The Rat Patrol 4 - Two-Faced Enemy

by David King

  As Dietrich drove slowly beside the armored column, Colonel Funke suddenly gripped his arm.

  "Great God, Hans!" he cried, pointing between the halftracks. "What have you done? Why did you not tell me you had captured them?"

  Dietrich slowed, smiling as he turned his head in the direction the colonel was pointing. Between the halftracks were two jeeps, windshields down against the hoods. Each jeep mounted a heavy machine gun in the rear. Four men were dragging camouflage nets over the jeeps. They wore faded sun-tans and peculiar headpieces. One man sported an Australian bush hat, another a dark beret. A man in steel-rimmed glasses was wearing the red-topped cap of a French Foreign Legionnaire, while the fourth bore a steel helmet on his head and was chewing a matchstick.

  "The Rat Patrol!" Colonel Funke exclaimed in hoarse disbelief. "How? When?"

  "Oh, yes," Dietrich said absently. "Well, perhaps we had better return to the CP at once so I can explain."

  "I should rather think so," the colonel said testily. "It seems you have a great deal to explain, Hans." He glanced about quickly at the crews who had sought shade behind and between the vehicles. "You have them under adequate guard?"

  "Most assuredly, Herr Oberst," Dietrich said and drove the rest of the way to the tent without speaking.

  "Well now, Hans, what is this about the Rat Patrol?" Colonel Funke demanded when they both were seated on canvas stools inside the CP. "Have you interrogated them?"

  "Not only interrogated, instructed them, Herr Oberst," Dietrich said with a small smile. "You see, this is my Rat Patrol. It only looks like theirs. It is my secret weapon."

  No alert had been sounded in Sidi Beda and the native quarter still sweltered and stunk, but it slumbered as the Rat Patrol in two jeeps plunged up the zigzagging lane that led past the Fat Frenchman's wine shop. Wilson would have warned the captains of the ships at the docks and the Navy, Troy thought, and the cargo vessels would be pulling out under escort of the two destroyers. It was too bad the destroyers couldn't have remained. They would have bolstered the town's defenses which now were left in the hands of a small armored battalion that included a few truck drivers, mechanics and some MPs. If Jerry knocked out the Sherman tanks above the town, Sidi Beda was lost. Troy pulled his bush hat from his dripping head and jammed it back low on his forehead.

  "Slow down, Tully," he growled. "Each of these jeeps is carrying enough explosives to blow up the place. Anyway, there's no hurry."

  Tully shot a lightning look at him as he eased his foot on the accelerator. "Sarge," he drawled, "I sort of got the idea there was one hell of a hurry."

  "Do you know how to climb that bluff?" Troy asked, examining the almost perpendicular thrust of the limestone and clay that rose in sheer ledges above the roofs at the end of the alley.

  "Wilson said we was to find a trail or goat path," Tully said.

  "If we try to do it by ourselves, we'll spend all afternoon searching and probably wind up on a dead-end ledge where we can't turn around," Troy said. "It's one thing to give an order and another to carry it out. Since he left it to us, we're going to do it our way. We'll find a guide who will direct us right the first time."

  "You know how Wilson feels about Ay-rabs, Sarge," Tully said. "They'd sell us out to the Jerries the first chance they got."

  "Who said anything about an Arab?" Troy demanded. "Stop when you come to the wine shop."

  Tully whistled softly. "You think the Fat Frenchman will guide us?"

  "No," Troy said shortly. "I don't think he knows. But if there is a way, I think Ray can point it out."

  "Sarge, you nuts?" Tully protested. "You know she's half——"

  "Half Arabian," Troy finished and grinned. "All right, I understand how Hitch and you feel, only I wish Hitch would come right out with it the way you did instead of wigwagging his eyebrows. I trust Ray and right now we all ought to thank our boots she's part native. When she was a kid, she was all over this country with her father, the sheik. She'll help us if she can."

  Tully wrinkled his forehead under his helmet and shrugged. He came to a stop in front of the blank-walled cellar. Troy swung around. Hitch was half standing over his steering wheel.

  "What's wrong?" he called. The sun flashed across his goggles.

  Troy pointed to the entrance to the wine shop and climbed from the hot little vehicle onto the first step down. Without looking back, he walked into the cool, dark tavern. He heard Moffitt and Hitch climbing over the hood of their jeep and following Tully onto the steps. There was no room at the sides to squeeze by the vehicles.

  "It is good that you return so soon," Troy heard Laurentz saying, although he could not see him. Moffitt, Tully and Hitch were standing beside Troy at the entrance before his vision adjusted and he made out the figure of the Frenchman coming across the tiles.

  "You have some cool beer?" Troy asked, continuing without waiting for an answer. "Bring some to my friends. I have to see Ray."

  "Oui, she is in her apartment weeping for you, I think," Laurentz said, walking ahead to unlock the door. "She will undoubtedly scratch your eyes, but she will be happy you returned." Under his voice as he turned the key, he asked, "Is it true what they said about the Germans?"

  "It is true," Troy said, looking into Laurentz' face, certain he could read fear in the fat-enfolded eyes. "There will be a battle on the plateau. When the shooting starts, it might be well to lock and bar your shop. There are Arabs and Frenchmen in the town I trust even less than I do the Jerries."

  "I shall close my shop the moment you have left," Laurentz said.

  Ray had heard Troy's boots and was waiting for him in the small foyer entrance to her apartment.

  "I have to take the patrol into the desert and I can't use the road through Latsus Pass. Is there a trail to the top of the bluff that we could drive in the jeeps?" Troy asked her.

  She made a little choking sound in her throat as she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "They are coming back then, the Germans?" she asked.

  "They will attack, but they will not come back into the town if we can help it," he said.

  "You are going out to fight their tanks, just the four of you in your little cars?"

  He laughed. "We stand a better chance of fighting them in our little cars than with a rifle from a window in town. We won't stand toe to toe and slug it out with a tank. But we will hit them and run. Now, is there a way to the top that you know, Ray?"

  "Yes, there is such a way," she said quickly. "Just a moment while I dress and I shall take you up."

  He grasped her wrist as she started to dart away and walked into the living room with her. "Just tell me," he said quietly. "You can't come with us. I don't want you to leave your apartment until I return." Almost savagely, he added, "Understand?"

  When she looked up at him, her eyes were very soft. "Yes," she whispered and drew him with her to the green and white striped damask divan. He kissed her swiftly but tenderly and drew away. She frowned as she seemed to try to visualize the way. "You go to the end of this street until you can go no further," she said. "At the very foot of the bluff, take the trail that will go to your right. You follow this for perhaps ten kilometers, beyond the last houses and into a wasteland, always keeping against the wall of this cliff. When you come to two pieces of stone that seem to bar your way, turn directly to your left and you will see that at this place, the bluff turns its back to the town and goes for a way into the plateau. My father has told me, these stones are the fingers that point the way. It is the old trade route that was used by the caravans for many hundreds, or perhaps even a thousand, years. I have not seen it in some time and it may be rough and filled with stones, but it is the only way to reach the top from this direction." She paused. "I would take you if you wish."

  "No, Ray," he said firmly, standing and holding her close for a moment.

  "Come back soon, Troy," she whispered.

  "I will," he said, turning and striding toward the foyer. "Troy," she called, running to him. "When you
reach the top, drive in a straight line due south for about twenty kilometers and you will arrive at a very small oasis. It does not amount to much, but there are a few palms for shade and protection and a small waterhole."

  His teeth flashed in a smile and he kissed her. "Au revoir," he said self-consciously and ran down the steps.

  It was very quiet when he stepped into the wine cellar. No one was talking, not even a bottle thumped a table, and he looked quickly across the room where Moffitt, Tully and Hitch were sitting. Two MPs were standing against the wall behind the table. Glaring at them, Troy stomped across the room.

  "What's this?" he asked roughly.

  "We're rounding up all military personnel," one of the MPs said. He was heavy-jawed and he lifted his upper lip to one side when he spoke. "These men refused to leave until you returned."

  "We're under orders, Sergeant," Troy said evenly, but he was beginning to boil inside. He'd had about as much authority this day as he cared to take.

  "Are these men under orders to sit here and drink beer?" the second MP, a corporal with a wart on the side of his nose, sneered. "Are you under orders to go upstairs with some chippie? Are you under orders to block this street with armed military vehicles? We're taking all of you in. Now get moving."

  Troy gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He waited a moment until he was sure of his voice before he spoke.

  "Sergeant!" he barked, turning his back to the waitnosed corporal. "We are under direct orders from the commanding officer. Why we are here or what we are doing is none of your business. If you interfere or delay us, I promise that you will not only lose your stripes but will face a court-martial. When you have left and we know this property is safe and has been secured, we'll go. Meanwhile, I'll have a bottle of beer." He turned to the back of the room. "Four bottles of beer, please, Laurentz."

  The two MPs stood dumbly and uncertainly, as if in shock, for a solid sixty seconds.

  "You'll have to move your jeeps so we can get out," the corporal finally growled.

  "Crawl over them, the same way you came in," Troy said, calmly. "And you'd better watch your steps. The back ends are loaded with mines and demolition charges."

  The MPs walked slowly toward the entrance. They turned and went up the steps. Troy heard them clambering over the hood of the lead jeep and starting up the street. Beyond the Fat Frenchman's there was nothing on this street except some poor native huts where GIs were not welcome.

  "Fatheads," he muttered, but he grinned and swallowed half his bottle of beer without taking it from his lips.

  "Can't say I blame you for it, Sam," Moffitt said mildly, "but it was a bit indiscreet to stop for your farewell, much as I did enjoy the beer. Wilson is certain to look on it with disfavor. The Military Police are sure to report it, you know."

  "Didn't Tully tell you why we stopped?" Troy asked, surprised and glancing at Tully.

  Tully lifted his shoulders. "Long as you're in charge, Sarge, I don't figure anybody ought to explain what you're doing." He smiled slowly. "Anyway, them MPs was on us before I got the chance and I wasn't going to tell them nothing."

  "I stopped to ask Ray if there was a back trail to the bluff," Troy said tersely. "There is."

  "She told you?" Hitch asked, surprised, and added suspiciously, "How can you be sure it isn't a trap?"

  Troy half stood angrily, then sat back in his chair. "There wasn't any other way, Hitch," he said calmly and smiled slowly. "If we get up the trail to the top in one piece, will you knock this off?"

  "It's a deal, Sarge," Hitch said, embarrassed now. "I guess I've been shooting off my mouth without reason." He grinned. "Anybody that can tell off the MPs the way you did has to know what he's doing."

  "I say, Sam," Moffitt said with an amused smile. "Don't you think we ought to get started up the slope?"

  "Let's go," Troy said.

  "Let's take some beer," Tully said, walking to Laurentz at the service bar. "It'll help save our water."

  "It's on the house, as your people say," Laurentz said, sacking a dozen bottles for each jeep and walking up the steps with them. To Troy privately he said, "I'll lock and bar the door now and shall admit no one until you have returned."

  At the end of the alley, there was a rough dirt path along the base of the bluff. Following Troy's directions, Tully turned to the right and Hitch followed. Here they were sometimes in the shadow of the towering rock and it was more comfortable. They passed clusters of small white houses on alleys like the one they just had left and then they were at the edge of Sidi Beda. Unpainted mud hovels stood in small yards of hard-baked clay enclosed with fences of thorn bush. Where the ground became rockier, man gave up the struggle and there were no more huts. Nothing but the hard bare earth and stone, and far away and below them now, the deceptively peaceful, blue Mediterranean. Ahead, twin fingers of rock seemed to bar the way.

  "Straight left when you reach those stones," Troy said, admitting to himself that he couldn't see any way to turn except into the bluff.

  "Sure, if you say so, Sarge," Tully said cheerfully.

  He followed directions, but he looked doubtful until he'd reached the stones and made a sharp turn to the left. Here the bluff shot back into the plateau and there was a well-defined trail that slanted up the side of the gray escarpment on a series of setbacks, each about fifty yards long with a reasonable slope and a platform at its terminus broad enough for the jeeps to negotiate without difficulty. Tully drove halfway up the first six-foot-wide ledge that looked as if it had been hacked by hand from the face of the bluff and stopped.

  "What is it?" Troy asked, stiffening, searching the empty land below and the sheer rock above.

  "We ought to water the beasts before we start the climb," Tully said, leaving the motor running and climbing out. "It ain't so far and it ain't so steep, but it sure is hot." He lifted the five-gallon water can from the rack. "And another thing, Sarge. I figure maybe you and Doc would like to climb in back with the weapons. From the way this trail's been kept clean, someone's been using it, and recent."

  Troy's eyes slitted and he lifted his glasses, inspecting the path. The angled route was remarkably free of rubble for an old and little-used trail. The Arabs must still be using this way in and out of Sidi Beda, he thought, although nothing was moving on it now in the burning sun. He searched the top of the escarpment but could see no motion nor indication that anyone was watching from the edge.

  "We'd better ride shotgun, Doctor," he called to Moffitt. Nodding to Tully, who was upending the water can into the bubbling radiator, Troy jumped into the rear of the jeep, and avoiding the cases of explosives, ammunition and supplies, he gripped the searing handles of the gun.

  Hitch's eyes were steely when they glanced and met Troy's but he didn't say a word, only banged down the hood of his jeep and jumped behind the steering wheel. In the back, Moffitt leaned away from his gun as his eyes searched the setbacks to the top.

  Tully shifted into four-wheel drive, let out the clutch as the engine roared, and the jeep leaped up the first incline, turning without slackening at the platform onto the second setback. Halfway up he began to lose power and on the third setback, the radiator began to boil, throwing hot smelling steamy vapor back. Both jeeps panted up the final setback and chugged onto the plateau. Tully braked near the edge with the radiator hissing but leaving the motor idling.

  Swinging his machine gun with him in tense hands, Troy swept the rocky terrain with searching eyes as Hitch parked his jeep alongside. In the immediate area, there seemed to be nothing but crusted gray earth and large rocks. Beyond, perhaps half a mile, were the first sands of the desert plateau. The dun-colored sand was hazed with heat. Troy inspected the nearby rocks. Some were large slabs of gray limestone, big enough to conceal a party of men. The trail wound between two particularly formidable stones about five hundred yards ahead. Troy studied them closely through his field glasses but there was no telltale movement, no sign of man nor beast. From this point, at least, the plate
au appeared to be empty. Troy turned, grinning tightly at Hitch. Lifting one hand with thumb and forefinger together indicating approval, Hitch smiled back. With his other hand, Hitch put a piece of bubble gum in his mouth.

  Now Troy turned his glasses back north and east along the bluff that overlooked Sidi Beda until he found the first of the Sherman tanks about a mile off. A man stood in the turret observing him through glasses. Four other members of the crew were sprawled in the scant shade under the nose of the tank. Troy waved his hat and the observer in the turret lifted his arm in greeting. Swinging his glasses from the tank, Troy searched the desert to the east and south. He saw no dust trail in the sky.

  "Peaceful enough so far," he called to Moffitt, who was focusing his glasses. "No sign of Jerry. We'll go ahead, follow the trail until we're out of the rocks and then strike south through the desert."

  "How about a bottle of beer?" Tully asked.

  "When we're in the clear," Troy said, "and then you drink it while you drive. No breaks until we know we're behind the Jerry lines."

  "That's okay for me, Sarge," Tully said and pushed his helmet back on his sweaty forehead, "but we got to give the jeeps a break. How about a bottle of beer while we water the horsepower?"

  "Tully's right," Hitch said. "We can drink our beer while we cool the motors down."

  Troy looked at Moffitt whose smile had reached his eyes. Moffitt nodded.

  Troy yielded. "All right, the doctor and I will take ours at our weapons. You can serve them up to us."

  The beer already was tepid and soon would be disagreeable, Troy thought as Tully and Hitch lifted the hoods, uncapped the radiators and let them blow their heads of steam before starting slowly to refill them from the GI cans. Troy looked toward Moffitt and smiled as he saw him with a beer bottle in one hand and his glasses in the other turned back in the direction of the Sherman tank. Lifting his own glasses, Troy focused them on the observer in the first tank. The man, waving casually, suddenly motioned frantically toward the rocks beyond the jeeps.