by David King
The eight men followed Dietrich and Kummel swiftly up the stairway to the roof. The sentry manned his observation post atop the tank.
"We will take the tank by surprise," Dietrich whispered to Kummel. "We shall not let whoever is hiding know we suspect." To the sentry, he called, "We're coming up to have a look with your binoculars. Have you seen any sign of them?"
"No, my captain," the sentry said and Dietrich and Kummel climbed on top.
"Well, let us see whether we can find anything that you have missed," Dietrich said, motioning the sentry off the structure. He reached for one side of the ring and Kummel grasped the other. At Dietrich's nod, they both pulled and the lid came off the reservoir. Inside, Dietrich saw two figures and the flash of a knife. He leapt into the tank chopping at the wrist that held the knife with his pistol and the knife fell into the water.
"Out," he ordered, jabbing the pistol into the ribs of the lanky youth who had held the knife.
"And you, Colonel Wilson," he said as the enlisted man climbed out. "Did you not find your quarters comfortable?"
Silently Wilson reached for the hole at the top of the tank and pulled himself up. His legs and trousers dripped water almost to his waist. His pockets, Dietrich noted with a smile, had been submerged in water.
Kummel held Wilson and the enlisted man—another one of the Rat Patrol, Dietrich recognized, although he did not know this man's name—with his pistol and the patrol stood by with rifles at the ready. The sentry who had manned the observation post atop the tank was watching with eyes so large Dietrich could not help laughing.
"You did not know what kind of fish you had below you in the pond, eh, Corporal?" he said as Kummel marched the two Americans down the stairway. "Oh, Wilson," he called from the back of the hallway and the American colonel hesitated and turned. His face was blank. "You will find another man of yours in there. We are going to have a talk now, Lieutenant Kummel and I in my office, one by one with you. It would be in the interests of the physical well-being of each one of you if you advised your men to answer freely anything that is asked of them."
9
Troy slumped in one of the straight chairs in the shuttered interrogation room and dispiritedly pulled his pant leg above the flesh wound that Dietrich had bound with his handkerchief. The wound did not bother him particularly. The bullet had nicked a chunk of flesh from the calf of his leg but no serious damage had been done, he decided as he pulled the handkerchief away. The dried blood stuck to the handkerchief and the open wound began to bleed again. He retied the bandage tightly. What did bother him was whether Wilson and Tully would be able to sit it out in the water tank until night and whether he would be able to resist the Kraut lieutenant's efforts to make him reveal their hiding place. And if Wilson and Tully were able to last until dark, whether Moffitt and Hitch would find them. In a way, he thought, the rescue effort had been a botched up job, and all because no one had thought of a scaling hook.
It looked as if the Rat Patrol were short one member at the least for the duration and the thought saddened him. The explosive, high speed action in dozens of capers all over the desert had provided him with a stimulation he had never experienced before. Faced with months or even years of the tedium of a prison camp, he decided he would risk a break for freedom, whatever the cost, long before he reached Bizerta or wherever it was they decided to send him.
Running feet clattered in the hallway and jerked his attention from his morose thoughts. A patrol was rushing past the doorway of his cell, going to the rear stairway to the roof. Troy gritted his teeth. Somehow the hiding place had been discovered and all Troy could do was hope Tully was forewarned in time to perform the execution. If Wilson were taken alive, Troy would have to strangle him with his bare hands.
He crossed the room to the door and waited with his anxious ear pressed against the planks. Tense minutes dragged by and then there were the sounds of feet and voices in the hall. He stepped back to the desk. The lock clicked, the door swung open and Wilson and Tully walked in, water still running from their soggy pants. A guard with a bayoneted rifle stepped into the room with them and the door was closed and locked.
"How did they find you?" Troy demanded, looking first at Tully who shrugged discouragedly, walked to the desk and sat on the comer of it; and then at Wilson whose eyes were blazing.
"You didn't talk?" he asked Troy.
"I wasn't even questioned," Troy said. "They just locked me in here when I heard them going up for you."
"What I want to know," Wilson said, swinging and pointing accusingly at Tully, "Is what this man was trying to do to me with his knife. If that Jerry hadn't knocked it out of his fist, I believe he'd have cut my throat."
"You'd probably have been better off," Troy said softly.
"Why, I could have you shot," Wilson said loudly and stepped threateningly toward Troy.
The guard pushed Wilson back with the blade of his bayonet. He was a hefty-shouldered piece of beef, Troy noticed, and probably had been placed in the room to keep the three of them from tearing each other apart.
"It isn't going to do any good to quarrel," Troy said.
"What is going to do any good?" Wilson said coldly and sat in the chair behind the desk.
"How could they have discovered you?" Troy wondered aloud.
"Some bonehead thing you said or did," Wilson shot back.
"All I did was get shot," Troy said bitterly. "I haven't opened my mouth once."
"What I want to know," Tully drawled, "Is what do we say and do now?"
"We keep our mouths shut," Troy said, looking meaningfully from Tully to Wilson, "And we make or take every break we can."
"We're not likely to get any kind of break now," Wilson said stiffly.
"We can be ready for it if it comes," Troy said.
The door opened. A guard stepped into the room and motioned Wilson out. When the door was locked again, the guard with the bayoneted rifle placed the chair from behind the desk next to Troy's. He waved Tully into it and sat on the desk with his rifle pointing between them.
Troy's sullen eyes studied the guard. If Tully and he acted together, they could probably overpower him. That would gain them one weapon and the chance to seize another the next time the door was unlocked. There was half a chance they could shoot the guard at Dietrich's door before he was roused to action and escape again to the rooftops, but could they rescue Wilson or would they have to shoot him too? It was worth the risk, he decided. He looked at Tully, hoping the Kentuckian could read the message he wigwagged with his eyes.
Tully watched Troy for a moment and shifted in his chair. Troy edged forward, hoping his wounded leg would not buckle when he leapt. The guard sprang from the desk, lunging toward them with his bayonet.
"Nein," he shouted, deftly sidestepping to the door and banging on it with the butt of his rifle.
Troy slid back in his chair and Tully relaxed.
The guard stepped to one side as the door was kicked back. Two guards with machine pistols at their hips came into the room, glowering first at Troy and Tully and then at the guard. Dietrich ran down the hall. When he stepped into the room, Troy hunched his shoulders and lifted his hands.
"Your gorillas are edgy," he said. "We haven't moved from our chairs or said a word."
Dietrich spun to the guard with the bayoneted rifle and ordered him out. Turning to Troy and Tully, he said, "You made some move that aroused his suspicions. Without Colonel Wilson, I do not think a guard within the room is necessary."
He smiled bleakly and the door banged closed.
"Good try," Tully muttered.
"Not good enough," Troy growled. "Now we've blown our only chance."
"It wasn't a chance," Tully said. "It looks as if the place is crawling with guards."
"I wonder whether they've started to tear out Wilson's fingernails yet," Troy said dejectedly.
As if in answer, the door flew open and Wilson stumbled into the room. Troy and Tully sprang to their feet and ru
shed to him but he waved them aside.
"There's been no rough stuff," he said, squaring his shoulders and brushing back his close-cropped hair with the palm of his hand. "Not so far. Just intensive questioning and I don't know the answers." He smiled humorlessly. "You're next, Troy. What they seem most interested in at the moment is how I escaped. I told them I flew through the window."
The guard with the bayoneted rifle stepped into the room with Wilson and Tully as Troy walked out. Troy heard the door close behind him as he walked toward Dietrich's office at the front of the hall with a machine pistol bearing guard at his back. Half a dozen guards were now stationed in the hall and he heard the movements of others from the first floor. The Jerries had clamped down the lid, and Troy admitted with a wry smile that it looked as if the prisoners were secured.
Dietrich was seated behind a long table with Lieutenant Kummel at his side. A guard with a Schmeisser machine pistol was stationed inside the door. Dietrich waved amiably at Troy and motioned him to a chair in front of the table.
"The chief of my security does not agree," he said as Troy hitched the chair an inch closer and reached for a cigarette from the Camel package lying in front of Kummel. Dietrich nodded and flicked a box of matches toward Troy. "But I am inclined to treat prisoners of your stature with the respect I hold for them." Dietrich leaned forward and rested his chin in his palm. "Now, Sergeant Troy, you may save a life without endangering your own security by giving me a straight answer to this question. How was Colonel Wilson removed from the locked room?"
Troy considered a moment, "If you've got your guard in the frying pan for this," he said slowly, "Let him out. We came down from the roof on a rope. The shutters were barred from the outside and Tully just slipped out the bar. Wilson climbed the rope and that was that."
"Very ingenious," Dietrich said with a chill smile. "How did you get to the roof in the first place?"
"The rope," Troy said. "We came over the back wall into the garden and then up to the roof."
"I am going to miss the Rat Patrol," Dietrich said. "I hope your successors prove to be as interesting adversaries."
"Don't write us off yet," Troy said and dragged on his cigarette.
"I shall redouble the guards," Dietrich said and permitted himself a small smile. "How many others of you are there?"
"It was just Tully and me," Troy said. "We figured the two was enough. If we couldn't pull it off, another dozen wouldn't help."
"I am inclined to believe you," Dietrich said, "except for one thing. An officer and an enlisted man who was on patrol last night have disappeared. How do you explain that?"
"I don't," Troy said calmly. He nodded at Kummel.
"Tully and I know nothing about it. We were here in the village, as your officer will tell you. Maybe the Arabs?" Kummel slapped the table with the palm of his hand. "Lies, Hans," he exploded. "If you will permit me to question these men in my own way, I shall soon enough get at the truth."
"I think not, for the present, Wilhelm," Dietrich said easily. "I shall treat these men with the respect I would expect if I were in their hands."
"Bah!" Kummel shouted. "You entertain outmoded ideas of chivalry."
"And you, my good Kummel," Dietrich said coolly, "underestimate the resources of our enemy." He smiled thinly at Troy. "You expect your friends will make an effort to rescue you, of course."
"I don't know anyone stupid enough to try," Troy said and curled his lip.
"Nonetheless, we shall be waiting for them," Dietrich said with a smile. "This other man of yours?"
"Private Pettigrew," Troy answered promptly.
"Yes, another of the Rat Patrol," Dietrich said. "I do not suppose he would have anything of interest to say to us. But I am curious. What was he about to do with that wicked blade of his when we uncovered the hiding place?"
"Cut your throat, of course," Troy said and his eyes gleamed.
"Yes, of course," Dietrich said and laughed. "Well, the war must go on and I have battle plans to make. I shall have another session with your Colonel Wilson before I send the three of you away. Meanwhile I am going to transfer you to a compound within our camp area where you will have cots and a latrine. Also you will be in the open, within view and somewhat easier to guard."
"I could use some rest," Troy said and yawned.
The compound, an enclosure fenced with barbed wire to a height of ten feet, was beyond the tents on the north side of the entrance to the village. A piece of canvas had been stretched as an awning above three folding cots. The enclosure had a single narrow entrance at which two guards were stationed. Four other guards with machine pistols patrolled the perimeter. Patrols were returning from Sidi Abd and the German camp was resuming a normal appearance. Men in fatigue uniforms were clambering over the tanks and Panzerwagons, performing routine maintenance and inspection duties.
Troy studied the tightly wired cage dug in the sands of the desert and flopped on a cot. Their chances for escape had been improved one hundred per cent by the transfer from the headquarters to the compound. He grinned at Tully who was sitting thoughtfully on the edge of his cot, rolling a matchstick from one side of his mouth to the other.
"Hit the sack," Troy told him. "They'll have searchlights on us all night and you may find it hard to sleep with the lights in your eyes."
Tully leaned back on his cot.
"I expect you're right, Sarge," he said. "I was just wondering what our next move would be."
"Out of here, Tully," Troy said.
From his cot, Wilson spoke glumly. "Out of here to Bizerta, or worse."
"Nuts," Tully said and turned his back to the colonel.
It was growing dark when Troy awakened. He had slept through the heat of the gray day and his khakis were damp with his perspiration. Wilson was sitting on the edge of his cot smoking a cigarette and Tully was standing at the opening in the wire, gesturing to one of the guards. Troy swung his legs to the ground.
"What do you want, a pass to town tonight?" he called to Tully.
"Water," Tully croaked. "My throat is fried."
"Wasser," Wilson said absently.
"Wasser, wasser," Tully told the guard, gesturing to his mouth.
The guard turned and called to his companion who walked slowly toward the tents. Tully came under the canvas and sat on the cot with Troy.
"Something's up," Tully said. "They been giving them tanks and halftracks a real going over. They started at the wall and worked halfway down the line today."
"A new offensive," Troy muttered.
"That means they'll move us out of here tomorrow," Wilson spoke up. He looked from Troy to Tully and back again at Troy. His forehead was furrowed and his eyes looked strained in the cloud shrouded half light of late afternoon. "They won't chance leaving us with a handful of guards if they're mounting a new offensive. We have to break out of here tonight. Not only to sound warning of the new offensive. We won't have another chance to escape."
"You're right," Troy said. As he spoke, the sound of a generator throbbed in the heavy air and four searchlights poured bright white light into the barbed wire area. Troy squinted and looked off to the side of the searchlight beyond the compound entrance. "If we could get at the generator and put the lights out of business, we might have a chance. We could handle the two guards at the entrance."
"We can't get at the generator, Sarge," Tully said, "but there is one good thing about them lights."
"Name it," Troy said gloomily.
"Moffitt and Hitch still are out there," Tully said, chewing his matchstick. "We can't get at the generator but them lights pinpoint us and maybe Moffitt and Hitch can get to the machine."
"It's a chance," Wilson said hopefully. "We must be ready for them when they come."
"How else you going to be ready except just sit and wait?" Troy asked disgustedly.
"Snap out of it, Troy," Wilson said sharply. "It would be normal for us to take some exercise. We'll start now; off and on get up and take a stroll aro
und the fence. As it gets later we'll all manage to be walking about. It will divert the guards' attention from whatever Moffitt and Hitch may do."
"It's not a bad idea, Wilson," Troy said, a little grudgingly. "In fact it's a damned good idea for me. My game leg is stiffening."
He stood and hobbled painfully from his cot to the entrance and back.
"I'd better keep moving from now on or you'll have to leave me behind," he said and grinned at Tully.
The second guard returned to the entrance with a bucket of water and a tin cup as Troy started back. The painful stiffness was easing but when Troy saw the guard, he made his limp pronounced. When he took the bucket and cup from the guard, he set them on the ground, pulled up his pant leg and pointed to the bloodstained bandage. Then he called Tully over to get the water.
"Let them think they've got an invalid," he muttered when he dragged himself back to the cots. "They won't watch me as closely as you two."
"How bad is it?" Wilson asked.
"I could run a footrace if it got me out of here," Troy said grimly.
A guard brought supper, beans and chunks of bread on tin plates and they ate with spoons in the glare of the lights. When they had washed it down with water, the guard picked up the plates and spoons, leaving them only the bucket of water and single cup. Wilson walked around the inside of the fence half a dozen times smoking a cigarette. When he returned to the cot, Tully and Troy made the rounds in opposite directions. Troy limped and moved slowly.
The night air was cold and the feeling of dampness persisted. Outside the barbed wire, Troy could occasionally hear the guards moving or talking although he could not see them. The searchlights were blinding and the prison compound a brilliant island in the inky desert.
The hours of the night crept by. Troy heard the soldiers leaving their tents and going into town for their beer, and later the sound of them returning. The noises quieted both within the wall and from the tent area. Except for the occasional murmur of a voice as one guard passed another, the desert slept. If Moffitt and Hitch were coming, it was time, Troy thought uneasily as he pulled his wounded leg through the sand.