The Rat Patrol 4 - Two-Faced Enemy (6 page)

"Let's take them before that truck gets away with its load," Troy whispered to Moffitt.

Moffitt nodded and Hitch and he darted off at an angle, bending low as they ran to intercept the halftrack on its next circuit. Troy and Tully plunged straight ahead about a hundred yards toward the stockpiled drums and the truck and dived into the sand to look and listen. Troy turned his head. At first he could see neither Moffitt nor Hitch, but as he watched, two shadowy forms lifted from the desert and sprinted ahead. Troy and Tully dug in their toes and ran another hundred yards. Off to Troy's right, Moffitt and Hitch were running again when Tully and he went to the sand once more. He could hear the sound of voices plainly now, the granting singsong of the Arabs and the guttural noises of the truck driver and the Jerry officer, neither of whom he could see. The sands ran with the churning sound of the halftrack treads and he could hear the heavy breathing of the truck motor.

"This is it," he whispered to Tully as he saw Moffitt and Flitch separating and running toward the halftrack.

A burst of machine gun fire rattled in the night as Tully and he dashed for the drums. Troy did not turn his head as the Arabs stood hesitantly, looking toward the sound of the firing. Another burst followed by a third and fourth rattled in quick succession. Jerry had spotted Moffitt or Hitch or both of them, Troy thought, loosening a grenade from his belt, pulling the pin and clamping the lever in his hand. Fifty yards from the piled drums, he stopped, threw his arm back and hurled the grenade. Tully's grenade landed as Troy fell to his face. There was a shattering blast and a mass of flame shot into the sky. Another explosion, billows of flame and smoke. The whole oasis was lighted as the truck and drums burned fiercely. A single shell from the seventy-five millimeter gun cracked over the roaring gas and oil and then there were two nearly simultaneous explosions. The halftrack was burning now, a separate fire at the edge of the oasis, Troy rolled to his feet and turned to see Tully starting toward him. Crouching, they zigzagged away from the fiery oasis. Now he looked and saw racing from the flaming halftrack two forms he knew were Moffitt and Hitch. All four of them ran without halting until they finally were beyond the range of light from the fires. When Troy stopped with Tully and turned to look, the bright flames from the gasoline were edged with black from the oil. It was an angry, churning, seething cauldron at the north edge of the oasis.

"We just blew our water supply," Troy told Tully and grinned.

"Guess we'll have to draw our water from Dietrich," Tully drawled as they started trotting back toward the pocket where they'd left the jeeps.

Moffitt and Hitch had reached the depression before them and Hitch had started both motors.

"Straight ahead to the oasis," Troy shouted, leaping into the back and bracing himself at the machine gun. "We'll rake the ashes to make sure no one gets away."

The jeeps hurtled from the pocket in single file and spun through the rocky sand, swerving and skidding. They drove toward the fires without lights. At the edge of the oasis, Troy could see a handful of figures withdrawn from the flames, standing helpless and motionless. As the jeeps neared the dump, Tully swung to the left toward the burning truck and drums. Hitch drove to the right toward the flaming halftrack. Troy loosened his gun and blasted a running group of bare-chested Arabs. When he'd cut them down, he waited until the jeep was beyond the fire and then he fired burst after burst into the oasis. On the other side, he heard the stutter of Moffitt's gun. Tully pulled up beside Hitch near the waterhole.

"We need water," Troy called. "Cover me. I'm going in to see if we wrecked it or it's contaminated."

He jumped to the ground and ran toward the middle of the oasis. A light machine gun or machine pistol rattled off to his right and he dropped to the ground, rolling to his left. The heavy sound of the Browning chopped away near the ground at one thick-stemmed palm. When the light machine gun did not open fire again, Troy jumped to his feet and went to the waterhole. It was an open seepage hole, but it had been walled with stone. He dipped his finger into the water and tasted it. It was warm and brackish but not contaminated. He trotted back to the jeeps.

"Tully, Hitch," he called. "Drive in, fill the radiators and the cans. Doctor, let's check the Jerries."

The four-man crew of the halftrack were dead and their uniforms were badly burned. Troy and Moffitt went looking for the truck driver and officer who'd been in charge of the Arabs. They found them near the palm tree at which Moffitt had fired. The truck driver was wearing the sloppy, oversized work pants typical of the Afrika Korps enlisted issue and a shirt. Both were badly splashed with blood. The officer, a lieutenant, was dressed in a light tan tunic and Afrika Korps fatigue cap. One of Moffitt's slugs had caught the lieutenant in the head and his tunic did not appear to be soiled. Troy pulled off the tunic and cap and carried them back to the jeeps.

The flames from the dump still roared and shot into the night sky and the heavy stench of the burning oil fell upon him. Except for the booming of the flames, there was no other sound. He glanced at Hitch and Tully, both pulling GI cans filled with water from the hole.

"Let's go," he' said briefly. "Someone's going to be mighty curious about these fires."

The night air cooled the engines, and with fresh water in the radiators, the jeeps sped from the ravaged Jerry dump. It was a good strike at the oasis, Troy thought, but it would not go long undetected. The next truck driver probably would turn back as soon as he noticed the fires, still miles away, to report. Even before a patrol came out to investigate, Dietrich would have a reasonably accurate idea of what had happened. He'd place the credit—or blame, Troy smilingly corrected himself—on the Rat Patrol and try to anticipate their next move.

Beyond the illuminated area that surrounded the oasis, Tully slowed.

"Anything wrong?" Troy asked quickly.

"Yes and no, Sarge," Tully said slowly. "First, I can't see and the sand is full of stones. You don't want to risk lights, do you?"

"No," Troy said shortly. "All right, go ahead without lights as fast as you safely can. What's second?"

"Long as I'm going to be driving slow, I figured I might have a bottle of that warm beer," Tully said. "I got a thirst and I don't want to waste the water. Where we going?"

"Straight east," Troy said, laughing and opening bottles of beer for Tully and himself. "When we hit the route, we'll turn back toward Sidi Beda on it."

"Hey, won't that take us straight into Dietrich's command post?" Tully asked.

"That's exactly what I hope," Troy said comfortably. "That's where I figure the trucks have been running the fuel and I don't think Dietrich will expect us to come calling on him tonight. We'll see what we can do to the rest of his supplies."

At his command post, Captain Hans Dietrich waited at the communications van with impatiently contained calm as the sun turned red and dipped close to the horizon. He wanted to speak out, to tell the radio operator to do something, to physically shake the boy from his lethargy, but Dietrich admitted there was nothing to be done. He himself had issued the order. No call was to be sent out. He was just to wait for the signals. It was the boy's strange attitude, or moods, Dietrich told himself. In the afternoon the boy had annoyed Dietrich with his eagerness. Now when the boy should be attuned to the excitement of the moment, he sagged on his stool and looked half asleep. And then, this matter tonight really was a personal thing with Dietrich. It probably would have little effect upon the battle, but he desperately wanted his plan to succeed. It would be a moral victory.

"Ungeziefer, Herr Hauptmann," the boy said tonelessly.

The first signal, "vermin"; that was good, Dietrich thought excitedly. He nodded curtly to the operator. "Be alert for the next signal," he said sharply.

"Ja, Herr Hauptmann," the boy said indifferently and seemed to go back to sleep.

Dietrich looked westward at the long line of tanks and halftracks that stood fueled, equipped with ammunition, ready to mount the attack against the Allied line of defense. Ahead, facing Latsus Pass, was the column Oberst Funke would lead into the port. He glanced at his watch in the rapidly failing light. It was nearly eighteen-hundred hours. The tanks would roll in two hours and the attack should be started within that hour. It could be over quickly, Sidi Beda could be in their hands within twenty-four hours; but if the Allies were well prepared, it would take a little longer. Dietrich was equipped to deal with the unexpected too. He smiled thinly. This was a victory he would not be denied. He glanced at his watch again, irritated by the dragging minutes and annoyed with himself at his own impatience.

"Herr Hauptmann," the radio operator mumbled. "Überlisten."

"Excellent," he said crisply and turned on his heel, striding to the HQ tent. "Fox" meant that his private plan was operational.

Oberst Funke looked at him with vague eyes and uncorked a fresh bottle of beer. "Ja, Hans," he said thickly. "I heard firing in the pass. Did they get through?"

"Everything is working to perfection, Oberst Funke," Dietrich said with a fine glow of pride. "First the signal, 'ungeziefer' from the pass, which meant there had been sufficient firing and commotion to allay suspicion when our own substitute Rat Patrol approached the line of armor the Allies have thrown up at the bottom. Then the signal, 'überlisten' from the Patrol itself, which meant they had entered the warehouse of the Arab, Ali Abu, safely and that the jeeps were concealed."

"So you have succeeded in entering the port with four men in disguise," Colonel Funke said ponderously. "Now what is it that you hope to accomplish with them?"

"The obvious, mein Oberst," Dietrich said a little curtly. "I shall do to the enemy exactly what he has most enjoyed doing to me. I shall harass him within his camp, disrupt and destroy. My Rat Patrol will send me what information they can obtain."

"But, Hans," Colonel Funke protested, "do you not think that these disguises will soon be penetrated? Are your men so fluent in the American type of English that they can deceive the Americans? Are they such counterparts of the members of the real Rat Patrol that they will not be recognized as frauds?"

"Whenever they appear as the Rat Patrol, it will be at a distance where there will be no way of knowing they are a substitute Rat Patrol," Dietrich said, suddenly weary of his endless explanations to Funke. "As you know, they were not challenged when they entered the port. Already the harassment has begun. I believe the American colonel, Wilson, will be considerably disturbed to learn that his Rat Patrol has returned from whatever mission they were on and had not reported, nor indeed, can be located. At the moment, the members of my Rat Patrol are abandoning their disguise and assuming the robes of Arabs. They will mingle with the natives. They are equipped with time charges which they will deposit at targets of convenience. T his will disrupt the morale of the Allied Forces. They will feel the natives are sabotaging them. Whenever the opportunity presents itself, they will appear briefly as the Rat Patrol. The American colonel will feel certain he has been betrayed by his most dependable weapon. Is it not an admirable plan?"

"But Great God, Hans," Colonel Funke exclaimed. "How will you get them out?"

"They will not come out until we go in," Dietrich said harshly.

"And suppose the real Rat Patrol is still within the port?" Funke asked.

"We have information they left Sidi Beda at noon," Dietrich said a little shortly. He wished the Arab who had brought the information could have been more specific. All Dietrich really knew was that the Rat Patrol had left the Allied headquarters at noon in fully equipped jeeps. 

"And should the real Rat Patrol return?"

"Then, mein Oberst, they will find themselves deep in trouble," Dietrich said firmly. "We have our informers. Our Rat Patrol will no longer show themselves. The real Rat Patrol will have some trouble explaining their activities." 

"It is fantastic," Colonel Funke said heavily. "It will never work."

There were three lieutenants and a captain lingering over their tin cups of coffee and Dietrich pointedly examined his watch as he nodded and sat apart from them at the single long table. They should be with their men, he thought. Before a battle officers should encourage their men by a display of diligence and devotion to duty. The officers had left the tent before an orderly served Dietrich with a plate of boiled beef, a hard biscuit and a cup of coffee.

Dietrich ate slowly and methodically, eating this food in the field for nutrition and not enjoyment. His thoughts were far away and he scarcely tasted the unappetizing fare.

Dietrich had lighted a cigarette to smoke with his second cup of coffee when his executive officer, Captain Hermann Nolde, marched purposefully into the tent. His dark eyes were flashing and his face was tight.

"Sit down, Hermann," Dietrich said calmly. "Have a cup of coffee and a cigarette to relax. Whatever it is, it cannot be so bad as you look. Save your anger for the enemy." 

"It is the enemy who angers me, Hans," Nolde said bitterly. "He has blown our fuel supply at the oasis."

"What!" Dietrich thundered, stiffening with anger. "Was it not guarded as I ordered?"

"Hans," Nolde said furiously, "there was a halftrack with a seventy-five millimeter gun and a crew of four, armed with machine guns on constant patrol. Also, Leutnant Kleine was there in charge of the Arabs. I do not know what could have happened."

"I can tell you precisely what has happened," Dietrich said in cold rage. "It is the Rat Patrol. Now, as well as you can recite them, give me the facts only."

"The facts are these, as well as I can tell you," Nolde said, sitting across from Dietrich and motioning to the orderly for coffee. "One of the truck drivers saw the fires from a distance. He drove without lights to within a mile, where he observed there to be two fires, one very large, which was a truck and the supplies of gas and oil, the other smaller, which was the halftrack. There appeared to be no survivors. Two jeeps came speeding out of the desert, circled the oasis, firing into it, and then stopped and four men went into the oasis itself, or what was left of it. The truck driver turned about and returned at top speed. I have sent a patrol of two cars to investigate."