by David King
By the time the four men of the Rat Patrol dragged their feet to the top of the pass after the third trip, the sky had shed all of its cloud drapery and the stars were pricking through the deep purple. There still was no moon. The men crouched as they sprinted and skidded across the field of mud to the east of the armored column and found the firmer grip of the sand hill. Once over the dune, they alternately trotted and walked the three or four miles to the jeeps.
Troy scouted the road. It was deserted. Nothing moved in the night. The jeeps crossed it slowly, purring gently, and clawed into the desert. Troy directed an arcing route that would take them well behind Dietrich's tanks and halftracks and bring them in safe on the old trade route. The moon uncovered its face. It was full and it spilled milky white light over the moistly dark sand. All the water was gone and the moist sand made a firm track. The jeeps raced, running well south of the battle line, through a cold, silent world where everyone slumbered. It took about an hour to work about Dietrich's menacing armor and it was nearly twenty-two hundred hours when the jeeps reached the trail that ran between Sidi Beda and the oasis the Arabs had used as a dump for the stolen gasoline. The landmarks were familiar and friendly as they always are on the road home and it seemed strange to Troy that only a few days before this had been an alien area he never had seen. They approached the two huge rocks where the Arabs had waited to ambush them. Troy thought he heard the throb of laboring engines.
"Stop," he told Tully. "Run the jeep behind one of the rocks." He motioned Hitch to the other.
Tully and Hitch parked the jeeps and shut off the motors. The four of them jumped down and shagged up the craggy rocks. The sound was louder and it was a thrumming Troy recognized, the straining of motors with transmissions engaged in gear. Vehicles were working up the setbacks on the old trade route.
"Get your tommy-guns but hold your fire," he told the others. "Maybe it's Arabs, but it might be some of our men who've found this route."
Back with his gun and ready for action, Troy watched as two jeeps with windshields down fiat against the hoods and machine guns mounted in the rears dragged into the plateau for a few yards and stopped. Four familiar figures with individually characteristic headpieces were in the jeeps. For a stunned second, Troy, Moffitt, Tully and Hitch stared speechlessly.
"Hey, what do you know, Sarge," Tully finally drawled. "It's us."
15
Head hammering so savagely he could hardly see, Dietrich had staggered back toward his car with Corporal Willi Wunder half carrying him. He was filthy with greasy mud and seething with fury and outraged pride. The Rat Patrol had struck and escaped again. He'd had Sergeant Troy in his grasp and the man had slipped through his lingers. His own men—no! Colonel Funke's men—had sat on their tails and not given chase. When he reached his car, he called for Gleicher.
"Lieutenant!" he roared and immediately lowered his voice. Shouting made his head pound worse. "We were attacked by horsemen. Why were those men permitted to reach the armor? Why didn't you go after them and capture them or kill them?"
"It was thought they were the Arabs of whom you had told us," Gleicher said. His face was stiff and pale. "There was nothing to indicate they were hostile until the first grenade exploded. You know the antics of the Arabs. We drove them off with our fire but did not pursue them because no vehicles were available."
"Vehicles," Dietrich croaked wrathfully. "You are a vehicle. I am a vehicle. Alone, I went after them on foot."
"Ja, Herr Hauptmann," Gleicher said weakly.
"Have you assessed the damage?" Dietrich snapped impatiently.
"There was one casualty only," Gleicher reported promptly. "Ten of the weapons were injured. Treads were blown from four of the halftracks and six of the tanks. Also the communications van was destroyed. The radio operator was killed."
"We are without communications?" Dietrich yelled and caught his breath, holding his head. He continued in a small, tight voice. "One casualty only and it is the radio operator. We are stranded without gasoline and now we have no communications. You, Herr Gleicher, who cannot run unless you have a vehicle, had best learn to use your feet. Why have you moved none of the armor back on the road?"
"The mud is very deep, Herr Hauptmann, and it is half in a ditch off the road where the armor sits," Gleicher said. His face was flushed and he was standing at rigid attention. "It was a deluge and we are in a muddy river to some depth. There is nothing solid in which the cleats can get their teeth."
"How long, Herr Gleicher, do you estimate it will be before we may resume the war?" Dietrich asked icily.
"Oh, if the rain does not fall again and the sun is shining, perhaps we should be able to move some of the halftracks back on the road by tomorrow afternoon or later," Gleicher said.
"I want all of the armor on the road by tomorrow morning," Dietrich said furiously. "Put crews on them tonight. There are men. There are shovels. Put them together."
"But mein Hauptmann, we tried that," Gleicher said in faint protest. "The mud where the armor is standing is like soup. You throw out one shovel of it and the same quantity or more pours back. It will do no good to shovel until the sun takes up some of the wetness and the mud is dried to a substance that can be handled."
"There is something that must be done here," Dietrich barked. "Bring in Funke's tank commanders. I will see them in the mess tent at nineteen-hundred hours. Awaken them and bring them in, do you understand?"
"Ja, Herr Hauptmann," Gleicher assured him. He saluted, about-faced and marched along the line of useless armor.
Dietrich turned to Willi. The corporal's hands were on the steering wheel and his knuckles were white. "Do you think you can get us out of here?" Dietrich asked.
"I will try," Willi said. He started the motor, touched the accelerator gently as he let the clutch out slowly with the car in reverse. The car backed away from the armor and climbed onto the road.
"That was very well done, Willi," Dietrich said. "It is a pity you did not learn sooner."
Back in his tent, Dietrich again washed off the slime and changed into fresh clothing. He rubbed his neck. The clout he had taken had left a tender lump. He was sitting at the table with his neck stretched forward like an inquisitive goose when Grosse reported. Dietrich looked at him sympathetically.
"I was able to observe from behind a curve in the pass," Grosse said. "The enemy has only one halftrack guarding the pass. Five other halftracks at some distance away sit on the road in a line. On either side of the road is a puddle of mud."
But one halftrack guarding the road, Dietrich considered, and only five others stationed in a column on the road. Ali Abu must have told him the truth. The enemy's defenses were down and he was occupied in the town with the riots.
"What of the road through the pass?" he asked Grosse.
"There is silt and it is rough," Grosse said, "but the bed of the road is solid and resting on rock. It will bear weight. Also, the road toward the town appears passable, although the land on either side is all under water."
"Very well, Grosse," Dietrich said. He was impressed with the man's observations. He smiled wryly. "How is your head?"
"The lump is tender," Grosse said, reaching back and touching it.
"Yes, I know," Dietrich said, repeating the gesture.
They looked at each other a moment and then both broke into laughter.
"So you have heard," Dietrich said. "Well, I shall want you in the morning, Grosse. You will be my driver after this time. How will you like that? Together perhaps we can avoid a repetition of our folly." He paused, then said, mockingly stern, "You must never turn your back to your enemy, do you understand?"
"Ja, Herr Hauptmann," Grosse said, smiling. "And thank you."
As soon as Grosse had left, Dietrich walked over to the mess tent. Lamps were burning against the dark and Dietrich shook his head, looking at the black sky. It must not rain, he thought pleadingly, it must not. With the knowledge Grosse had delivered, he had a chance if it did not
rain.
Two dozen officers were gathered around the long table under greenish white glaring acetylene lanterns drinking coffee, chattering and laughing. They casually looked at him as he came into the tent. Was this the way Funke ran the division? Dietrich thought, enraged.
"Gentlemen!" he commanded.
The officers stood at attention as he sat on a stool at the head of the table.
"Tomorrow we attack the town of Sidi Beda," he said sternly without preliminaries and saw everyone stare at him in astonishment. Good. They needed to be shocked to their senses, he thought. "Lieutenant Gleicher informs me it is impossible to move anything from the mud onto the road. One halftrack only with five others at some distance lined up in a row stands between us and victory. One tank, gentlemen, is all we require. I want one tank removed from the mud and placed on the road tonight if you are compelled to collectively lift it and carry it. Tomorrow, we shall see about shoveling out the rest of our armor."
"Ja, Herr Hauptmann," Gleicher said, standing. He looked timidly determined. "We shall do what must be done to give you the tank. When, however, the tank destroys the halftrack and even pushes it from the road, the way still will be barred by the column of five halftracks."
"Lieutenant Gleicher," Dietrich said in the tone of a professor addressing a dolt, "our first objective is to gain control of the exit from the pass. Formerly we were confronted with the firepower of six or twelve weapons ringed and concentrated on each individual piece of our armor as it emerged from the pass. Thanks to the rain which not only did damage to us but also descended on the enemy, we now need face one weapon only. We match halftrack against our tank. Would you not say the odds favor us? When the first halftrack is removed, remember the others are aligned on the road and cannot maneuver, so again it is one halftrack against our tank. We shall advance our tank as far as is possible, but the main objective is to remain in control of the exit from the pass until the remainder of our armor has been released from the mud and the fields below have dried to the degree we can move over them. This is our plan. Is it agreed?"
"Ja, Herr Hauptmann," Gleicher said and sat down. He looked a little white about the mouth, Dietrich thought.
"Lieutenant Gleicher," Dietrich said, leaning forward and slitting his eyes. "Was your tank damaged in the attack this afternoon?"
"No, Herr Hauptmann," Gleicher said like a puppet.
"Then see that it is your tank that is lifted from the mud," Dietrich said. "You may have the honor of being the first to descend through the pass."
A tour of the defense positions and the town at twenty-hundred hours had convinced Wilson that all was secure for the night and no further trouble with the natives was brewing. At the pass, Drake had reported no enemy action. Water was draining from the ground on both sides of the road but the sludge still was too loose to support the halftracks. The remaining five halftracks were on firm ground near the edge of the city. Three armored cars were patrolling the military avenue and piers and the other five with their crews were on alert. MPs with tommy-guns were stationed in jeeps at five of the alleys leading into the native quarter and at the street that led to the bazaar. In the dark, Wilson did not like to send them into the quarter, where danger lurked on every rooftop, but they would go in if trouble developed and he had strengthened the guard at the wine shop with four additional men. The six men in the cellar were inside behind the broken wall and should be able to withstand any raiding party the street would contain.
De la Croix and the girl, together with Nicodeme, were locked in their detention quarters at HQ. Guards were concealed outside commanding the windows to the cells and each entrance to the building and Wilson hoped the Rat Patrol would attempt to reach the prisoners.
The air had cleared and the night was moonlighted and cool. Tomorrow, much as Wilson disliked admitting he could not hold the town, he would call in the bombers. Jerry with his two columns simply was too much for Wilson to handle.
Wilson told his driver, the cigar-chomping sergeant, to make one last tour of the MPs in the jeeps. At Wilson's request, the driver at each station probed the alley with a long reaching searchlight. Everyone seemed to have gone early to bed. No robed figures slunk through the alleys, and when the searchlights were off, no lights showed in the windows.
Wilson stepped from his car at the street leading into the bazaar. He was a commanding figure in the moonlight in his white varnished helmet. As he stood straddled legged beside the MP at the wheel of the jeep, he rested his hands on the pearl butts of his twin pistols. He told the MP to throw his light up the street to the bazaar.
The long bright finger of light reached down the alley and touched the jeeps of the Rat Patrol parked side by side in the bazaar facing the military avenue. Wilson jerked his pistols from the holsters and fired. Troy and Moffitt at the machine guns each squeezed off a burst that rattled like hail and the jeeps spun into the bazaar.
"Call all the jeeps to follow us," he shouted to his driver and jumped into the back of the jeep at this station. "After them!" he called to the driver and pointed ahead. The vehicle reared off. Wilson wished it were equipped with a machine gun. "Look for them, turn on your searchlight," he yelled at the driver. The light picked up the Rat Patrol straight ahead driving toward the bluff. They had circled the bazaar. As the light picked up Moffitt, he fired a burst at it and the driver hastily turned it off.
"Going to be hard keeping them in sight," the driver called back. "Can't get too close. That machine gun of theirs will shoot a country mile."
"We'll be all right if you don't turn on your searchlight again," Wilson said. He saw now that the occasional patches of moonlight revealed the fleeing Rat Patrol. "Don't lose them, whatever the cost. Dead or alive, we must take the Rat Patrol tonight."
Wilson heard the protesting shriek of rubber and turned to see one and then two more jeeps swing pell mell into the street and race after them. Another rattle from Moffitt's gun brought him around. The Rat Patrol had reached the end of the street and turned to the right.
Wilson's jeep sped to the corner and skidded around it. Shots pounded into the edge of the building and dust from the dried clay wall spurted into the air. The Rat Patrol was about half a mile away and Moffitt, in the second jeep, kept banging away at them with bursts that sounded like a pounding jackhammer. Wilson's driver swerved evasively but the rough trail was narrow and Wilson was surprised that none of the slugs from the fifty-caliber Browning had torn into them. They were within range and Moffitt was an expert with his weapon.
Behind, three other jeeploads of MPs were bounding along the trail at the bottom of the bluff. Eventually, Wilson thought with grim satisfaction, some of them would survive to overtake the Rat Patrol and put an end to them. His jeep was beyond the last mud huts that squatted behind thorn bush fences on the barren ground that now was slush. Wilson wondered just where the Rat Patrol could be headed and suddenly remembered that Nicodeme had mentioned an old trade route over which they had transported the stolen gasoline.
Moffitt no longer was firing.
"Maybe he's out of ammunition or his gun is jammed," the driver called. "I'll pour on some gas until we can reach them with tommy-guns."
"No, you watch out for him," Wilson shouted. "He's cagey. It's a trick. He wants us to close in then he'll blast us off the road. Keep them in sight but don't get any closer."
Below, the Mediterranean lay dark and calm. The ground between was wet and at the side, the wall of stone soared. The sun would dry out the battlefield and the tank positions would be pounded again tomorrow, but the bombers should relieve the pressure. Wilson shook his head. He wished he dared to pull the Shermans out of the pits. They could get out of the minefields. But if he lost them, the town would be left without any defenses. He would call for the bombers as soon as he returned to HQ.
He looked ahead again and his heart jumped. Somehow, the Rat Patrol had miscalculated, had taken the wrong trail. Wilson could see two tall stones that barred the way. It was a dead e
nd, the dead end for the Rat Patrol, he thought, fingering the butts of his pistols.
"They'll fight, now their backs are to the wall," he shouted. "Slow down until the other jeeps catch up. We'll see whether we can circle through the mud and surround them."
The driver stopped and Wilson looked back.
"Hey!" the driver yelled.
Wilson jerked forward. The trail was empty. The Rat Patrol had disappeared.
"There must be a trail by those stones we can't see," the driver said and the jeep shot forward without Wilson's order.
The other three jeeps were close behind now. The four vehicles ran fall speed toward the stones almost a mile away.
"It may be an ambush," Wilson said. "Those men are desperate, they're killers. We'd better stop and scout."
Fifty yards from the stones, the driver stopped, leaped out and ran up the trail in a crouch. He reached the stones, turned in toward the bluff and disappeared. A moment later he ran back to the jeep.
"There's a road goes up the bluff," he panted, shooting ahead again. "The bluff drops away. Those jeeps are halfway to the top."
He swung the car left at the stones and Wilson saw the setbacks that had been hewn from the face of the receding wall. The Rat Patrol was on the last setback and nearing the top.
"It isn't any use," Wilson said with a deep sigh. He was whipped. "They've too much of a lead. They know the trail and the country. Once they get in the desert, we haven't a chance."
The driver stopped. Above, the two jeeps disappeared over the edge of the bluff.
"You want to turn around and go back, then?" the driver asked.
"No," Wilson said wearily. "As long as we've found this trail, we'd better go on to the top and have a look. It's a gap in our defenses that will have to be closed."
The four jeeps started slowly up the setbacks. His last hope of ever bringing the Rat Patrol to justice was gone. Now he'd never be able to give them their due for abusing his confidence.