The Rat Patrol 4 - Two-Faced Enemy (17 page)

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, the 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.

"You are going through the pass on foot," the colonel bellowed at the drenched men. "You will seize or destroy the armor which the enemy has guarding the bottom of the pass. Captain Dietrich will command you. You will be issued machine pistols, grenades and helmets. When the way out of the pass has been opened, I shall bring the rest of the armor down and we shall drink beer in the town before evening."

Dietrich sourly examined his command. The men were a sorry-looking, bedraggled lot. None of them, including Dietrich, had a raincoat and their soaked trousers and shirts clung to their skin. They strapped helmets under their chins, hung their grenades and took the machine pistols in sullen silence. Dietrich ordered them into a column of twos and stepped off at the head of the patrol. The rain was coming down in sheets. It was gray and seemed almost solid. Water now covered the road. As he neared the beginning of the slope through the rock, he seemed to be walking under a waterfall and he sloshed with the water over the ankles of his boots.