The one with the rifle circled behind Ethan and searched him quickly.
They took his food, his water, and the two handguns he had tucked into his belt. The other man stepped forward, tied Ethan's wrists with coarse rope, and pushed him toward the back of the vehicle.
Ethan did not resist. He climbed aboard and sat among the others.
The flatbed was crowded with refugees and sacks. Among them stood a young girl, possibly in her teens, small and slight, with striking amber-colored eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight.
When Ethan looked at her, she smiled shyly. He found himself smiling back without thinking much.
Every head turned toward him.
Even the old women stared, startled by the beauty.
The moonlight fell across Ethan's new features, softening his sharp jaw and highlighting the inhuman symmetry of his face.
The desert wind carried his hair slightly, adding an unintentional grace.
Ethan, uncomfortable with the attention, cleared his throat, and people averted their gaze.
The children approached him first, their noses running and their small hands dirty with sand. They poked his arms and shoulders, whispering excitedly in their language. Ethan let them.
Besides, with his hands tied, pushing them away would've looked like kicking children, hardly the first impression he wanted.
The girl with amber eyes stepped forward and gently shooed the children aside.
They obeyed her instantly, scattering to one corner.
She settled near him, close enough that her shoulder almost brushed his.
Ethan inhaled, and the faint scent of her sweat reached him. It should have been unpleasant. Days in the desert without proper hygiene would have been unbearable to the man he once was.
Yet something about her scent felt warm. Sweet. Familiar in a way he could not explain.
Talia sat cross-legged in front of Ethan, moonlight flickering over her amber eyes as the truck rocked along the dirt road. She tapped her chest. "Talia." Then she pointed at him. "You?"
Ethan blinked. Words swirled in his mind like smoke he could almost catch. "E… Ethan."
"Good. Ethan." She repeated it slowly, exaggerating the vowels. "Where. Are. You. From?"
He opened his mouth, but nothing came. Frustration tightened his jaw. AIMI used to handle this so easily. Now everything felt like someone had thrown a thin blanket over his mind. He knew these sounds, these shapes, but they slid away the moment he reached for them.
Talia tried again. "You understand me?" She gestured around. "We are in Libya. Desert. War."
He caught one word. War. That one sat heavy and familiar. He repeated it softly. "War."
Her smile grew. "Yes. War. You learn fast."
Salman, broad shouldered with a sunburnt neck, muttered something to Baruch. Baruch, wiry and sharp eyed, shrugged and kept observing Ethan from the cabin, like he expected him to sprout horns.
By nightfall, Ethan had picked up a dozen words. By the next morning, a hundred. By the end of the second day, he spoke in sentences. By evening, he was fluent.
Salman stared at him. "You are telling me you did not understand a single word two days ago?" He gave Talia a sideways look. "The man is lying. He must have been listening in secret."
Talia shook her head. "He repeats words exactly as he hears them. Like he remembers something and it suddenly clicks. Nobody learns Arabic, Italian, and English this fast."
Baruch rubbed his chin. "Unless he is a spy pretending to be slow."
Ethan lifted his palms. "If I were a spy, would I still be tied like a goat?" His accent was almost perfect now.
The entire truck burst into short nervous laughter. The tension in the air thinned a little.
Rochel, the older woman with grey hair braided tight against her skull, handed him a metal cup. "Drink. You look like a ghost."
He accepted it. "Thank you."
Shmuel, wrinkled and missing one leg, leaned forward from his corner. "My granddaughter teaches you and suddenly you speak better than us. Not fair." He grinned, gums showing.
Talia nudged her grandfather. "At least he listens. Unlike you."
Kids scrambled over the crates, tossing smooth stones between them. One boy proudly told Ethan, "My name is Avi. I am six. I can throw very far." He demonstrated. The stone landed three feet from his toes. Ethan clapped anyway.
Every mile they crossed carried more stories. Salman explained the factions as they drove through the shifting sand.
"This land is split between the monsters in grey and the monsters in khaki," he said. "Your uniform puts you in the first group. Italians and Germans. The second group is British and local resistance. Both stomp on us the same."
Talia drew lines in the dust with her finger. "Our village chose neutral. It did not matter. Some people came. They killed my parents. My brother. Almost everyone." Her voice trembled, but she forced it steady. "We survived only because we were out gathering water."
Ethan looked at his own pale wrist, at the red armband he still wore. "I understand why you tied me up. I would have done the same."
Baruch sniffed. "Thought you were one of them. Or a slave. Or a tourist who got unlucky."
Rochel added, "Your skin is so pale I assumed you hid underground for months."
Salman finally sighed, cut the last rope, and pulled it free from Ethan's wrists. "I believe you now. A normal soldier would not have learned three languages this fast. Unless you are possessed by jinn." He glanced sideways. "You are not possessed, right?"
"I hope not," Ethan replied.
Their plan was simple and desperate. Reach a small port called Buerat. Steal a boat. Cross to British territory in Egypt. Somehow contact their friend in the British-India army. Then maybe, maybe find a ship to America.
The desert did not make it easy. Twice they came close to checkpoints.
Once, Ethan had to step out, straighten the stolen uniform, and bark broken German at two suspicious soldiers until they waved the group through.
When they reached the river mouth near the port, night had already wrapped the sky. They crouched in tall reeds as patrol boats of the Afrika Korps roared past.
Ethan helped Salman and Baruch push a small fishing boat into the water. The engine coughed alive with a shudder. Everyone sighed with relief.
But the patrol boat circled back, for some reason.
Floodlights swept the bank. Voices shouted. Four soldiers in DAK uniforms stormed towards them.
Ethan felt suspicion settle on him the moment they saw his uniform. One soldier grabbed Ethan by the collar and dragged him aside.
The others kicked Salman and Baruch to their knees, and forced Shmuel down as well. Children screamed until a soldier raised his rifle and barked at them to be silent.
"Strip," one soldier ordered the men. "We need to check for resistance tattoos."
The mothers pulled the children close, trying to cover their eyes. One soldier snarled, "Quiet, or I make you quiet."
Rivka, Salman's wife, trembled as another soldier stepped toward her. He grabbed her arms, sliding his hands over her body with obvious malice.
Ethan tried to speak. "Stop. They are civilians. I can explain."
The soldier who'd been hovering near Ethan finally stepped in. His boots scraped on the dirt as he closed the distance, shoulders squared like he'd been waiting for an excuse.
Without warning, he drove his fist straight into Ethan's gut. A brutal, practiced punch that knocked the breath out of him.
Ethan folded forward, a sharp grunt escaping before he could stop it.
"Stay here, du Vaterlandsverrater," the soldier snarled.
Rivka screamed when rough hands started moving under her clothes.
Salman's expression twisted. Fear. Rage. Desperation. His fingers slipped toward the pistol he had hidden in his shirt. The one taken from Ethan.
He ripped it free.
"Get away from her! Khanzeer!" Salman fired.
The shot cracked like lightning. It hit nothing but reeds.
The nearest soldier reacted instantly. He slammed his rifle butt into Salman's jaw with a sickening thud and kicked him down. Another soldier grabbed Salman's arm and twisted it.
The horrible crack sent shivers down everyone's spine.
Salman howled, collapsing in the sand.
Baruch lunged to help him. A muzzle flashed. The shot blasted into Baruch's thigh, spinning him sideways. He dropped, blood soaking into the earth as he clutched the wound, teeth grinding from pain.
"Move again and I finish you," the shooter warned, gun still smoking.
The one soldier holding Rivka started laughing and pulled up her thobe. "Get down Hure."
Rochel dragged two of the screaming kids into her arms and covered their eyes. Her old voice shook as she prayed under her breath. Other women also hugged each other and surrounded the kids, trying to protect them from the horrible sight.
Two soldiers then turned to Talia.
She backed away, arms tight around herself, breathing hard.
One soldier grinned. "Sehr schönes Mädchen."
The other added, "Perfekt für Spaß, bevor wir sie zum Hauptmann bringen."
They grabbed her by both arms. She fought, but they dragged her to the side easily.
"Strip," one hissed.
He leaned closer, giving a crooked smile. "Alles. Everything."