by David King
The four sweat-streaked faces were rigid and emotionless as he examined each in turn.
"Very well," he said tersely. "Our mobile unit has been ordered to Latsus Pass to effect an entrapment. When the enemy has been destroyed or compelled to withdraw at this point, it should be possible to flank the prong attacking the Shermans. I want the Rat Patrol out of Sidi Beda and behind the enemy lines. You will leave the back way over the escarpment. It is up to you to find a trail or goat path. There must be some way to the top. You cannot use the Latsus Pass route because of the action we plan there and because I want you behind the enemy lines undetected. The jeeps have been equipped with demolition bombs, plastic charges and anti-personnel mines, in addition to your usual arms. Each tank tread you can blow, each ammunition or gasoline dump you can destroy, whatever harassment and havoc you can create, will contribute to the defense of Sidi Beda. I have called for bomber support, but this will not be immediately available. Are there any questions?"
Sergeants Troy and Moffitt and Privates Pettigrew and Hitchcock remained wooden-faced and silent, but their eyes were burning. They were fighting mad, Wilson told himself with satisfaction. Now let them take it out on the Jerries.
"When you run out of ammunition and supplies, commandeer them," he said curtly. "I don't want to see you back in Sidi Beda until the enemy has been defeated. Dismissed."
Four grim men, they saluted, heeled and marched from the office. Wilson went to the window, heard the engines cough several times before they caught, then one behind the other, the jeeps spun and darted without slackening speed into an alley that left scant inches on either side of the little bugs with the scorpion stings. He heard other racing and roaring motors, the grinding whine of gears, the slap of metal treads. Picking up his white varnished helmet with the gold eagle on it, he strapped on his twin pearl-handled pistols and went to the street. When the armored column approached, he ran onto the avenue and leaped into the front seat of the lead armored car before it had braked.
"On, on!" he shouted to the driver, half standing to fling an imperative hand signal to the column.
"Can't put on much speed today," his driver grunted. He was a greasy-faced, unshaven sergeant in a steel helmet and he was chewing the unlighted stub of a cigar. "Got to baby them along or the radiators spout geysers."
"Jerry has the same problem and he's moving," Wilson snapped.
"He ain't moving very fast," the sergeant said complacently.
The column moved at an agonizingly slow pace along the graded road that ran away from the tranquil Mediterranean through barren, rock-studded, gray land toward the long pass that slashed up through stone to the plateau. Wilson wiped the sweat from his eyes and wiped it off his forehead. When he looked ahead, the road shimmered and seemed to swim. But the column pushed its tortuous way on. At Mile Seven, Wilson directed his driver off the route and climbed into the back of the car. He dispersed his force with a dozen halftracks mounting thirty-seven-millimeter weapons stationed near the bottom of the gorge-like defile on either side of the route. He signaled the dozen armored cars to move up through the pass to the top, where machine gun emplacements along the sides controlled the road down through the rock. He planned to deploy his armored cars back on the plateau away from the road and use them to bottle up the enemy when Jerry had his units in the pass. Far to the southeast, miles away, he could see a tenuous curtain of dust hanging in the still air. Let Jerry come on, Wilson thought. The enemy would find he'd walked into a bear trap.
The dozen armored cars ground up the incline and the first three vehicles pulled into the passage itself. The fourth car spluttered and stalled before it entered the defile. Behind, eight armored cars halted.
"Go on, go on," Wilson shouted to his driver. "We've got to get that fool off the track so the others can go ahead."
His car jerked forward. An explosion rocked the ground and broke the dead air into crackling pieces. A black cloud billowed into the sky above Latsus Fass.
"Stop!" Wilson shouted, stunned and shocked. He stood to peer into the enfolding smoke. He could not understand what had happened. Somehow, one of his armored units had exploded.
Now machine guns crackled and there was the whoosh and boom of mortars. Wilson could not see into the pass, but the armored cars at the bottom were churning the baked earth in confused flight. Within the pass, flames crackled as two more explosions sent bursts of smoke smashing into the sky. The mortars and machine guns continued to fire. All of the fire seemed to be coming from the sides of the defile, from Wilson's own emplacements. The halftracks were moving uncertainly forward into the path of the withdrawing armored cars from the mouth of the pass, and the crew of the car that had stalled abandoned it and raced back toward the halftracks on foot.
Wilson was standing now with his walkie-talkie in his hand, shouting into it and waving the other hand to beckon his mobile unit to withdraw. He did not think anyone either heard or saw him. Gradually the vehicles were pulling back in confused, unordered retreat. The mortar and machine gun fire had stopped as the armor fell out of range. Wilson slumped in his seat and watched his crippled mobile striking force limp back on the route. He'd lost three armored cars and he couldn't count his casualties. Jerry had slipped across the desert unnoticed, destroying or capturing whatever patrols had been on the route, and taken Wilson's emplacements. Jerry commanded the one strategic entrance to Sidi Beda and Wilson was bottled up. Wilson's defensive position was very nearly hopeless.
2
Herr Hauptmann Hans Dietrich of the Afrika Korps permitted a tight smile to lift his lips as a black cloud of smoke edged with flame boiled into the sky over the plateau from the neighborhood of Latsus Pass. The faint thud of a distant explosion followed the billowing mass and Captain Dietrich pulled the field glasses from his inscrutable pale eyes. Slim and erect, he was standing on a ledge of limestone at the command post seven miles southeast of the pass. Under cover of darkness, the two Allied machine gun emplacements at Latsus had been seized without a shot being fired by a patrol he had sent forward in Volkswagens. Unhampered by overheating radiators and equipped with mortars, machine guns and mines, the commando patrol under Lieutenant Fritz Lungershausen had sped ahead of his armored column, taken the position and dug in. The patrol now held the gateway to the port.
It was a shame, Dietrich thought without much regret, focusing his glasses on the dozen tanks and twenty-four halftracks parked on the route a mile beyond the CP, that the armor had not been at Lungershausen's heels to follow the quick and silent night victory at the Allied emplacements. He dismissed his mild disappointment. He had never expected to come so far without being detected nor to capture control of Latsus Pass so easily. He turned his glasses to the west where the main unit of the task force, thirty-six tanks and fourteen halftracks, awaited the signal to attack the Allied defensive positions above the town. Streamers of dust trailed after the supply trucks with gas, oil and water that already were shuttling between the dumps and the two columns.
At the command post, a dozen pyramid-topped tents had been thrown up and squads of men, stripped to their shorts, were sweating under the scorching sun as they unloaded and stockpiled ammunition, fuel, water and rations. Although Captain Dietrich's sharp and handsome face was beaded with perspiration and his short-sleeved tan shirt was damp, he was unmindful of the heat. His pleasure at the way this campaign had started precluded physical discomfort, for he had been among the tank commanders who had retreated into the desert when a powerful Allied force had seized Sidi Beda.
The thin smile lingered as he stepped briskly to the rear of the communications van parked next to the headquarters tent. The radio operator, a slack-jawed young man with straw-colored hair and watery eyes, hunched over the command set. He pushed the rubber pads of his earphones forward to his temples and looked questioningly at Dietrich.
"Well?" Dietrich said impatiently. The boy knew what he wanted. "Can you raise them yet at Latsus Pass?"
"I am sorry, Herr Hau
ptmann," the radio operator said apologetically. "There has been no signal or response."
"Keep trying," Dietrich said, stepping back to the limestone ledge and lifting his glasses once more.
The sky over the edge of the plateau was hung with dirty tatters. He imagined he could hear the sound of battle, the castanet-like beat of machine gun fire and the hollow of mortars, although he doubted the reports would carry seven miles even in the still air. Near the CP, one of the trucks already had been emptied of its drums and now it lumbered away to the southwest, away from the road, toward a small oasis twenty-five miles distant where supply dump had been concealed and where there was water. This was a particularly gratifying cache to Dietrich. All of the gasoline and oil hidden so conveniently nearby had been stolen from the Allied Forces at Sidi Beda by Ali Abu, an Arab informer who was a merchant and owned a warehouse in the port town. Ali Abu's willingness to cooperate, for a price of course, had reduced Dietrich's logistical problems. The Arab had even provided the transportation and a guard for the supplies. Dietrich's glasses came back to the main route. Two miles southeast, the Allied patrol car which his commando unit had surprised still smoldered and smudged the sky. It was the fourth patrol car Lungershausen's men had left twisted and charred on the road in the dash for the pass. The wrecks had been brushed to the side by the following tanks. Dietrich did not think any of the patrols had been able to report the advance, although admittedly the plane had observed the two forces that morning. But then it had been too late.
"Herr Hauptmann! Herr Hauptmann! The Americans attempted to come through the pass but have been forced to retreat," the radio operator jabbered.
"I will talk with Lieutenant Lungershausen," Dietrich said coldly. "I merely told you to get me through, not to explain the conduct of the battle."
"Ja, Herr Hauptmann," the radio operator said, still excited, apparently ignorant that he had been rebuked. He pulled the earphones from his head and handed them with the microphone to Dietrich. "He is right there at the wireless. You just push the button when you talk."
Dietrich glowered as he fitted the wet, clinging rubber pads over his ears. "You push the button like this?" he asked caustically, depressing it, and when the boy assured him the procedure was correct, Dietrich spoke into the microphone. "Dietrich here, Fritz. Tell me quickly, how did it go?"
The elements crackled and spat in Dietrich's ears and then Lungershausen's voice was loud and clear. "... and we destroyed three of the armored cars. The enemy now has withdrawn out of range beyond the bottom of the pass. The track is very narrow through the defile with room for only one tank at a time. The enemy cannot get out through our position, but neither can we reach him with our mortars and it will be difficult for us to get into the port."
"Yes, of course, Fritz," Dietrich said brusquely. "We expected that. Can you hold your position?"
"Without a doubt, Herr Hauptmann," Lungershausen said. "We could hold even if the road was not blocked by the three cars we destroyed."
"I shall have the machines removed at once," Dietrich said sharply. "As long as you can hold, I want the road kept clear. Did you see the Rat Patrol?"
"No, Hauptmann Dietrich," Lungershausen said. "Armored cars and halftracks only. There were no jeeps."
"Listen carefully, Fritz; this is important," Dietrich said. "Did you observe carefully as I instructed? Was there anywhere behind the armor sign of the Rat Patrol?"
"No, Herr Hauptmann," Lungershausen said positively. "From the moment the armor came into view several miles away below us, I observed. The Rat Patrol was at no time with the column."
"Good!" Dietrich exclaimed. "Everything then is as we planned. You know what to do when the time arrives."
"Ja, mein Hauptmann, everything shall be done precisely as you ordered," Lungershausen assured.
"Very well, Fritz," Dietrich said; pleasantly filled with satisfaction. "If you should sight the Rat Patrol anywhere, let me know at once. That is all."
Dietrich removed the sticky earphones, regarded the radio operator with silent disapproval for a moment, then stepped quickly into the headquarters tent next to the communications van. The canvas afforded some protection from the sun but made the heat feel heavier. It smelled sour and sweaty like a gymnasium locker room, and Dietrich looked with quick resentment at Herr Oberst Matthe Funke, who was sitting on a folding stool in his shorts, fumbling with maps and papers on a table and drinking a bottle of beer.
Oberst Funke was commanding officer of the division that included Dietrich's battle group. His head was big and his features small. His gray hair was cropped close and his chin seemed to rest squarely on his chest. Whatever neck he had was hidden by his dewlaps. His tiny eyes were bright blue. Dietrich thought the colonel's mind was very old and somewhat less than agile. When Dietrich had submitted his plan for re-taking Sidi Beda and asked for reinforcements, he had not anticipated getting Colonel Funke in the bargain.
"Don't look so disapproving, Hans," the colonel said mildly. He swallowed another mouthful of beer and wiped Iris hands and then his face on a towel. "I know you say beer only makes the heat more unbearable, but without it I do not think I could survive the desert. Ach, could hell be worse? Now then, how do matters progress?"
"Exactly as we planned, Herr Oberst," Dietrich said, smiling faintly in spite of himself. "The American colonel attempted to fortify his positions at the pass so he could entrap us. He was totally unprepared for what awaited him. We have destroyed three of his armored cars and he has withdrawn. We have him contained."
Colonel Funke lifted his head, dabbing under his chin with the towel. "We shall never be able to enter the port through that narrow pass, Hans," he said heavily. "We control the pass from above. He controls it from below. It is a stalemate."
"Herr Oberst, shall we review the strategy so you may correct the flaws in the plan before the battle commences?" Dietrich asked wearily. He had already convinced the colonel a dozen times of the soundness of the campaign. "Now, the purpose in taking the pass was to bottle the enemy within the port while our main force attacked the town's defenses, yes? These consist of medium tanks mounting seventy-five-millimeter guns. He has placed twenty-five of these weapons in permanent positions above and around the port and has emplaced them as artillery pieces. He has undoubtedly mined the field commanded by these guns. We must cross the minefield and destroy the enemy's tanks with our own above the town, we shall train our guns upon the port and call upon the enemy to surrender. If we had attempted to enter through the pass without first defeating the enemy at his tank positions, we should have been at his mercy. With our guns pointed at him from the bluffs, the American colonel will have no choice but to surrender."
"Ja, Hans, that is what you say," Colonel Funke said with considered deliberateness and then seemed to come to an abrupt decision. "What time did we agree upon for H-hour?" he asked Dietrich.
"Sometime after dark," Dietrich said, smiling to himself. The battle plan had never been discussed with Oberst Funke in such specifics as time, although Dietrich had charted every movement to the second. "We shall use the remainder of the day in preparation. On such a day the heat would be our enemy against fixed defensive positions. We have each of the Allied tanks pinpointed and when it is dark and cool, we shall move against them. We shall have to use the halftracks as minesweepers to get within range, but the minute we are, we shall simply open up with our vastly superior firepower. It is not likely but it is possible that by morning you may be able to take over the port."
The colonel considered this for a moment. "Yes, of course, Hans," he said slowly, "but that is only if everything goes according to the plan. You must never underestimate the capabilities of your enemy. What happens if he possesses weapons or strength within the port of which we are not aware?"
"I have considered this, Herr Oberst," Dietrich said. "Although I have confidence in our Arabian friends, I realize their information is sometimes unreliable and often insufficient because they are neither skilled
nor trained observers. To compensate for this, I have a new weapon I propose to use against Colonel Wilson. I brought it along from Sidi Abd, concealed by the dust in the middle of my column."
"You have a new weapon, concerning which I have not been told?" Colonel Funke said in quick offense. He inflated his lungs until they lifted him quite erect. "How could this be? If you were sent something new to test, surely I would have been informed of it."
"It is something I devised myself, Herr Oberst," Dietrich said soothingly.
"You should have told me what you were up to," Colonel Funke said reproachfully.
"It has not been tested in combat," Dietrich said, "although I have no doubt that it will work. If you will come with me, you shall see it now."
"I wish you had not waited until the final moment," Crlonel Funke said but he heaved himself from the canvas stool that was wet with the marks of his cheeks. He pulled on trousers and a shirt with colonel's epaulets. He left the shirt unbuttoned, clapped a pith helmet on his head and sat beside Dietrich in the open patrol car, puffing and wheezing at the dust. They drove across a mile of desert toward the column that was pointed west in the direction of the enemy tank emplacements. As they approached the armor, Dietrich could see the heat lifting in thick, visible layers from the twenty-eight-ton PzKw III and IV tanks with their long-barreled seventy-five millimeter guns, and the halftracks with their howitzers and short-barreled ones. The one eighty-eight millimeter antiaircraft gun with the force was with Funke's column. This was too bad because it had exceptional range.
