by David King
Troy and Tully crouched behind the rock on one side of the trail south from the bluff. Moffitt and Hitch clung to the rock on the other side. The two jeeps had stopped as if for breath.
"Wilson must be sending out a patrol dressed like us to confuse Jerry," Hitch whispered.
"Wilson doesn't know about this trail," Troy said softly. "Just the Arabs."
"The weapons on those jeeps are not Brownings," Moffitt said quietly. "Those are Jerry machine guns."
"This is some trick of Dietrich's," Troy said. "He's put a patrol in town masquerading as us."
"The skunk, after all we done for him," Tully said dryly.
"How we going to take them, Sarge?" Hitch asked.
"Alive," Troy said. "I want to find out what they've been up to. Jump them when they come through the rocks." He grinned. "The way we'll do it, we'll each take our other self and give him the beating we've always wanted to."
The alien jeeps started in single file down the trail toward the rocks. The duplicate Troy and Tully were in the first jeep. It gave Troy—the original one—a crazy feeling of unreality to see himself approaching with a very credible Tully at his side. He motioned Tully—the "real" Tully, he found himself thinking—back and they crept away so Moffitt and Hitch would have time to spring at the second jeep.
The Jerry Troy and Moffitt at their machine guns were looking back toward the bluff when the jeeps passed between the rocks. The vehicles were traveling in low gear at about ten miles an hour. Troy and Tully sprang from the ground as Moffitt and Hitch dropped into the second jeep from the rock. Troy grabbed his counterpart around the knees and jerked him out of the jeep. Tully got his arm crooked around the neck of his duplicate and wrested him from the seat. Troy slammed a right to the jaw of the Jerry and Tully stunned his man with a left between the eyes. The jeep turned and ran into the rock and stopped.
With his man out cold, Troy looked toward the second jeep. Moffitt and Hitch must have knocked out their men without a struggle because the jeep was stopped with its motor shut off.
He heard the sound of several motors on the setbacks. "I think the Rat Patrol was on the run," he said, swinging his Browning on the prisoners in the jeep ahead. "We'll just wait here and find out what we've done."
A jeep ran over the top, braked abruptly and an MP leaped out firing a tommy-gun.
"Wait," Wilson shouted, jumping from the back. "Don't shoot."
He stood taking in the situation as another and then two more jeeps topped the bluff and MPs with tommy-guns surrounded the four jeeps all pointing their weapons and looking astonished. Wilson, still appearing to be somewhat bewildered, walked first to Troy, stared hard, then to Moffitt. Then he went to the Jerries and studied them. He took the bush hat from the Jerry Troy, looked hard into his face and slammed the hat back on his head.
"They always wore goggles," he said as if to himself, then said to Troy, "I think I know the answer and I'm sure I owe you an apology, but just for the record, where have you been for the last three days?"
"Fuel dumps, the Jerry CP a few times, Sidi Abd, Bir-el-Alam," Troy said. "From the way you said that, I guess we're in trouble."
"You're not in trouble," Wilson said softly. "This Jerry version of the Rat Patrol is in it up to their ears. They're going to be shot for what they had me thinking you had done."
Troy whistled. "That bad? And you believed us capable?"
"We'll go over that later," Wilson said. "You made your point and identified the criminals quite convincingly. We'll send the prisoners back in the custody of the MPs. I wouldn't trust the Jerries to drive. Knowing what's in store for them, they'd probably take a dive off the edge of the trail. I presume you have a purpose in returning or you wouldn't be here. Fortunate, I must say, that you arrived at such an opportune time. I don't know that you'd have had a chance to speak your piece if the Jerries had escaped and you'd returned later."
"We always try to be at the right place at the right time," Troy said gravely, but he smiled.
The MPs took the prisoners, one man to a jeep. Tully and Hitch got into the Jerry vehicles. Moffitt drove one of the Rat Patrol jeeps and Wilson rode with Troy.
"Drive at a reasonable speed," Wilson said. "I've a lot to ask and a few things I fear I must confess. But what brought you back tonight?"
"Jerry's armor is stuck in the mud at the top of the pass. We've disabled the mortar and machine gun emplacements there. If you will take your halftracks and armored cars up through Latsus before morning, you can destroy his armored column there, capture his command post, and flank the weapons he has in the field."
"Good Lord, man!" Wilson shouted. "Step on the gas. The explanations can wait until the battle is won."
16
Flanked by Troy and Moffitt, Colonel Dan Wilson sat at his desk at HQ issuing orders. He had tried to push all other than military matters from his mind. He tried, but did not entirely succeed, to forget for the moment the heinous deeds of the German impersonators and the shameful injustice he had done his own loyal men, the explanations and amends he probably would have to make. Laurentz and Rhee de la Croix and Nicodeme still were imprisoned and he could not take the time to get at the bottom of that business. There was the possibility that the Frenchman and his niece had collaborated with the Jerries. He concentrated on functioning precisely on the eve of the battle for which he would not need the bombers.
Spread before him on his metal desk was a large-scale map of the entire area showing Sidi Beda, the road through Latsus Pass, and the plateau. The positions of his Sherman tanks that had been destroyed on the bluff were designated with a red X through the emplacement. The pattern of the minefield concerned him because although there was no safe path through the field, he had left a way out. Troy and Moffitt had indicated the locations of the Jerry armor both at the pass and as well as they could which units confronted the defense positions. The enemy weapons, they had said, had been brought back two thousand yards from the minefield when the pads had been prepared for the rocket launchers. He still chilled at the thought of the Nebelwerfers. Those terrifying rockets that shrieked like roaring lions in agony could have reduced the town to rubble and destroyed the entire population, massed as it was in the warehouse. It made Wilson shudder to think what would have occurred if the Rat Patrol hadn't destroyed the plane with its devilish cargo. He marked off a section of the road south of the German command post
"This is the mined area?" he asked Troy.
"You can't miss it," Troy said. "The wreck of the plane is still there."
"Right. Now coming back to the armored column at the pass," Wilson said, moving his pencil to the halftracks and tanks that he'd indicated at the side of the road. "You said you had damaged some of them with grenades. Can you point them out?"
"I think the doctor can tell you better than I," Troy said with a sheepish grin. "I was knocked out part of the time. My horse was shot and threw me."
"Your horse!" Wilson exclaimed in astonishment. "You did say horse, didn't you."
Troy nodded his head.
"I know it's perfectly obvious and it's silly of me to ask," Wilson said dryly, "but what were you doing on a horse?"
"Well, sir, you see, that's how we were able to get next to the armor without arousing suspicion," Troy said. "Dietrich sent a band of Arabs out to kill us and when we'd taken care of them, we stripped off their robes and rounded up the horses. When we rode into the armor, Dietrich's men thought we were the Arabs."
"It's preposterous!" Wilson said, chuckling heartily. "Don't breathe a word of it. If that story ever got back to Washington, the Pentagon would revive the cavalary. Now, Moffitt, just what did you four horsemen do to the armor?"
"I think I can indicate reasonably accurately," Moffitt said with amusement gleaming in his eyes. He picked up a red pencil and marked as he spoke. "The communications van here at the head of the column, destroyed. Treads blown on the next three tanks. Now, toward the center of the column, probably treads blown on six tanks. At
the rear, treads wrecked on two halftracks."
"Amazing," Wilson murmured. "Although all of these weapons are either disabled or stuck, they may have crews manning their guns."
"I think that's unlikely," Troy said. "They won't be expecting you to attack." He took the pencil from Moffitt. "But here," he indicated the area immediately west of the road at the top of the pass, "you have ground that is firm where you can maneuver."
"Can we cross the ground immediately opposite the column?" Wilson asked, "providing, of course, we are fortunate enough to take the Jerries completely by surprise."
"Going to give them a broadside?" Troy asked and his teeth flashed in a smile. "Yes, you can make it."
"Hmmm," Wilson said thoughtfully. There might be a way to assure that Jerry was taken unaware. "We'll come back to that later. Where is the fuel dump?"
"I can show you where it was," Troy said. "There isn't any fuel dump any more. We blew it. All that is left is a pile of empty drums where we hid the jeeps. Dietrich is running out of gas. We destroyed all of his dumps, even the one at Sidi Abd."
"I wondered about your reason for going to Sidi Abd," Wilson said, laughing. "I was hoping there would be a good explanation for it. And I imagine you returned through Bir-el-Alam. Well, that's certainly satisfactory."
"Yes," Troy said, "but we visited Bir-el-Alam a second time."
"Yes? Why?" He was curious and a little amused. He knew Troy wanted to be asked.
"To get Colonel Matthe Funke off our hands," Troy said.
"And who is Colonel Matthe Funke," Wilson said, leaning back, ready for anything.
"Division commander," Troy said, obviously enjoying himself. "Dietrich's unit belonged to Funke. Not any more. We've got Funke. He was up there with Dietrich. We captured him."
"Oh, good Lord!" Wilson groaned. "How did it happen you didn't capture Dietrich as well?"
"We did," Troy said, "but there wasn't room in the car for him. We left him tied up in his underwear."
Wilson gave up. He put his head in his hands and roared with laughter. When he had recovered, he said, "And he's running out of fuel?"
"I'd rather think so," Moffitt spoke up. "He hasn't had a drop to put in the petrol tanks since he sent his armor into the field."
"That I am very pleased to know," Wilson said. He remembered now that Farb had reported gasoline was being drained from units disabled in the field. He glanced at the big white-faced clock on the wall. It was just midnight. "My officers will be here any minute. Please remain." He spoke to eight of his officers briefly, explaining first that the Rat Patrol had been impersonated, then indicating the situation on the map and the strategy he would employ. He noticed Troy glance at him approvingly a time or two and it pleased him even more than the enthusiasm of his officers.
"H-hour is oh-three-hundred," he said, checking his watch against the clock. "Will you coordinate your timepieces?"
When he had dismissed his officers, he looked first at Moffitt, who as usual seemed to be amused at something, and then at Troy, who looked tired.
"Going over that old trade route, how long does it take you to reach Dietrich's CP?" he asked.
Troy frowned. He probably knew what was coming. "No more than two hours."
"I know you're tired. I know you have earned a long rest," Wilson sadi. "I also know our chances of success will be enhanced if we can take the armored column and the command post completely by surprise. I want a diversion starting at oh-three-hundred when the halftracks start up the pass. Is there some target away from the pass that would draw Dietrich's attention?"
"There isn't much left except the armor itself," Troy said slowly. "There must be an ammunition dump somewhere. We haven't hit that yet."
"I don't know how we overlooked such an item," Moffitt said. "Yes, by George, I do know. It isn't where we would expect it to be. I'll wager that Jerry blighter has his ammunition stored in an innocent-appearing personnel tent at his command post, exactly as he had done with his drums of petrol."
"Doctor, you may have something," Troy said, slapping his hat against his leg and laughing. "We'll set the command post afire at oh-three-hundred. Even if the ammunition isn't there, it ought to provide the diversion the colonel wants."
Each jeep carried a dozen five-minute plastic time charges on the return trip to Dietrich's CP. In addition, each jeep carried a one-gallon thermos jug of hot coffee and a bundle of sandwiches, courtesy of Colonel Dan Wilson.
"He's buying us cheap, Sarge," Tully growled as they drove south in the desert away from the bluff. Tully had been grousing from the moment Troy had returned from the CP and awakened him. "I ain't settling for a sandwich and a cup of java. I got overtime coming."
It was cold and the moon was down. Troy huddled in the jacket he'd picked up when he changed into dry clothes. Tomorrow, sometime tomorrow, he'd be back in Sidi Beda.
The jeeps had turned due east now and were running behind the German lines. Although there was no moon, the sky was light enough so large rocks and valleys were visible. The sand had settled and packed with the moisture and the surface was reasonably smooth. Tully and Hitch made good time. The jeeps slipped quietly over the road near the empty drums, dashed across the dune a mile away and made a sheltered run to a position behind the command post.
The four of them crawled to the top of the dune and lay in the cold sand, studying the dark blobs of the tents. No lights were showing and Troy could see no one moving. There must be sentries, he thought, but they probably were huddled in sheltered places against the cold. They wouldn't be wary and shouldn't be hard to take if it was necessary. About a dozen tents, he thought. He knew which one was Dietrich's and he'd noticed the mess tent. He decided those were two they wouldn't bother.
He began to worry about the machine gun emplacements, wondering whether anyone had checked and discovered that the crews were dead. Machine guns firing into the halftracks would turn the surprise attack into a disaster. He glanced at his watch and saw it was only oh-two-hundred.
"Doc," he said quietly, "I'm going to check the machine gun positions."
"Right, Sam," Moffitt said. "I'd had the same thought. Do you want me to run up?"
"No," Troy said. "Stay here with the job."
"If you're not back when it's time, we'll move in," Moffitt said.
"I'll take a couple charges with me in case I need to use them," Troy said. "You've plenty left."
He ran behind the dune at an easy lope, strangely not feeling tired. If the gun crews had been replaced, he would plant the charges to coincide with the ones at the CP as well as he could. When he'd run for ten minutes, he crawled to the top of the dune and saw he was at the middle of the column. He lay studying the line for a moment. It must be guarded, he thought although again he could see no one. Or was Dietrich entirely depending on the emplacements? Perhaps the crews of the tanks and halftracks were sleeping in them.
Pushing himself off the dune, he ran another five minutes, crawled over the top and came down the hill on his belly. He got into the mud ahead of the column. It was a gooey, sloppy slough and he pulled himself through it, wriggling like a snake. He watched the tanks and saw nothing. When he dragged himself out of the mud, feeling loathsome and slimy, he looked back at the shattered communications van and the blocky outlines of the first tanks. They canted. Perhaps Moffitt had done more damage than he'd known. Dietrich must have raged at the attack on the tanks. He chuckled softly, thinking of Dietrich trussed up on his cot and Dietrich knocked out cold by Tully in the mud. It had not been Dietrich's day.
Now he edged out on the bluff bordering the pass. He pulled his knife from his belt and moved warily. He stopped abruptly and tried to merge with the ground. A man was lying just ahead of him. He waited and watched, then moved ahead with his knife ready. The man was not sleeping. He was one of the victims of the earlier attack. Troy crawled quickly over the area, found everything as they'd left it.
He crept to the edge of the pass and crawled along it until he coul
d drop to the road. He ran to the other side and walked to the top with his back against the rock wall. Again he studied the column and noted how Wilson could turn immediately west on the plateau, avoiding much of the fire if crews were in the stalled tanks at oh-three-hundred in the morning. About two hundred yards away, something caught his eye. A tank was out of line, on the road. Jerry had managed to move one tank out of the mud. It might explain why the camp was so quiet. Everyone was worn out and asleep. But the tank could come as a nasty surprise for Wilson's halftracks if it were manned.
Troy was certain no one had visited the position on this side of the bluff since the other position had not been remanned, but he crept out to make certain. The plugged gun and stilled crew were as they'd been left. His watch showed oh-two-forty-five. He crawled along the road toward the tank. When he was opposite it, he lay examining the tank, the ground and the armor parked near it. The hatch of the tank was open. That could mean someone was in it or it could mean someone planned to use it soon. Troy checked the time again. It was oh-two-fifty-five. At the command post, Moffitt, Tully and Hitch would be planting their packages in or near the tents so they would explode as Wilson started coming up the pass.
Troy dragged himself on his stomach onto the road and stood with his back pressed against the tank. He put his ear to the cold steel and listened. He heard nothing. At exactly oh-three-hundred, he stepped onto the tracks and dropped his two five-minute charges through the hatch. He jumped to the ground and ran around the tank, stumbling through the mud in the ditch, staggering and sliding in the mud field. A blast slammed the air and flames leapt into the dark sky. They quickly dwindled and Troy heard shouts. A tent was afire. Troy had crossed the mud field standing and now he was in the sand. Another explosion rocketed fire. Troy was running, but he watched the fire, listening to confused shouting. Another tent was burning. When he reached the top of the dune, he stopped and watched, standing. In the light of the fires, he saw men running in every direction away from the camp. Three more charges exploded and then a detonation mightier than all of the others combined grabbed and shook the earth and the sky in a continuing series of blasts that slapped each other. Flames shot into the air like rockets and the entire camp blazed. They'd blown the ammo dump, Troy thought, lying on the dune that seemed warmed as it was lighted by the fire. He watched for Wilson and the explosion in the tank where he'd dropped the charges. He wondered whether anyone had been in the tank.
