The Rat Patrol 4 - Two-Faced Enemy (20 page)

"We'll never make it around the wreck, the way things are," he told Moffitt and Hitch. "Give me a hand with the camouflage nets. We'll spread them in a path over the sand. Maybe they'll give us a firm enough surface."

They dragged the first net out to the end of the wing and spread the second back on the other side to the road. By the time the nets were laid, they'd been away from the CP for fifteen minutes. That was time enough for Dietrich to be discovered or the driver of the colonel's car to recover consciousness. Troy kept looking up the road, expecting every minute to see an armored car.

"All right, Tully," he shouted as he raced back to the ieep. "Get going. We'll both push you."

Tully drove onto the net in low gear and with the two Jeeps pushing in tandem moved slowly to the end of the wing. Something went wrong at the turn and the wheels of the sedan spun off the net. Tully took the car out of gear at once.

"Can you back away?" Tully called with his head out the window.

Troy turned to see Hitch moving slowly back in reverse and glimpsed an armored car coming down the road from the drums. He snatched a coil of rope from the back of the jeep.

"I'll try to get in front and pull," he shouted to Hitch. "Push when I start. Company's coming."

Troy reversed, slammed ahead on the net around the sedan, braked and hopped out fastening a double line in a short tow rope from the back of the jeep to the bumper of the Mercedes. The armored car had covered half of the distance from the drums to the plane when Troy put the jeep in gear. The line tightened, the sedan lurched ahead so abruptly it banged the back of the jeep and Troy wondered what explosives he still carried that the rain hadn't ruined. With the second jeep pushing, the sedan moved back onto the road. Troy jumped out, slashed the rope free. The armored car was no more than a hundred yards away, hesitating on the other side of the plane. No shots had been fired and Troy did not think the Jerries in the car would risk firing with the colonel in the middle car.

Now in the lead, Troy moved cautiously on. Once he glanced back and saw the armored car moving around the wing on the nets. He stepped up the speed as much as he dared, drove by the wreck of the Volkswagen still at the side of the road and half a mile farther, moved over to the crown of the road, shifted into conventional gear and stepped the speed up to thirty-five miles an hour. Another half mile and he pulled to the side to let Tully pass him.

They were clear of the charges. The armored car was around the plane and still tagging after them.

Although wet and slippery in places, the road seemed to have withstood the torrential rain. Tully drove at fifty miles an hour and the jeeps hung onto his tail. They were rapidly pulling away from the armored car. Troy began charting the route they'd take to Bir-el-Alam. The route they were on ran southeast for thirty-seven miles before connecting with an east-west trace that ran through the desert some miles north of El Alghur. To the east were strong Allied positions in Egypt, to the west the Allied base at Bir-el-Alam that boasted a new airfield. Troy normally preferred to operate over the most direct route through the desert, but he was uncertain whether the Mercedes could get through the wet sand. He decided they would continue on the route and then take the trace.

It would be at least another day, he believed, before Dietrich could resume any kind of operations on the plateau. He wondered how far the armored car would follow and glanced up at the sky. It still was overcast and threatening. The storm had been a real soaker and might not yet be over. It had been a calamity for Dietrich and probably had hampered Wilson at Sidi Beda although there at least the military avenue was surfaced. It must have been disagreeable in the Sherman tanks, but they didn't have to worry about moving. That was Dietrich's headache. With Dietrich's rocket launchers and rockets destroyed, Troy did not think a shot would be fired for at least twenty-four hours.

The Rat Patrol had taken the divisional commander prisoner and should be back on the battlefield before evening unless another rainstorm swamped them. Wilson should be pleased with the results the Rat Patrol had achieved on this mission, Troy thought and a smile flashed across his face. Wilson never admitted he was pleased and right now he probably wasn't even aware that all of the fuel dumps had been blown. He certainly didn't know about the rockets. Troy believed Wilson thought the Rat Patrol had a picnic every time they went out on a caper, and in a way, Wilson was right.

Troy shot a glance over his shoulder. Hitch waved lazily and Troy saw Moffitt was riding in front with him. Troy turned once more and discovered the armored car was no longer behind them. Ahead, Tully was driving easily down the middle of the road and the colonel seemed to be behaving himself. Two hours at the most, Troy thought, and they'd be at Bir-el-Alam. Maybe they could even grab a beer and a sandwich on the run.

Despite his clammily clinging clothes, Troy himself relaxed and he smiled. Suddenly Tully slammed on his brakes, skidding the sedan, and Troy jerked over beside him before he stopped. He searched the road ahead before he looked at Tully. Two halftracks were rolling down a hill toward them and although still more than a half mile away, one of the seventy-fives reached out for the jeeps and staff car with three rapidly fired shells.

Wilson picked himself from the paved floor of the warehouse and looked around for his men. Two of them were getting groggily to their feet while the other two still sprawled, stunned. He had smashed the radio when the force of the explosion had blown him into it and his hip was sore.

"The Rat Patrol came back and tried to get us with a grenade," Wilson said sharply. He looked around the warehouse. The floor had a hole in it near the doors which were hanging crookedly and a section of the front wall had been gouged. "You two," he said to the MPs who were on their feet. "Guard the doors from outside. I'll see how badly these men are injured."

They were coming slowly to their senses. They'd only been stunned by the concussion, Wilson thought as he walked first one, then the other, out of the warehouse into the air. The rain had stopped and the water was gushing through the alley. The air in the quarter was muggy and carried a swamp odor stench.

"Bring the car around on the avenue," he told one of the MPs at the door. "We'll help these two men down and meet you. It's no use bothering with the transmitter. I crashed into it. I don't expect the Rat Patrol will return to this place, but check it out regularly. At least there will be no more transmissions to Dietrich from them."

Wilson's hatred for the Rat Patrol had become a steady, constant hot flame that was so unremitting he feared he was neglecting his defenses. Although, he told himself, running down the treacherous defectors was a very important part of his defense. Visibility still was too restricted to call in the planes, he decided, scanning the sky. He half supported one of the men who'd been stunned as they splashed toward the avenue. Wilson wondered whether the water had damaged the road at the bottom of the pass. He'd have to return and check with Drake. It might take some doing to shore up the defenses in the mud.

The MP straightened and walked unaided and the other two MPs were walking apart. When the armored car halted at the end of the alley, Wilson got in with the driver and insisted that the men who'd been injured be taken to the aid station for examinations. Then he set out with the driver and the other two MPs for the pass. The barren ground beyond the edge of town was under several inches of water and in spots the road still was covered. The five remaining backup halftracks were parked in a line on the side of the road and appeared to be operational. Halfway to the pass, he encountered another five halftracks from Drake's command.

"Strange happenings," Drake reported, coming to the side of Wilson's car. "When the water poured down the road out of the pass, it washed several bodies to the bottom. Seven of them. All Jerries. All of them were pretty battered and bruised. Two had drowned but the other five had been shot."

"They must have been on foot in the pass," Wilson said, puzzled, "or were they trapped in vehicles?"

"What gets me is how were those five shot and who shot them," Drake said.

"It's possible some of the men we had at those machine gun positions managed to escape when the emplacements were taken," Wilson said.

"That isn't all," Drake said. "The halftrack we moved up to replace the one the Rat Patrol hit discovered several enemy mortars that had either been washed or thrown from the top."

"Well, this is the first piece of good news I've had for quite a spell," Wilson said, smiling. "That makes it certain some of our men got away. We can use a few friends behind the enemy lines. They must have used the rain to cover their movements." Wilson glanced at the halftracks. "Can you move off the road at all?"

"Haven't tried it and I don't want to," Drake said with a grimace. "I've walked through the muck. It's impossible stuff."

"Right," Wilson said. "Today the war is called because of rain."

"The Rat Patrol show itself again?" Drake asked.

"We found their hiding place in a warehouse," Wilson said. "They tried to hit us as we searched. Fortunately this time no one was seriously injured."

"I hope you find them before tonight," Drake said. "I don't like the idea of those lunatics running around loose after dark."

When Wilson had returned to HQ, Peilowski reported Arab mobs had driven all of the MP patrols out of the native quarter.

"There wasn't a thing the MPs could do short of shooting them down and that'd of only made things worse," Peilowski declared.

"Troy is back of this, Troy and Moffitt," Wilson bellowed and his face grew livid. "And those two privates, Pettigrew and Hitchcock."

Christianson stumbled through the doorway, face bruised and bleeding and robe shredded almost from his back.

"The Arabs are going to riot," he said thickly through lips that were puffed.

"What happened to you?" Wilson asked in quick concern. "Where are they rioting? Is the Rat Patrol with them?"

"No, sir," Christianson said. "At least, I didn't see the Rat Patrol. It was those same dozen Arabs in the white robes. They seemed to be the leaders. They picked me out of the mob in the bazaar and started after me. I ran but they hit me with stones and knocked me down. There's a bunch of them gathered now in the bazaar. They're going to come down the avenue and storm HQ. Some of them are armed with Mausers and pistols. Others have knives."

"Troy must have pointed you out," Wilson said. "Your disguise was perfect. It fooled me completely." He turned to Peilowski. "Call in every available armored car and the five halftracks from the edge of the town. Issue tommy-guns to every man in uniform, including yourself. I've tried to avoid bloodshed, but this time if we're fired on, we'll shoot back."

12

Dietrich had rolled over into the gooey muck outside his tent. He half propped himself by twisting his arms to the side. His stockings and undershorts were soaked with mud. The gag was choking him and his face was contorted with rage. The first man who saw him was the sergeant from the officers' mess who had resented preparing coffee and food for the men in the field. The sergeant came out of the mess tent with a cup of coffee to look at the sky. When the man saw Dietrich, he stared for a moment and then his face reddened as he struggled with himself. Coffee sprayed from his mouth and he turned around quickly, but his shoulders were shaking. It was several seconds before he dropped his cup and ran to Dietrich.

Without saying a word, the sergeant plucked at the knots in the handkerchief that bound Dietrich's gag. Dietrich spit the wad from his mouth and the sergeant pulled a clasp knife from the pocket of his white jacket and sawed at the strands that bound the Herr Hauptmann's hands and his feet. He helped Dietrich stand. Dietrich glared at him and the sergeant turned his head.

"Get me Gleicher at once," Dietrich growled, mouth still feeling as if it were crammed with wadding. He went back into the tent to wipe the mud from his body and once more get into dry clothes.

It was that bungler Funke who was responsible for this new outrage, Dietrich fumed to himself. The old fool had permitted the Rat Patrol to surprise him in his own headquarters, and now the Rat Patrol held the divisional commander prisoner. Dietrich was tempted to make no effort to aid Herr Oberst Matthe Funke.

"What is it?" Gleicher panted as he burst into the tent.

"The Rat Patrol again," Dietrich said, suddenly weary. "They've captured Colonel Funke and driven off with him in his staff car. Take an armored car and follow them until you can tell where they're headed. Be careful of the road where the plane crashed. They mined it. You won't be able to catch them and you won't be able to fire even if you do get within range because of the colonel. I just want to know the direction they take."

"The staff car drove to the south," Gleicher said, "but only the colonel and the driver were in it. It was his driver, in uniform."

"Are you contradicting me?" Dietrich exploded, blood rushing to his face. "There is the colonel's driver." He pointed to the unconscious man on the cot. "It was Pettigrew of the Rat Patrol driving the car. He was wearing the uniform of this man. The others were on the floor of the back seat. Do you comprehend now?"

"Ja, Herr Hauptmann," Gleicher said, spinning about and running from the tent.

"Willi, Willi Wunder," Dietrich stood in the entrance of the tent and shouted at the top of his voice.

Immediately, before Dietrich could turn, the corporal shot around the comer of the officers' mess tent at a dead run splattering mud in every direction. Dietrich backed into the tent. Willi skidded through the entrance and saluted. His eyes were round and frightened again.

"Take the car and drive to the communications van," Dietrich commanded, getting into a clean shirt and pulling on his breeches. "Have the driver bring it right here, to the command post, where it was before, immediately."

Willi turned and dashed from the tent without uttering a word. Dietrich walked to the cot where Funke's driver had began to moan. He felt the back of the man's head and neck gently. The driver had a swelling near the base of his head. Dietrich poured a cup full of water and emptied it on the man's neck. He sat up shaking his head, recognized Dietrich and staggered to his feet.