by David King
The flames from the dump still roared and shot into the night sky and the heavy stench of the burning oil fell upon him. Except for the booming of the flames, there was no other sound. He glanced at Hitch and Tully, both pulling GI cans filled with water from the hole.
"Let's go," he' said briefly. "Someone's going to be mighty curious about these fires."
The night air cooled the engines, and with fresh water in the radiators, the jeeps sped from the ravaged Jerry dump. It was a good strike at the oasis, Troy thought, but it would not go long undetected. The next truck driver probably would turn back as soon as he noticed the fires, still miles away, to report. Even before a patrol came out to investigate, Dietrich would have a reasonably accurate idea of what had happened. He'd place the credit—or blame, Troy smilingly corrected himself—on the Rat Patrol and try to anticipate their next move.
Beyond the illuminated area that surrounded the oasis, Tully slowed.
"Anything wrong?" Troy asked quickly.
"Yes and no, Sarge," Tully said slowly. "First, I can't see and the sand is full of stones. You don't want to risk lights, do you?"
"No," Troy said shortly. "All right, go ahead without lights as fast as you safely can. What's second?"
"Long as I'm going to be driving slow, I figured I might have a bottle of that warm beer," Tully said. "I got a thirst and I don't want to waste the water. Where we going?"
"Straight east," Troy said, laughing and opening bottles of beer for Tully and himself. "When we hit the route, we'll turn back toward Sidi Beda on it."
"Hey, won't that take us straight into Dietrich's command post?" Tully asked.
"That's exactly what I hope," Troy said comfortably. "That's where I figure the trucks have been running the fuel and I don't think Dietrich will expect us to come calling on him tonight. We'll see what we can do to the rest of his supplies."
At his command post, Captain Hans Dietrich waited at the communications van with impatiently contained calm as the sun turned red and dipped close to the horizon. He wanted to speak out, to tell the radio operator to do something, to physically shake the boy from his lethargy, but Dietrich admitted there was nothing to be done. He himself had issued the order. No call was to be sent out. He was just to wait for the signals. It was the boy's strange attitude, or moods, Dietrich told himself. In the afternoon the boy had annoyed Dietrich with his eagerness. Now when the boy should be attuned to the excitement of the moment, he sagged on his stool and looked half asleep. And then, this matter tonight really was a personal thing with Dietrich. It probably would have little effect upon the battle, but he desperately wanted his plan to succeed. It would be a moral victory.
"Ungeziefer, Herr Hauptmann," the boy said tonelessly.
The first signal, "vermin"; that was good, Dietrich thought excitedly. He nodded curtly to the operator. "Be alert for the next signal," he said sharply.
"Ja, Herr Hauptmann," the boy said indifferently and seemed to go back to sleep.
Dietrich looked westward at the long line of tanks and halftracks that stood fueled, equipped with ammunition, ready to mount the attack against the Allied line of defense. Ahead, facing Latsus Pass, was the column Oberst Funke would lead into the port. He glanced at his watch in the rapidly failing light. It was nearly eighteen-hundred hours. The tanks would roll in two hours and the attack should be started within that hour. It could be over quickly, Sidi Beda could be in their hands within twenty-four hours; but if the Allies were well prepared, it would take a little longer. Dietrich was equipped to deal with the unexpected too. He smiled thinly. This was a victory he would not be denied. He glanced at his watch again, irritated by the dragging minutes and annoyed with himself at his own impatience.
"Herr Hauptmann," the radio operator mumbled. "Überlisten."
"Excellent," he said crisply and turned on his heel, striding to the HQ tent. "Fox" meant that his private plan was operational.
Oberst Funke looked at him with vague eyes and uncorked a fresh bottle of beer. "Ja, Hans," he said thickly. "I heard firing in the pass. Did they get through?"
"Everything is working to perfection, Oberst Funke," Dietrich said with a fine glow of pride. "First the signal, 'ungeziefer' from the pass, which meant there had been sufficient firing and commotion to allay suspicion when our own substitute Rat Patrol approached the line of armor the Allies have thrown up at the bottom. Then the signal, 'überlisten' from the Patrol itself, which meant they had entered the warehouse of the Arab, Ali Abu, safely and that the jeeps were concealed."
"So you have succeeded in entering the port with four men in disguise," Colonel Funke said ponderously. "Now what is it that you hope to accomplish with them?"
"The obvious, mein Oberst," Dietrich said a little curtly. "I shall do to the enemy exactly what he has most enjoyed doing to me. I shall harass him within his camp, disrupt and destroy. My Rat Patrol will send me what information they can obtain."
"But, Hans," Colonel Funke protested, "do you not think that these disguises will soon be penetrated? Are your men so fluent in the American type of English that they can deceive the Americans? Are they such counterparts of the members of the real Rat Patrol that they will not be recognized as frauds?"
"Whenever they appear as the Rat Patrol, it will be at a distance where there will be no way of knowing they are a substitute Rat Patrol," Dietrich said, suddenly weary of his endless explanations to Funke. "As you know, they were not challenged when they entered the port. Already the harassment has begun. I believe the American colonel, Wilson, will be considerably disturbed to learn that his Rat Patrol has returned from whatever mission they were on and had not reported, nor indeed, can be located. At the moment, the members of my Rat Patrol are abandoning their disguise and assuming the robes of Arabs. They will mingle with the natives. They are equipped with time charges which they will deposit at targets of convenience. T his will disrupt the morale of the Allied Forces. They will feel the natives are sabotaging them. Whenever the opportunity presents itself, they will appear briefly as the Rat Patrol. The American colonel will feel certain he has been betrayed by his most dependable weapon. Is it not an admirable plan?"
"But Great God, Hans," Colonel Funke exclaimed. "How will you get them out?"
"They will not come out until we go in," Dietrich said harshly.
"And suppose the real Rat Patrol is still within the port?" Funke asked.
"We have information they left Sidi Beda at noon," Dietrich said a little shortly. He wished the Arab who had brought the information could have been more specific. All Dietrich really knew was that the Rat Patrol had left the Allied headquarters at noon in fully equipped jeeps.
"And should the real Rat Patrol return?"
"Then, mein Oberst, they will find themselves deep in trouble," Dietrich said firmly. "We have our informers. Our Rat Patrol will no longer show themselves. The real Rat Patrol will have some trouble explaining their activities."
"It is fantastic," Colonel Funke said heavily. "It will never work."
There were three lieutenants and a captain lingering over their tin cups of coffee and Dietrich pointedly examined his watch as he nodded and sat apart from them at the single long table. They should be with their men, he thought. Before a battle officers should encourage their men by a display of diligence and devotion to duty. The officers had left the tent before an orderly served Dietrich with a plate of boiled beef, a hard biscuit and a cup of coffee.
Dietrich ate slowly and methodically, eating this food in the field for nutrition and not enjoyment. His thoughts were far away and he scarcely tasted the unappetizing fare.
Dietrich had lighted a cigarette to smoke with his second cup of coffee when his executive officer, Captain Hermann Nolde, marched purposefully into the tent. His dark eyes were flashing and his face was tight.
"Sit down, Hermann," Dietrich said calmly. "Have a cup of coffee and a cigarette to relax. Whatever it is, it cannot be so bad as you look. Save your anger for the enemy."
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"It is the enemy who angers me, Hans," Nolde said bitterly. "He has blown our fuel supply at the oasis."
"What!" Dietrich thundered, stiffening with anger. "Was it not guarded as I ordered?"
"Hans," Nolde said furiously, "there was a halftrack with a seventy-five millimeter gun and a crew of four, armed with machine guns on constant patrol. Also, Leutnant Kleine was there in charge of the Arabs. I do not know what could have happened."
"I can tell you precisely what has happened," Dietrich said in cold rage. "It is the Rat Patrol. Now, as well as you can recite them, give me the facts only."
"The facts are these, as well as I can tell you," Nolde said, sitting across from Dietrich and motioning to the orderly for coffee. "One of the truck drivers saw the fires from a distance. He drove without lights to within a mile, where he observed there to be two fires, one very large, which was a truck and the supplies of gas and oil, the other smaller, which was the halftrack. There appeared to be no survivors. Two jeeps came speeding out of the desert, circled the oasis, firing into it, and then stopped and four men went into the oasis itself, or what was left of it. The truck driver turned about and returned at top speed. I have sent a patrol of two cars to investigate."
"How much of the oil and petrol had we removed from the dump?" Dietrich asked.
"About half of it," Nolde said.
"It is a disaster but not the complete destruction it might have been," Dietrich said and smiled craftily but humorlessly. "Now that the Rat Patrol has struck, we know where they are and how they are operating. We shall think as they think and we shall outwit them. Now where would you say this Rat Patrol would strike next, Hermann?"
Nolde answered promptly. "If they are aware of the disposition of our forces and anticipate our attack, they will try to disrupt and delay us by getting into our armor and blowing as many tracks as they can."
"Yes, that is logical," Dietrich said. "And because it is logical, they will not do it. Where is the least likely place for them to strike."
"With Funke's armor drawn up all about, I would say the command post," Nolde said. He looked puzzled.
"Exactly," Dietrich said. "Hermann, where are the empty drums from which we fueled the machines?"
"Cast about, off to the side from the armor," Nolde said. "There was no point in saving them at this time. They will be there if we wish to gather them at some future time and bring them into Sidi Beda."
"Hermann, quickly now, gather all the empty drums, arrange them neatly together, just outside the post, and place a guard on them," Dietrich said and smiled gloatingly. "Place the full drums within the tents at the CP. Funke will have a fit, but we'll move him and the other personnel out to a new CP at his column. Leave the regular guard at the tents and do not guard the empty drums too diligently. Leave some means of access to them. Have a strong, well armed force concealed in one row of tents." Dietrich slapped his thigh and chuckled. "The Rat Patrol will strike the CP next and their target will be the remainder of the fuel. We have them, Hermann. Tonight the Rat Patrol, tomorrow the port of Sidi Beda."
Colonel Dan Wilson fixed Sergeant Peilowski with an icy stare and fought back his surging anger. Peilowski stood under the fan in the middle of the room, and the air through the opened window was comfortably cool, but the perspiration was popping on Peilowski's forehead. His lips worked soundlessly and his eyes were downcast.
"What do you mean, Sergeant?" Wilson asked tonelessly. "They haven't found the Rat Patrol?"
"That's exactly the way it is, sir," Peilowski said faintly.
"What's exactly the way it is?" Wilson said loudly. "Speak up. Did they search the wine shop as I ordered?"
"Sir," Peilowski said, still in a weak voice. "The MPs went to the Fat Frenchman's. The door was barred. He wouldn't let them in. They pounded at the door with their sticks and threatened to break into the place. At last he opened the door. They searched the place thoroughly—the shop, his room, the apartment above where there was a girl, the courtyard at the rear and even the roof. No one was in the entire place but the Fat Frenchman and this girl."
"What about the rest of the port?" Wilson asked a little uneasily. The orders were quite explicit about the natives, both their persons and their property.
"It has been thoroughly searched," Peilowski said.
"Damnit," Wilson said furiously. "I want the Rat Patrol brought in. We aren't molesting the natives and their property. We're trying to protect them. There's a war. Maybe we can't break into their houses but we can patrol their alleys. Get the MPs into the native quarter."
"The Arabs and the Frenchies are restless, sir," Peilowski said. "We haven't enough patrols now to keep them penned in like you said. The patrols push them back at one alley and they pour out of another. They're roaming the bazaar and waterfront and there are more of them than we can handle. If we try to push them around too much, we'll have an uprising in town on our hands."
"Keep them off the piers, keep them away from military property," Wilson raged. "What's wrong with them? Why should they be restless?"
"There were about a dozen Arabs massacred up on the bluff this afternoon," Peilowski said. "Some Arab came in with the story, said he'd escaped, that they were a peaceful party coming in to town to trade, using the old trail they always used, when these men in two jeeps opened fire and mowed them down. They're restless, all right. Won't take much to set them off."
"A dozen Arabs massacred?" Wilson shouted, pushing his chair back and coming around to Peilowski. "So the Rat Patrol did get out and the first Arabs they run into, they cut loose. I've told Troy we have to respect our agreements with these people in return for their cooperation. I've told him the Arabs have to be treated with kid gloves. So when those lunatics finished drinking beer all afternoon, half drunk, they ran into a band of friendly Arabs and cut them down. I can understand why they risked breaking through Latsus Pass and ran back to town. They probably had a dozen tribes chasing them. Of course the Rat Patrol is hiding. There's not one of them that would dare face either the Arabs or me. Have the patrols keep an eye out for them, but the first thing now is to keep the natives in town under control. Get me two armored cars with full crews. I'm going into the bazaar myself and talk with the natives."
"That's dangerous," Peilowski said.
"When isn't war dangerous!" Wilson blazed. "Have those cars in front of HQ in five minutes."
Peilowski started to leave.
"Sergeant," Wilson called. "Did you draw up the courts-martial?"
"They're ready, sir," Peilowski said.
"Good," Wilson said. "Battle or no battle, victory or defeat. I'm going to have the satisfaction of seeing each of those men imprisoned the moment he is picked up."
A blast shattered the quiet of the night and Wilson thought he felt the building shake.
"That sounded close," he said, more calm than he'd been all evening. "Jerry must have started his attack on the Sherman tanks."
Peilowski ran out the door to the street entrance and Wilson followed. Another explosion roared. It came from the waterfront. A warehouse building shot up in flames.
"It's sabotage," Wilson shouted fiercely. "Call out every unit we have, round up every native, drive them back and seal them up in the native quarter. I can't fight a battle on two fronts."
4
As the two jeeps lurched from the unsubstantial sand of the desert onto the built-up roadbed of the main route southeast from Sidi Beda, a searchlight plucked them from the night and light machine gun fire hacked at the Rat Patrol. Scarcely had the light touched them and before the firing started, Tully and Hitch veered, Tully striking to the right of the light and Hitch driving to the left. Troy and Moffitt slammed bursts of fifty-caliber slugs in smashing blows about the searchlight. By the time the jeeps were twenty yards apart and parallel, the searchlight was extinguished and the firing had ceased. The moonlight showed a Jerry Volkswagen patrol car with its ugly slanted snout torn and ripped and its crew of four slumped and still. The car
was in a slight depression on the east side of the trace and had been further hidden by the roadbed which lifted several feet above the desert. The car had not caught fire and Moffitt leaped to the ground with Troy. Tommy-guns at the ready, they approached the patrol car from opposite sides. The crew of four was dead.
Troy's eyes traveled swiftly up and down the road and found nothing that moved. He examined the car's position and grimly faced Moffitt.
"We ought to have our heads examined, Doctor," he said and smiled wryly. "We walked into this one. They were waiting for us. It poses a problem. Was this a routine patrol that just happened to see us coming across the desert or has a report come back from a party sent to the oasis and did Dietrich send them out to ambush us? In either case, did this patrol report us to Dietrich as they waited? What do you think. Jack?"
"I'd say it calls for a change of tactics, Sam," Moffitt said lightly. "What was your original approach?"
"Dietrich's CP is about four or five miles north, I'd estimated," Troy said. "I'd hoped we'd be able to use the track for a couple miles to pick up time, then turn east across the desert and come in that way. I thought Jerry wouldn't expect us from that direction, if he anticipated us at all."
"Perhaps we'd best retrace our path and go in from the direction of the oasis," Moffitt suggested. "It's so obvious I don't guess Dietrich would expect that either."
"No," Troy said thoughtfully. "Sorry to disagree, Doctor, but the original plan still is best. If the patrol reported us, Jerry would expect us to change directions after this encounter. If the patrol did not report us, we still have time to surprise Dietrich."