The Rat Patrol 2: Desert Danger (21 page)

"Funny they don't spot our tracks," Troy said to Tully.

"There's lots of tracks going every which way around the waterhole, Sarge," Tully said easily. "And anyway, they ain't so easy to spot without the sun throwing shadows in them. If the sun was out, these nets wouldn't be much use either. We'd be throwing a solid shadow."

The sound of motors drummed from the sky again. Tully plunged into a hollow and Hitch followed. The nets were draped when a single Stuka keened above. Troy glanced to the south. The lead plane was flying the original course and the third was well to the south. They had opened the V. Troy turned, examining the hole in which they had plunged. It was a spoon-shaped depression with dunes on three sides and a level exit to the north at the tip. They were below horizontal line of sight. With the planes broadening the aerial search, it should be safe to stay here hidden.

When the lone Stuka dipped back from the sky beyond Faisan, it was at least three hundred yards beyond them to the north. Tully started his motor.

"Shut off the motor and stay put," Troy told him and called to Hitch. "Pull up here, as close as you can get. We're going to stay."

With the jeeps snugged together, Troy had Hitch and Tully stretch one net from the top of the dune to the first jeep, continuing the camouflage unbroken with the other net extending on and over the second jeep and to the ground. Troy and Moffitt ran in the tire tracks well behind the hollow and obliterated the marks by dragging water cans over them. They were under the netting before the Stuka reappeared, this time half a mile to the north.

The six men sat in the two jeeps, cramped together in an airless pocket in the sand. Their faces were dirty and sweat streaked and their breathing was heavy. Troy looked across at Moffitt and flashed his teeth in a smile.

"What do you think, Doctor?" he asked.

"We should be safe until dark," Moffitt said, crinkling his eyes. "Then we can make a run for it by compass."

"Mind if I go up and have a look, Sarge?" Tully asked, screwing his head around.

"No, we ought to have a lookout," Troy said. "Keep your helmet under the net."

Tully scrambled over the hoods, kicking down sand as he crawled to the top of the dune.

"Rest of you get some sleep," Troy said and rubbed his burning eyes. "I'll take the first watch on Dietrich." Dietrich sat at attention, back straight, shoulders squared, arms still cramped behind him. He probably feels as if they're coming out of their sockets, Troy thought, but he'll have to beg before I change his position. Dietrich sat silent and tight-lipped. Moffitt curled around the machine gun mount in the back of the other jeep. Hitch and Wilson stretched their legs over the turned-down windshields and rested their heads on the backs of the seats. It should be a restful day, Troy thought and grinned. He was half asleep himself.

"Hey, Sarge," Tully cried out. "There's a Jerry patrol." 

"Where?" Troy's mind snapped alert. "How many?" 

"About a mile away. Two cars."

"Forget it," Troy said easily. "We've been expecting them. They can't see us here."

"But they're coming this way, Sarge," Tully insisted. "It looks like they're following our tracks, the way they're poking along."

Troy swore softly and shook Moffitt.

"I have a prisoner here for you, Doctor," he said, crawling over the hoods. "Take over."

"Right-o," Moffitt murmured.

Two Jerry patrol cars, spare tires mounted on slanted, snoutlike hoods, their sides looking like old-fashioned, galvanized iron bathtubs, were warily approaching the dunes above the hollow. There were four helmeted soldiers in each car. The vehicles did not appear to be carrying any mounted weapons but, thinking of the MG42 light machine gun he had captured, Troy did not underestimate the possible firepower of the patrol.

"We could take them on," he said, thinking aloud, "but what about the Stukas?"

Troy looked at the sky through the latticework of the netting. Far away, down near the visible horizon, he could just make out three widely, separated flecks.

"If they do see us," he speculated, "they aren't going to fire while their patrol is engaging us. And we may be able to pull it off before they reach it." He clapped Tully's shoulder. "Stay put."

He grabbed the camouflage netting in both hands and slid down the bank of sand carrying it with him.

"Moffitt, Wilson," he shouted. "Get the other net off. Roll Dietrich up in them and tie him from the outside. Push him some place out of the way. Hitch, get these two jeeps out the end of the hollow and faced back south with their motors running."

He snatched the MG42 with its bipod mount and drum of ammunition and dug his way to the top of the dune at the south end of the hollow.

"What's coming off?" Wilson panted as he knotted a snarling, struggling Captain Dietrich in the double layers of netting.

"We're going to do battle," Troy called and his teeth flashed. "A two-car patrol is tracking us down here. I want those cars. They're our transportation out from under the Stukas. I'm going to set up this Jerry gun here and decoy them in. When they come for me, take them with the jeeps from either side. Try to get the drivers first and fire only at the personnel. Don't damage our carriers." 

"Right-o," Moffitt called and laughed.

"They're half a mile off now, Sarge," Tully sang out, "and the Stukas are coming back."

"How far away are the planes?" Tully asked quickly. Tully looked from side to side. "Real spread out. And far away."

"Sergeant," Wilson said, climbing to the top of the dune.

"Yes?" Troy clamped his teeth together and frowned.

This was no time to pull rank. Wilson should realize he was an armored battalion commander, not a guerilla fighter.

"I think it would be better if I manned the decoy gun," Wilson said with a thin smile. "I'm the least valuable man in this engagement and you'll be far more effective than I with the fifty caliber machine gun in the jeep."

"I suppose you're right, damn it," Troy said, looking longingly at the light machine gun. It was on the bipod, ammunition belt in place. "It's ready to go. The firing rate is unbelievable. It has a cycling rate of twelve hundred rounds per minute but you're limited to the fifty rounds you have in the drum. It's recoil operated. Just squeeze the trigger and wham! Let go quick or you'll blow your wad. The range is four thousand yards. Wait them out, say five hundred yards. Aim for the windshields. Okay, you're calling the shots now. We'll take off at your first burst." 

"Right, Sergeant," Wilson said smartly.

"Right, sir," Troy said and his white smile flashed across his face. "Don't get yourself shot now, sir. We've gone to a lot of trouble over you."

Wilson nodded, smiling, and lay down back of his gun. Troy called to Tully and ran down the hollow past Dietrich, trussed up and spluttering in the netting, to the idling jeep. Tully jumped in behind the wheel, depressed the clutch and held it down after he had slipped the car gear. Troy checked the heavy Browning M2 fifty caliber machine gun and the belt of shells. He smacked the side of the weapon and grasped the spadegrip trigger. "Forgive me, big baby," he murmured. It had been a brief love affair with the MG42, a damn punk kid who had given him the eye.

He glanced over his shoulder. In the other jeep, Moffitt gripped his machine gun with both hands.

"We'll go a split second ahead," Troy called. "Don't want any crossfire."

"Right-o and Tally-ho," Moffitt cried as a burst zipped from the MG42.

The jeeps leaped off as another burst and a third from the light machine gun were answered with a rattling hail of fire. The jeeps sprang off the dunes and careened from either side toward the patrol cars. Troy's machine gun smashed the cars from windshields to rear compartment with high impact slugs. Not a yard behind, Moffitt raked the Jerries. The attack had been so rapid and unexpected there was no return fire. Tully spun his jeep around and dashed back. Again the slugs tore at the soldiers in the cars. A feeble spatter of bullets came from one weapon on Moffitt's side. It had dribbled away before Moffitt made his second pass.

Troy searched the sky as Tully skidded to a stop. The planes were distant. Hitch braked on the other side.

"Tully, Hitch, get those motors started. Toss out the bodies, but keep the weapons. Moffitt, get the machine gun and ammunition out of your jeep. Dump it in your car. Take the water cans and equipment." Troy was dismounting his fifty caliber machine gun as he shouted. He trotted to the patrol car nearest him and heaved his eighty-one-pound weapon into the back. When he returned with water cans and equipment, Wilson had come down from the dune with the MG42.

"I could manage only three bursts and the ammunition was gone," he complained. "What can I do?"

"Take off their helmets and stuff the bodies in the jeeps," Troy said, throwing his bush hat in the back of the patrol car. He yanked a helmet from the nearest Kraut and pulled the body over to the jeep, shoving it behind the wheel. The five of them dragged the other Germans to the jeeps and Troy peered at the sky. The Stukas were converging in a tight V.

"Helmets on," Troy yelled. "In the cars. Get them moving. Pour it into the jeeps."

Behind smashed windshields, Tully and Hitch leaned over unfamiliar, high steering wheels and manipulated the clumsy German cars toward the jeeps. As the Stukas looped low, Troy heaved a German stick grenade into the jeep Tully had driven.

"That hurt, Sarge," Tully shouted as the machine erupted.

A moment later the second jeep blew up. The Stukas climbed straight up, dived back from the east and came over low in formation. They dipped their wings to the patrol cars and five men in German helmets stood in the German cars and waved at the German planes. The Stukas streaked westward.

"Let's get Dietrich and let's get out of here," Wilson
said.

"Right you are, sir," Troy said and laughed.

In the hollow, they released Dietrich, silent but with eyes blazing, and folded the camouflage nets into the backs of the cars. Near the flaming jeeps, Troy called a halt.

"Let's clean up, wash out the blood, and take stock," he said.

They knocked the shattered glass from the windshields and sloshed out the machines with water from Jerry containers they found in the storage compartments at the rear. There also were rations, extra gasoline, and ammunition. The weapons they had picked up included Schmeisser machine pistols, two more of the MG42 light machine guns and stick grenades. Hitch found a carton of American cigarettes in his patrol car and divided them, even tucking a package into Dietrich's tunic. Dietrich looked furiously at him.

"We've had a busy day," Troy said, lifting his upper lip from his teeth and shouting, "Hey! Let's go home."

They clambered into the cars, Tully at the wheel of one with Dietrich beside him and Troy in the rear; Hitch at the wheel of the other with Moffitt inspecting the radio at the front and Wilson sprawled in the back.

"We'll have to head south until we're sure the planes have gone," Troy said. "Then it's westward-ho."

The patrol cars had not driven a mile before the Stukas zoomed in low and dipped their wings again, then climbed upstairs in a hurry.

"I guess that does it, Sarge," Tully said.

"I hope so," Troy said, wrinkling his forehead. "Let's play it safe. Keep driving south."

In a few minutes, the Stukas were back buzzing them before they climbed westward. Troy chewed his cheek and waited as the cars plodded along. A few minutes later, the Stukas made another pass.

"This is getting monotonous, Sarge," Tully said.

"Pull alongside Hitch," Troy said tightly.

"What do you think, Sam?" Moffitt called as the Stukas climbed up to make another dive.

"They see what we've done—found his nibs, the commander here," Troy said, baring his teeth and pointing at Dietrich. "In honor of the victory and the rescue, I think we've picked up an honor escort back to Sidi Abd."

14

They had no choice, no blasted choice. They had to play it out and wait for the break. The Luftwaffe was covering itself with glory this day, expending sorely needed gasoline flying protective escort for two patrol cars deep in German territory. Maybe they would put on an aerial circus for the amusement of Herr Hauptmann Hans Dietrich before the cars reached Sidi Abd. Here they came again, those mighty knights of the air, why weren't they off somewhere bombing Allied armor or engaging Spitfires?

The tight V-formation zoomed over at five hundred feet, flying southeast. They'd patrol the corridor all the way to Sidi Abd this time, belt out shells at anything that looked suspicious, and be back to wiggle their wings at Afrika Korps unit commander Dietrich in thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes? Troy considered. If he was right, if they were going to scout the route, and that seemed a reasonable assumption, he had thirty minutes, say twenty-five to be on the safe side, to change his direction, get these tubs under camouflage nets and burrow in until dark. It probably was the only opportunity that he would have.

Hitch pulled the second car alongside and Moffitt, lips twisted in an enigmatic smile, waved Troy to stop.

"Interesting traffic here," he called, holding up the headset for the Jerry radio. "Been on the birdmen's frequency. A lot of chatter about how they spotted the Rat Patrol for the scout cars and will bring Dietrich safely in."

That did it; by God it did! Troy smacked his fist in the palm of his hand and looked at his watch—1300 hours on the nose.

"Due west and pour it on," he told Tully. "Can you find some old tracks to follow?" He said to Hitch, "Get behind us, single file, and put your tires down cleat for cleat in our prints."

Tully found a batch of prints within a mile. Marks left on the desert sands by Dietrich's own armored column when it pulled back from Bir-el-Alam two days ago. Just two days? Well, that was luck, no one could tell who made which, he didn't think, unless from upstairs they could see which were fresh and which were stale. That did not seem likely.

They were off and running. It was not so bad for Troy in the lead car but, and he snorted, he knew the big, heavy-lugged tires were kicking stinging sand into Hitch's windscreenless vehicle. Tully was pounding along at a ripping seventy-five kilometers an hour. Troy did some fast conversion. That would be just over forty-five miles an hour—forty-six point five, to be exact. With time allowed for the mile they had traveled before they found the tracks, and they would be twenty miles to the west when they ducked under cover and the Luftwaffe would be looking for them about fifteen miles to the south and east. And when the Stukas did not find them, they would waste more time buzzing Faisan oasis. How much gas did those ugly babies carry? They could not stay up forever. Anyway, by 1800 hours it should be dark enough so the Rat Patrol could fold its nets and silently steal away.