by David King
Troy stood looking at the flaming wreck a moment. The car was demolished and there were no survivors.
"No need to hang around," he said, looking at the menacing sky. "In fact, I think we'd better move."
He trotted along the tread trail.
"We pulling out?" Tully asked, jogging at his side.
"Fast," Troy said. "You know what happened to Sadie Thompson when the rains came?"
"What?" Tully panted.
"She got wet," Troy said, grinning.
"The way I heard it, that ain't all she got, Sarge," Tully said, starting to smile.
"What else she got we don't want," Troy laughed. "Do we, Tully?"
"We sure don't, Sarge."
"Then we're getting out while we can."
Troy could see the pillar of smoke from the first car before he heard the throaty voice of the flames. The air was heavy with the odors of burning rubber, gasoline and oil, seared flesh. Every now and then an exploding shell would snap. He and Tully ran around to the back of the wadi. Moffitt and Hitch were just sliding down from the front when they pitched under the netting.
"Is there something going on that I should know about?" Wilson asked mildly. "Or is this a private war out here?"
"Just keeping in practice," Troy said, grappling with one of the camouflage nets. "We're getting out of here. Tully, give me a hand."
"But the Stukas and the patrols," Wilson protested quietly, but he was already climbing into the other machine.
"Moffitt will explain on the way," Troy said, working now at Dietrich's bonds. To Dietrich, he said, "Sorry I can't give you your boots. We may be too busy to watch you and they're too easy to slip out of."
Dietrich stood, rigid and silent, as Troy rebound his feet and ankles. When the Jerry was seated in the car, Troy tied a line from his wrists to the rope around his ankles.
"You'll be comfortable as long as you're sitting," Troy said. "You'll fall flat on your face if you try to go anywhere fast."
"Barbarians," Dietrich hissed.
"Not entirely," Troy said and smiled. "I've left your hands in front of you. You can smoke if you like." He lighted a cigarette and placed it between Dietrich's lips, then lighted another for himself. "Tully, Hitch, we'll use the searchlights. There aren't going to be any planes in this. I don't think any more patrols are out this far. Hitch, stick close to Tully. Tully, stop the minute you don't see Hitch's light. Leave the tops up. It's going to be hell, driving with no glass to protect you when the rain starts, so let's make tracks."
They had almost reached the trace used by Dietrich's retreating column when the fat black clouds burst and the rain came, without wind but terrible in its pounding fury, slamming straight down with a crushing force that seemed to push the blind and crawling vehicles into the quick-born morass of sand and water.
"I don't know, Sarge," Tully yelled, shielding his goggles with one hand, then slipping them off, around his neck. The car was slogging in low gear and its canvas roof sagged low with a capacity burden of water. Water ran on the floor and even Troy, sitting in the middle of the back seat, was soaked to the skin. "I'm scared to go on. I can't see."
Troy turned around. The rain absorbed all the illumination but he still could see Hitch's light.
"Keep going," Troy said flatly. "You're giving Hitch something to follow."
"Now ain't that a crock," Tully shouted. "I may be going in circles for all I know."
"Hand back the compass and penlight," Troy said quietly. "I'll keep you headed west."
With the compass cupped in his palm, Troy huddled over it for protection and jabbed the light on it. What he saw startled him.
"North is almost behind us," he called. "Right, hard right."
Tully wrestled with the wheel. It was difficult to pull around, Troy knew. The water seemed to be deeper. This was no ordinary rain. There were not any raindrops, not even sheets of rain, but solid water running as from an opened giant tap. There is nothing like a desert downpour unless it's a monsoon. Tully finally got them headed west and Troy looked around. Hitch's light, just an opaque spot in the dark, was still there.
"Sarge," Tully pleaded. "There ain't no use. Just this minute I got out of some real deep stuff. I think now I'm running on a dune. Anyway, the water's not so deep. If I drive us off into a wadi like we was hiding in, we ain't just stuck. We're drowned."
"Dietrich," Troy said, leaning forward to the German officer. "You've been here a long time and through these rains before. If it isn't a military secret, how long do they last?"
"Sometimes an hour, sometimes a day, sometimes a week," Dietrich said and laughed shortly, "I am not being evasive, Sergeant. They are unpredictable. Dangerous and damaging."
"This may be foolish," Troy said, "but I'm going to ask you a straight question and I hope you will give me a straight answer. What would you do now?"
"I will give you a straight answer, Sergeant," Dietrich said with dignity. "You already have it. Pettigrew is right. It is folly to go on."
"All right. Thank you, Captain," Troy said wearily and leaned back against the cold, wet seat. "We'll stop, Tully. Signal Hitch."
Had Dietrich given him an honest answer, he wondered, or did the Jerry hope the delay would enable German patrols to overtake them? What would I have done under the same circumstances? he asked himself. Told the truth or answered to my personal advantage? He didn't know.
15
Like the desert rats they were, they huddled within their wet skins, crouching in their meager shelters, silent and waiting. There was no lessening in the intensity of the storm. It continued in its brutal impact until the clouds were empty. When it stopped, it was abrupt, as if the rainmaker suddenly had turned off the tap. Troy looked at his watch. It was 1907 hours.
"Turn on the searchlight," he told Tully, standing to heave against the canvas top that miraculously had not given way. A heavy plop of water dumped.
"Sarge," Tully wailed. "That came in my lap."
"Open the door and wring yourself out," Troy said and grinned.
The searchlight beamed straight ahead. Behind, Hitch's light came on, swept around them. They were sitting in the middle of a lake, as wide as the lights would reach. Nothing anywhere except black water.
"Thirsty?" Troy asked and stepped out. The water reached his knees. "See if the motor catches."
"We ain't going on in this," Tully said.
"I want to know if we can," Troy said, sliding his foot to the side.
The motor turned and spluttered. It sounded encouraging. Tully ground away again and the engine fired, coughed. Once more, Troy thought, and he was right. It caught, but died.
"The exhaust is under water," Tully said.
"Damn Jerries," Troy muttered. "Why'n't they use snorkles?"
"Do we, on the jeeps?" Tully demanded.
"Sure as hell, we're a-gonna, on our new issue," Troy said, taking another careful step.
"Hey, Sarge," Tully called.
"Yeah?" Troy answered, wading back toward the second car.
"Will they fix them like we want, the new jeeps?"
"That I reckon," Troy said, smiling. He had an idea Wilson would approve anything they requisitioned. "What you got in mind?"
"A heater," Tully said.
Troy stopped. "What's Washington going to say to that one? A heater in a desert jeep!"
"To keep my feet dry," Tully explained.
"You got yourself a heater, long and lanky," Troy called, laughing. He was almost back to the second car. "Hey, how's our prisoner doing?"
"Lighting a cigarette," Tully answered.
"Are you crazy? How'd he keep them dry?"
"I put his package inside my helmet, Sarge," Tully said. "With matches."
"Save one for me," Troy called and slipped around the hood of Hitch's car. The chill water did not seem so deep here. In fact it was receding quickly. The porous desert sand would hold a lot of moisture, he thought, but even after it drained, would they have traction?
By the time he reached Moffitt's side of the car, the water was sloshing only to his ankles. Hitch was probing with his searchlight. They still were sitting on a pond.
"Damn, it's Sam," Moffitt said and chuckled. "Fancy meeting up with you here."
In the reflected light from Hitch's spot, he could see Moffitt in his sodden beret, Hitch with his steel-rimmed glasses glinting, and Wilson sitting straight and proper in the back seat. The water was draining so rapidly, Troy could feel it going down about his feet.
"Have you been amusing yourself with the receptor?" he asked Moffitt.
"Knock it off, you bloke," Moffitt said and laughed. "You're ahead of me in your etymology. Fact is, yes. Nothing during the downpour but I just picked up a signal. The Jerries have a patrol in the vicinity."
"Douse the lights," Troy yelled. The spots went off immediately. He wondered whether Dietrich had anticipated the patrol.
"Shall I pinch the Jerry's butt?" Tully called.
"Only if you're feeling amorous," Troy called back. "Check his bonds and bring dry smokes back to us. Let's see what we can noodle up."
All right, so the situation was impossible. The muck was all about them and they could not use their lights. Jerry was somewhere in the neighborhood, but they were within thirty miles of home.
"Doctor," Troy said with a malicious smile that did not reveal itself in the dark, "We'll take the penlights and plumb on ahead."
"No objections, old boy," Moffitt said, "but shouldn't someone monitor the airwaves?"
"I'll work the point alone," Troy said.
"No," Wilson spoke up unexpectedly. He put his hand on the side of the car and splashed into the shallowing water beside Troy. "I'll prod along with you."
"What about Dietrich?" Troy asked.
"If the CO will let me have the Luger," Tully said, "I'll keep him covered like a shack with tarpaper."
The motors protested but they started. Troy slogged ahead with Wilson, penlights blinking intermittently in their fists. Troy's khakis clung clammily to his frame. He couldn't be wetter, he thought, and his foot skidded off into nothing. He floundered, threshed and flailed the water, finally got his toes into sand and scrambled toward Wilson's hand. He had not dropped his penlight.
"A wadi," Troy gasped. "Filled with water."
"You used your head, stopping the cars during the downpour," Wilson said. "We could have lost one in a ditch like that."
"I guess that's right," Troy agreed.
Troy on one side, Wilson on the other, neither seeing where they were going, guided only by an occasional glance at the compasses they both carried, they shoved on through the dank night. Except in valleys, they were out of water, but they sloshed in mire. The two cars would wait behind them, fifty feet or so, then they would rumble toward the two light dots in low gear, dragging slow but steady. An hour passed. They had crawled at least half a mile. Troy and Wilson scrambled up a long incline, stood apart with their penlights showing, and the big-lugged tires of the cars clutched at the porridge. The cars squirmed up and halted, hot and panting.
"This doesn't make sense," Troy told Wilson. "We've put some distance between us and the patrol we bushwhacked. We ought to be safe here until morning. I vote we call a halt."
"And I second your proposal," Wilson said. "We can cover as much distance in half an hour by daylight as we could this way in the next six hours."
Troy walked over to the second car and flashed his short beamed finger of light on Moffitt.
"We'll wait until daybreak," he said. "Anything more from Dietrich's friends?"
"Just the one message," Moffitt said. "A patrol reporting in. They said they were about twenty miles west of Faisan and mucked in."
"So we have neighbors," Troy said. "We'll post a guard and leave as soon as it's light. You take the first shift, I'll stand the dogwatch."
Embers of red streaked a charcoal sky. The sun burst over the horizon, sopping moisture from the slushy sands. Troy shivered and yawned, looked over his shoulder to check Dietrich, and tumbled to the ground. Below, about half a mile away on the floor of the desert, were two German patrol cars. No one moved about them and apparently no sentry had been posted.
Troy shook first Tully and then Hitch.
"Quick," he said, "get behind these dunes and move. Jerry's downstairs."
With Dietrich, Moffitt and Wilson still sleeping, the cars crept off the ridge, churning through the slurry. The slope was gradual but as they neared the valley, the grout turned soupy and the tires of Tully's car whirred and lost their grip. The sand squished and the car spun half about. Behind, Hitch could not brake, skidding into the side of Tully's car, ramming and toppling it. As the clumsy tub yawed, Tully gripped the steering wheel and clung to Dietrich with one arm. Troy was clambering over the side as it settled. The crash jarred Wilson and Moffitt to wakefulness and they scooted over, helping Tully yank Dietrich up and out. The fettered German officer fumed in silence as they carted him like a trussed sheep to the second car and heaved him in the back. Troy slipped through the ankle-deep sludge, retrieved his fifty caliber heavy machine gun, an MG42 light machine gun, one can of water and Dietrich's boots from the trunk. He climbed into the back of Hitch's car with Tully and Wilson. Under their legs on the floor, Dietrich looked at Troy with blazing eyes.
"You're a sad sack, Mac," Troy said and grinned. They were the first words that had been spoken since the smash.
Hitch shoved the car in second gear and they skidded through the greasy sand. The wheels lost their traction and spun, clutched at the firmer subsoil and the car lurched forward. Hitch half turned his head.
"Sarge," he said, "we better climb back on that ridge or we'll get stuck."
"Climb," Troy said and picked up one of the MG42s with a full drum of ammunition.
Hitch angled up gradually, sliding through the mire. The wheels whirled and the car swung crazily with its rear wagging. Halfway up, the tires found some purchase and the vehicle unexpectedly leaped forward, shooting to the crest and almost over. Hitch grappled with the wheel, spinning them about and finally bringing the car to a stop headed east. They were scarcely a hundred yards from where they had started. The sun was burning the soot from the sky and glaring on the windscreens of the German patrol cars. The soldiers had awakened and were slouched against the cars. As Troy focused his glasses on them, two of the Jerries spotted the car, turning to the others and gesturing. They scrambled in the cars. Troy watched the wheels go round and the cars inch forward in slow-motion. They barely seemed to move.
"Let's get the top down," he said casually. "In case they ever catch us."
With the canvas folded over the trunk, Hitch brought the car about and the tires bit into the sand along the ridge line. Although not as gooey as in the valley, the sand was slippery and Hitch kept the car in second gear and the speed down. Even so, they quickly outdistanced their pursuers, and watching them through the glasses, Troy saw the two patrol cars stop.
"Get on the radio, Doctor," he said to Moffitt. "I think they're going to call in aerial reinforcements."
"Any ideas, Sergeant," Wilson asked, shaking his head. "We're still a ways from home."
"Yes," Troy said with a slow smile. "We'll call Jerry HQ and ask them to relay a message to the British: 'Send down some Spitfires.' "
"Not a bad idea," Moffitt said, switching on the radio transmitter. "I can jam their transmission."
He picked up the mike, turned over to the radio, listened to a phrase that was unintelligible to Troy, and went back to the transmitter. "They're reporting their position," he said. "Let's see what they make of this." He spoke into the microphone. "Du bist wie eine Blume/ So holt, so schoen, so reine/ Ich schau dich an und Welmut/ Schleich mir im Hertz hinein."
"Wunderbar," Wilson exclaimed.
"What's he saying, Sarge?" Tully asked.
"I think it's a recipe for weinerschnitzel," Troy said.
"He's quoting Heine," Wilson said, laughing heartily and looking down at Dietr
ich. The German officer's lips had been pressed tight with anger but gradually a smile ragged them apart.
"I wonder," Dietrich said, "which of my officers is a flower."
"Well, fun's fun," Troy said, quickly serious. "Moffitt may delay them but sooner or later we're going to have the Stukas. We'd better look for cover."
"Not again," Tully wailed.
"We should be within twenty-five miles of Bir-el-Alam," Wilson said and frowned. "An hour's drive at the most. Couldn't we make a run for it?"
"We run for cover," Troy said firmly.
The sun was blazing on their backs and on the dune rim the sands were drying. Hitch moved into high gear and stepped the speed up to twenty miles an hour. Troy broke out rations, more corned beef and dry biscuits, and they shared Dietrich's cigarettes. The German officer was sitting now, leaning against the side of the car. He was in better spirits than he had been.
"I will make a wager with you," he said to Wilson with a sardonic smile. "You do not reach Bir-el-Alam with me.
"You know something we don't?" Troy asked quickly.
"How would you collect if you won?" Wilson asked, smiling.
"One hundred marks," Dietrich said. "You do not take me into Bir-el-Alam. You will send it to me care of HQ, Afrika Korps."
"It's a bet," Wilson said, laughing. "You've seen my men in operation. I should give you odds."
"Your men are superb, Colonel Wilson," Dietrich said, eyes flashing at Troy. "But I think they do not appreciate the thoroughness of the German preparations perhaps."
Damn the Jerry, Troy thought, leaning over the side of tie car and scanning the bright burning desert behind and the clearing sky above. The patrol cars had disappeared and there was no sign of planes. What was Dietrich up to now? Was there something to his boast or was he merely trying to throw them off base?
"I think we ought to change our course, Sarge," Hitch spoke up suddenly.
"Don't let this Jerry rattle you," Troy growled.
"Get your glasses and look ahead," Hitch said, pointing off to his right.
Troy focused on four moving dots in the northwest. They appeared to be patrol cars. Jerry patrols. Troy swore and glanced at Dietrich. The German officer was smiling.