by David King
"Surprise Dietrich, Sam?" Moffitt exclaimed. "You don't expect to pop through his command post tossing out grenades as if they were crullers!"
"Not exactly, Jack," Troy said and laughed. "I thought that coming in from the east we'd run less chance of being spotted. I figured we'd find a place to hide the jeeps and then go in on our bellies again."
Moffitt was silent a moment. In the moonlight Troy could see a smile creeping into his eyes.
"I concur," Moffitt said. "Shall we see if there are any usable uniforms?"
They took a sergeant's jacket with three inverted stripes and a desert fatigue cap.
Tully walked over with a bottle of beer in one hand and a grenade in the other. "We going to blow the wreck?" he asked.
"No need to light a beacon," Troy said, rummaging in the car. "We'll take their canteens and cans of water, put a couple of holes in the fuel tank and be on our way." The wreck would be discovered sooner or later, Troy knew, and there was no need to leave a plain trail. They drove southeast on the route two miles before turning into the desert. Troy maintained constant observation of the road as the jeeps jumped into the squishing sand and pulled straight east. He saw no vehicles moving on it. The road disappeared from sight when they crested a dune after about a mile. Protected by it, the Rat Patrol turned to the north.
The supply dump would be located somewhere near the command post, Troy reasoned. The trucks had been hauling the drums in that direction and he wanted to blow the rest of the fuel supply. Dietrich undoubtedly had gas and oil stored in other dumps, but Troy believed he had been depending on the oasis dump as his main source. After the initial attack, Dietrich's conduct of the battle might well depend on how far he had to haul his fuel. The columns of armor demanded vast quantities of fuel and a long haul could stall him. One thing was certain after the destruction of the supply at the oasis, Jerry would have his stockpile at the CP well guarded.
After driving for twenty minutes behind the northeast slanting dune, Troy estimated they should be about a mile and a half east and half a mile north of the CP. He began to search the dark patches in the desert contours for a place to hide the jeeps. Tully pulled into a small wadi which had escaped Troy. It was barely long enough to park the jeeps one behind the other but it was deep enough to afford protection under the camouflage nets. Hitch nosed after Tully and Troy crawled to the top of the dune to survey their position.
Bareheaded, he lay at the top of the dune with his glasses trained on distant lights. It must be the CP, although at that distance in the moonlight, it was difficult to identify the shapes that bulked darkly. He thought he discerned a group of tents and beyond them to the south a regularly shaped dark mass that could be the gas and oil drums. Once or twice he thought he detected motion about the mass which could indicate guards. As he studied Dietrich's command post, he was aware of a dry gritty taste in the air which he thought must come from a heavy dust cloud curtain. That would mean an armored column was on the move.
He scrambled back to the wadi where Moffitt, Tully and Hitch were ready to stretch the nets over the jeeps. They were squatting on their haunches, so plainly visible in the moonlight he could see the whites of Moffitt's eyes and the matchstick Tully was rolling from one side of his mouth to the other.
"We waited, Sam," Moffitt explained. "Weren't quite certain what equipment was in order."
"Neither am I," Troy admitted, sitting in the sand with them. "From the way it looks, the oil and gas is stored south of the tents. Grenades should set it off. I want a closer look. I'll put on a Jerry cap and jacket and reconnoiter."
"A moment, Sam," Moffitt said with a smile. "I've already tried on the lieutenant's tunic and it fits. I outrank you. I'll go in."
"Tully and I volunteer," Hitch spoke up. "We're privates. We're expendable."
"Nuts," Troy tried to say disgustedly but he couldn't help laughing. "We'll all go, at least part of the way. It'll save time. When we get as far as we can, we'll see who does what. Dietrich is bound to have guards posted, so take off your canteens and side arms. We don't want anything that jangles. We'll make a sling from a piece of a net and drag a dozen grenades and a couple of plastic time charges."
"Don't you think one of us ought to carry some sort of weapon, old boy?" Moffitt asked, already exchanging his beret for the Jerry lieutenant's cap.
"My Bowie knife?" Tully suggested.
"What about my garrote?" Hitch said hopefully.
"Hitch's nylon choke rope it is," Troy said. "Hitch, take off your glasses and go bareheaded. Tully, leave your helmet behind. I'll wear a Jerry cap like the doctor's and the Jerry sergeant's jacket. Let's knock off the conversation and move in. From what I could see and smell, a tank column already has moved out."
When the jeeps were under the nets, they clawed up the slope and went over the top of the dune on their bellies. Although they were a good two miles from the CP, Troy was taking no chance of any moving form silhouetted against the moonlit sky. Troy was in the lead, closely followed by Moffitt, with Tully and Hitch dragging the sling between them. Over the first dune, they slipped into a shadow-filled depression that snaked in the right direction and advanced at a trot for half a mile. The night was comfortably mild and they ran easily, although Troy disliked the powdery taste of dust that seemed to grow more pronounced as they advanced. When the depression ended in a slope, Troy went to the top. Another valley ran to within half a mile of the CP and Troy stared at it until his eyes were accustomed to its shadows and he was certain there was no motion in it. The night seemed unnaturally quiet.
Even at a distance of a mile and a half, it seemed some sounds should carry from a command post with a column advancing to attack. Too few lights were showing, only three lanterns at the front of the tents facing the area with the oil and gas drums. Troy slipped back from the crest of the dune and motioned the others to come up.
Again they trotted through the shadowed valley and when they reached its end, Troy took Moffitt with him to the top. They were now less than a thousand yards from the post and Troy was able to clearly identify the arrangement and the shapes. He and Moffitt were observing the CP from the back of three rows of four pyramid tents each, laid out in a perfect rectangle. The tents faced a dump or stockpile of perhaps two hundred drums. Four guards were walking their posts at the dump, one at each side. The tent area was similarly patrolled by four guards. No sound came from the camp and there was no other activity than the methodical patrols of the guards. No one was between them and the tent area other than the guard at the rear. Troy and Moffitt slid back to Tully and Hitch.
"It would be no trick to take those guards at the dump," Troy whispered, "but I don't like it. After Dietrich lost his dump at the oasis, there should be a heavy guard here. It looks like another invitation from Dietrich. I smell a trap. I want to know what's in those tents."
"Right-o," Moffitt said softly. "I'll just slip up and have a look about."
"If it's a trap, they'll nab you right away because you don't belong in the pattern," Troy said. "Hitch, go in and take that guard in back of the tents. You'll have to do it fast enough so you can meet the guard at the side, wearing a uniform and carrying a rifle. The four guards meet at alternate comers each turn of their post. When you've replaced him, we'll come in."
"I'm on my way," Hitch whispered and went up the slope and over the top.
Moffitt and Tully lay with Troy on the dune and watched Hitch's stealthy approach down the moonlit slope. Each time the guard behind the tents walked away from him, Hitch slithered through the sand like a frightened lizard. Just before the guard at the side and the guard at the rear turned to march toward him, Hitch disappeared, a motionless contour of the slope. Hitch crept closer. The guard reached the near corner of his post and started to walk away. Troy saw Hitch spring. The guard dropped his rifle, stretched backward and fell. There had been no sound. Hitch had caught the rifle with his knee as he'd tightened the garrote and even as the man was falling, was removing his jacket an
d cap. Hitch was at the far corner of the tents precisely at the moment the guard at the far side post arrived and Hitch clicked his heels and about-faced in precisely the same manner.
"All right," Troy told Tully. "Relieve Hitch so he can take care of the guard on this side."
Having only the side guard to concern him, Tully advanced more rapidly and within minutes Hitch was walking the post at the near side and Tully the post at the rear.
"Time for us, Doctor," Troy said and grinned at Moffitt. "I'll lug the bag and relieve Hitch so he can take care of the guard on the far side. We won't bother with the one at the front. You make the rounds of the tents and see what's in them and who's in them and what they're saying."
"Will do, old chap," Moffitt said with a smile and was off down the slope.
When Troy reached the near side of the tents, a grinning Hitch met him. He was bareheaded with his cap in his hand and his jacket unbuttoned. With scarcely a break in a footstep, Troy was wearing Hitch's Jerry uniform and walking his post. Hitch was making his way silently with Tully to the far side of the tents. On Troy's second turn at the rear of the tents, Tully nodded briefly. Nothing had disturbed the calm of the night.
Troy had completed seven turns on his post when Moffitt met him at the rear. Without a word, Moffitt handed him two grenades, indicated the two front tents motioned Troy to throw them and run at his next turn. Troy shrugged. He assumed Moffitt had given similar instructions to Tully and Hitch after tuning the operation to a fraction of a second, but he couldn't help wondering what Moffitt had discovered in the tents. Troy met the Jerry guard, unhurriedly clicked his heels, about-faced, pulled the pins on both grenades, hurled them at his target and ran away from the tents at a tangent.
A quick succession of grenade blasts rent the air as Troy dived into the sand, rolled to his feet and resumed running full speed, slanting back now toward the dune from which they had entered the post. He heard screams and shouts from the tents and several small explosions. The tents were flaming. Ahead near the top of the hill, Moffitt signaled them to hit the sand. Troy burrowed and a tremendous blast exploded, flinging shock and heat waves over his body. He sprang to his feet and reached the top of the dune with Tully and Hitch. Another explosion made the sky tremble and the whole area flamed with light. He turned and a mighty fire, larger even than the flames at the oasis, was rolling skyward in masses like a hellish tidal wave.
"The fuel?" he asked Moffitt, whose eyes were dancing in a ruddy face.
Moffitt nodded. "It was a trap. The rear tents were filled with the legitimate drums. The front row of tents where you tossed the grenades had a contingent of guardsmen whose duty it was to exterminate the Rat Patrol when we went after the tempting bait of the empty drums. I planted the plastic time charges amidst the fuel drums."
"Quite a caper," Troy said. They'd not only destroyed the enemy's fuel supply but his command post as well. He took his eyes from the roaring furnace. "Let's go. It's early and we've work to do. Wonder if Dietrich was at the CP when the grenades hit the fan."
At twenty-hundred hours, Captain Hans Dietrich had almost reluctantly taken his place in an armored car at the head of his column of tanks and halftracks and given the order to start the advance on the Allied positions. Nolde had acted swiftly on his suggestions, or orders, Dietrich smilingly reminded himself, and with the fuel drums safely stored, the empty drums had been so temptingly placed he knew the Rat Patrol would find them irresistible. The final defeat of the Rat Patrol would give him almost as great pleasure as the capture of Sidi Beda.
"Take them alive if possible," he had told Nolde, "but under no circumstances permit them to escape."
"You may be certain, Hans, the Rat Patrol is finished," Nolde had assured him and remained to personally direct the operation.
Funke had grumbled at first at being ousted from the tent where he had established himself comfortably with a supply of beer, but when Dietrich had explained that the entire CP was being transferred to Funke's column where it rightly belonged, Herr Oberst had been mollified. The hospital unit, communications van, all the essential sections of the CP had been moved the mile to Funke's column, where a new tent, complete with beer, was erected for him. Dietrich chuckled quietly. It was, he told himself, the first time in warfare that a field fuel dump had been established in the tents of a command post.
Now the armored car was shifted into gear and as it started, Dietrich half stood, turning to look down the long barrel of a seventy-five millimeter gun mounted in the shallow closed turret of the lead PzKw IV tank.
Slowly the column moved forward after Dietrich's armored car and the night trembled with the clank of treads as they ground through the sand. In a few moments the moonlit sky was draped with dust as tanks and halftracks began the advance. It was approximately eighteen miles to the first Allied tank position, almost thirty miles to the last. Although the armor was capable of speeds up to twenty-five miles an hour, Dietrich set the pace at a moderate ten to twelve miles an hour. It would conserve both fuel and machines. There was no need to hurry, Dietrich told himself comfortably. In a way, this was a peculiar tank battle. The enemy could not run away nor could he maneuver. This time it was Dietrich who called every shot.
He was immensely pleased with everything, even destruction of his fuel dump, because this was the last strike the Rat Patrol would make. He had bottled up the enemy, he had penetrated his lines with his own Rat Patrol, and he was in the field alone with Herr Oberst Funke, that befuddled old sot, safely tucked away where he could do no harm.
When the entire column of fifty vehicles was moving, rending the night air with sounds that might have come from one of Krupp's shops, Dietrich gave the order to his tank commanders by radio to proceed to positions and report on arrival. He told his driver, a corporal named Willi Wunder, who reminded him of the stupid lout in the communications van, for God's sake to stop idling and push on to his command position.
He had selected a sand hill near the center of the perimeter he soon would establish within a thousand yards of the nearest tank position and from which he would direct the battle. When the car was parked at the top and the corporal was yawning at the wheel, Dietrich stood to watch the dust that marked the approach of his armor. Far to the northeast, he knew the first halftracks and tanks already had taken their positions on the perimeter that would encircle the Allied fine of defense although none of the commanders yet had reported. He reconsidered his plan and was pleased.
His column consisted of thirty-six PzKw Mark III and Mark IV medium tanks, all mounting seventy-five millimeter long barrel guns and fourteen halftracks mounting short barrel seventy-five millimeters and howitzers. He could have wished for better distribution of his armor as far as tanks and halftracks were concerned, but no matter. The halftracks and tanks would take positions two thousand yards from their assigned Allied tank emplacements. Dietrich fully expected that there would be a minefield protecting the enemy guns. The halftracks would clear the paths through the field with their short barreled guns and howitzers, covered by fire from the following tanks. He had assigned one tank to each Allied position. The halftracks at either end of the perimeter would have to do double duty, but even if their advance was slowed, it mattered little as long as the progress was steady at the center of his line. Eleven of the tanks were to be held in reserve near Dietrich's own position.
Actually, the minefield would present little problem after the first fifty or hundred yards had uncovered the pattern in which the American colonel, Wilson, had laid his mines, and with luck, Dietrich's probing halftracks might discover the safe path through the field early. In this event, Dietrich meant to throw in his reserve over the safe path to quickly overwhelm the enemy.
The fixed-frequency radio in his armored car began to spit and cough as his commanders reported their units in place and soon the reports were pouring in with an almost predictable regularity with the progress of the cloud of dust advancing from the east. At exactly twenty-two-oh-nine hours
the commander of the unit to the far west reported ready for action. With eleven reserve tanks ranged below him, Dietrich stood in his command car and proudly gave the order to attack.
The glorious din of battle rang in his ears as the halftracks moved forward in perfect coordination with guns blasting the earth before them and obscuring the moon.
They moved forward relentlessly, those glorious monsters of his. Abruptly an explosion rocked the advance perhaps two thousand yards away and a flash illuminated the dust. Dietrich frowned. The Afrika Korps had entered the minefield and he feared a halftrack had been lost. But the advance continued. One did not win battles without losses. He grew rigid and cold as a second, third and fourth brilliant eruption marked the pathways where the halftrack crews had been careless and the tanks could not advance. When the fifth blasted halftrack smashed in his ears, he hesitated, ordered his armor to withdraw to original position.
Where were his crews miscalculating, he pondered, why had they not established the pattern of the minefield. Even with his numerical superiority, he could not afford to sacrifice his armor if it accomplished no purpose. Now he would wait until morning when the crews in the halftracks and tanks, if necessary, could establish the pattern of the minefield by visual sighting.
"Herr Hauptmann, Herr Hauptmann," Corporal Willi Wunder intruded. "CP is calling, the colonel is calling."
Grimly, Dietrich clamped on the earphones. The colonel would want to know how the battle was going.
"It is awful, Hans, unbelievable, disastrous," said the voice of the colonel.
"Not disastrous, Herr Oberst, merely an annoying delay," Dietrich said. How had the colonel known so soon?
"How can you say that, Hans?" the colonel said sounding shocked. "Do you know what has happened?"