June 17, 1943 – Tunis, Tunisia

An easy job, they had said…You're the expert in dealing with the Germans, they had said. That second one was true, Indy had to admit, but easy? Ha. This job was looking like it'd be anything but easy. Lucky for him, he'd gotten well used to that over the years.

Dr. Jones had protested when he'd first been asked to take this job – specifically, he had protested the moment that he'd entered his office to find a sharply-dressed man sitting in his chair with a thick file-folder sitting on his desk. "Dr. Henry Jones, Jr., I presume," the man said in an official-sounding deadpan. "Have a seat. There are business matters we need to discuss."

"Maybe you could start by letting me have my seat back?" he growled. He tried to keep his temper as even as he could while he was under the dean's watchful eye, but this was just too damn much. "And my desk too. As you can see, I have a large stack of essays to grade and –"

"Dr. Polanski has already agreed to do your grading and take over your other duties while you are in Africa," the stranger interrupted. "The government has an assignment for you, Dr. Jones. Word has reached official ears that you have certain skills that, as excellent of a professor as I am sure that you are, might be put to better use in the service of your country."

"Africa?" Dr. Jones said. He didn't like the sound of this at all. It was too much like 1936 with Abner Ravenwood…only this time, it looked like the Army was cutting out the middleman and coming straight to him. "And hang on a second, now, service of my country? What's this all about?"

The agent sighed deeply and fixed a glare on the other man. "Let me get there, Dr. Jones. You have clashed with members of the SS multiple times in the last several years, giving you unique insight and experience in this area. You are also skilled in both combat and survival situations and in dealing with native peoples. Therefore, we intend to recruit you – on a temporary basis, of course – to perform an operation for us on the North African front. Hitler has not given up on his obsession with the occult, and after that whole business with the…'Ark of the Covenant' –"

("Which I'm sure you still have people diligently studying," Indiana grumbled under his breath. He was liking this guy less and less as the conversation went on.)

"– your name came up as the natural choice for the job."

"Well, it doesn't sound like I have much of a choice about that, does it?" he said sarcastically, giving up on getting his chair back and settling for the uncomfortable wooden chair that he kept to discourage students from staying too long – crossing his arms tightly across his stomach to keep his center balance, he tipped it back on two legs and put his feet up on the desk. The good professor, apparently, had nothing left to worry about; Indiana Jones was in the house. "What kind of job are we talking about here?"

"Our operatives in Libya have reported unusual activity around the bases of Axis-aligned resistance forces there, with many Nazi officials coming and going and expeditions being sent out to the east on a regular basis. We have reason to believe that, having failed in their efforts to obtain Christian artifacts for their Führer's cause, Himmler's Ahnenerbe have secretly turned toward the legendary pagan cults of –"

"Of ancient Egypt, yeah," Indiana cut in; there was nothing else to the east of Libya, and the ancient Egyptian sorcerers sure did have a reputation for the kind of stuff Himmler was interested in. Nazis in Egypt again, though? God, didn't these people ever learn? "Let me guess: Whatever government agency that sent you up here wants me to go out there, find out what they're doing, and put a stop to it."

The agent sniffed in irritation at being interrupted in his report. "That is the essential aim of your mission, yes. Your cover, of course, will be your archaeology work, for which you are already very well known. If you cannot stop their activity, we would like you to at least create as much of a distraction as you can, to draw their attention away from their goal and tie up as many of their resources as possible. We hear that you are very good at creating distractions."

"Well…yeah, I guess you could say that," he admitted with a grin. Maybe he didn't like the guy, but he could still appreciate a good compliment when he got one. "All right, I guess I really am your man. So, since we're officially at war with the Germans and all, now, is the government planning to help me out any?"

"A freelancer such as yourself? I'm afraid not," the suit said, smiling for the first time in return…but with a sinister, self-satisfied smile that said I'm better than you in the worst kind of way. "We can't risk being associated with you if anything should go wrong; it would put the inside agents who obtained this information in too much danger. The German SS are not known for their mercy in dealing with anyone they think they can get information out of. No, you will not be allowed to make contact with any Americans while carrying out your mission. However, there is a special forces unit currently wrapping up Allied activities in the region that has…a somewhat similar reputation to your own, shall we say. They are the most likely people to be of any help to you if you should happen to cross paths with them, though I would personally advise against seeking them out. Their leader is well known for completing the mission at any cost, and if you get in their way, that cost just might be you."

"I can deal with that," Indy said with a sigh, tucking his glasses away and reaching by habit for a fedora that wasn't there. It looked like it was going to be adventure time again. "…say, are any of those papers for me?"

The man pushed the entire folder across the desk, running it into Indiana's feet and forcing him to grudgingly set them back on the floor so that he could pick it up. Well played, Mr. Intelligence Man. "All of them, Dr. Jones. These are the details we have on the Germans' activities, as well as much background information as you ought to need on the subject and a check large enough to cover your expenses. Everything else is already taken care of; you need only be at the Walton Airport at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Your pilot will meet you in Hangar Six."

…And that had been that. Now here he was, stuck in Tunis with nothing but five hundred dollars in cash, a map of North Africa, his pistols and bullwhip, and a stern warning not to go looking for backup. Apparently, he was expendable, while his pilot was not, and so crossing two borders through territory that had only been wrested from the Axis powers last month was what those "expenses" were for. As much as Indy preferred to work alone, joining up with this mysterious "special forces unit" was starting to look like a better and better idea by the minute. He wasn't familiar with the area, and given the suspicious looks he'd been getting from the locals, he didn't like his chances of getting one of them to guide him out of trouble rather than into it. Then again…

Indy pulled out the map and glanced over it. There were ports in northern Tunisia, and there were ports in northern Egypt, and five hundred dollars was more than enough to bribe his way onto an innocent-looking cargo ship. Who said he had to go by land? In time-honored fashion, he pulled his hat down over his eyes, let his finger hover over the coastline, and set it down decisively before taking a look. Bizerte, huh? According to the legend, that was…40 miles or so to the north. Well, hell, even accounting for the weight of food, water, and what little gear he'd need, he could walk that far in a couple of days, especially when the only alternative appeared to be going by camel.

…and he was not going by camel, thank you very much.