The Rat Patrol 4 - Two-Faced Enemy

by David King

  "Great God!" Dietrich gasped as the aircraft erupted in a series of mighty explosions that tore it apart and threw sections of the plane and its cargo far out in the desert.

  "Time for us to blow," Troy said, leaping from the car, lifting Dietrich's pistol from its holster and kicking aside the front row of drums. The rain was falling steadily and hard now. "Sorry we can't stay for the next act," he shouted at Dietrich, "but you'd better stick with tanks."

  Tully and Hitch had rolled the barrels from the jeeps and now they started the vehicles and banged out. Moffitt already was at the machine gun in the rear of the jeep Hitch was driving and Troy leaped to the weapon in his jeep. He already was soaked to the skin by the drenching rain. Dietrich's driver had started his car.

  "Better stay off the road," Troy shouted. "It's mined for two miles."

  The great aircraft was burning and exploding. Troy did not think there would be anything salvageable left.

  The jeeps headed straight west into the desert. From the north, an armored car and a sedan were racing towards Dietrich's car. The rain had not yet turned the baked earth of the plateau near the bluff into goo, but Troy knew that it would be only a matter of half an hour or so before the land was nearly impassable if the downpour continued. Until the sun dried out the land again, Dietrich's armor was going to be useless. Even the jeeps were skidding as they plunged behind Dietrich's line.

  Troy's thoughts were tumbling one over the other as he tried to think of a safe place to conceal the jeeps where they would still be quickly available for use. The driving rain curtained their movements if there was any pursuit, and when the jeeps were a mile from the route, Troy called a halt. Hitch drove close alongside and parked, sitting with his arms clasping his wet shirt over his ribs.

  "What do you know!" he shouted to Tully and opened his mouth in a wide grin, "A real midwestern downpour. In the desert yet. It sure beats the sun."

  "If it keeps up," Tully drawled, relatively dry in his helmet, "we're going to need oars. Where we going, Sarge?"

  "I don't like to get too far from the road and that column they've run up near the pass," Troy said. "As long as the rain comes down like this, they can't see us from very far off. Dietrich must have taken the gun emplacements we had commanding the pass. Let's see if we can get them back."

  "Don't you think we should take along an anchor to hold them, old boy," Moffitt observed.

  The rain pounded them as Tully drove north by compass, feeling his way carefully over the surface that was becoming greasy with mud. It was about seven miles from the old CP to the pass and they'd detoured off the route. Troy kept calling to Tully for the mileage. Hitch was following close behind. It took half an hour to cover slightly more than seven miles and they drove the distance without seeing a person or vehicle, although they might have been within fifty yards of a tank and not seen it. Nor did they hear a sound except the rain thumping the hoods. The ground was becoming rocky and the jeeps were jolting.

  "I'm going to walk you in the last half mile or so," Troy called and jumped to the ground. He stood beside Tully. "We'll try to take the gun position on the west side of the pass first and then cut across the road and see if we can surprise them. Don't fire unless necessary. If we grab the positions, you can run down for Wilson."

  "Whyn't we just take the armored column while we're at it and let Dietrich surrender?" Tully asked mildly.

  With compass in hand, Troy trotted in front of the jeep Tully was driving, looking for large stones that might hang up the vehicles and for the edge of the bluff with the emplacements the Jerries had taken. As long as the rain continued, he thought they had a good chance of recapturing the positions. The road should still be passable and Troy thought Wilson could charge up the pass, overwhelm the column by surprise and flank Dietrich's armor in the field.

  After ten minutes, Troy slowed to a walk and changed his course slightly to the east. He thought he must be nearing the edge of the plateau overlooking the pass and he slogged along wearily with the jeep chugging in gear at his heels. Visibility was not good but he thought he could see far enough around to ward off any sudden encounter. Abruptly out of the gray rain a figure lunged at him from the side and rammed a machine pistol into his ribs.

  When it started to rain, the Arab natives who'd been on the piers, beaches and in the wasteland at the edge of the town crowded into the warehouse and soon the large building was a babbling coliseum of men, women and children, confused and terrified. They overflowed into the small warehouse that contained the soup kitchen and crowded the line until a coffee urn was overturned. Shrieking at the scalding liquid, they jostled and roughed the MPs until Wilson finally ordered the food and equipment removed.

  This infuriated the Arabs. Shouting angrily as they were pushed from the soup kitchen, they did not return to the large warehouse that had been provided for their shelter and protection but flowed back into the native quarter, seeking their homes. Wilson ordered his men not to restrain them. There had been no shelling during the night and the throng was becoming unmanageable. If the mortars fired this morning, the Arabs would crowd back.

  At HQ, Wilson paced and waited for the explosions that would signal the beginning of the mortar attack. While the heavy rainfall would bog down the tanks on the plateau, it would not seriously interfere with the mortar barrage. The rain would, in fact, intensify the terror of the shelling. Jerry would not be able to see his tank targets. Shells likely would be dropping all over the quarter. Wilson damned the unruly natives for not staying put in the warehouse. The Frenchies, at least, were relatively quiet this morning, probably sleeping off the effects of their concertinas and wine.

  The rain couldn't last long, Wilson kept assuring himself. It was unnatural, irrelevant and completely out of season. But it didn't seem to slacken. He had never seen anything like it. At times it seemed as if solid sheets of water were pouring steadily, as if a tap had been turned on full force. It had been raining for half an hour now and he knew he could no longer delay the decision he must make. Reluctantly he stepped into the radio room and told Corporal Locke to call Divisional Headquarters.

  "Visibility zero," he reported crisply. "You'll have to hold the squadron off the run until the weather clears."

  "Hey, that's funny," some wiseacre at the other end cracked. "You're lucky. The sun is burning us up down here."

  Wilson signed off and snorted. He hadn't even been able to send his observation Cub aloft. He did not know whether the column that had been bunched beyond the pass had moved.

  "Hasn't anything come in from Captain Drake at the foot of Latsus?" he asked Locke.

  "I haven't been able to raise him, sir," Locke said, looking genuinely regretful. "It's possible that in this weather his transmitter has gone out."

  Wilson told First Sergeant Peilowski to get him a car. He had to know whether Drake's halftracks still were in position and operational, and whether the enemy had attempted to break out through the pass under cover of the rain. On second thought, he also told Peilowski to get him a canteen of hot coffee. This would be a cold, soggy morning for Drake.

  The cigar-chewing sergeant had a top on the car. It was damp but not actually wet in the front seat and Wilson relaxed a little, looking around. As the sergeant poked down the avenue, splashing through the water, Wilson noted that the Frenchies had finally awakened and were running from the warehouse into the quarter with the last groups of Arabs. The evacuation had been a fine idea and a colossal flop. At least the night had been relatively uneventful. There had been a few fights in the warehouse occupied by the Frenchies, but Wilson had let them settle things among themselves. The Rat Patrol had not showed.

  The car moved into the barren countryside where the water was running over the hard earth down the slope to the mussel-shell beach. The roadbed was draining and holding quite well. Wilson noted the backup line of halftracks beyond the edge of town, crews hunched in ponchos. Someone had had the good sense to send in for rain gear. Just beyond Mile Six, th
e sergeant took his foot from the accelerator and braked suddenly. A sentry stood in the middle of the road with his tommy-gun leveled at them. Wilson nodded approvingly. Drake was taking precautions.

  "Where is Captain Drake?" Wilson called to the sentry.

  "Park just ahead, sir," the sentry shouted back. "You'll find him about fifty yards off the road."

  Drake had requisitioned, dug up or stolen a large chunk of canvas which he'd propped up with poles as a lean-to at the side of his halftrack. He was sitting under it on a crate, eating a sodden biscuit and washing it down with water.

  "Water you don't need, here's some hot coffee," Wilson said, handing him the canteen. "We haven't been able to contact you. Is your radio out?"

  "Thanks," Drake said heartily, grasping the canteen. He stood, motioning Wilson to the crate. Wilson shook his head. Drake remained standing, drinking from the neck of the canteen as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the halftrack. A man was in the front seat. "My man is working on it now. Maybe the rain got into the condensers or coils. Incidentally, we had some excitement last night."

  "Did the Jerries try to come through?" Wilson asked quickly.

  "Not that I know of," Drake said. "It must be pretty slushy in the pass. I don't think they'll attempt it, but if they do, we've put a cork in the bottle. I moved a halftrack right into the pass on the road. I don't think they can see us from above in the rain. At least they haven't dropped a shell. When it begins to clear, I'll pull the halftrack back, but I didn't want the Jerries trying to sneak by."

  "Good!" Wilson exclaimed, wishing he had more men like Drake, and Farb with the tanks. "What was the excitement, then?"

  "The Rat Patrol was prowling," Drake said. "I don't know whether they thought they could make a run through the pass or had sabotage in mind. We spotted them in the moonlight and for a while I thought we had them trapped between the two lines of halftracks. I took after them, but they managed to stay out of range. They cut across the open ground off the road toward the bluff and disappeared in the native quarter."

  "I think they were trying to break out," Wilson said. "Things were getting too hot for them. I evacuated the quarter and had patrols searching the buildings. They've a hide-out somewhere, but we haven't uncovered it. They'll undoubtedly try to come through again. Next time, take them."

  Machine guns chattered and interrupted Wilson. Two jeeps, windshields now up against the rain, raced by spraying water off the road almost as far as the lean-to. Wilson followed by Drake ran to his car.

  "It was the Rat Patrol," the sergeant said, getting up from the floor. "I ducked."

  "The halftrack will get them in the pass," Drake shouted. "They can't get by. They're blocked."

  "Come on," Wilson roared, getting into the front seat. "Let's get up there."

  Drake hopped in behind Wilson and the sergeant started the motor. Machine gun fire sounded from not far off.

  "Now they've nailed the Rat Patrol," Wilson said exultantly. "Dead or alive, we've taken them."

  The sergeant had not yet pulled onto the road when the two jeeps dived at the car. Wilson heard an explosion from not far off as Troy in his bush hat and goggles squeezed a scornful burst from the machine gun when the jeeps ran by.

  10

  The Me-323 with its crew and its cargo appeared to be totally lost. Dietrich ordered Corporal Willi Wunder to stay away from the burning ship which although twisted and torn still shuddered with ripping blasts. There could not have been any survivors, Dietrich thought grimly as he radioed for two cars with medics. No one could possibly have lived through the crash and the fire.

  An armored car and Colonel Funke's Mercedes rounded the pile of drums and started down the road toward the ship. Dietrich ran toward the route from the sloshy desert where Willi had parked, waving them off. The driver of Funke's staff car saw Dietrich and drove toward him, but apparently the driver of the armored car thought Dietrich only wanted the attention of the colonel and moved on down the road toward the shattered aircraft. Beyond the drums about a hundred yards, the car detonated a charge that must have blown its gas tank because the vehicle exploded and burst into flames.

  "What is it that has happened?" Oberst Funke cried as he rolled from the car.

  "The Rat Patrol once more," Dietrich said through clenched teeth. "Did you not see them driving into the desert when you approached?"

  "I saw something but could not tell what it was from such a distance," the colonel said. "Why did you not take them, Hans, when you had the opportunity?"

  "Because they held me prisoner," Dietrich shouted, enraged, "with a gun to my head."

  "They have managed to destroy the Nebelwerfers," the colonel said woefully, looking toward the flaming wreckage.

  "They have destroyed our supplies of fuel, they have destroyed the rocket launchers and gun crews along with the largest cargo plane the Luftwaffe possesses," Dietrich said fiercely. "If the rain long continues our armor will be mired and they will yet find the means to destroy what remains ours at a time when we are unable to withdraw."

  "It is terrible," Herr Oberst Funke commented somewhat remotely. "The field marshall will be enraged when he learns that you have sacrificed the Nebelwerfers together with the aircraft and personnel for no logical reason."

  "It is terrible," Dietrich agreed, "that we have suffered such grievous losses. The only thing that possibly could save us now is the capture of the port, and at the moment I am unable to suggest a means to accomplish such an impossible task."

  "What of this new weapon of yours, Hans," the colonel suggested unexpectedly. "This duplicate Rat Patrol which you have placed within the town. Cannot you call upon them for some action against the enemy that will constrain him as seriously as we have been restricted?"

  "We have had only the initial communication from them and they seemed well started," Dietrich said, brightening. "I shall at once attend to contacting them. Your thought is a good one, Herr Oberst, and I shall order them to make every new effort."

  Cars with medics and rescue squads arrived before Colonel Funke and Dietrich started back. Dietrich warned of the mines. He was certain the crew in the armored car and the men in the plane were long beyond help. Back at the command post, Funke went into his tent while Dietrich rode up the road. The armor had been parked off the roadbed at one side.

  "Call Ungeziefer," he ordered the radio operator in the communications van.

  Either the boy was inept or sleepy again this morning. Several minutes dragged by and Dietrich had almost concluded the men had left the warehouse where the receiver and transmitter were concealed when his signal was acknowledged.

  "Listen carefully, it is important," he said. "I must have decisive action. Destroy the weapons at the foot of the pass. Blow up ammunition and fuel. Strike wherever you can. A native uprising would help. Move now under cover of rain."

  "It is understood," his Rat Patrol assured him.

  Dietrich stepped into the damp, clinging, choking air of the tent and pulled off his wet tunic and cap. "Herr Oberst," he said, "your armor is parked off the road near the mouth of the pass."

  "Ja, Hans," the colonel said glancing up from his beer with a worried look in his eyes. "Is there something wrong about that?"

  "No, Herr Oberst," Dietrich said, a smile trifling his lips. "It is good the armor is in position. I have been thinking that we may be able to break into the port with a part of your column. I have ordered the Rat Patrol of ours to attack the weapons which the enemy has drawn up at the bottom of the pass. Now, if we were to organize a platoon and march down the pass on foot under the cover of the rain, it is possible we could seize the other weapons of the enemy and clear the way for the armor."

  "You propose to capture the enemy's armor with foot soldiers?" the colonel cried in astonishment.

  "The rain is coming down harder," Dietrich said. "It is seriously limiting visibility. The enemy would not be expecting such an attack. He will be diverted by the actions of our Rat Patrol. While the
enemy is otherwise occupied and the rain is pouring uncomfortably, we may be able to slip our men close to the armor with grenades and machine pistols. I think foot soldiers will come as a devastating surprise."

  "But where will be get the foot soldiers, Hans?" the colonel asked. "Will you bring those idle men of yours in from the field?"

  "I doubt they could get in over the many miles of wet ground even if it were desirable to take men out of the armor in the battlefield," Dietrich said quietly. "We shall take a hundred of your men from your idle machines and pour them through the pass. That will leave you with full crews for more than half of your column to accompany you into the town when the way has been cleared."

  "Hans, I do not like to do this," the colonel said stubbornly. "Each of your plans for this battle has resulted in disaster. I am unwilling to sacrifice the crews from almost one half of my armor."

  "If we do not take the town, you may no longer have crews of any kind to command," Dietrich said in a punishing body blow. "Our situation, as you well know, is intolerable. If we do not serve up a victory to the field marshal, we may well find ourselves recalled to Berlin."

  "You never leave a choice to me, Hans," the colonel complained with a frown. "Who is there to command this untrained company of foot soldiers recruited from my skilled armored technicians?"

  "I myself will lead them," Dietrich said disdainfully. "Shall we proceed?"

  The gamble was desperate, Dietrich admitted, but it appeared now that only a bold bet could win the stakes. He'd entered the game confidently, but the Rat Patrol had not dealt the cards from the top of the deck. That was not entirely true, he reminded himself. The Rat Patrol had been daring, but they had also been fair. While they could not well have burdened themselves with him as a prisoner when they'd surprised him at the empty drums, they need not have warned him that the road had been mined.

  He rode with Colonel Funke through the downpour to the column and the colonel ordered the five man crews from his last twenty tanks to assemble on the road. An armored car with grenades and weapons and steel helmets parked behind the Mercedes.