man, Hauptmann Hans Dietrich, who had been their worst enemy almost since they came to the desert.
But none of that would happen if they could save Hitch. The only inconvenience was, none of them knew how to, without severely wounding him and possibly damaging him badly enough that he would die in an agonizingly slow way, instead of swiftly, mercifully-if he had to die at all. But maybe...
"Hitch,"said Troy, his voice unsteady, "I'm gonna need you to reach out as far as you can and grab my hands." Slowly, gingerly, Hitch obeyed, and as soon as he got a firm hold, Troy backed off as far as he could without overbalancing either of them.
"Moffitt, you and Tully take the jeeps and back off." he told the agitated Englishman.
"Troy-" Moffit started to protest.
"Now!" Sullenly, Moffitt collected Tully and moved the jeeps to a safe distance, where they stood, waiting.
Turning back to business, Troy tightened his grip on Hitch's hands and said as calmly as he could, "Okay, when I say 'Now!', I'm gonna pull, so I need you to jump as far as you can, got it?"
"Yes, Sarge."
"All right, one...two...three...*now!*" he shouted, pulling as hard as he could. Desperately, Hitch jumped, missing his chance by only a small fraction. In a startled attempt to move, he tried to roll, and cried out as he felt his hands lose their grip on Troy's.
Both of them thrashed wildly to get as far away from the landmine as they could. As Hitch stilled, gasping like a fish out of water from exhaustion, he raised his head, hearing nothing. Had he gone deaf from the explosion? By now, Troy had noticed it, too, and was laughing helplessly, looking back at where Hitch had been standing. Wondering what was so funny, Hitch glanced back and realized; the spot was exactly the same, there was no sign that a landmine ever went off there, because it hadn't. It never had, and it never would.
"Hitch!" Moffitt and Tully shouted simultaneously, running to him like excited children. Within the next few minutes, the young private was the target of many slaps on the back and gentle punches on the shoulder, as they talked endlessly, glad that he was alive.
When the laughing and talking subsided, they all decided that it was time to move on. In a short period of time, Tully had the jeep patched as best he was able, and the rest were all on. As Hitch started their jeep, he turned to Troy.
"Looks like I'll live to fight another day, huh, Sarge?"
Troy smiled. "Yeah, it looks like it. Come on, let's get out of here."
Both jeeps shot off into the distance to continue fighting the war that they would fight until they won, or until they were all dead.