amedia

Title: Walking a Fine Line
Author: Amedia
Fandom: Rat Patrol
Rating: G
Characters: Troy, Hitch, OC. Gen.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Mirisch-Rich and United Artists. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Canonically, the Army tried to make Troy an officer, but the show never told us how he got out of it! This ficlet offers a possible scenario.
Word Count: 456
Author's Note: Response to

mrlnpndrgn's trivia question drabble request: the prompt she provided was "The Rat Patrol : when Troy says to Moffit, about Troy not being an officer, 'Oh, they tried...'" It was supposed to be a drabble (100 words), so I hope you don't mind that it spilled over!

"We can't do anything here, Sarge," said Hitch, gesturing to the broad, open plains that swept on toward the east as far as the eye could see. The hilltop from which he and Troy were surveying their options was the last geographic feature for miles. "If Dietrich brings his convoy this way, we'll never be able to sneak up on him."

Troy nodded. "If we can convince him to go that way," he said, sweeping his arm to the north, where the terrain was far more varied, "we can ambush him in the canyon." He thought for a moment. "We have to do just enough damage to make him shift his course, but not enough to make him turn back entirely."

"Piece of cake," Hitch said cheerfully. "We've threaded that sort of needle before, haven't we?"

"We sure have," Troy said.

******

Two years earlier

"Troy, what am I going to do with you?" Captain Sloane groaned. Troy, standing straight to attention in front of Sloane's desk, decided it would be safer not to answer.

Sloane continued. "You have to know that there is nothing funny about unauthorized movement of government property in this man's army."

There was a long enough silence that Troy felt compelled to respond. "Yes, sir," he said.

Sloane stared very hard at his desk. "Furthermore, there was absolutely nothing funny about the general's face when he woke up this morning to find a Quonset hut in the exact center of the calisthenics field." He took a moment to get his face under control and looked up at Troy with a stern expression. "You've broken enough rules to spend the rest of the war in the stockade, but we can't afford to lock men like you away. I'm putting you in for a week, and then I'm transferring you out to the Special Services. They'll find a way to keep you out of trouble."

"Yes, sir."

"And you can forget about that officer promotion recommendation I was going to put in for you." He took an official form from his desk and tore it ceremoniously in half. "Which is a damned shame. I know the men in your barrack. Anyone who could get that pack of losers to move a small building halfway across the compound in dead silence in the middle of the night has leadership skills I can't begin to imagine."

"Yes, sir."

"Hitchcock helped, didn't he?"

Troy was silent.

Sloane tapped a pencil against his desk. "All right, I can appreciate loyalty, even misplaced. He's not going into the stockade. But I'm transferring him to Special Services along with you. I'll also send along a bottle of antacid for your next commanding officer, because he's going to need it. Dismissed!"