The Rat Patrol 4 - Two-Faced Enemy (18 page)

The entire battle from the beginning had been a tank commander's nightmare, Dietrich thought. Unable to clear the minefield or to maneuver, he first had been forced to call for artillery and now he was slushing at the head of infantry. The rain beat down on him harder, if that were possible. It was becoming an unbelievable deluge that threatened to drown him as he breathed. The road would be running like a river through the pass, Dietrich thought, and he wondered whether it would be possible to push the armor through it.

The column of twos marched past the communications van. Although within sight now of the pass, visibility was limited to yards and Dietrich plodded on in a gray haze of water. The roadbed fell away steeply and Dietrich was alarmed that the water rushed up to his calves. The rocks closed in on either side and the water climbed almost to his knees. It was a torrent that smashed at him and forced him stumbling and staggering ahead. He fell against the rock wall of the defile, bracing himself and turning.

"Back, back," he shouted to the first men in his column.

They plunged ahead and pushed against him threatening to tumble him down the gorge. He pressed his back against the wall, clutching for a handhold, gasping as he lowered his head against the driving rain. It could not be worse, he thought hopelessly and just then the machine gun position above opened fire on his trapped company of men.

Wilson had found the halftrack's gun blown apart by the blast from the Rat Patrol's charge or grenade. Two of the crew were dead and one was wounded. Only the three had been stationed with the weapon at the pass. With the aid of Drake and the sergeant, he assisted the wounded man into his car.

"I'll send another car for the dead and a halftrack to replace this one," Wilson told Drake. He had difficulty thinking or speaking. He was shocked almost to numbness by the murder of his men by the Rat Patrol.

"We may have trouble with the water," Drake said in a mechanical sort of response.

Wilson nodded, aware that the water was rising on the road. It was spouting from the pass and spilling over the plain. "You'd better move your halftracks onto the roadbed," he told Drake. "If the road starts to go, leave one vehicle to command the pass and pull the others back. Nobody's coming down in that river."

He thought he heard the rattle of machine gun fire as the sergeant backed the car and maneuvered it about, but he wasn't certain. He couldn't be certain of any sound except the roar of the rushing water. He no longer felt sure of anything except his bitter hatred for the Rat Patrol. They had come prepared to blast their way through the pass, he thought, and when they found the halftrack barring the entrance had wantonly murdered two men. Troy had tried to gun him down as he had shot at the man awaiting the wounded at the foot of the bluff. The four men of the Rat Patrol were mad killers and would stop at nothing. He warned Drake again before dropping him off and told him to place another sentry on the road.

The sergeant risked driving half blind and speeded the wounded man to the aid station. It seemed there was a foot of water on the road. It was a flood, Wilson thought, a raging flood. Dietrich's armor would be immobilized if the rain continued. There'd be no fighting anywhere until Dietrich could get his armor out of the mud. It still might be possible to bring in the planes to bomb the Jerry tanks.

When the wounded man had been left with the medics, and the car and halftrack sent out to Drake, Wilson returned to his office. There was nothing to do now but wait for the rain to stop.

Peilowski stepped into the room with a sheet of paper in his hand. "Locke monitored another transmission," he said. "We pick Jerry up on this one frequency that seems to be constant. They keep changing the others."

"What is it?" Wilson snapped, reaching for the paper. "It was from Dietrich to Moffitt," Peilowski said, handing Wilson the paper.

He scanned it rapidly. Dietrich was calling for sabotage, riots and an attack on the weapons stationed at the pass. The Rat Patrol hadn't been trying to break out. They were commanded to strike in a new series of terrifying raids.

"We can't wait any longer," Wilson shouted and slammed the desk with his fist. "We've got to take the Rat Patrol now. Get me cars and a patrol."

Wrapped in ponchos and wearing steel helmets, the MP patrol of twelve men left three armored cars and drivers with tommy-guns blocking the three alleys that led into the quarter at the edge of town. Wilson sent four men into the alleys on either side of the one the Rat Patrol had been seen entering. He took four men and sloshed ahead in that alley to the comer where the Rat Patrol had turned.

All of the buildings they at first passed were one-story mud houses that afforded no place to hide the jeeps, yet Wilson and his men pushed through each open entrance and pounded on doors. Most of the hovels were one-room affairs and were crowded with the natives who'd streamed back from the warehouse. Women drew scarfs over their faces as the patrol entered. Children, bare-bottomed or draped in rags huddled in corners. Men glared in silence as the MPs inspected each possible hiding place with flashlights.

Wilson's patrol moved slowly down the tedious alley and as they neared the military avenue the houses gave way to stables, grain bins, storehouses and shops. Many of the warehouses had high double-doors.

"Watch your step," Wilson cautioned his patrol. "Any one of these places would hide the jeeps."

The doors of the first warehouse were barred and no one answered when Wilson pounded on it.

"Break them down," he barked.

The five men crashed their shoulders against the doors and when they burst open, fanned out inside with flashlights darting into the dark recesses. There was an airless but grassy smell within the building. It was empty except for a few dozen burlap bags containing grain. The patrol moved on to the next storehouse where a wizened Arab with a face like a monkey answered their blows at the door. The building contained a clutter of lumber salvaged from crates that had been unloaded at the piers. The old man seemed fearful they would take it away. He was still bobbing his head in gratitude that they didn't as the patrol waded through water across to the next blankfaced, double-doored building.

As Wilson was hammering at the doors, the doors of a building fifty yards away flew open and two jeeps darted out, turning sharply. Troy and Moffitt, wearing goggles and their characteristic headpieces, swung their machine guns and opened fire on the patrol. Wilson and his men, flattened inside the recessed entrance, threw their weapons to their shoulders and machine gun fire rattled down the alley. The jeeps raced toward the military avenue in the rain.

Wilson called to his men and ran to the warehouse from which the jeeps had burst. The doors were standing open and the patrol ran inside with flashlights playing over the space that was dimly lighted from grimed windows at the rear. Some blankets and rations were piled along a wall and Wilson examined them. They were Jerry issue. The Rat Patrol had not only made contact in person with Dietrich; they even had drawn supplies from the enemy.

"Colonel Wilson," one of the MPs called. "Here's the radio set."

Against the wall in a far comer was a powerful, battery-powered, high-frequency German receiver and transmitter.

"Shall we destroy it?" the MP asked Wilson.

"Of course not," Wilson said sharply. "We'll take it in."

The doors of the warehouse slammed shut with a bang and the five flashlights tossed beams toward the front of the building. An explosion boomed hollowly in the big empty room and flung Wilson smashing into the transmitter-receiver.

When the Jerry had plunged out of the rain and jabbed the pistol into Troy's ribs, Troy had instinctively slashed down with the barrel of his tommy-gun and jarred the gun out of the man's grasp. The man had cried sharply with pain and Troy had cut him down with a burst.

Cries broke out in German ahead of Troy and he swung himself into the jeep behind the machine gun as Tully drove for the voices. Moffitt and Troy both were raking the area ahead with bursts from their guns before their targets emerged from the rain. Troy caught two men at a machine gun as they were turning the weapon at the jeeps, and Moffitt caught three who opened fire with light machine guns.

When the firing ceased, Troy jumped to the ground and carrying a tommy-gun, turned the bodies over with the toe of his boot. The five men and the one who had jumped him all were dead. One of them was a lieutenant. The machine gun was the heavy Browning which Wilson had placed at this position, and Troy wondered what had happened to the crew. Six mortars were directed at the foot of the bluff. Shells were stacked behind them. The mortars were German and the tubes were full of water. Tully and Hitch carried the mortars to the edge of the bluff and heaved them over.

"Jack," Troy said, "you and Hitch hold this position if you have any visitors. Tully, we'll walk back to where the road enters the defile, cross over and see whether we can take that emplacement."

The rain was slapping the plateau with such blinding fury that Troy did not think anyone could have distinguished the sound of firing from ten yards away. There even seemed to be a roar in the air. He bent his head against the slanting sheets of water and he and Tully edged along the cut, working back to where the road could be crossed. Abruptly Troy stopped.

"Hold it," he whispered, grasping Tully's arm. He thought he had seen moving figures just ahead. He pulled Tully down into the mud.

A column of men walked out of the rain and moved into the pass. Dietrich was at the head of the column. Troy and Tully backed away from the edge of the pass and scrambled back to the emplacement. Moffitt and Hitch had them covered with their submachine guns when they ran into the position.

"Dietrich's trying to get through the pass on foot," Troy called. He ran to the Browning, in place on a tripod. "Hitch, you and Tully back up the jeeps. Work over the pass with guns. I'll use this weapon."

Troy opened fire down into the pass, working it blindly but stepping his bursts up toward the top. Tully and Hitch parked the jeeps near the edge and Moffitt and Tully opened fire with the two guns in the jeeps. Troy heard yells and curses in the pass. Machine gun fire chattered on the opposite side of the pass and Troy swept the other position as the two heavy guns of the jeeps pounded away into the pass. Troy sent a final burst at the other emplacement.

"They know our position and we don't know theirs," he shouted. "Those men will be coming out of the pass. Let's move."

He jumped in the back of the jeep as Tully moved to the front, and he fired two bursts into the gun on the tripod as Tully shot away from the position. Tully took the lead with Hitch following and drove west and then south the way they had come. The plateau now was slippery and even at low speed in four-wheel-drive the jeeps slithered along. Visibility was now limited to about ten yards. Troy was not sure where they were bound. He thought they had inflicted casualties on the men who had been moving down through the pass. He hoped the sound of guns firing from both positions had carried to the bottom and alerted whatever armor had been placed there. He wished Moffitt and Hitch could have held the emplacement while Tully and he had taken the other, but his plans had been disrupted by the abrupt appearance of Dietrich and his column.

The jeep slipped from the slimy surface of the soaked hardpan into the sand and Tully's wheels spun. Hitch managed to back away and Moffitt and Hitch joined Troy at the front of Tully's jeep. With the three of them pushing, they managed to lift the jeep out of the sand.

"We can't just sit this one out where Jerry will see us when the rain stops," Troy said. "I'm betting we're beyond the armored column. Let's go straight east to the road. I'll feel better when we have something substantial under the tires."

"Like the stretch of road we mined?" Tully asked.

"If we have to, we'll get the jeeps back in the drums until the desert dries out," Troy said. "I don't think they'll expect us to be there again."

Troy walked ahead of the jeep once again. He wanted to be sure there was something firmer than sand under the water. The insides of his boots were puddled and his hat was soaked through. He slipped and stumbled for a good half hour before he scuffed the firm subgrade of the road. While the jeeps waited, Moffitt walked north and Troy searched south to discover just where they were. After five or ten minutes of plodding in the thick, wet grayness, Troy turned about and walked back. He had seen nothing to tell him where they were. Moffitt was waiting at the jeeps.

"We're practically within their command," Moffitt said and smiled as the rain streamed down his face. "It is very nearly deserted. What would you say to commandeering the HQ tent?"

"Is there anyone in it?" Troy asked with a laugh.

"A colonel," Moffitt said. "He looks like a stuffed sausage."

"A colonel?" Troy said in surprise. "That means Dietrich isn't running the show. A colonel might be worth the trouble."

"It is possible Dietrich will return," Moffitt said smiling broadly now.

"Then we'll bop him," said Troy. "All right, we must be less than a mile from the drums. Let's hide the jeeps again and take possession of Jerry's HQ."

11

The ground beneath Dietrich's feet was giving away and he was losing the purchase his back had on the rock wall of the pass when machine gun fire coughed and spit overhead. It seemed to be coming from both the emplacements. He heard men cry out and plop in the rushing stream. The swirling water was threatening to wrest him from his precarious perch and tumble him down its steep course. The guns continued hacking at the men. It was the Rat Patrol on the bluff, he was certain.

Dietrich staggered against the pressure of the water and a hand grasped his forearm and held him steady.

"Try to keep your footing and remain still, Herr Hauptmann," a voice said and he turned his head to one of the officers from Funke's column. He was a lieutenant, Dietrich knew, although he did not recall the man's name. "Brace yourself as well as you can against the rock. The men behind us are trying to climb out of the pass. Some even are seeking to scale the wall. Others have been swept off their feet. If we remain quiet here a few moments, we should be able to work our way back."