The Rat Patrol 2: Desert Danger (19 page)

12

Hitch's jeep had flown through the night borne on twin beams of light, soaring over the dunes and skimming the wadis but occasionally coming down to earth to bounce like a rubber ball. Dietrich sat beside this crazy American in steel-rimmed glasses who thought he was a pilot, jouncing, stiff and cramped in his fetters, and worried. When he had heard Sergeant Troy arrange the rendezvous at Faisan, Dietrich's heart had leaped and his pulse had quickened. They did not know, he had gloated. This omniscient Rat Patrol did not realize that the Faisan oasis was where the Afrika Korps patrols to the north and west often bivouacked. His first thought had been that the jeep bearing him would come racing in to Faisan unsuspecting. The Afrika Korps patrols would seize it. He would be freed and return to Sidi Abd with Colonel Wilson once more his captive.

Now he was not so certain. When this roaring machine sprang at his sentries out of nowhere, they would fire first and challenge later. Dietrich's face tingled with the gritty sting of the wind as the night fled by. There was no protection in these vehicles, not even from the breeze, and certainly no armored place where he could hide before the firing started.

It was a dilemma of the first order. He was not certain where his duty lay to the Fatherland. If he allowed the Americans to burst into Faisan and certain death, would Wilson's end offset the loss of Hauptmann Hans Dietrich? He did not think so. He owed it to the Fatherland to remain alive and fight again another day. It was not lack of courage; it was plain logic.

Ach, this Rat Patrol was a bother, a plague! In less than thirty-six hours' time, they had been responsible for the destruction of two Panzers and two Panzerwagons at Sidi Abd, had captured and escaped in a third, and four additional Panzerwagons had been destroyed in pursuit, plus the probability of two patrol cars. He could not count the casualties. His good friend, Wilhelm Kummel, and his aide, Lieutenant Bemdt, disappeared? That was unlikely. At least two dozen more. You would think he had been engaged with an armored battalion instead of a mere four enlisted men in jeeps.

Captain Dietrich squared his shoulders and set his jaw. His duty to the Fatherland was clear. He must rid North Africa of the Rat Patrol before they won the war single-handedly. He must allow Wilson, with this maniac who drove this bug of a motor vehicle, to enter Faisan and be shot without warning. That was of the first order. Then he must save his own skin if he could, so the trap could be set for the second jeep.

The decision ennobled Hauptmann Hans Dietrich and he strained his eyes into the nighttime of life that went streaming by, squinting against the wind, searching for the oasis. Suddenly the jeep stopped. This driver, this "Hitch," reached under his seat.

"Watch him, Colonel," he said and turned off the lights.

He threw a small penlight on a compass and consulted a chart. "I'm going to drive blind by compass," he said, "and come up around the other side of the waterhole. It should be down there a few miles."

"Right," the colonel said and Dietrich felt cold steel against his neck.

Dietrich was enraged. What kind of an army did the Americans throw together where an enlisted man could say what to do and an officer agree? It was unthinkable.

Hitch started again, turning to the south, slowing every few minutes to flick the penlight on the compass, the speedometer, his watch and the chart. Gradually he turned, deviating from his straight course in a wide circle. They rode in almost complete silence with the jeep motor whispering at low speeds. After half an hour Hitch stopped again.

"I'm going to crawl ahead and reconnoiter," he whispered. "This bird won't get away but if he opens his yap, let him have it and take off by yourself for Bir-el-Alam."

"Good luck," the colonel said quietly and Hitch moved off into the dark as silent as a shadow.

Dietrich's heart dropped into his boots. He had been certain the Americans would rush thoughtlessly into Faisan as they did into everything. It was their national custom. Now the trap was blown. Hitch would discover the patrol or patrols and they would race off in the jeep to warn the others. He sat grim and sick at heart, scarcely aware of the pistol that touched his skin.

Five minutes, ten, perhaps fifteen minutes passed. What was time anymore? Then Hitch was standing beside the jeep whispering to the colonel.

"It's okay," he said, "deserted."

"Good," Wilson said. "Fill the radiator and water cans."

Still without lights, Hitch drove the jeep over a dune and down into a hollow. Even when they were parked among the few tall palm trees at the edge of the waterhole, it was almost impossible to see their outline against the blue-blackness of the sky.

I wonder, Dietrich thought unhappily, if the reason neither of my patrols is here is that they fear the things that move in the dark of a night like this.

"I'll tie him to a tree," Hitch said, pushing Dietrich firmly against the rough trunk of a palm, winding a line in and about the ankles of his already bound legs, around the tree, about his waist and the tree again and then up through his hands. "That ought to hold you," he told Dietrich and patted his cheek.

Dietrich was infuriated. He chafed at his bonds but that only made the ropes seem tighter. He relaxed and listened to the sounds the Americans made, filling their containers, pouring water into the radiator, refilling the containers.

"Here." The voice startled Dietrich. It was Hitch. He held a bottle to Dietrich's mouth and Dietrich swallowed thirstily. "I'll unloosen the ropes so you can sit. They'll pull tight if you try to get away and I won't unloosen them again," Hitch said, slipping a knot here and a loop there. Dietrich slid down with his back against the tree. Hitch retied the line.

"You are very kind, may I offer you a cigarette?" Dietrich said craftily.

"Why sure," Hitch said. "Which pocket are they in?" 

"The right pocket of my tunic," Dietrich said, smiling in the dark. "Please take one for the colonel also." 

"Thanks," Hitch said. "We'll enjoy these tomorrow." 

Dietrich shrugged. The Americans could not go on being lucky. When one or the other or both patrols came in, they would surely scout the place first. And, he thought, heartening, they would find him bound to the tree and he would live to fight another time.

Hitch returned to the jeep and he and the colonel loaded the cans in it. They busied themselves about the back end for a few moments and then Hitch was back. He untied the line around the tree.

"Okay," he said. "Back into the vehicle, Buster."

Dietrich pushed himself upright against the trunk, and with some slight assistance from Hitch, hopped to the jeep. The colonel climbed in the back and when Dietrich was in the seat, he felt the pistol at his neck again.

With only the penlight, compass and chart, Hitch ran another blind course, a great circle this time, it seemed to Dietrich, finally stopping between two dunes that should be somewhere near but above the oasis.

"Out," Hitch told Dietrich, and when he was on the ground, Hitch pushed him back against the jeep and bound him to the frame.

The colonel and Hitch dragged a net from the back of the machine and draped it over the jeep and him. Someone crawled under the net and into the back of the vehicle.

"Hitch is above, watching the waterhole, Captain," Wilson said. "I'm here with my pistol. If you make an outcry or even speak a word, I'll shoot you and we'll be away from here before they have their wits about them."

Dietrich could have sobbed. In the distance he heard the clattering motors of his rugged scout cars that had armored sides and even windshields.

Tully was protesting. He was wearing his helmet again and now he shoved it back from his forehead with the heel of his hand and chomped on the matchstick he had been rolling in his mouth. Troy, back in the bush hat he had dug out of the jeep, was beside him and Moffitt was asleep in the back on the camouflage net.

"I don't like it, Sarge," Tully said loudly. "It just don't make sense to go barreling into a waterhole in enemy territory in broad daylight."

Troy looked ahead and to the sides at the desert that was slipping grayly by in the somber day. There was nothing in it.

"You can see a hundred miles in every direction," he said patiently.

"You can't see into them wadis no better'n you can into a bear hole," Tully said irritably. "You ought to know. We hid in wadis times enough."

"Okay, Tully, you're right," Troy snapped. "It make you feel better to have me admit it?"

"Then what we got to do it for? Why can't we go sneaky-like around?"

"Because there isn't time. We said we'd rendezvous at 1000 hours. The only way we'll make it is to go straight in."

"And you think we're going to make it if we get shot up along the way?"

"Knock it off," Troy growled.

"Okay, Sarge," Tully said, slipping his left hand into the pocket of his khakis. He brought out a fresh matchstick and rested his hand, clenched on his thigh.

Troy looked across the monotonous sands. Damn it, he knew Tully was right but they had to chance it. When he glanced back, Tully was returning his still clenched hand to his thigh. He had the new matchstick in his mouth. The oasis should be due west from their position now, Troy thought, no more than half an hour, and that would be on the button, as far as their last minute for rendezvous was concerned. He considered the desert, the unchanging sameness of it. On a day like this, with no sun for a guide, it would be impossible to tell one direction from another without a compass. Tully was stepping up the speed, he noticed. Might be dangerous, the way the engine overheated and them with scarcely enough water to rinse out their mouths. He started to say something but decided against it. Tully already was sulking.

Troy glanced at Tully. He had been looking down at his left hand but he brought his eyes back up to the desert. The hand still was clenched. He's probably thinking how he would like to slug me in the jaw, Troy thought and a smile flashed across his face. He tiredly blew out his breath. If they ever got back to Bir-el-Alam from this caper, he wondered if the Old Man would pop for passes, a week for all of them in Algiers. Booze and babes, Troy thought happily.

He looked again at Tully and started to say something about the passes. Tully was studying his fist. Nuts, Troy thought, he's been here on the desert so long everything but the orneriness has dried out of him. The wind whistled and Moffitt snored and Tully sulked. It was a great day to be alive. Troy glanced at his watch. It was 0947 hours. Half standing, he studied the rolling dunes of the desert ahead. They should be within sight of the waterhole. The minutes passed and nothing showed, no tracks, no sign of vegetation. At 1007 he sat and jerked angrily to Tully.

"What's that in your fist?" he demanded.

Tully opened his hand and smiled sheepishly. A compass lay in his palm.

"You crossed me up," Troy shouted, grabbing Tully's shirt in his fist.

A rattle of firing crackled in the distance.

"Yeah, I guess I did, Sarge," Tully said, pushing his shirt down.

"Where are we?" Troy asked quickly, turning to shake Moffitt. "Come on, Doc, looks like we got to get Wilson out of trouble again."

"We're coming in from the northwest instead of southeast," Tully said. "I figured that ought to confuse them somewhat if they'd radioed anything from Sidi Abd."

"All right, don't rub it in," Troy snarled. "If they've got trouble, we've no time to reconnoiter. Get us in there fast where we're not expected and we'll make a run, in and out. Doc, give them hell with the fifty caliber. I'll heave grenades. And Tully, you just drive straight on through."

"Yes, sir, that's what the boss said," Tully said and laughed.

The jeep bounded up over the dune overlooking the waterhole and leaped through the air onto the slope. Moffitt swung the machine gun almost next to Troy's ear and began to smash burst after burst into three patrol cars, then pivoted to rake the soldiers lying beyond the palms on the eastern uphill slope. The Jerries were caught in the crossfire of the fifty caliber machine gun and the thirty caliber gun from Hitch's jeep above. Troy pitched the grenades as fast as he could bite the pins and an ear-splitting series of blasts followed them. The jeep burst out of the oasis and rushed up the southern hill. Troy swung about to look. Hitch was plunging down toward a pocket where a seven-point-ninety-two millimeter MG42, fired like a rifle with its barrel braced on a simple bipod mount, was pouring out its rounds. Wilson was firing the thirty caliber machine gun over Dietrich's head. Dietrich was like a wooden statue.

"They got one of them new contraptions down there," Tully yelled. "Let's give Hitch a hand."

Suddenly as Hitch's jeep shot down the hill, the firing from the MG42 ceased and a Jerry stood back away from it.

Hitch raced through the oasis and up a dune.

"He must have seen Dietrich," Troy shouted. "Stop and keep me covered. I want that weapon."

Tully slewed into a stop and Troy leaped from the jeep. Moffitt swung the machine gun on the Jerry who stood with his hands behind his head. Troy snatched the pistol-grip, rifle stock weapon from its mount and tossed it in the jeep. He leaped in the back with Moffitt and swung the MG42 from a sitting position.

"Take it easy, Sam," Moffitt said and laughed. "The only ones left to shoot have their hands behind their heads."

Troy looked around, surprised, and grinned. It was true. Resistance had ceased. The dead and wounded were sprawled helter-skelter through the oasis. Several—perhaps half a dozen—Jerries had dropped their weapons and were standing in the position of surrender. Two of the patrol cars were masses of flaming junk.

Hitch reappeared in a flying leap from the western dime and came in for a landing next to Tully. Dietrich sat immobile while Hitch and Wilson jumped from the jeep.

"An impressive victory." Wilson gloated.

"Glad you was here, Sarge," Hitch said and popped a bubble.

"Well, well," Wilson said, looking about. "We'll just load these prisoners in the undamaged patrol car and take them in with Dietrich."